Stanton was now beside himself with rage. "Then have it; have it!"
The words came in short gasps. "And pay the price for it! The man is your father! Now you know the truth; you can get the details from him!" and Stanton went out slamming the door behind him, the same door through which Von Barwig had gone out in despair the day that Helene dismissed him.
"Herr Von Barwig my father! My father!" Helene sank on her knees and clasped her hands. She was trembling with joy. "Thank God! Thank God! Thank God!"
As Von Barwig partially awoke from his sleep he became dimly conscious that he was not alone. Without opening his eyes he realised where he was, and that he was still sitting by the stove, for he felt the glare of the fire on his face, and his immediate surroundings were familiar.
The snow on the glass roof above, the portmanteau outside his bedroom door, packed and ready to go; the broken balustrade at the back of the hallway, the sink in the corner, the shelf with the lamps on it; all these familiar objects seemed to be present without his looking directly at them. But there was something else, for a dim figure hovered over him like an angel beckoning him to a fairer, happier land; and the perfume of flowers seemed to fill the room.
"I sleep," said Von Barwig to himself, "but I shall soon wake, and then--it will go." Soon the figure began to take form and to his half-conscious mind it seemed to assume the shape of his dead wife. It was her face, her figure as he had known her many, many years ago.
"Elene, Elene!" he murmured, "you have come to take me away from this place. Oh, God, I hope I never wake up!"
The figure now stretched out its arms, and seemed to be handing Von Barwig a bunch of flowers. The old man's eyes were fully opened now, and, as he gazed up, he recognised the face of his beloved pupil. Then he knew that he was not sleeping. The dreaming and waking process had probably occupied but a few seconds of time, but it seemed to Von Barwig to have lasted many hours. Helene was looking down at him now as he sat there, her great blue eyes suffused with tears. She beamed tenderness and love upon him and her outstretched hand held a bunch of orange blossoms.
"You didn't seek me out to-day, so I came to you," she said in a low, tender voice. "I have brought you my orange blossoms!"
Von Barwig did not speak. Another figure now outlined itself to his vision and became flesh and blood--the figure of Beverly Cruger.
It seemed to Von Barwig that young Mr. Cruger looked pale and anxious.
"What does he know?" the old man asked himself. "Is he here to find out?" and in that moment he determined to keep his secret.
Helene waited for Von Barwig to speak, but he remained silent.
"You must think it strange that I should call upon you to-day of all days," she said, shaking her head sadly, "and that I should bring my--my husband with me." She looked around at Beverly and he smiled approvingly. "But I am going away, Herr Von Barwig, and it would be very sad if we never met again; wouldn't it?"
Von Barwig still looked at her sadly, smilingly, but did not speak.
"I feel," she went on sadly, "I always have felt that you never meant to see me again." Von Barwig nodded; he dared not trust himself to speak now.
"What does she know? What does she know?" he asked himself. "Shall her mother's disgrace fall on her young shoulders as a wedding gift from me? No, no, no!"
Again the girl spoke: "I am beginning life all over again; from to-day," she said.
"Ah, that is right!" murmured Von Barwig.
"We were going to spend our honeymoon in Paris," said Helene in a curiously strained voice, for it was all she could do to keep back her tears; "but now we have changed our plans! We are going to the little town where I was born."
Von Barwig drew a deep breath and nodded. "So?"
"We are going to Leipsic," and Helene Cruger looked closely, anxiously, into the old man's face. No sign of recognition was there.
"Shall we go?" she asked after a pause. He shook his head.
"Don't go!" he said simply.
"Why not?" asked Helene, as if his answer meant a great deal to her.
"Leipsic is not a--a pleasant place for honeymoons," he replied evasively.
"That's just what--my--my father said." She was watching him closely now. The expression on Von Barwig's face was unchanged.
"Your father is--right," he said finally.
"I told him to-day after the service," said Helene, "that we were going to Leipsic, and he tried to make me promise not to go. When I refused, he forbade me to go, but he can't forbid me any more; he is beginning to understand that for the first time to-day." She spoke now with a deep-rooted sense of injury Von Barwig could only nod. He knew now that she had made some discovery.
"It's so easy to deceive a child," continued Helene in a voice that must have betrayed the great depth of her feelings. "A child believes everything you tell it. It will grow up on lies, but when that child is older and a woman, then the truth comes out! Herr Von Barwig, the truth comes out!" She looked him full in the face, but still there was no sign.
"What truth?" faltered the old man. He realised now that she knew; but exactly what did she know?
"You ask me that?" she said sadly. "You, my--my--old music master!"
"A music master who taught you nothing," he said evasively.
"Shall I go to Leipsic?" asked Helene.
The old man shook his head. "No!" he articulated faintly.
"Why not?" demanded Helene. There was no reply. "And you won't tell me why?"
"I have told you," faltered Von Barwig.
"What have I done, what have I done!" cried Helene, "that you won't claim me?" Her voice was now choked with sobs and she no longer made any effort to restrain them. "_He_ wouldn't tell me either; he referred me to you. What have I done? I have waited and waited and waited, but you won't speak! You knew me from the first. You must have known me from the likeness. I was under your roof, you were under mine; but you wouldn't claim me. There is some disgrace!" The old man nodded. "Ah, then it's my mother!" cried Helene.
"Your mother? No! No!" cried Von Barwig. "No! she was an angel; an angel of goodness, of purity."
"Then what are you concealing?" cried Helene; "of what are you ashamed?
Of what is he ashamed?"
Von Barwig rocked himself in agony, but at last he forced himself to speak.
"It's a little story of life, of love--foolishness; of--of folly. Ah, it is ended, ended!" wailed the old man. "It is over and done with.
Why should we bring it out into the daylight when it has slept so long over there in Leipsic. Surely it has slept itself into silence. No!
no! The secret is buried there in Leipsic. I--I put these orange blossoms on its grave!" and Von Barwig gently took the flowers from her. "I take them back to Leipsic; a little token of silence she would love."
"Now I know why she cried so constantly," sobbed Helene. "She was thinking of you!" She grasped his hand and looked pleadingly into his face. "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Von Barwig shook his head. "Silence is best! The marriage is over; I have the orange blossoms," and the old man kissed them tenderly.
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" entreated Helene.
"Your husband, what does he say?" said Von Barwig, in a low voice. He felt he could not restrain himself much longer.
Beverly came forward. "He says: 'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?'"
Von Barwig shook his head. The tears were running down his cheeks, and when he tried to withdraw his hand from hers Helene refused to let it go.
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" she said entreatingly.