IX.
For a while neither the baron nor Jenny spoke a word. The girl folded both handkerchiefs flat , and pressed the wet bandages gently to the wounded temple.
“Is Sály gone far already?” he asked at last.
“A little way.”
“Is she out of hearing?”
Jenny did not answer.
“Why do you not answer me?”
“I have promised your sister to take the greatest care of you till the doctor arrives; and speaking is most injurious for you in your present dangerous state.”
“This is not the tone you spoke to me in a little while ago. But I have deceived myself; I am foolish—I— ”
Jenny remained silent.
“I thought—I fancied that you said to me—Edmund; you—perhaps it was a dream—perhaps it was truth! And I deserved it, for—I—I love you, Jenny!”
”Still she did not utter a word.
“Why did you recall me to life? It would have been better for me had you not done so. I tell you it would have been better for me, as you are so proud, so void of feeling, so heartless—even when you see me on the brink of the grave!”
“You are raving; your head is beginning to burn with fever. I must go and wet the handkerchiefs in fresh water.”
“Go! I understand you. You are sorry that my head lies so comfortably on your lap. Put me down on the grass. I do not want to have any more bandages from you. Oh, Jenny, one day you will have to answer before heaven for your treatment of me in my dying hour!”
Jenny felt a pain at her heart; tears rushed from her eyes, not in drops—in streams. The painful reproaches of Mundy agitated her so much that she felt almost choking. She tried to speak, but could not. Only after a while she uttered, with an almost inarticulate cry, the one word—“Edmund!”
The baron heaved a sigh. Jenny’s tears fell fast on his brow and cheeks. His own eyes filled with tears too, but he did not speak. He took possession of her right hand, drew it to him, and impressed a long kiss upon it. After a moment’s hesitation the young girl withdrew her hand from his, and of her own accord kissed his lips.
“God bless you for that, Jenny!” he said fervently, trying with all his might to raise himself; but he had not strength to do so, and Jenny would not allow it.
A long silence followed.
“I am in a pitiable position,” began the baron again "and that I know it, and yet do not try to emancipate myself from it, is the saddest part of all. I am a man in my own right—am my father’s lawful heir, and in possession of all my faculties and senses; and yet—I am a slave, a mere nonentity in my own house! Don’t I play, in your eyes, a very despicable part?”
Jenny remembered Father Cvok’s opinion of Mundy and answered gravely, “A dutiful and obedient son, even when come to the years of full manhood, is not, and never can be, a despicable sight.”
“Indeed! Is that your real opinion?”
“Yes. I only say what I think.”
“If you only say what you think, why did you not accept my letter three weeks ago?”
“I explained why I could not receive it in my answer.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“I did not until to-day; but from this time I do and will trust you.”
“Repeat the dear word once more, Jenny.”
“I do trust you.”
“That is enough—that satisfies me, and gives new life to my shattered frame and peace to my mind. My left arm hurts me dreadfully! It is broken—and I have lost much blood. I am growing faint”
“The baron’s eyes closed from weakness, and his right hand, which up to this had grasped Jenny’s, dropped powerless by his side. Jenny, never taking her eyes off his face, grew more and more anxious. He seemed to be getting worse, and not to have exaggerated a little while ago when he said he was dying. The blood vanished from her cheeks, her lips became blue, and big drops of perspiration stood out on her brow. Filled with restless fears, and with despair in her heart, she felt as if her very soul was held in a vice!
She looked anxiously up the avenue; there was no sign of any one yet. She acknowledged to herself that it was not possible for either the doctor or a carriage to arrive so soon; but, distracted as she was with anxiety, every minute seemed an eternity.
“Are you asleep?” she whispered.
“Oh no; sleep is impossible; the pain in my arm is so great. My head feels quite stunned; the wound is burning!”
Jenny’s tears fell fast afresh.
“Believe me, Jenny,” said the baron, in a low, faint voice, “I would gladly die here, in your arms—only for the thought that”
“Be brave and patient, Edmund; you will not die. The doctor and the carriage will be here very soon now.”
“Will you be my wife, Jenny?”
“If it is only possible, Edmund, I will—gladly!”
“Your voice is trembling, dearest. If it were not for my unhappy mother, you—you would—already”
“Let us hope, dear Edmund.”
“Where is there—a woman of our station—with a heart like yours, my Jenny?”
“I entreat you, Edmund, do not speak. Spare yourself; do not exhaust yourself now with these agitating thoughts.”
The baron was silent for a few moments; then he began again, stopping at intervals. “Prejudices have great weight—from the very cradle they are fostered in us; but real, true feeling cannot be crushed down. These last three weeks—the superhuman effort before the searching eyes of my mother—and of her spies”
“For God’s sake, Edmund, I beg of you not to speak—not to agitate yourself! Every word and thought exhausts your strength in your present state. I beg of you, try to keep calm.”
“I will put my trust in God. He has brought us together here.”
“Thanks be to Heaven! Here is the carriage coming at last! Now there is medical aid at hand; you will be saved, dear Edmund!
The baron only moved his head a little impatiently.
The carriage drove up to the lovers. The castle doctor was in it, and one of the clerks belonging to the farming department; on the box beside the coachman, old Ferdiland. They stepped out silently, and the coachman drove on to the open space near the pond, to turn the carriage round. In the mean time the doctor made a ilight examination as to the extent of the baron’s injuries, and poured a few drops of some stimulant into his mouth. He then ordered the two men to raise the baron carefully and bring him to the carriage. The doctor got in first, and the men laid their severely injured master into his arms. Jenny and the clerk sat down opposite, and the carriage drove, as fast as the unevenness of the avenue permitted, to the castle. During the drive only a few words were exchanged between the doctor and Jenny.
The news of the accident spread like wildfire; in the village, in the farmyard, at the castle, everybody and everything was in a state of commotion; for Baron Mundy was a much greater favourite than his mother ever was or ever would be.
He was brought into his own room, where his bed had been already prepared; and the doctor with the other two men remained with him.
The coachman drove off at a gallop to the old farmyard for the head overseer, Rambousek, who was well known all over the country for his skill in setting broken bones. Another messenger had been already despatched on horseback for the old baroness.
Jenny went to her room, and sank helplessly into an armchair. She folded her hands in her lap, and kept looking at the door, in constant dread of some one coming to announce that the baron was no more. She sat so for more than an hour. No one thought of her, no one offered the worn-out young girl even a glass of water. At last she stood up and went to the passage leading to the baron’s apartments. All was as still and quiet there as if it were midnight. She stood at a window and waited till some one should come out of the baron’s room. No one came. She was distracted with impatience and uncertainty. At last the door opened, and the overseer, Rambousek, came out. Jenny hastened towards him and asked—
“How is the baron? Will his life be spared?”
“Well, he is badly bruised, my dear young lady; his left arm is broken in two places—here—below the shoulder. But that is nothing; I’ve just set it for him. The wound on his head the doctor has sewed up and patched already—that would not signify much either; but ’tis his brains that I’m afraid of. You see, the brains are a curious and ticklish part of the body, and when they get shaken by such a fall as this was, it often happens that sense and reason are lost.”
“How dreadful! But is there no hope? Will he die?”
“Oh no, there is no fear of that. The doctor is shaking his head, it is true; but that is always the way with these learned men, that they may be able to brag afterwards what a fine cure they have made. But I’m no youngster, miss, and I’d bet the best tooth in my head that the baron will be all right in the course of three or four weeks.”
A weight fell from Jenny’s mind, her heart bounded with joy; Rambousek’s words filled her with hope, for they sounded like simple, undoubted truth.
But her exultation was unexpectedly disturbed by a thrill discord. Just at that moment the old baroness entered the corridor in her travelling costume. Directly she saw the companion standing there, she began to scold her, without the least consideration, before the overseer, and said in an angry voice—
“I am surprised to find you here, Miss Jenny; how can you think of leaving the young baroness alone at such a painful, anxious time? Be good enough to go to her immediately. If we should want your services here, we shall have you summoned.”
Jenny bowed without a word, and went to her own room.