"'Ah! stay with thy clearness.Precious light, with us stay;Let thy truth shine upon us,That we go not astray.'
"'Ah! stay with thy clearness.Precious light, with us stay;Let thy truth shine upon us,That we go not astray.'
"Ah, yes, clearness, clearness and truth and peace; help us in all time of need! I knew Klaus, I knew Anna Maria. An almost exaggerated sense of duty, an iron will when she thought she was doing the right thing, inflexibility—that was the Hegewitz character; good, solid qualities when they got on peaceably together, but thus? And there was Stürmer coming out of the church door; he had not waited till the hymn was finished, and was now hastening up to me.
"'Fräulein Rosamond, you still here?' he asked. 'Who——'
"But I did not give him time to finish. 'Come, Edwin, give me your arm, I have been waiting for some one to escort me back.' And actually dragging away the astonished man, I succeeded in getting him into the park without betraying the presence of Klaus and Anna Maria in the little room.
"'And now, a thousand times welcome, dear Edwin,' said I, breathing freely again, as we walked under the shady trees. 'How have you been? How delightful it is to have you here again, and how well and strong you are looking!'
"He bent to kiss my hand. 'Yes, thank God that I am among old friends again!' he replied heartily. 'How have things gone here? But why do I ask? Well, of course; at least, I saw you all unaltered in church. But I would like to ask, at the risk of appearing curious, who was the young lady who—oh!' He stopped, and pointed toward the thick, dark shrubbery at one side, holding my arm so firmly in his that I was obliged to stand still.
"There sat Susanna in the deepest shade of the thicket. She was leaning her elbows on the table, and her oval face rested on her clasped hands; motionless, like a lovely statue, she was looking down before her.
"A golden sunbeam flitted back and forth over the white figure; an expression full of pain and woe lay on the lovely face, which I had never before seen so sad and tearful.
"'The poor child!' I sighed involuntarily. And as Stürmer almost forced me into a side-path, I briefly satisfied his curiosity. 'She is the daughter of Professor Mattoni; you remember Klaus's old tutor?'
"My head was in a whirl, for I knew not what more might happen to-day.
"'And is she to live here always?' inquired Edwin Stürmer.
"'Yes—no!' I returned hesitatingly; I did not know what to answer. I sought to reach the terrace and garden-parlor as quickly as possible, and to my inexpressible relief saw Klaus, as if transported there by magic, coming to the door to meet his guest; an uninitiated person would scarcely have seen the slight cloud on his brow.
"I did not linger with them, but went to seek Anna Maria, and found her in the sitting-room, pale but calm. I was glad to avoid the greeting between her and Stürmer, and caught only his look as he bent low over her hands.
"Anna Maria was a perfect enigma to me; I understood the outbreak of passion of last evening as little as this decided opposition to-day. Yet the latter was less inexplicable, for she too, must have seen the sparks already glowing in Klaus's heart. But she had taken the wrong course. Any man of chivalry, if told that he must turn a weak, helpless woman out of the house where she has found a shelter, will refuse to do it; particularly if she be as young, as strikingly beautiful as Susanna, and—if he is already in love with her. To me it was an incontestable fact: Klaus loved the girl! Perhaps he did not know yet himself how much; but that he did love her I had seen and—feared.
"I came to the table in a thoroughly unpleasant frame of mind. 'To-day is the beginning of the end: what will the end be?' I said to myself, sighing. That was a strange dinner; Susanna had excused herself, Klaus was chary of words, and Anna Maria forced herself to be talkative and affable in a way quite contrary to her nature; a little red spot burned on her chin, the sign of violent agitation.
"Brockelmann announced that the old actress had suddenly arrived; to be sure, I had quite forgotten about her. Anna Maria made no answer; Klaus looked sharply at her, and then gave orders for the old woman to be given some dinner. Stürmer talked a long time about his travels, and Pastor Grüne came to coffee. The gentlemen were soon involved in a scientific conversation about the excavations at Pompeii, at which Stürmer had been present several times, and Anna Maria walked slowly up and down on the terrace, now and then casting a look at the gentlemen, through the open door of the garden-parlor.
"I sat under the shady roof of the wild-grape, and knitted, and followed her with my eyes. Anna Maria had on a light-blue linen dress, and a thin white cape over her rosy shoulders; her heavy plaits shimmered like gold, and her complexion was fresh as a flower. Anna Maria had made her toilet with especial care to-day; she was the picture of a typical North German woman, tall, fair, slender, and clear-sighted, serene, and calm.
"All at once she stopped in front of me. 'Aunt Rosamond, do you think that Susanna Mattoni has been overworked in any way? I mean, can her temporary weakness be the result of that?'
"'Yes, Anna Maria,' I replied, 'I am convinced of it, for she had not been accustomed to doing anything. She has hitherto sat in a cage like a bird; when such a creature tries to fly all at once, it is soon made lame by the motion.'
"She made no reply, and continued her walking. The conversation grew louder indoors; the gentlemen were now sitting over their Rhine wine. The cool breeze of approaching evening began to blow, and the sun was hidden behind a bank of clouds.
"'Ah! Stürmer, do stay till evening,' I heard Klaus say. 'It will never do not to finish the day together, after beginning it so; do not pervert our good old custom.'
"Anna Maria stood still and listened. But instead of an answer we heard the chairs pushed back, and then Klaus's voice again:
"'Ah! Susanna, have you quite recovered? Allow me to present Baron Stürmer.'
"Anna Maria turned and looked out toward the garden.
"Pastor Grüne inquired after the health of the young girl, and soon they all came out on the terrace. Susanna went up to Anna Maria at once, and held out her hand, saying: 'Forgive me for having frightened you this morning. I do not know how it happened; everything grew dark before my eyes, and——'
"'Oh! certainly,' interrupted Anna Maria, touching the girl's hand but lightly; 'I was not at all frightened; a swoon is nothing so unusual.'
"Susanna blushed up to her black curls, and sat down quietly by my side.
"'Has Isa gone?' I asked her.
"She nodded. 'She went half an hour ago.'
"'Just where does she live?' I inquired.
"'In Dambitz,' was the reply.
"I let my work drop from astonishment. 'In Dambitz? How did she happen to go to Dambitz?'
"'S—— was too far away, Fräulein Rosamond,' stammered Susanna shyly, 'and so she has hired a little room there at the blacksmith's. But she says she does not notice the noise of the forge at all; her windows look out on the castle garden, and that is wonderful, she says. She may live there, may she not?' she added, beseechingly; 'it is certainly far enough from here.'
"'Of course she can live where she pleases, Susanna,' said I; 'we have no right to lay down commands about that.'
"Meanwhile Brockelmann had set the table for supper on the terrace, and we seated ourselves. Candles were now burning on the table, and their unsteady, flickering light fell on Susanna's beautiful pale face. Her white dress was made quite fresh again, and even the withered roses were replaced by fresh ones; one could see that the old Isabella had been helping the child.
"Susanna was seated between Klaus and me, Stürmer and Anna Maria opposite. There was a strawberrybowleon the table, and Susanna drank eagerly; gradually color came into her cheeks, and her dark eyes began to shine. And then all at once she was in her element—laughing, jesting, and mirth. And how she could laugh! I have never heard such a laugh as Susanna Mattoni's. It ran the whole compass of the scale, so light and delicious that one was forced to join in it; and as she laughed, her red mouth displayed the prettiest white teeth, and prattled mere nonsense and follies, and as she held high her glass to touch with Stürmer, I saw Klaus look at her with an expression that spoke even more plainly than his trembling voice yesterday.
"Anna Maria sat silent opposite her, and not the faintest smile passed over her lips; this graceful trifling was decidedly unpleasant to her. But Susanna had the majority on her side, for even honest old Pastor Grüne did not conceal the fact that he was fascinated by her.
"I tried to think how I might silence the little red lips, but in vain. At last a thought struck me. 'Susanna 'I cried in the midst of her sweet laugh, 'Susanna, what do you say to a song? I heard you singing so prettily last evening.'
"'Ah! no, no, Mademoiselle,' she objected; 'I cannot sing before people.'
"But the gentlemen echoed my request with one voice, and Stürmer proposed to extinguish the candles, saying that one could surely sing better by moonlight.
"'Yes, yes!' she said joyfully, 'then I will sing!' And soon the reddish light had disappeared, and the pale moon's silvery rays fell on the bright figure of the girl, who had sprung up and was now standing by the railing.
"'What shall I sing?' she asked, 'Italian or German?'
"'German! German!' cried the gentlemen.
"'Oh! please Susanna,' said I, 'the song you were singing last evening; Anna Maria and I did not understand the words very well.'
"Anna Maria suddenly rose, but as if thinking better of it, sat down again. Stürmer had turned half around in his chair and was looking at Susanna.
"And now she began, leaning on the balustrade; and the same tones came to us, soft and sweet, and the same words we had heard last evening:
"'Far through the world I have wandered away,And the old strife goes with me wherever I stray;Home have I come, and my heart burns with pain,Ah, that I only could wander again!I am held not by walls, not by bolts, not by bars—Two great blue eyes hold me, that shine like the stars IAnd were but my fiery steed by my side,Again on his willing back fain would I ride;He would bear me away, far away from my home—But I've seen thee again, and can never more roam!'
"'Far through the world I have wandered away,And the old strife goes with me wherever I stray;Home have I come, and my heart burns with pain,Ah, that I only could wander again!I am held not by walls, not by bolts, not by bars—Two great blue eyes hold me, that shine like the stars IAnd were but my fiery steed by my side,Again on his willing back fain would I ride;He would bear me away, far away from my home—But I've seen thee again, and can never more roam!'
"I looked at Anna Maria in alarm, but her face was turned away, and only in her trembling white hands, which she had clasped, did I detect the agitation wrought in her by this song. Who had thought of such a song? And Stürmer? He had sprung up and stood close by Susanna.
"'Another song, Fräulein,' he demanded, almost vehemently, 'a different one. You are much too young for such melancholy!'
"'A German knows no different songs, Herr Baron,' objected Pastor Grüne. 'Old national songs are sad, usually the lament for a faithless love, for a dead treasure. Let our nation be as it is in this. I would rather have one little German national song than a dozen Frenchchansons.'
"Stürmer did not answer, and there was a painful silence.
"'Another song?' asked Susanna at last—'a lively one?'
"'Yes!' cried Klaus, 'a lively one, a hunting-song, Susanna, or a drinking-song! 'He had risen in embarrassment at the critical situation, and filled his glass afresh.
"And Susanna began, in a merry strain:
"'In the early mornA-hunting I went,Past my darling's houseMy steps I bent."'Up to the windowA glance I threw.Ah! if she would look down,Good luck would ensue."'In vain, she's still dreaming;But something stirred.By the apple-tree yonderA laugh was heard."'And bright as the rosyMorning so fair,My dear little treasureI saw standing there."'Nodding and smiling,She beckoned away,But not one lucky shotHad I on that day."'Are they bewitched, then,My powder and lead?Each ball flies away,Bringing down nothing dead.'
"'In the early mornA-hunting I went,Past my darling's houseMy steps I bent.
"'Up to the windowA glance I threw.Ah! if she would look down,Good luck would ensue.
"'In vain, she's still dreaming;But something stirred.By the apple-tree yonderA laugh was heard.
"'And bright as the rosyMorning so fair,My dear little treasureI saw standing there.
"'Nodding and smiling,She beckoned away,But not one lucky shotHad I on that day.
"'Are they bewitched, then,My powder and lead?Each ball flies away,Bringing down nothing dead.'
"Susanna suddenly stopped, as if exhausted, and drew a long breath. The laugh had vanished for a moment from her face.
"'More, more!' cried the gentlemen. 'The charming song cannot possibly be finished?' asked Stürmer.
"'No, the conclusion is surely wanting,' added Pastor Grüne. And Susanna drew a long breath and sang on:
"'And again past the houseI was going to-day;Little grandmother peeped at meOver the way."'With a shake of the head.She calls with sweet grace,"God greet you, and are youOff to the chase?""'And with all my mightI cursed the old dame;But my arm remained steady,I missed no aim."'And when in surpriseI told Liebchen the tale.She began to laughIn a perfect gale.'
"'And again past the houseI was going to-day;Little grandmother peeped at meOver the way.
"'With a shake of the head.She calls with sweet grace,"God greet you, and are youOff to the chase?"
"'And with all my mightI cursed the old dame;But my arm remained steady,I missed no aim.
"'And when in surpriseI told Liebchen the tale.She began to laughIn a perfect gale.'
"The last verse ended in a real laugh, so roguish and charming and so irresistible that we were all drawn into it.
"'Now that is enough!' she cried at last. 'Oh! I do so like to hear how people have to laugh with me when I begin! Oh! I have done it so often when Isa tried to scold me, but now'—she suddenly stopped—'I haven't laughed for so long, I thought I should have forgotten how, but, thank fortune, I can still do it! Oh, I do like to laugh so!'
"Anna Maria rose and went into the garden-parlor, as if she had something to attend to there, but she did not come back, nor did she come when Stürmer and the clergyman wished to take their leave of her. Klaus looked for her in the sitting-room, and even went up to her bedroom, but he returned alone, and the gentlemen had to leave without bidding her good-by.
"'Pray excuse Anna Maria, dear Edwin,' I heard Klaus say; 'she probably does not dream of your going so early; you are certainly in a great hurry.'
"It was true; Stürmer's departure was very abrupt; toward the last he had scarcely spoken a word. I thought it was because he was reminded of his first love; that melody and the words still kept ringing in my ears; an unfortunate song!
"Susanna had long been in bed when Klaus and I stood together in the sitting-room again. I had firmly resolved to inform him of my observations of the evening before, for I saw that Anna Maria was not to be spoken to again about Susanna.
"'Klaus!' I began. He was walking slowly up and down, his hands behind him, and an anxious wrinkle on his brow. 'Klaus, do you know where the old actress is living now?'
"He stood still. 'No, aunt, but—do not take offence—it is quite a matter of indifference to me. Forgive me, my head is so full.'
"I was silent. 'Good!' thought I; 'he is indifferent at last, then.'
"'Please tell me,' he now turned around to me, 'what you think about Anna Maria? I do not understand her at all as she is now.'
"'You do not either of you understand each other, as you are now,' I replied, not without sharpness.
"Klaus blushed. 'That may be,' he said, stroking his face.
"'Klaus,' I continued, 'do not let it go further, do not let this discord between you take root. You are the eldest, Klaus, a reasonable man——'
"'No, aunt, no; in this I am right!' he interrupted vehemently. 'You do not know what passed between us this morning——'
"He broke off abruptly and turned to his newspaper at at the table, for Anna Maria had come in. The basket of keys hung at her side, and she had tied a white apron over her dress. Brockelmann followed her with the silver that had been in use to-day, and was now rubbed up, ready to be put away. Anna Maria opened the carved corner-cupboard, and began to lay away the shining silver, piece by piece, in its place.
"Klaus had seated himself and was turning over the newspapers; the clock already pointed to midnight. The windows were open, and from time to time faint flashes of lightning lighted up the sky over the barns and stables. I had become wide awake again all at once; I could not and would not let these two be alone again to-night; they should not speak together about Susanna.
"But Anna Maria now closed the cupboard and went up to her brother. 'Klaus,' she said in a soft voice, 'let us not leave each other thus; let us talk the matter over once more, quietly.'
"He laid down the paper and looked at her in surprise. A faint flush lay on her face, and her attitude was almost beseeching. 'Gladly, Anna Maria,' he replied, rising; 'you mean concerning Susanna's future employment? Have you any proposals to make?'
"'Yes,' she said, firmly; and after a pause continued: 'I will yield to your opinion that physical labor is not the right thing for Susanna. But a life of dreamy idleness I consider far more injurious to her. Indeed, Klaus, my personal feelings toward Susanna do not speak in this. I do not hate her, but that her nature is uncongenial to me I must own. So, then, without regard to that, Klaus, I must repeat what I said this morning: let Susanna go away from here, take care of her somewhere else; she is out of place here; do it for her own sake.'
"She had spoken beseechingly, and stepping nearer him, laid her right hand on his shoulder.
"'Well, what more?' he asked, rapidly stroking his beard. 'Where would you think best to banish this child?'
"'Send her to a good boarding-school; let her be a teacher; she is poor, and it is an honorable position, or——'
"'You are probably thinking of Mademoiselle Lenon in this connection, Anna Maria?' rejoined Klaus. 'I still have her "honorable position" distinctly before my eyes, which she held in dealing with your stubbornness. If there ever was a being totally unfit to take upon herself the martyrdom of a governess, it is Susanna Mattoni!'
"A slight shadow passed over Anna Maria's face as he spoke of her stubbornness, but she was silent.
"'Perhaps,' continued Klaus bitterly, 'you would also like to make an actress of her because she happens to have a voice and recites charmingly.' He pushed away the newspapers and sprang up. 'I am unutterably exasperated, Anna Maria, that you should venture to repeat this proposition. I was not prepared for it, I must confess! What makes you appear so hostile toward Susanna? Do you know, you who live here in happy security, what it means for a girl so young, so inexperienced, to be thus thrust into the world? Surely not! You fulfil your duties here, you care and labor as hundreds would not do in your place; but here you act the mistress, inapproachable, untouched by all the common things of life. You do not know, even by name, those humiliations which a woman in a dependent position must endure. I know, indeed, that hundredsmustendure them, and hundreds, perhaps, do not feel what they are deprived of; but this girlwouldfeel it, and would be unhappy, most unhappy!
"He paused for a moment and looked at Anna Maria. She had clasped her hands, and coldly and steadily returned his look; an almost mocking smile lay on her lips, and put Klaus beside himself.
"'You certainly have no comprehension of this!' he cried, his face flushed with anger. 'You have everything, Anna Maria, but you have never possessed a heart! You can do everything but that which glorifies and ennobles a woman—love. Anna Maria, that you cannot do! I feel deep pity for you, for you lack a woman's sweetest charm; love and pity go hand-in-hand. I could not imagine you as a solicitous wife, or even as a mother; how can I expect pity for a strange child?'
"'Klaus! for God's sake, stop!' I entreated in mortal terror, for Anna Maria had grown pale as death, and her eyes stared out into the dark night with a vacant, terrified expression, but not a word of defence passed her lips. Klaus shook off my hand, and continued with unchecked vehemence:
"'It is time for me to tell you, Anna Maria; it must be said some time. I am your guardian, and it is my right and my duty. I must, alas! accuse myself of having given you too much liberty, and you have abused it. You have become cold and hard; I said before I could not imagine you as a loving mother, as a wife—that you will never be, for you will not bend. You would never do a rash, thoughtless act, but you are unable to make a sacrifice from real affection from your innermost heart—because you do not understand loving, Anna Maria. As I looked at Edwin to-day, my heart and courage sank; if ever a man was created to win a maiden's love, it is he! But you, Anna Maria, just as you let him go away, so you will let Susanna; it is not hard for you, because you have no heart——'
"'Stop, Klaus, stop!' Anna Maria's voice rang through the room, in piercing woe; despairingly she stretched out her arms toward him. 'Say nothing more, not one word; I cannot bear it!' One could see that she wanted to say more; her trembling lips parted, but no sound passed them, and in another moment she had turned and gone quickly out of the room.
"'Oh, Klaus!' I cried, weeping, 'you were too hard; you had no occasion to speak so!' But I stood alone in my tears, for Klaus also left the room, for the first time failing to pay attention to his aunt, and slammed the door behind him.
"Yes, I stood alone and believed myself dreaming! Was this the comfortable old room at Bütze, where formerly peace had dwelt bodily? The candles flickered restlessly on the table, a chilling draught of air came through the open window, and thunder faintly muttered in the distance. No, peace had flown, and injustice, care, and animosity had entered, had pressed their way between two human hearts which till now had been united in true love; and there, up-stairs, lay and slept a fair young fellow-creature, and the picture of the Mischief-maker smiled down on her, as if glad of a successor. Yes, Klaus was right, and Anna Maria was right; how was the difference to be made up? Ah! how quickly is a bitter, crushing word said and heard, but a whole world of tears cannot make it unsaid again."
"I could not sleep that night; I rose from my bed again and sat down by my window in the gray dawn, and my old heart was fearful for what must come now. I loved both the children so much, and, God knows, I would have given years of my useless life if I could have blotted out the last few months. And I was groping about wholly in the dark, for Anna Maria was reserved and uncommunicative, and Klaus—what would he do? He could not come and say, 'Aunt Rosamond, I love Susanna Mattoni, and I wish to marry her!' I should have had to throw up my hands and laugh! Klaus, the last Hegewitz, and Susanna Mattoni, the child of an obscure actress! And Klaus would have had to laugh with me.
"It was a rainy day, just beginning; wonderfully cool air came through the open windows and the leaves rustled in the wind, and the rain pattered on the roofs; the maids were running across the court with their milk-pails, the poultry was being fed, and Brockelmann talking to the maids, and there went the bailiff in the pasture; everything was as usual and yet so different.
"Then a carriage came rolling into the court-yard. Heavens! that was our own with the brown span. It stopped before the front steps, and Klaus came out of the house and greeted the gentleman getting out. I had leaned far out of the window, but now drew back in alarm—it was the doctor, our old Reuter, and at this early hour! Anna Maria was my first thought. I ran out; but no, there she was, just coming out of Susanna's room. She still wore her blue dress of yesterday, but there were blood-stains here and there on the large white apron.
"'Susanna?' I faltered. She nodded, and gave me her hand. 'Go in, aunt; I wish to speak with Reuter first,' she said softly; 'Susanna is ill.' Almost stunned, I let myself be pushed through the open door. The curtains were drawn, but on the chimney-piece a candle was burning, and threw its dim, flickering light on the girl's face, so that I could see the dark fever-roses which had bloomed upon it during the night. Her eyes were wide open, but she did not know me; she thought I was Isa.
"'Isa, I have sung, too; Isa, don't be angry; it was so beautiful in the moonlight, and it did not hurt me at all.' And she began to sing:
"'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain—Oh! that I only could wander again!'
"'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain—Oh! that I only could wander again!'
"And then she passed her small hands over her white night-dress. 'Take away the red flowers, Isa!'
"I laid a white cloth over it for her. Poor child! The swoon, the laughing, the sweet singing, that was already fever.
"Old Reuter came into the room and stepped up to the bed. Anna Maria stood behind him, the torment of expectation on her pale face, and from outside, through the unlatched door, came the sound of heavy breathing; that must be Klaus. The old gentleman felt Susanna's pulse long and cautiously; he was not a man of many words, and one could scarcely find out from him what one's disease was; but he turned at last to Anna Maria:
"'A pitiful little lady, Fräulein; the good God made her expressly for a knick-knack table; wrapped in cotton, sent to the South, and treated like a princess, without making any sort of exertion herself, something might yet be made of her. But first'—he drew his watch from his pocket and took hold of her hand again—'first we have enough to do here. Who will undertake the nursing?'
"'Doctor, do you think that bodily exertion—I mean, very early rising and domestic activity—could be the cause?' asked Anna Maria, with faltering voice.
"'Up at four, and from the kitchen into the cold milk-cellar, and then again in the glowing sun, at the bleaching place, and so alternately, was it not?' asked the old gentleman. 'By all means the surest way to completely prostrate a person of such a constitution; moreover, you might have perceived it before, Fräulein.'
"Anna Maria grew a shade paler. 'But day before yesterday she walked for an hour in the heat, and sang a great deal,' I interposed, for I felt sorry for Anna Maria. "'Then one thing has led to another,' declared the old gentleman. 'Singing is poison—no more of that! Will you undertake the nursing, Fräulein Hegewitz?' he asked me.
"'No, I,' replied Anna Maria.
"'Isa! Isa!' called Susanna.
"'Where is she staying?' asked Anna Maria, while Dr. Reuter had gone out to write a prescription.
"'In Dambitz,' I returned, oppressed; but she did not look at all surprised. She only begged me to stay with Susanna till she had changed her dress, and sent a messenger to the old woman. Then she came back, so as not to stay long away from Susanna's bed, for, strangely enough, Mademoiselle Isa Pfannenschmidt did not appear.
"Anna Maria had sent Brockelmann in a carriage to fetch the old woman. Meanwhile Susanna pushed Anna Maria away with her weak hands, and called 'Isa!' incessantly in her delirium. With a white face Anna Maria pushed her chair behind the curtains and listened to the low, eager whispering of the sick girl. But once the surging blood shot from neck to brow, as Susanna spoke of Klaus, and Anna Maria turned her eyes almost reproachfully toward the door, behind which a light step had just stopped.
"That was surely Klaus again; certainly twenty times during the day he came to the door to listen; yet who could have closed the little red mouth which had just called his name again, quite aloud, and laughed, and talked of bonbons, of moonlight, and of songs?
"On the way to my room I met Brockelmann, who had just returned, and was standing in the corridor by Klaus. Her face was very red; she pointed to my room, and here began to describe, in a voice half-choked with indignation, all that she had found in the dwelling of the old comedian, excepting herself. The blacksmith's wife had told her she had lately boiled some red pomade, and put it in a number of little porcelain jars, and taken them away to sell. She would often go away so, and be gone a fortnight. 'She is an old vagabond,' added Brockelmann, 'a beggar-woman whom the constable ought to shut up in the nearest tower!' And with a contemptuous air she drew forth one of the little boxes in question, which was correctly tied up with gold paper, and bore a label which explained at length the red pomade and its value: 'Rouge de Théâtre, première qualité!'
"'Paint!' said I, smiling.
"'And for these sinful wares she gets a pile of money,' continued the old woman, 'and what does she do with it? She eats cakes and chocolate, and the children at the forge run about with gay silk ribbons on their rough pig-tails; and all around in the corners there were heaps of knick-knacks, enough for ten fools to trim up their caps with. It is a shame!'
"'When is she coming back?' asked Klaus.
"'The Lord only knows; she went away yesterday.' Brockelmann turned to go, irritated by her vain mission, which had taken so much time. But she stopped at the door, and a friendly expression lay on her face. 'I am charged with best greetings from the Herr Baron,' she said; 'he was not a little surprised to see me looking into his garden from the old woman's window; I explained to him shortly what brought me there.'
"'Is the house so near the castle garden?' I asked.
"Brockelmann nodded. 'Yes, indeed, the old woman sees the whole beautiful garden; and what a garden!' With that she went out.
"'It is well, on the whole,' said Klaus, after a pause, 'that the old woman is not there. But will Brockelmann be able to nurse her?'
"'No,' I replied, 'Anna Maria.'
"'Anna Maria?' he asked, and his lip quivered.
"'Klaus,' I begged, 'don't humbug your own self. You must be convinced in your inmost heart that this girl could not have a better nurse than Anna Maria.'
"'I have been perplexed about her,' he answered gloomily.
"'And she about you!' I replied.
"He grew red. 'For what reason?' he asked. 'Because I took this girl under the protection of my house? Because I interfered with an over-taxation of her strength? Because——' he broke on.
"'Anna Maria fears that—well, thatla petitewill be too much spoiled,' I replied.
"Klaus shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, and now?' he asked. 'Listen, aunt, I thought nothing in the world could alter me; I thought I had become a calm, quiet man; but every nerve has twitched since I have been compelled to see how this girl is treated. Once, as a little boy, I looked on, powerless with rage, to see two great boys tormenting a may-bug; they had climbed a tree because I had scratched and bitten them; my small limbs would not carry me up there, but the dumb fury, the rising tumult in my childish heart, I have never forgotten to this day; and I felt exactly the same way when I heard those little feet tripping here and there about the house—on, on, now on the kitchen-stairs, now in the corridor. Do you not suppose I could see how they kept growing more and more weary, and what a mighty effort they made when Anna Maria's merciless voice called, "Here, Susanna!" or "Venez donc, Susanna!" "Quickly, we will go into the milk-cellar!" "Susanna, where is the key of the linen-press?" I was a coward to endure it, not to have interfered till it was too late. Great heavens! it shall be different,' he cried, and his clenched fist fell threateningly on the table. The great, strong man was beside himself with anxiety and rage.
"I did not venture to answer, and after a few minutes he left the room. I heard him lingering again at Susanna's door, and then go away softly. The misfortune was here! Poor Anna Maria! Poor Klaus!
"Toward noon Anna Maria came to me, even paler than before. 'She talks incessantly of Klaus,' she said slowly. 'I knew that it must come, but Klaus did not understand me. She loves him, aunt, believe me.'
"My thoughts were so full of Klaus that I said, quite consistently: 'And he loves her!'
"Anna Maria did not understand me aright. 'What did you say, aunt?' she asked, the weariness all gone from her eyes.
"'I said Klaus is tenderly inclined toward Susanna Mattoni,' I repeated boldly.
"The girl broke into a smile—nay, she even laughed—and I saw her firm white teeth shine for the first time for many a day; then she grew grave. 'How can you joke now, aunt?'
"'Mais, mon ange, I am not joking,' I replied warmly. Anna Maria puzzled me; she must have noticed it for a long time; then why was she so opposed to the child?
"'You are not joking, aunt?' she asked icily. 'Then you little understand how to judge Klaus. Klaus, with his cool reason, his calm nature, he who might have had a wife any day if he had wished, should care for this child—it is ridiculous, perfectly ridiculous!'
"'But, Anna Maria, are you so blind?' I cried.
"'I am not blind,' she replied, with one of her glances which showed plainly her contempt of my opinion. 'Not till I see the two come, united, out of the church will I believe that Klaus loves her, and that, Aunt Rosamond, neither you nor I will live to see.'
"'Stop, Anna Maria!' I begged. 'It is, of course, possible that I am mistaken, but—God grant that you are right,' I added.
"Anna Maria was silent for a moment. 'No,' she said then, as if to herself, lifting up her arms—'no, Klaus is not capable of such an error. I believe in Klaus. His kind heart, his compassion for the orphan, impel him to be hard toward me; our opinions as to Susanna's welfare are so contrary. But I know, aunt, that Klaus loves me so much, that I stand before any other in his heart, so I will gladly bear the harshness; perhaps he has borne something harder for my sake. When Susanna is gone we shall find the old good-will back again.'
"'I do not believe that Susanna will go away, will be allowed to go away,' I threw in, uncertainly, touched by her confidence.
"Her eyes shone. 'Leave that to me, Aunt Rosa,' she replied; 'sheshallgo, take my word for it.'
"'And if you vex Klaus afresh by such a demand?'
"'Klaus desires Susanna's best good, and he will find some other place for her as soon as he learns that he is not an object of indifference to her. Klaus is a man of honor, and a glance will suffice.'
"'What, Anna Maria?' I groaned; 'you would inform him that—that——'
"'Yes,' she replied.
"'I beg you, Anna Maria, do not do it; do not pour oil on the fire, my child; be silent——'
"'Never, aunt; I have been silent too long already!' she said decidedly. 'I saw it coming on, it had to come, and I had not the courage to warn Klaus, and say: "Protect this child from the saddest thing that can come to a maiden's heart; do not let it awaken into a first love, which must then be renounced."'
"'Anna Maria, for Heaven's sake,' I implored, 'how do you know so certainly that Susanna no longer regards Klaus with indifference? You cannot take her feverish talk for anything positive. She talks about Stürmer as well as Klaus. I beg you, keep silent. It is only a conjecture of yours; Susanna may be in a state of uncertainty still, herself.'
"'A precocious, passionate nature, like that girl's?' she asked, and went to the door, about to leave; 'there is nothing uncertain there. I owe it to her.'
"'Anna Maria, let her get well first; it is over-hasty, and may make a dreadful jumble!'
"She did not answer, but gave me a nod that agreed with her earnest look, and then left me alone with my thoughts.
"How sorry I was for her, this young maiden with the heart of an old woman! How this firm confidence in Klaus touched me! I had expected a little jealousy from her, had supposed that Susanna's appearance seemed dangerous enough to her to rob her of her brother's heart; but nothing of all this—that she wished to preserve the girl's peace of mind. She believed in Klaus with a firm, unshaken trust. 'I know that I stand before all others in his heart, only our opinions about Susanna differ widely.' Klaus was a man of honor, Klaus could not marry Susanna; it lay beyond the reach of possibility! A love without this final end was not conceivable to her pure mind; of a passion which could outreach all bounds she seemed to have no foreboding. It did not occur to her to consider her brother's altered manner, his hasty vehemence of the day before, as anything but the expression of his lively anxiety about an orphaned child, as excessive chivalry, as a justified irritation at her energetic opposition; but if she had only first spoken——
"Ah, me! My old head showed me no outlet. What should I do, with whom speak? Neither of them could judge of the matter as it lay now; the only remaining way was to appeal to Susanna's maidenly pride. But dared I? Had I the right to contrive an intrigue behind Klaus's back? For, although I meant well, still it was an intrigue. And suppose that I did tread this by-way, what certainty was there that it would lead to the goal? And how, after all, should I tread it?
"Susanna's illness was violent but brief. The delirium had ceased by the next day, but she lay very feeble for a week after, without speaking or showing interest in anything. But her great eyes continually followed Anna Maria, as she moved noiselessly about the sick-room. Anna Maria's manner toward Susanna was altered; there was a certain gentleness and tenderness about her that became her wonderfully well. Whether it was sympathy with the invalid, or whether she wanted to show the girl whom she had wished to send away from the shelter of her home that she cherished no ill-will toward her, I do not know; at any rate, she took care of her like a loving mother.
"After about a week Susanna raised her head, begged to have the windows opened, and showed an appetite; and when the doctor came he found her sitting up in bed, eating with excellent appetite the prescribed convalescent's dish, a broth of young pigeons.
"'Bravo!' cried the gay little man, 'keep on so! A small glass of Bordeaux, too, would do no harm.'
"'And to-morrow I shall get up!' cried Susanna.
"'Not to-morrow; and day after to-morrow I shall inspect you again before you do it,' answered the doctor.
"Susanna laughed, and then, with the pleasant feeling of returning health, lay back on the pillows, took a hundred-leaved rose from the bunch of flowers which Klaus sent daily through Anna Maria, to be placed by the sick-bed, and asked—what! did I hear aright? Horrified, I turned my head away and looked for Anna Maria; fortunately, she had gone out with the doctor—and asked: 'Has Klaus—Herr von Hegewitz—ever inquired for me?' And as she spoke her dark eyes flashed beneath the long lashes.
"'Oh, yes, Susanna, but he is very much occupied with the harvesting now,' I said deceitfully, 'and he knows you are having the best of care.'
"She nodded. 'And has not Herr von Stürmer been here? Did he not know that I was ill?'
"'Stürmer? Yes, I think he has been here frequently,' I replied.
"'And hasn't he asked at all how I was?' she questioned me further.
"'You are assuming,ma mignonne!' said I, irritated. 'He has inquired for you, perhaps—yes, I remember—nothing more.'
"'How ungallant!' whispered Susanna, sulkily. At that moment the door opened and Brockelmann entered with a little basket of choice apricots, with a fresh rosebud placed here and there among them.
"'An expression of regard from Baron von Stürmer, who sent his wishes for the Fräulein's improvement, hoping that she might like to eat the fruit.' With these words the basket was set down rather roughly on the table beside the bed. The old woman's glance met mine, and in her eyes was plainly to be read: 'Well, let anybody who can understand such a state of affairs; I can't!' But Susanna, with a cry of joy, had seized the basket, and buried her nose in the flowers, inhaling their spicy odor. Then she rested it on her knees, put her delicate arms around it, leaned her head on the dainty handle, and with a happy smile closed her eyes, and thus Anna Maria found her. She frowned at this ecstasy. 'It is very kind of Stürmer,' she said, quietly; 'he always shows such delicate attentions when he knows any one to be ill and suffering.' Then she rang for a plate and silver fruit-knife. 'Give them to me, Susanna; I will prepare some of the beautiful fruit for you.'"
"Late in the afternoon one dull rainy day we were sitting in the garden-parlor, Anna Maria with her sewing, Klaus reading the newspaper and smoking, when Stürmer came in to talk over some matters with Klaus. Then conversation about horses ended in a political discussion, in which Anna Maria took part with a certain degree of liveliness, and Klaus joined warmly, drawing strong whiffs from his pipe. Stürmer, who had never taken a pipe in his mouth, now and then drove back the clouds with his silk handkerchief in sport, and I amused myself with listening to the ready answers which came from Anna Maria's young lips.
"The demeanor of brother and sister toward each other was singular. Anna Maria waited upon her brother with almost humble tenderness, while he seemed distrustful, and then again secretly touched by the self-sacrificing spirit of the nurse who devoted herself to Susanna. He especially avoided looking at her, or speaking to her directly.
"'How is Fräulein Mattoni getting on?' broke in Stürmer in the midst of a well-turned sentence of Klaus's about the recent attempts to make beet-root sugar.
"'Well!' replied Anna Maria; 'she is reading an old family history which I hunted up the other day, and enjoying your delicious apricots. Thank you for them, Stürmer; they give Susanna great pleasure.'
"Then the conversation turned upon the lately deceased Duke of Weimar, Charles Augustus, and from him to his celebrated friend, Goethe, of whom Stürmer affirmed that he was intending to marry again after the death of his wife. Anna Maria rejected the idea incredulously; she could not believe that he, at his great age, would be so foolish. She was a sworn enemy to Goethe. Her plain, straightforward mind had been disagreeably affected by Werther; such an overflow of feeling could but seem strange to her. Goethe's numerous love-affairs set him out in a light which brought the ideal conception of him down to the atmosphere of common mortals. That genius draws different boundaries, that a fiery spirit like his was not to be measured by the common standard, did not occur to her, and so she now indignantly shook her head.
"'A fable!' I, too, cried, smiling.
"'Not at all,' rejoined Stürmer; 'I have it from Von N——, who is correctly informed, depend upon it!'
"'My!' said Klaus, 'he must have become an old icicle by this time, scarcely able to go among people any more.'
"'A man who has created a Gretchen ossify?' threw in Stürmer. 'Never!'
"'And a Werther?' said I, in joke.
"'Werther is insupportable!' declared Anna Maria, 'bombastic, overdrawn! A man who behaves like Werther is in my eyes no man at all, but a weakling!'
"Stürmer's dark eyes looked quietly over at her. 'Your opinion, Fräulein von Hegewitz, is surely a rare one among women. A woman usually discovers from her standpoint, and naturally, that with a lost love the value of life is gone, and why should not this be the case with a man as well? Of course, in a man's occupation, in the demands which his life makes of him, there are a thousand aids offered to enable him more quickly to recover from such a pain. But to regard it purely objectively, that demands such a cool manner of contemplation that I am fain to believe that those who thus judge do not know what loving really means.'
"At these last words Anna Maria had grown as white as the linen on which she was sewing. She dropped her head, as if conscious of guilt, and her trembling hand could scarcely guide the needle. A painful pause ensued; Klaus cast a compassionate glance at Stürmer; it was the first time that he had given expression to the pain of his bitter disappointment in her hearing and ours.
"'Heavens, what a storm!' I cried, as a perfect flood of water was hurled against the windows; even the despised subject of water satisfied me to break the awkward silence.
"'Indeed,' said Stürmer, rising, 'it is bad; I must make haste to get under shelter while it is yet daylight.' He took leave with a haste that left me to imagine he wished to be alone with his bitter feelings.
"'Adieu, dear Edwin,' said I, tenderly, pressing his hand. Neither brother nor sister gave him the customary invitation to spend the evening here. Anna Maria had risen and laid her hand on Klaus's shoulder, who was now standing beside her. She was still very pale, and said her 'Good-night, Stürmer!' with a wearily maintained steadiness.
"As soon as the gentlemen had left the room, she went to the door and opened it impetuously; breathing hard, she stood in the door-way, and the storm blew back her skirts, and the rain-drops beat in her face and lay like pearls on her fair locks. Once or twice it seemed to me as if her bosom heaved with suppressed sobs, so that, in alarm, I turned my head to look around the curtain, but to no purpose, for as Klaus reëntered the room she turned back too, and an almost transfigured expression lay on her face.
"She went up to him and took his arm.
"'Dear brother,' I heard her say, and again there was a quiver in her voice; she leaned her head against his breast. 'Dear Klaus!' she repeated.
"'Anna Maria?' he asked, taking hold of her hand.
"'Klaus, let what has lately passed between us be forgotten! Forgive me for having so violently opposed you; it was very wrong of me——'
"'No, no, my old lass; I was more violent than was necessary,' he replied hastily, drawing her to him; 'we were both in fault.'
"'Yes, Klaus; you see I was not honest; I ought to have spoken at once, but I was not sure enough of it. I did not wish to make you uneasy.'
"'By what?' said Klaus hastily.
"Anna Maria hesitated, but held her brother's arm more firmly. I cleared my throat as a warning from my corner by the window, but Anna Maria paid no attention to it; she acted from quick, firm resolution in all that she did, and when occasion came she bravely met the difficulty, which she thought easy enough to overcome.
"'By telling you of a fact which makes Susanna's remaining in this house questionable,' she said, quietly, but decidedly.
"'The old song again, Anna Maria?' he said. 'Your vehemence did not suffice; do you think to catch me this way?'
"'No, Klaus, in Heaven's name, no!' she replied. 'Something different drives me to you now; I did not mean to speak of Susanna to you again; I wished in this hour only one word from you as of old, a single kind word; that it happened thus was the course of the conversation. Forgive me!'
"'You have judged Susanna very severely, Anna Maria,' Klaus began, after a pause, 'and now you have nursed her devotedly and made up for it a hundred times; and yet the same sentiments?—now, when she is ill, and may perhaps remain sickly?'
"'I have expected too much of Susanna's constitution, Klaus, and day and night I have prayed that God might restore her to health. I have desired only her good, believe me. But my opinion of Susanna's character I cannot alter.'
"They were not standing close together now, but opposite one another. 'But beneath all the show and glitter which I despise there beats a quick, warm human heart, Klaus. Susanna is no longer the child you think to see in her. Susanna has—Susanna is—Susannalovesyou, Klaus!'
"The twilight had gradually deepened. I could no longer see Klaus's face distinctly, but only heard a quick, violent breathing. He did not answer, he stood motionless. 'Foolish child!' thought I, looking at Anna Maria.
"'You do not believe me, Klaus?' she asked, as he remained silent. 'But it is so; I am not mistaken! Susanna talked of you incessantly in her delirium; I know it from a hundred little indications. Such an affection increases daily and hourly—is the girl to become unhappy? Perhaps she does not know it yet herself, but the awakening must surely come.'
"Again no answer. Klaus sat down in the nearest chair, and looked before him, motionless. The servants' supper-bell was now ringing outside, a fresh shower of rain came pelting against the sandstone pavement of the terrace, and there was a spectral light in the great, dim room. I imagined phantoms were rising out of every nook and corner, and the great flowered portière moved slightly, as if some one were standing behind it, listening.
"'You are right,' said Klaus, at length, in a lifeless tone; 'what is to become of her? The wife of a Hegewitz—that is impossible; so you think, do you not, Anna Maria?'
"'Yes,' she replied, simply.
"'Yes,' he repeated, springing up and pacing the room with long steps. 'And whither would you banish the girl?' he asked, stopping before his sister.
"'Notbanish, Klaus; that sounds so different from what I intend,' she said, frankly. 'Take her to apensionin a southern district, perhaps in Switzerland, and so give her an opportunity to thoroughly heal her sick heart.'
"'That sounds reasonable and well-considered,' he returned, bitterly. 'Meanwhile, Susanna is not yet restored to health.' And after a pause he added: 'I have put off for a long time a necessary journey; I shall go to-morrow to O——, in Silesia; I shall be acting to your mind so, shall I not?'
"Anna Maria started. 'To O——, do you say?'
"'Yes,' he replied, very red; 'I have been a little negligent, and affairs are in such a bad condition there a meeting of creditors is unavoidable. Platen has repeatedly urged me to come myself, in order to check the thing; you know my mortgage is the largest, but——'
"'And you have not gone, Klaus?' said Anna Maria reproachfully. 'Why?'
"'I shall start to-morrow morning,' he answered, shortly.
"She evidently did not understand him aright, but she went up to him and put her arms around his neck. 'Do not let a misunderstanding arise between us again, Klaus. Shall I act contrary to my conviction?'
"'No, no!' he replied in a hollow tone; 'I thank you.' But he did not draw her to him, he freed himself from her arms and left the room. Anna Maria stood motionless for a moment looking after him. Then she shook her head energetically, as if to ward off intrusive thoughts, and taking up her basket of keys went out too.
"Half an hour later we were sitting at the supper-table. Anna Maria had brought Klaus from his room; he looked disturbed and let his soup grow cold, and crumbled his bread between his fingers in a distracted manner.
"'Have you been to Susanna's room?' I asked Anna Maria.
"She nodded. 'I was in a hurry, but stopped at her door up-stairs, and called to ask what I should send her for supper. But I got no answer; she was probably asleep, so I closed the door softly and came away.'
"'And what do you intend to tell her as a pretext for her removal?' I asked further.
"'Her health is a sufficiently cogent reason, aunt,' replied Anna Maria.
"I was silent and so were the others; we finished the meal in silence, and then sat silent about the table in the sitting-room, without a suspicion of what was happening meanwhile. Each was occupied with his own thoughts, and without the monotonous rain still fell splashing on the roof and poured from the animals' heads on the gutters upon the pavement of the court. There was an incessant drizzle and splash, and the storm, coming over the heath, swept together the rain-drops, and drove them pelting against the well-protected windows.
"All at once Brockelmann entered the room; frightened and startled her eyes sped about. 'Is not Fräulein Mattoni here?' she asked excitedly.
"'Susanna?' we all three cried with one voice, and Klaus sprang up.
"'She is not in her room! Merciful Heaven, where can she be!' she continued. 'Before supper she got up and dressed herself, laughing and tittering; she meant to go down-stairs to surprise the family. I scolded, but what good did it do? Oh, she must be hiding somewhere!' The old woman's voice was choked with anxiety; Anna Maria had hurried out of the room, and her flying steps reëchoed from the corridor, fear lending her wings. Brockelmann took a candle from the table and began to search the adjoining garden-parlor, and Klaus stood, pale as a corpse, as if rooted to the spot.
"'She must be here!' said I.
"He did not hear. His whole attention was concentrated upon Anna Maria, who was just crossing the threshold, and looked at her brother's serious face with eyes that seemed twice their usual size.
"'She is gone, Klaus,' she said, tremulously; 'I know not whither—why?'
"He stepped past her without a word.
"'Klaus!' Anna Maria called after him, 'take me with you!' But she received no answer. 'She heard it, my God, she heard what I said to him,' she whispered. 'Aunt, I beg you, go with him, do not let him go alone!' She hastened away and came back with shawls and wraps. I could hear from the court the hasty preparations for departure—indeed, how I got to the carriage, where Klaus was already sitting on the box, I do not know to this day.
"It was a half-covered chaise in which we rolled out on the dark highway; the rain beat against the leather hood, and the wind assaulted us with undiminished strength; Klaus's coat-collar flapped in the light of the carriage lamps, whose unsteady light was reflected in the water of the one great puddle into which the whole road was transformed. Klaus drove frantically; to this day I do not understand how we came, safe and sound, in the pitch-dark night, before the Dambitz blacksmith's shop. The little house lay there without a light. When Klaus pounded on the door with his whip-handle the watch-dog gave the alarm, upon which a man's voice soon asked what we wanted, and if anything had happened to the carriage. It happened sometimes, doubtless, that the man was called from his sleep because of an accident.
"'Is your lodger at home?' asked Klaus, in place of an answer.
"'Since this noon, your honor!' was the polite answer. The man knew the master of the Hegewitz manor from his inquiry, for it was known all over the village that the Bütze people had the foster-child of the old actress with them.
"'Is she alone?'
"'Ah! has your honor come on account of the young mam'selle?' cried the man. 'She came here an hour ago, wet as a rat, and is lying in bed up-stairs there. I will open the door at once.'
"Klaus helped me out of the carriage. 'Will you go up to her?' he asked, and pressed my hand so hard that I nearly screamed.
"'Certainly, certainly, my lad!' I made haste to say; 'we will soon have the fugitive back at Bütze.' But sooner said than done. The blacksmith's wife, who had also appeared on the scene, carefully lighted the way up the creaking, dangerous flight of stairs, which I was scarcely able to climb with my lame foot, and there, in the low, whitewashed back room of the forge, stood Isabella Pfannenschmidt before me, like a roused lioness. She stood with outstretched arms before the bed, which was in an alcove-like recess, and was half covered with fantastic hangings of yellow chintz. With theatrical pathos she called to me: 'What do you want? You have no more right to this child!'
"Without further ado I pushed her aside and looked at the bed; from a chaos of blue and red feather-beds emerged Susanna's brown head.
"She turned her face to the wall without looking at me, and remained thus, motionless.
"'Susanna, was that right?' I asked.
"No answer.
"'Why did you run away so suddenly, my child? Do you know that you may have made yourself ill and miserable for life by this recklessness?'
"Silence again, but the breathing grew heavy and loud.
"'You are an obstinate, naughty child!' I continued. You frighten the people who love you half to death, and sin against yourself in an unheard-of manner!'
"The old actress meanwhile stood with folded arms, and an indescribable smile played about her mouth.
"'Are you well enough to get up and drive home with me, Susanna?' I asked.
"'No!' cried the old woman. 'Why should she go to you again? Sooner or later they will be sure to show her the door!'
"'Susanna, Klaus is below; he has been anxious about you; and Anna Maria is impatiently waiting at home. Be reasonable, be good; you owe us an explanation.'
"But in place of an answer a violent fit of coughing followed; she suddenly began to toss about and clutch at the air, and her eyes looked over at me, large and fixed, strangely unconscious. The old actress fell on the bed with a piercing cry, and wound her arms about the girl. 'Oh, Lord, she is dying!'
"Had Klaus heard this cry? I know not; I only know that all at once he was in the room, and pushed the old woman away from the bed, and that that moment decided the fate of two human beings. All that had been fermenting in him for weeks, the stream of his passion which had been wearily held back by cold reason, was set free by the sight of the girl lying thus unconscious. No more restraint was possible; he threw his arms about her, he kissed the little weak hands, the dark hair; he called her his bride, his wife, his beloved; never again, never, should she go from his heart, who was dearer to him than all the world! In dumb horror I heard these impetuous words rush on my ears. Thank God, Isabella Pfannenschmidt had left the room; she had evidently rushed out for a restorative, for tea or water.
"I laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you mad, Klaus? Do you not see that she is sicker than ever?' Susanna now lay in his arms, really swooning; her head had fallen on his shoulder, and the small face, like that of a slumbering child, showed a slight smile on the lips.
"'Aunt,' said the tall, fair man, without getting up, tears shining in his honest blue eyes, 'she shall not die; I should reproach myself with it forever!' He pressed his lips to her forehead again and went out, without looking about him; he sat on the stairs there a long time. Susanna opened her eyes at last, under our efforts. She then let dry clothes be put on her without resistance, but there was no sign, no look, to betray to me whether she had heard Klaus's wild whisperings of love. But she did not for a moment object to accompanying me to Bütze, and energetically chid the old woman's lamentation. Warmly wrapped, I led her over the threshold of the low room; she wavered for a moment, as she saw Klaus on the stairs by the light of the oil-lamp. Then he raised her in his arms, and in the smoking, unsteady light of the lamp, which was being put out by the draught, I saw how he went down the steps with her, how two slender arms were put around his neck, sure and fast. With tottering knees I followed them, to take Susanna Mattoni to Bütze again.
"And the way home! Never has a drive seemed so endless to me. I sat silent beside the girl; I was angry with her, bitterly angry for being loved by Klaus. The pride of a pure and ancient stock arose in my heart in its full strength, and if ever I hated Susanna Mattoni it was on that night, in the dark carriage. Then I felt her lightly touch my clothes, slip to the floor beside me, and embrace my knees and lay her head on my lap. 'I was going away, Fräulein Rosamond,' she whispered; 'why did you come after me?'
"They were only a few simple words, but such a persuasive truth lay in them that my anger vanished almost instantly. A feeling of deep sympathy pulled at my heart, and sent a flood of tears to my eyes.
"What avail the arduously established limits of human law and order, even though uprightly preserved for centuries long, against the storm of a first passion? A single instant—the proud structure lies in ruins, and the crimson banner of love waves victoriously over all considerations, over all reflections.
"I felt Susanna's hot lips on my hand; they burned me like glowing iron. I did not draw away my hand, but left it to her, without pressure, without a sign that I understood her. Before my eyes hovered the image of Anna Maria. 'Oh, Anna Maria, I could not prevent its happening thus!'
"And now the carriage rolled under our gateway, rattled over the paved court, and stopped before the steps. I saw Klaus swing himself down from the box, and saw Anna Maria, in the light of the lantern, standing in the vaulted door-way. Klaus opened the carriage-door; Susanna first raised herself up now, and he carried her like a child up the steps, past Anna Maria, into the house. They had forgotten me; the lame old aunt clambered out of the carriage with Brockelmann's help, and on entering the sitting-room I found Anna Maria and Susanna alone—Susanna, with a feverish glow on her cheeks, in Klaus's arm-chair, Anna Maria standing before her with a cup of hot tea.
"Not a question, not a reproach passed her lips; she silently offered the warming drink, and Susanna silently refused it. 'You must go to bed, Susanna,' she then said. The girl rose and took a step or two, but tottered, and held on to her chair. 'Put your arms around my neck, Susanna!' Anna Maria cried, and in a moment had raised her in her strong arms, and went toward the door as if she were carrying a feather. Brockelmann followed; I heard her muttering away to herself, 'That caps the climax!'
"Utterly exhausted, I sank into my chair. What was to be done now? God grant that Klaus and Anna Maria might not see each other again this evening, only this evening!
"Half an hour had passed when I heard Anna Maria's step in the hall; the door was wide open, and I could distinctly see her tall figure approach, in the faint light of the hall-lamp. She stopped at Klaus's door and knocked. I leaned forward to listen; all was still. 'Klaus!' I heard her say. No answer. Again I thought I detected a suppressed sob in her voice. 'Klaus!' she repeated once more, imploringly, pressing on the latch. She waited a minute or two, then turned away and went up-stairs again.
"'He is angry with her,' I murmured, half aloud, 'and she wants to conciliate him. My God, turn everything to good!' I put out the lights in the sitting-room and went over to Klaus's door and listened. Regular and heavy came the sound of his steps; he was there, then! 'Klaus!' I called, with an energy which frightened myself. The steps came nearer at once, the key was turned, and he opened the door directly.
"'Come in, aunt,' he bade me. I looked at him in alarm, he looked so pale, so exhausted. His hand seized mine. 'It is well that you are looking after me, aunt; something has come over me, I know not how.'
"'And now, Klaus?' I asked, letting him lead me to the sofa, which had descended from my father and still stood on the same spot as of old, under a collection of about fifty deers' antlers, all of which had been taken on the Bütze hunting-grounds, and had decorated that wall as far back as I could remember.
"He had stopped in front of me. 'And now?' he repeated, passing his hand over his forehead. 'It is a strange question,au fond, aunt—Susanna will be my wife. I can give you no other answer.'
"It was out! I had long known that it must come, and yet it fell on me like a blow.
"'Klaus,' I began. But he interrupted me impatiently and indignantly.
"'I know all you would say, aunt; I have said it to myself a hundred times! I know as well as you that Susanna belongs to the common class, that her mother came from doubtful antecedents. I know that Susanna is a trifling, spoiled child, who seems little suited to my seriousness. I know that I am old in comparison to her; and I know, above all, that Anna Maria will never regard her as a sister. Nevertheless, aunt, my resolve stands firm, for I love Susanna Mattoni, love her with all her childish faults, which are hardly to be called faults. I love her in her charming, trifling maidenhood; it will make me happy to be able to educate and guide her further, and the love that Anna Maria denies her I will try to make up to her.'
"I was silent, there was nothing more to be said.
"'You do not look happy, aunt,' he said, bitterly. 'Listen: this afternoon I was thinking of flight; but when Anna Maria said, "Susanna loves you!" it almost crushed me. Amid all the happiness which this revelation opened to me, yet much that has been sacred and not to be trifled with forcibly appealed to me. But when I beheld Susanna, like a dying person, in that poor room, all at once it was clear to me that everything in the world is powerless against a true, deep passion, and then——'
"'And Anna Maria, Klaus?'
"'I cannot talk with her any more this evening, aunt,' he replied; 'wait till I am quieter; there is time enough. I grow violent if I think that it was her words that drove Susanna out in the stormy night. God grant that it may do her no harm!'
"'Yet do not misunderstand the fact, Klaus, that Anna Maria wished Susanna's best good,' I besought him, tears streaming from my eyes. 'Think how she loves you, how her very existence depends upon you. I shall wish from my heart, Klaus, that what you have chosen may be the right thing; but do not expect that Anna Maria will, without a struggle, see you take a step which may perhaps bring you heavy burdens and little happiness.'
"Klaus did not answer. He stood before his writing-desk and looked at Anna Maria's portrait, which she had given him at Christmas three years before; it was painted at the time that she refused Stürmer. The clear blue eyes looked over at Klaus from the proud, grave face, which had the slightest expression of pain about the mouth, as if she were again speaking the words she had said to him at that time: 'I will stay with you, Klaus; I cannot go away from you!'
"'I do not wish to proceed violently, aunt,' he began, after a long pause; 'I am no young blusterer who would take a fortress by storm. Susanna, too, requires rest; she ought not to be disturbed and excited any more now. Believe me, I love Anna Maria very dearly, but I cannot give up a happiness a second time for her sake; then she was a child, and toward the child I had obligations; to-day she is a maiden, who sooner or later will be a wife.'
"'No, no, Klaus," I cried.
"'Very well, not so, then. She is different from others I admit; at any rate, hers is a nature that is sufficient to itself. She is, and remains, in my heart and in my home, my only and beloved sister, who will ever hold the first place, next to—Susanna. But with that she must be satisfied, and in return I demand love, and above all, consideration for her who will be my wife. But, as I said before, I cannot possibly speak quietly with Anna Maria about it now. I will let it wait over, with my absence, perhaps three weeks, perhaps longer, and we shall all have time to become more calm—I, too, Aunt Rosamond. I thought of writing to Anna Maria about this affair, calmly and lovingly, and almost believe it is the best thing to do.'
"'And when shall you start, Klaus?'
"'Frederick is packing my trunk now; the bailiff is coming at four o'clock for a necessary conference; at five the carriage will be at the door.'
"'And does Anna Maria know?'
"'No—I would like—to go without saying good-by.'
"'You will make her angry, Klaus; it is not right.' I sobbed.
"'Let time pass, aunt, that the breach may not grow wider; you know her and you know me. There have been discussions between us of late which have left a thorn in my heart. I do not want to be violent toward her again.'
"'And Susanna?'
"'Susanna knows enough,' he replied, simply; 'you will be so kind as to explain to her that I had to go on a necessary journey, and hope next to see her well and sound again.'
"'Will she not interpret it falsely, after that vehement storm of love to-night?'
"He blushed to the roots of his curly hair.