FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER

TRANSLATED BY

EVA FREEMAN HART AND E. VAN GERPEN

"Give me a nook and a book, And let the proud world spin round."

A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, 52-58 DUANE STREET, NEW YORK

Copyright, 1902. BY A. L. BURT COMPANY.

THE SIGN OF FLAME. Translated by Eva Freeman Hart and E. Van Gerpen.

CHAPTER I.

Through the gray fog of an autumn morning a flock of birds took flight; sweeping now, as if in farewell, close to the firs, so recently their home—rising now to a goodly height, directing their flight toward the south, and disappearing slowly in the veiled distance.

The gloomy eyes of a man standing at a window of the large castle-like mansion situated at the edge of the forest, followed this flight.

He was of tall stature and powerful in physique; the erect bearing would have betrayed the soldier even without the uniform which he wore: his features not handsome but strong; hair light, and eyes blue; in short, a typical German in appearance; but something like a shadow rested on those features, and the high brow bore deeper furrows than the years seemed to warrant.

"There, the birds are already leaving," he said, pointing to the flock which fluttered in the distance until lost entirely in the mass of fog. "The autumn is here in nature and also in our lives."

"Not yet in yours," interrupted his companion. "You are standing in full strength at the height of your life."

"Perhaps so considering years; but I feel as if old age would approach me sooner than any one else. I feel much like the autumn of the year."

The other gentleman, who was in civilian dress, was probably older than his companion. His stature was of medium height and frail. At first sight he appeared almost insignificant beside the powerful form of the officer, but the pale, sharply outlined face bore an expression of cold, superior calm; and the sarcastic line around the thin lips proved that behind the cold composure expressed in his whole manner something deeper lay concealed.

He now shook his head with displeasure.

"You take life too hard, Falkenried," he said reproachfully; "you have changed remarkably in these last years. He who has seen you as a young officer, merry as the day, would not recognize you now. And why all this? The shadow which once clouded your life has long ago vanished; you are heart and soul a soldier; you receive distinction at every opportunity; an important position is assured you in the near future; and, what is best—you have kept your son."

Falkenried did not reply; he folded his arms and again looked out into the gray distance. The other continued:

"The boy has grown as handsome as a picture in these last few years. I was quite surprised when I saw him, and even you confess that he is extraordinarily gifted, and, moreover, in several respects is endowed with absolute genius."

"I wish Hartmut were less gifted and had more character instead," Falkenried said in almost harsh tones. "He can make poetry and learn languages as if it were play, but as soon as he begins earnest study he remains far behind the others; while as to military strategy, nothing whatever can be done with him. You have no idea, Wallmoden, what iron severity I have to bring to bear on that."

"I only fear that you do not accomplish much with this severity," interrupted Wallmoden. "You should have followed my advice and sent your son to the University. That he is not cut out for a soldier you ought now finally to see."

"He must and shall be fit for it; it is the only thing possible for his unruly disposition, which chafes under every curb and feels every duty a burden. The University—the life of a student—would give him fullest liberty. Nothing but the iron discipline to which he has to bow keeps him in check."

"Yes, for a while; but can it force him in the future? You should not deceive yourself. His are, unfortunately, inherited faults, which may possibly be suppressed, but never uprooted. Hartmut is in appearance the image of his mother; he has her features—her eyes."

"Yes, I know," Falkenried said, gloomily, "her dark, demoniacal, glowing eyes, which knew how to charm everything—"

"And which became your ruin," completed Wallmoden. "How did I not warn and implore against them, but you would not listen to anything. Passion had taken hold of you like a fever and held you in bonds altogether. I have never been able to understand it."

A bitter smile flitted around Falkenried's mouth.

"I believe that. You, the cool, calculating diplomat who carefully measure every step, are safe from such charms."

"I should at least be more careful in my choice. Your marriage brought misfortune with it from the beginning. A wife of foreign race and blood—of wild Slavian nature, without character, without any understanding for that which is custom and duty to us, and you with your strict principles—your irritable sense of honor—it had finally to come to such an end. And I believe you loved her up to the separation in spite of everything!"

"No," said Falkenried harshly. "The illusion vanished in the first year. I saw only too clearly—but I shuddered at the idea of laying my domestic miseries open to the world by a divorce. I bore it until no choice was left me—until I finally—but enough of it!"

He turned quickly, and again looked out of the window. There was suppressed torture in the sudden breaking off.

"Yes, it needed much to tear a nature like yours from the roots," Wallmoden said seriously; "but nevertheless the separation left you free from the unfortunate claim, and with that you should have also buried the reminiscences."

"One cannot bury such reminiscences; they always rise up again from the supposed grave, and just now—" Falkenried broke off suddenly.

"Just now—what do you mean?"

"Nothing; let us speak of other things. You have been at Burgsdorf since the day before yesterday. How long do you intend to stay?"

"Perhaps two weeks. I have not much time at my disposal, and am Willibald's guardian really only in name, since the diplomatic service keeps me mostly in foreign countries. In fact, the guardianship rests in the hands of my sister, who rules everything, anyhow."

"Yes, Regine is well up to her position," assented Falkenried. "She rules the large estates and numerous people like a man."

"And issues commands from morning to night like a sergeant," completed Wallmoden. "With all due appreciation for her excellent qualities, I always feel a slight rising of the hair at the prospect of a visit to Burgsdorf, and I return from there regularly with shattered nerves. Real primitive conditions rule in that place. Willibald is actually a young bear, but the ideal of his mother for all that. She does her best to raise him an ignorant young country squire. All interposition is of no use, for he has every inclination for it, anyway."

The entrance of a servant interrupted them. He handed a card to Falkenried, which the latter glanced at hastily.

"Herr Egern, Solicitor. Very well, show the gentleman in."

"Have you a business engagement?" asked Wallmoden, rising. "I will not disturb you."

"On the contrary, I beg you to remain. I have been advised of this visit, and know what will be discussed. It concerns—"

He did not conclude, for the door opened and the one announced entered.

He seemed surprised not to find the officer alone, as he had expected, but the latter took no notice of the surprise.

"Herr Egern, Solicitor—Herr von Wallmoden, Secretary of the Ambassador."

The barrister bowed with cool courtesy, and accepted the offered chair.

"I probably have the honor of being familiar to you, Herr Major," he began. "As counsel for your wife, I had occasional cause to meet you personally in that suit for divorce."

He stopped, and seemed to expect an answer, but Major Falkenried only bowed in mute assent. Wallmoden now began to be attentive. He could now understand the strangely irritable mood in which he had found his friend upon his arrival.

"I come to-day also in the name of my former client," continued the lawyer. "She has asked me—may I speak freely?"

He cast a glance at the Secretary, but Falkenried said shortly:

"Herr von Wallmoden is my friend, and as such is familiar with the case. I beg you to speak without restraint."

"Very well, then—the lady has returned to Germany after long years of absence, and naturally wishes to see her son. She has already written to you on that behalf, but has not received an answer."

"I should consider that a sufficient answer. I do not desire this meeting, and therefore shall not permit it."

"That sounds very harsh, Herr Major. Frau von Falkenried has surely—"

"Frau Zalika Rojanow, you mean to say," interrupted the Major. "She resumed her maiden name, so far as I know, when she returned to her country."

"The name is of no consequence," replied the lawyer calmly. "The sole consideration here is the perfectly justifiable wish of a mother, which the father cannot and must not deny, even when, as in this case, the son is given to him unconditionally."

"Must not! And if he should do it, notwithstanding?"

"Then he oversteps the borders of his rights. I would like to ask you, Herr Major, to consider the matter calmly before speaking such a decided 'No.' The rights of a mother cannot be so completely cancelled by a decision of the court that one may even deny her a meeting with her only child. The law is upon the side of my client in this case, and she will enforce it, if my personal appeal is ignored as was her written request."

"She may try it then. I will let it come to the test. My son does not know that his mother is alive, and shall not learn it just yet. I do not wish that he should see and speak to her, and I shall know how to prevent it. My 'No' remains unchanged."

These remarks were given quietly, but upon Falkenried's features there lay an ashy paleness, and his voice sounded hollow and threatening. The awful excitement under which he labored was apparent; only with supreme effort could he force himself to outward calm. The lawyer seemed to understand the fruitlessness of further effort. He only shrugged his shoulders.

"If this be your final decision, then my errand is, of course, finished, and we must decide later upon further moves. I am sorry to have disturbed you, Herr Major."

He took his leave with the same cool politeness with which he had entered.

Falkenried sprang up and paced the room stormily after the door had closed upon the lawyer. A depressing silence reigned for a few moments, after which Wallmoden spoke half audibly.

"You ought not to have done that. Zalika will hardly submit to your 'No.' If you remember, she carried on a life-and-death struggle for her child at that time."

"But I remained victor. I hope she has not forgotten that."

"At that time it concerned the possession of the boy," interrupted the friend. "The mother now only requests to see him again, and you will not be able to deny her that when she demands it with decision."

The Major came to a sudden standstill, but there was a scarcely veiled contempt in his voice as he said:

"She dares not do that after all that happened. Zalika learned to know me in our parting hour. She will take care not to force me to extremes a second time."

"But she will perhaps try to obtain secretly what you refuse her openly."

"That will be impossible; the discipline of our school is too strict. No relations could be started there of which I would not be notified immediately."

Wallmoden did not seem to share this confidence; he shook his head doubtingly.

"I confess that I consider your keeping, with such persistence, the knowledge of his mother's existence from your son a mistake. If he should hear it now from another source—what then? And you will have to tell him finally."

"Perhaps after two years, when he enters life independently. He is still but a scholar—a mere boy. I cannot yet draw the veil from the tragedy which was once enacted in the home of his parents—I cannot."

"Then at least be upon your guard. You know your former wife—know what can be expected from her. I fear there are no impossibilities for that woman."

"Yes, I know her," said Falkenried with boundless bitterness, "and just for that reason I will protect my son from her at any cost. He shall not breathe the poison of her presence for even an hour. Rest assured, I do not underrate the danger of Zalika's return, but as long as Hartmut remains at my side he will be safe from her, for she will not approach me again. I pledge you my word for that."

"We will hope so," returned Wallmoden, rising and giving his hand, "but do not forget that the greatest danger lies in Hartmut himself. He is in every respect the son of his mother. I hear you will come with him to Burgsdorf the day after tomorrow?"

"Yes; he always spends the short autumn vacation with Willibald. I myself can probably stay only for the day, but I shall surely come with him. Au revoir!"

The Ambassador's Secretary departed, and Falkenried again approached the window, glancing only hastily after the friend, who bowed once more. His glance was again lost with the former gloom, in the gray masses of fog.

"The son of his mother!"

The words rang in his ears, but there was no need for another to tell him that. He had long known it, and it was this knowledge that furrowed his brow so deeply and caused those heavy sighs.

He was a man to offer himself to every open danger, but he had struggled in vain, with all his energy for years, against this unfortunate inheritance of the blood in his only son.

CHAPTER II.

"Now I request that this utter foolishness shall end, for my patience is exhausted. There has been an awful turmoil in all Burgsdorf for three days, as if the place were conjured. Hartmut is full of foolishness from head to toe. When once he gets free from the rein which his father draws so tight there is no getting on with him. And you, of course, go with him through thick and thin, following obediently everything that your lord and master starts. You are a fine team!"

This lecture, delivered in very loud tones, came from the lips of Frau von Eschenhagen of Burgsdorf, who sat at breakfast with her son and brother.

The large dining-room was in the lower story of the old mansion, and was a rather bare room, the glass doors of which led to a broad terrace, and from there into the garden. Some antlers hung upon the whitewashed walls, giving evidence of the Nimrod proclivities of former owners. They were also the only ornament of the room.

A dozen straightback chairs standing in stiff rows like grenadiers, a heavy dining table, and two old-fashioned sideboards constituted all of the furniture, which, as one could see, had already served several generations.

Articles of luxury, such as carpets, wallpaper or paintings, were not there. The inmates were apparently satisfied with the old, inherited things, although Burgsdorf was one of the richest estates in the vicinity.

The appearance of the lady of the house corresponded fully with the surroundings. She was about forty years old; of tall, powerful figure, blooming complexion, and strong, heavy features, which were very energetic, but which could never have been beautiful. Nothing escaped easily the glance of those sharp, gray eyes; the dark hair was combed back plainly; the dress was simple and serviceable, and one could see that her hands knew how to work.

This robust person lacked gracefulness, certainly, but possessed something decidedly masculine in carriage and appearance.

The heir and future lord of Burgsdorf, who was scolded in this way, sat opposite his mother, listening, as in duty bound, while he helped himself bountifully to ham and eggs. He was a handsome, ruddy-faced boy of about seventeen years, with features which might portray great good nature, but no surplus of intellect. His sunburned face was full of glowing health, but otherwise bore little resemblance to his mother's. It lacked her energetic expression. The blue eyes and light hair must have been an inheritance from the father. With his powerful but awkward limbs he looked like a young giant, and offered the completest contrast to his Uncle Wallmoden, who sat at his side, and who now said with a tinge of sarcasm:

"You really ought not to make Willibald responsible for the pranks and tricks. He is certainly the ideal of a well-raised son."

"I should advise him not to be anything else. Obeying of orders is what I insist upon," exclaimed Frau von Eschenhagen, slapping the table with such force as to cause her brother to start nervously.

"Yes, one learns that under your regime," he replied, "but I would like to advise you, dear Regine, to do a little more for the mental training of your son. I do not doubt that he will grow up a splendid farmer under your leadership, but something more is required in the education of a future lord, and as Willibald has outgrown tutors, it may be time to send him off."

"Send him—" Frau Regine laid down knife and fork in boundless amazement. "Send him off!" she repeated indignantly. "In gracious name, where to?"

"Well, to the University, and later on let him travel, that he may see something of the world and its people."

"And that he may be totally ruined in this world and among these people! No, Herbert, that will not do. I tell you right now. I have raised my boy in honesty and the fear of God, and have no idea of letting him go into that Sodom and Gomorrah from which our dear Lord keeps the rain of fire and brimstone by His long-suffering alone."

"But you know this Sodom and Gomorrah only by hearsay, Regine," interrupted Herbert sarcastically. "You have lived in Burgsdorf ever since your marriage, but your son must one day enter life as a man—you must acknowledge that."

"I do not acknowledge anything," declared Frau von Eschenhagen stubbornly. "Willy shall be a thoroughly capable farmer. He is fitted for that and does not need your learned trash for it. Or do you, perhaps, wish to take him in training for a diplomat. That would be capital fun!"

She laughed loudly, and Willy, to whom this proposition seemed as ridiculous, joined in in the same key.

Herr von Wallmoden did not indulge in this hilarity, which seemed to jar upon his nerves. He only shrugged his shoulders.

"I do not intend that, indeed; it would probably be lost pains; but I and Willibald are now the only representatives of the family, and if I should remain unmarried—"

"If? Are you contemplating marriage in your old age?" interrupted his sister in her inconsiderate manner.

"I am forty-five years old, dear Regine. That is not usually considered old in a man," said Wallmoden, somewhat offended. "At any rate, I consider a late contracted marriage the best, because then one is not influenced by passion as was Falkenried to his great misfortune, but one allows reason to guide the decision."

"May God help me! Must Willy wait until he has fifty years upon his back and gray hairs upon his head before he marries!" exclaimed Frau von Eschenhagen, horrified.

"No; for he must consider the fact that he is an only son and future lord of the estates; besides, it will depend upon an individual attachment. What do you say, Willibald?"

The young future lord, who had just finished his ham and eggs, and was now turning with unappeased appetite to the wurst, was apparently greatly surprised at having his opinion asked. Such a thing happened so seldom that he was now thrown into a spell of deep musing, declaring as the result of it:

"Yes; I shall probably have to marry some time, but mamma will find me a wife when the time comes."

"That she will, my boy," affirmed Frau von Eschenhagen. "That is my affair; you do not need to worry about it at all. You will remain here in Burgsdorf, where I shall have you under my eyes. Universities and travels are not to be considered—that is decided."

She threw a challenging glance at her brother, but he was regarding with a kind of horror the enormous amount of eatables which his nephew was piling upon his plate for the second time.

"Do you always have such a healthy appetite, Willy?" he asked.