"A few hours later a carriage drove into the court. I recognized Stürmer's livery, and from my chamber window saw Brockelmann help out the old actress, hardly with the haste of anticipation.
"'There, we really ought to have just such a sort of mother-in-law in the house!' I whispered, and smiled bitterly; but tear after tear fell on my lilac cap-strings. Like misfortune itself, the old woman came up the steps. Ah! Klaus, Klaus, whither have you gone astray?' Our whole family seemed to me unspeakably fallen in this moment, and I could do nothing in the unfortunate affair, but only try to raise Susanna to us, to keep her away from everything which might remind her of the folly, of the frivolity of the sphere from which she sprang; again and again to point out to her what a rich, fair lot had fallen to her; to make her comprehend that the wife of a Hegewitz must also be a pattern of dignity and noble womanhood. I should have much preferred to bundle Isabella Pfannenschmidt into the carriage again, to send her to some place miles away, and against my will I was going out of my door, when I heard her slow, shuffling step in the hall.
"'Please, ma'm'selle, come into my room a minute before you go to Susanna,' I said to her. Frankly confessed, I do not know myself why I did it; but I felt instinctively that I must speak with her first, before she learned the latest turn in Susanna's fate from her own lips.
"The small person came slowly over the threshold, looking at me distrustfully. She seemed to me infinitely wretched in her rumpled bonnet and threadbare silk cloak, her face yellower than ever, and sunken, and she was somewhat bent, as if still suffering pain. She sat down in the nearest chair, and looked at me with her sharp, sullen eyes. I stood before her and tried to speak, yet no word passed my lips. All the craft, all the low sentiments which flashed out of those small eyes toward me reminded me anew of the sort of atmosphere in which Susanna had grown up. I had been walking up and down the room with these thoughts; now I took a seat opposite the old woman, who had silently followed me with her eyes. I wanted to tell her that a great, great happiness had befallen Susanna, and found no words for it. It seemed as if I were choked.
"'I would like to inform you,' I began, hesitatingly, but I got no farther, for Anna Maria came in. 'Dear aunt,' said she, 'I have to speak with Isabella Pfannenschmidt a moment.' I drew a breath of relief, and went into the adjoining room.
"Then I heard Anna Maria's sonorous voice. She spoke of a great piece of good fortune that had come to Susanna, and said that she hoped Susanna would reward so much love, such infinite trust, with all her powers, in order to make the man happy who offered her a name, a home, and a heart.
"Tears came into my eyes again; there was something in Anna Maria's voice that pained me infinitely. I pictured to myself the proud maiden before the vagabond actress, to whom she was now speaking as to an equal. That which I had considered impossible now happened, out of love to her brother. Now I thought the old woman must break out in an ecstasy of joy; I shuddered already at the thought of the theatrical glorification in her darling's good fortune. Far from it; she spoke quietly and coolly. I could not understand her, but it sounded like a murmur of discontent.
"'I do not comprehend you,' Anna Maria said, now icily; 'if I have rightly understood my brother's letter, Susanna gave her assent on the evening when she fled to you. What? Is she, meanwhile, to have changed her mind?'
"Again a murmur; then I heard disconnected words between the old woman's sobs: 'Defence—true love—' and so forth. This homeless woman was as pretentious as a ruling princess making arrangements to give her daughter in marriage to a man of a lower class.
"Then I heard her leave the room. When I reëntered Anna Maria was standing at the window, her forehead pressed against the panes, her clenched hand rested on the window-sill, and her lips were tightly closed.
"'Anna Maria,' said I, 'this person must leave the house.'
"'Klaus may decide that,' she replied, gently; 'I have no longer any voice in this matter.'
"'She is an arrogant thing!' I continued, in my wrath.
"Anna Maria turned. 'Ah, aunt,' said she, 'the old woman loves Susanna like a mother, and such a relative naturally asks, in respect to the most brilliant match: "Will it be for the child's happiness?" I ought not to have taken it amiss; it was unjust in me.'
"I pressed her hand softly. Anna Maria's noble sentiments sprang forth in her pain, like flowers after rain. God grant that she was right in her excuse!
"Half an hour afterward, Isabella Pfannenschmidt came in with Susanna, whose eyes were red with weeping, and hair dishevelled. Isabella led her to Anna Maria, and Susanna made a motion as if to take her hand, but her own fell to her side again, and so, for a moment, the two girls, so unlike, stood opposite each other. Anna Maria had turned pale, to her very lips; then she put her arm about Susanna's delicate shoulders, and drew her to herself. But Susanna slid to the floor, and, sobbing, embraced her knees; it seemed as if she wished to ask forgiveness for a heavy offence, but not a word passed her lips. She only looked up at Anna Maria, with an expression which I shall never forget my life long, she seemed so true in those few moments. But before Anna Maria could stoop to raise the girl, Isabella had already pulled her up with the sharp, quick words: 'Susanna, be sensible!'
"Did the old woman consider prostration before the sister of the future husband too much devotion, or did she fear that thereby her darling was subordinating herself, once for all, to the sister's strictrégime? I could not decide at the time; I did not know till later that this moment was a fearful crisis in Susanna's heart.
"The next three days passed quietly. Anna Maria had given Isabella a little room next Susanna's, had told her Klaus's plans for his wedding; and the old woman agreed to all the arrangements without a word of opposition, but without showing any joy either. The sewing for the trousseau was to be begun immediately after the harvest festival. Isabella had arranged a cushion for lace-making, and under her thin, skilful fingers grew filmy lace of the finest thread—'for the wedding toilet!' she said softly to me.
"Susanna's manner was quite altered; she unsociably avoided not only our company, but Isa's as well. Meanwhile the old woman seemed little concerned that her darling ran about half the day in the wood and garden, looked pale, and ate little or nothing, and now and then started up impetuously from her quiet, absorbed state, looking about with terrified eyes. 'That is the way with people in love,' she would say in excuse, with a peculiar smile, if I worried about Susanna's pale looks.
"In a few days there came a letter from Klaus for Susanna. I went up-stairs to give it to her. The first love-letter, a wonder in every girl's life! With beating heart it is opened, read in the most secret corner, kissed a thousand times, and kept forever. After long years there still rises from such a yellow, crumpled paper a faint odor of roses; a blush flits over the wrinkled cheeks, the dimmest eyes shine once more in recollection of the hour when they first fell on those lines. I was in quite a festive mood. What might not be enclosed in that blue envelope? All the love, all the trust, all the true, noble sentiment that could come only from such a heart as Klaus's! And all this fell like a golden rain into the lap of the little vagabond girl.
"I opened her door and looked in. Isabella sat, making lace, at the open window. Susanna lay on the sofa, her head buried in the cushions, apparently dreaming. The golden autumn sun streamed in through the trees, which were already becoming less shady, and played upon the inlaid floor, and Susanna's little kitten, with a blue ribbon around its neck, was jumping nimbly about after the bright, moving flecks.
"'Susanna, a letter from Klaus!' I cried, going to the sofa.
"She started up, and stared at me with frightened eyes, but she did not reach out for the letter in eager haste; her little hand made rather an averting gesture. Isabella, on the other hand, was standing beside me in an instant. 'A letter from the lover, Susanna!' she cried, cheerfully. 'Well, well, before I would be so affected! Quick, take and read it!' The words had a certain harsh sound, and Susanna seized the letter, took her straw hat from the nearest chair, and slipped out of the door; but it was not the joyous haste of anticipation, it looked rather like a speedy escape from Isa's sharp eyes.
"'A strange child, Fräulein Rosamond,' said the old woman, smiling and shaking her head. 'She is different from others, God bless her!' Then she began to rummage in Susanna's bureau, and brought out a little portfolio, from which she took a sheet of gilt-edged paper, with a bird-of-paradise with outstretched wings, sitting on a rose, on the upper left-hand corner, and arranged blotter, pen, and ink-stand. 'She will want to write immediately, when she has read the letter,' she explained, 'and a first love-letter like that is not easy, for one dips in the pen a hundred times, and still what one would like to say does not come.'
"I went away with the thought that Susanna would know well enough what to write. When the heart speaks, the pen is easily guided. Anna Maria had a great deal to do on this day; the animals were to be killed for the harvest festival. In the housekeeping rooms a restless activity reigned. Marieken was required to help, as on all such occasions, and Brockelmann had poured the flour to be used in cooking for the festival into a great tray in the baking-room. Anna Maria was in the storeroom; I found her sitting on a great sugar-firkin, with a slate in her hands; at her feet lay the scales with different weights, and Brockelmann was just bringing great bowls of raisins and sugar to be weighed for the cakes. Anna Maria wore, as usual, her great white housekeeping apron over her simple dress; her fair hair lay, smooth as a mirror, in luxuriant plaits on her beautifully shaped head; her sleeves, being pushed up a little, exposed her white arms; not a blemish on the whole appearance, from the lace-trimmed mull kerchief about her shoulders to the shapely foot in the little laced shoe. Would Susanna ever practise household duties thus?
"Never! That princess, that will-o'-the-wisp, with the curly hair and little, childish hands! But would Anna Maria remain here forever? Lost in thought, I stood for a moment at the door of the cool cellar. Anna Maria drew a line below her figures, laid the slate aside, and took up a letter. 'From Klaus,' she said, as she caught sight of me. 'I will read it by and by in my room.' On the table lay another letter, significantly smaller than the first, and already opened. Anna Maria noticed that my eyes rested on it a moment, questioningly.
"'Stürmer announces his coming to the harvest festival,' she explained, bending forward quickly and putting something on the table. When she raised her head again a slight flush still lay on her cheeks.
"'You have accepted, Anna Maria?'
"'Yes,' she said, quickly; 'I think it is only right to Klaus.'
"'Klaus has written to Susanna too,' said I; 'did you know it?'
"She quivered, noticeably. 'No,' she replied, 'but that must be.'
"'She has run, the Lord knows where, with her treasure,' I continued, smiling; 'she will probably answer it to-day, too.'
"Anna Maria nodded. 'We will go up,' she said; 'I would like to read, too.' We went through the busy kitchen and up the stairs. Anna Maria went at once to her room, and I to the upper story, to seek my own room. In the hall I stopped; the sound of Susanna's sobbing came to my ear, and the indignant voice of the old woman:
"'For shame, Susanna!'
"'No, I cannot, I will not!' sobbed the girl.
"They had forgotten to latch the door; I slipped nearer, but did not understand Isabella's hissing whisper, nevertheless.
"'No, no!' cried Susanna again, but with little resistance. Fresh whispering, then a kiss. 'My little hare, my Susy, it may all be yet; now the thing is, to put a good face on the bad game!' in genuine Berlin speech. 'Now at it; you are brave!'
"An icy chill crept over me, even to my heart; I could not account for it to myself. But I was in no mood then to open the door, and went to my room with the consciousness that something wrong, something mysterious, was going on over there.
"An hour later Isabella came to me with a letter. 'Here it is,' said she proudly. 'Susanna is ready with her pen, she gets it from her father, and all that she says in this is beautiful. It is a shame that you haven't read it, Fräulein; how pleased Klaus will be.'
"'Herr von Hegewitz!' I corrected, bluntly.
"'Pardon!' returned Isabella, 'the name came so easily to my lips; I have heard it so often from Susanna that——'
"'Very well!' I interrupted. 'Now, to return to the letter; it almost sounds as if you knew the contents. I hope Susanna does not conduct her correspondence under your direction!'
"Isabella Pfannenschmidt grew crimson. 'Heaven forbid!' she said, casting an angry glance at me. 'Susanna only spoke in a general way of what she was going to write, to tell him how grateful she is and how honored and how she loves him.'
"'I do not wish to know anything about it,' I replied, coldly. 'I only expect of Susanna that she will not allow all that she has to say to-day to her lover—something which, it seems to me, should be as sacred as a prayer—to be desecrated by meddling eyes.'
"Isabella smiled in embarrassment; she evidently did not understand me. 'To whom can I give this letter,' she asked, 'to send it to the post-office?'
"'Leave it here; I will see that it is put into the mail-bag,' I replied. When I went down later, I found Susanna sitting motionless on a bench in the garden. She seemed to be buried in a book; but her first letter was already with a messenger, on the way to the city.
"Anna Maria had grown calmer than I expected; it seemed as if some great force had carried her half over her sorrow about Klaus. She brought me his letter at supper time; it contained warm expressions of thanks, infinite love for his sister, permeated with rapture at the possession of Susanna. The world seemed to him more beautiful than ever; he pictured to himself such a wonderful future, with Susanna, with Anna Maria. Again and again came a fervent, 'But how shall I thank you, Anna Maria, for this, that you will love my little bride as a sister? I have always known that we think an infinite deal of each other, and it seems to me as if my love for you had become even greater! Anna Maria, how I wish for you such a happiness as mine!' He added that he should be as pleased as a child at the first lines from Susanna, that he had an endless longing to come home, but, unfortunately, business made it impossible; the fatigues of the journey he would think nothing of.
"Anna Maria silently folded the letter which I returned to her, and put it in her pocket, 'Have you seen Susanna since she received her letter?' she asked.
"'No, Anna Maria.'
"'How happy she must be, aunt!'
"'I find Susanna very quiet for an engaged girl,' I replied.
"'Yes,' she agreed. 'But I cannot describe to you how infinitely better she pleases me; it is quieting to me that she does not take the matter lightly.'"
"The harvest festival was celebrated more quietly than usual this year, at least at the manor-house. Otherwise everything was as usual. Under the four great oaks in the yard, near the garden wall, the dancing-floor was laid; gay garlands, tied with bows of ribbon, hung on the old trees, the whole court-yard seemed to be made as clean as a room, and everywhere there was an odor of pine-boughs and fresh cake.
"The weather was splendid on this October day, a little hoar-frost, to be sure, on the roofs, but the sun soon melted that away. Early in the day everything was under way; the village children, in new red flannel dresses and dazzling white shirts, appeared first to receive their cakes from Brockelmann. In the servants' kitchen three maids were cutting a regular wash-kettle full of potato salad, and the odor of roast beef and veal rose seductively to the noses of the farm people and day-laborers just assembling in the court for the festal church-going.
"Anna Maria was standing in the hall waiting for me as I came down-stairs. 'Are you bringing Susanna with you?' she asked. At the same time steps were heard behind me; Isa came down, begging excuse for Susanna, who felt fatigued, and could not make up her mind to go to church.
"Anna Maria frowned. It was the custom in our family that not a single member should be absent to-day. 'Is it absolutely impossible?' she asked.
"'Yes!' declared Isabella, and Anna Maria and I went alone. The bells were ringing gayly, and the sun shone brightly in at the windows of the little church, upon the garlands of corn with their red and blue ribbons, on the altar, and upon the happy faces of the people. With festal gladness was sung the 'Now thank we all our God.' It had, indeed, been a blessed harvest year. And in earnest words the clergyman charged the people with heartfelt gratitude to God, who gave this year of blessing, gradually passing on to speak of the seed in the heart of man. 'Take care that there may be a blessed harvest here, too, when, by and by, it will be autumn with you; think of the heavenly Harvest Home; well for him who brings precious fruits, ripened in humility, planted in love!' He then counselled the men to labor, the women to gentleness in the home, and finally remembered in his prayer the absent master of the manor. Anna Maria's head was bent low; I saw how she joined with her whole heart in the prayer for her brother, how a great tear fell from her eye upon the leaves of her hymn-book.
"When the last verse had been sung we had to hurry home; for immediately after service the people always brought the harvest wreath, and to-day Anna Maria had to thank them in her brother's place. She cast a glance across to Stürmer's seat; it was empty. Perhaps he was already waiting at the manor. We walked through the greeting throng as rapidly as my lame foot would allow, and Anna Maria quickly laid aside hat and shawl in the garden-parlor, for we already heard the music in the village street.
"'I don't know about it, aunt,' she said. 'It is dreadful to me without Klaus; if only Stürmer, at least, were here!'
"'The baron has been in the garden for an hour,' remarked Marieken, who had just run in, in dazzlingly clean attire, to inform us that the people were coming.
"'Then go and look for him, Marieken,' I bade. 'I will call Susanna and Isa.'
"'There comes the baron, now,' cried Marieken, with a glance at the window, and opened the door leading to the terrace.
"I could not believe my eyes; yes, there he was coming along the garden-path, and beside him—Susanna. She did not walk, she floated, as if carried along by the sound of the march, borne hither on the warm autumn air. A pink dress fluttered and blew about her delicate figure, and her lips and cheeks were tinged with the same color. With outstretched arms she flew up the steps.
"Oh, Anna Maria, oh, Fräulein Rosamond, listen, just listen!' she cried, in ecstasy.
"Stürmer followed her, smiling, and offered Anna Maria his arm. Hesitatingly, with a long look at Susanna, she took it. The latter looked after them in wonder, and walked silently beside me.
"Before the house a crowd of people had assembled, in eager expectation; then came the children, dancing and skipping, in at the gate; behind them came the musicians, and over the long procession which followed hovered the wreath of golden corn, adorned with colored ribbons, waving gayly in the warm autumn wind.
"Anna Maria stood beside Stürmer, on the front steps, her hand still resting lightly on his arm; she wore her blue dress and white lace kerchief. A sad smile lay on her lips as the speaker, followed by two girls bearing the wreath, now advanced to the steps, and, making a sign for the music to stop, began the old speech:
"'God be praised, who gives sun and rain;God be praised, who gives his blessing again;God be praised, who, in this year,Has blessed our fields so richly here.May he give further fortune good,To man and beast, to field and wood,And may his gracious blessing fallOn man and beast, on people all.And on the house we hang to-dayThe wreath, that blessings here may stay.A pious wife, and children fair,May they ere long be dwelling there!That is our wish upon this day;God will provide for come what may.Take not this speech of ours amiss.Full of good-will, indeed, it is!'
"'God be praised, who gives sun and rain;God be praised, who gives his blessing again;God be praised, who, in this year,Has blessed our fields so richly here.May he give further fortune good,To man and beast, to field and wood,And may his gracious blessing fallOn man and beast, on people all.And on the house we hang to-dayThe wreath, that blessings here may stay.A pious wife, and children fair,May they ere long be dwelling there!That is our wish upon this day;God will provide for come what may.Take not this speech of ours amiss.Full of good-will, indeed, it is!'
"A peal of music accompanied the three hearty cheers of the people; the two pretty girls laid the wreath at Anna Maria's feet as she kindly shook hands with the speaker. 'I thank you heartily, people,' she said in her deep, mature voice. 'I thank you in the name of my brother far away, who is much grieved not to be able to stand here to-day. I thank you for the honest diligence and labor of this year, and wish that the good old harmony may continue between gentry and people as has ever been the manner at Bütze. And now, in my brother's name, enjoy the present day, and be happy as befits this feast.'
"'Long may she live, our gracious Fräulein!' cried the people; the lads tossed their caps in the air, and with music the procession went into the great barn, where long tables were set for the harvest banquet.
"Anna Maria had dropped Stürmer's arm as she stepped forward to speak. He appeared strangely moved, and a slight, indefinable smile lay on his lips. I remembered his once saying that nothing was more dreadful to him in a woman than to see her, even for a moment, assume the position of a man, and in that light he evidently regarded the speech.
"During the shouting I looked around for Susanna; she had disappeared. There was not much time to reflect where she might be. Anna Maria now made the round of the tables; she had to have her health drunk, and drink in return. Stürmer accompanied her; it was a pretty sight to see them walking together across the court.
"On that day not the slightest thing escaped me, but now I cannot tell exactly what this and that one did; it only came to me upon reflection, much later; and then one thing after another came into my mind. At the time I did not wonder at the rose-colored dress which Susanna wore, and which was so charmingly suited to her transparent complexion; it did not occur to me at all that she was still in mourning for her father, nor did I think about her having been too indisposed to go to church in the morning, and then, soon after, coming running from the garden, with rosy cheeks. I thought nothing of it, that at the table—to-day there was a long row of us, the clergyman and his sister, two bailiffs, three farm-pupils, a forester, and Isabella (by way of exception)—she laughed through the entire scale every minute, and carried on all manner of nonsense.
"Anna Maria sat at the head, beside the clergyman, Susanna at her right, and Stürmer next; I sat next to Pastor Grüne, and we formed the upper end of the table. I could see that Anna Maria often looked gravely at Susanna; yet a ray of pleasure broke from her eyes when they rested upon this embodied rosebud, and saw how roguish were the dimples in her cheeks, how her eyes shone, and her little teeth flashed behind the red lips, and how she chattered all manner of pretty, foolish stuff. Isabella's face shone with pride and she looked at the guests in turn; almost every eye was fixed on the girl.
"Then Stürmer rose, and proposed the health of the master of the house—'his best friend,' as he said—and 'the house that was as dear to him as a paternal home.'
"And Anna Maria's face glowed as she raised her glass to touch with him. But Susanna trembled, and put her glass down untouched; she grew pale and quiet, and scarcely spoke again.
"Pastor Grüne raised a full glass to the lady of the house; 'the mistress of Bütze,' he called Anna Maria. The old man was much moved as he made mention of her youth and how serious and careful she was; nevertheless, a Martha, who was never weary in working and doing. Anna Maria let the current of his remarks pass her by, and quietly thanked him as she raised her glass. All crowded about her to touch her glass, last of all, Stürmer; she did not look at him as their glasses touched. But Susanna fixed her eyes on Anna Maria with an expression of astonishment; she had probably never reflected that there was anything great about such activity. I noticed, too, that she shivered suddenly, as if under a disagreeable impression.
"Then there came sounds of music through the wide-opened windows; the dancing was beginning under the oaks, and the family must not be wanting there. Anna Maria rose from the table, and beckoned to Susanna; we old people sat still longer, and chatted of this and that. My old friend was enjoying her afternoon coffee, which she declared she never could do without, too much to leave; the pastor lighted a pipe, and leaned comfortably back in his great arm-chair. Ah! how long we had known each other, had borne together joy and sorrow. We had, indeed, no lack of conversational matter.
"But I did not stay here long, for there is nothing I like so much to see as happy young people dancing. 'Oh, let us go under the oaks,' I said; but Mademoiselle Grüne preferred to take a nap up-stairs in my quiet room, assuring me that she would follow soon; so the pastor escorted me down. When we arrived at the dancing ground, which was surrounded by people, I saw Anna Maria with the head-servant, and Stürmer with the upper housemaid, turning in the floating waltz, for they had to dance with all in turn. But where was Susanna?
"I went around the living wall of people. Under one of the oaks, chairs and tables had been set apart for the family, and, the people had respectfully kept away from this spot. Here stood Susanna, her arm thrown around the rough trunk of the tree, her great eyes fixed on the dancing couples; her delicate nostrils quivered, her breast heaved violently, and tears sparkled in her eyes.
"'I want to dance, too,' she burst forth, passionately; 'I want to dance, too, just one single time!'
"Already Stürmer was coming through the crowd and hurrying up to her. There was no ceremonious request, for a dance, he forgot every formal bow, she was even stretching out her arms toward him, longingly. I think he carried her through the throng rather than that they walked; then he put his arm around her. Was it my imagination, or did he really press her so fast to him that they scarcely touched the ground? As in a dream, I heard Pastor Grüne say something about a Titania. I only saw the gracefully swaying figures, the fluttering pink dress, the bright rose in the dark hair, whirling in the rapid dance, and heard the floating melody of the waltz. And above them the old oaks swayed their branches, letting sportive sunbeams through. So distinctly, ah! so distinctly, I can see all this before me.
"Then she stopped, out of breath, and leaned on his arm, a smile of rapture on her glowing face. Was it all only my fancy? Anna Maria so quiet yonder, scarcely breathing after the quick dance; it was surely my imagination that made me think Susanna ought to have looked a little less enchanted, that she ought not to have danced, being betrothed to another. Yes, indeed, I was carrying it too far. And with whom was she dancing then? With Stürmer, with Klaus's best friend. Could there be any danger in that now, when everything was plain between them?
"My thoughts went no farther, for just then the clear tone of a post-horn rang out in the midst of the dance-music, a yellow coach rattled into the court and stopped before the steps, and a man swung himself out.
"'Klaus!' I cried out, and at the first moment would have gone to meet him; then I thought of Susanna—he came on her account, of course; they could not meet here, in the face of all these witnesses. I turned hastily to lead Susanna through the park to the house.
"She was lying unconscious in Isa's arms. 'The dance, the fatal dance!' lamented Isa; 'she cannot bear it!'
"Anna Maria, pale with fear, bent over her. 'Alas! just at this moment! Aunt,' she whispered, 'go to Klaus, or I—no, you, I beg you.'
"I limped across the court as quickly as I could; he was already coming toward me in the hall, his whole handsome face glowing with pleasure; without further ado, he took me in his arms.
"'They are under the oaks, are they not?' he asked. 'I wanted to be here to dinner, but these post-horses are miserable nags; they went like snails.' And he took my hand and pressed it to his lips. 'Is she not—Susanna—she——'
"'No, Klaus, they are no longer there. Wait a minute, come into your room; Anna Maria will be here at once. The fact is, Susanna is not quite well to-day; I would rather tell her first that you have come, so unexpectedly.'
"I pushed him back into the sitting-room; Stürmer was just coming in through the garden-parlor. A frightened look came over Klaus's face, but the question died on his lips as Stürmer cordially held out both hands to him, and then, turning to me, said: 'What is the matter with Fräulein Mattoni? Can it really be the effect of dancing? Only think, Klaus, a moment ago she was rosy and happy, and just as you came rattling into the yard, I saw her turn pale and totter, and before I knew what it meant, her old duenna had caught her, and was lamenting, "That comes of dancing!" Is that possible?'
"'Of course!' I declared, quickly; 'Susanna is delicate, and the giddy round dance—' I broke off, for Klaus looked so anxious I feared he might betray himself on the spot.
"'Dear Edwin,' I begged, 'will you take my place with the guests outside for a moment longer? Pastor Grüne is sitting quite alone on the bench; you know he is sensitive. Klaus, you will excuse me; I will see how things are going up-stairs, and send Brockelmann to you with something to eat.'
"I do not know if Edwin Stürmer was enraptured at my request, but like an ever-courteous man he went down at once.
"Anna Maria met me on the stairs.
"'Where is he?' she asked hastily, without stopping.
"'Susanna is not seriously ill!' she called back; 'she has opened her eyes again already.' Her blue dress fluttered once more behind the brown balustrade; then I heard the cry, 'Klaus, dear Klaus!' a sob, and the door closed.
"Susanna was lying on her bed; her dress had been taken off, and she was lightly covered with a shawl; she held both hands pressed to her temples. Isabella was perched before her, holding a flask of strong-smelling ether. She tenderly stroked the girl's cheeks, and whispered eagerly to her. When she saw me, she got up.
"'How disagreeable, Fräulein! Just in this joyful hour the foolish child has to faint; but so it goes, if young people will not listen,' she began, in a remarkably talkative mood. 'Susanna, my heart, are you better? I have said a hundred times you mustn't dance; it isn't even a refined pleasure to whirl about among those common people. Heavens! what a smell! But, obstinate as ever—wait, I shall tell yourfiancéof it, that he may keep a firm hand over you. Oh, yes, young people——'
"Susanna gave her nurse a look which expressed everything possible except love and respect.
"'Come, come, be brisk, Susy,' she continued inexorably, 'or do you think it is pleasant for Herr von Hegewitz to be waiting for you like this?'
"Susanna raised herself with a jerk. 'Do be still,' she said, folding her hands, 'I am so dizzy, so ill!'
"'Lie still, Susanna,' I said, to calm her. 'Perhaps you will be better toward evening. Klaus must have patience. Shall I take any greetings to him, meanwhile?'
"She lay back on the pillow, her face turned away from me, and nodded silently. 'Let her sleep,' said I to Isabella; 'she is really exhausted.'
"The old woman shrugged her shoulders. 'I cannot do anything to help matters, either,' she whispered. 'It is unpleasant, but she will soon recover. I know—the nerves, yes, the nerves!' And she sat down on the girl's bed. She looked strangely grotesque and weird, in her enormous black cap with bright orange-colored bows.
"Anna Maria and Klaus were just going down the front steps to the dancing-ground, and he had his arm around her. When they saw me they turned around. Klaus looked troubled, and in Anna Maria's eyes there were traces of tears.
"'You will see her to-day, yet,' I said to him, consolingly. He pressed my hand, and sighed.
"'He is only going to stay till to-morrow, aunt," Anna Maria informed me; 'he only came on Susanna's account.' She spoke pleasantly, and looked up at him with a smile.
"'Alas, alas!' said Klaus, 'affairs are so involved there; but I just wanted to see how such an engagement is good-for-nothing without having once expressed one's self in words. Anything written sounds so cold, doesn't it? It seemed so to me! And then I am glad that I have come, for Susanna's health does not seem to be quite firm yet. I will speak with the doctor, and after the wedding will go south with her.' A very anxious expression lay on his countenance.
"'Poor Klaus, such a reception!' bewailed Anna Maria. 'I do not understand it, either; Susanna was so suddenly seized; she was just seeming so bright again.'
"'You must not let her dance,' said he in reproof.
"'Oh, the kobold was between them before we could prevent it,' I joked.
"'Stürmer dances so madly,' remarked Klaus.
"Meanwhile we had arrived at the scene of festivities. The dancers were still floating gayly about there; Stürmer was leaning, with folded arms, against a tree, and was apparently out of humor. As soon as the people discovered their master, he was received with a storm of greetings, for they were all waiting to welcome him. Klaus spoke a few words to them, and then would have withdrawn, but that was not permitted; he had to dance with the upper housemaid. With a half-amiable, half-morose expression, he took a few turns with the girl, who blushed red at the joy and honor.
"Anna Maria had seated herself in one of the chairs under the trees; Edwin was standing before her, and a happy smile was on her lips. The rays of the setting sun glimmered over her fair head and tinged her face with a warm color.
"She looked wonderfully pretty at this moment; Stürmer looked meditatively down at her. I thought of everything possible as I looked at the two. What will one not think under a blue sky, amid sunshine and gay music?
"It was deep twilight when Isabella came into my room to say that Susanna was ready to see Klaus, and to ask if the meeting might be here. I assented joyfully; the old woman went away, and a moment after a slender white figure entered, and leaned, almost tottering, against the great oaken wardrobe by the door. Isabella went away, saying she would inform the master.
"Slowly Susanna came as far as the middle of the room. I made haste to light a candle, but she begged me not to do it; her voice sounded almost breathless. When I heard Klaus's rapid step in the hall, I went into the adjoining room, whereupon Susanna took a few hasty steps after me, as if she would detain me; but I would not have spoiled this quarter of an hour for Klaus by my presence for anything in the world. Why should a third person hear what two people who are to belong to each other forever have to say? And so I drew the door to, and only heard a voice, full of emotion, cry: 'Susanna!'
"I stood at the open window, and looked out on the moonlit court; in the house all was still. Edwin Stürmer had driven away before supper, rightly supposing that we should have a great deal to talk about during Klaus's short stay; the guests from the parsonage, too, had gone home early. Isabella had doubtless called Klaus from Anna Maria's side to Susanna; the people were dancing on gayly under the oaks, by the light of lanterns; the sound of music, and now and then of a bold shout, came over to me, or the beginning of a song from a girl's fresh voice; and the air was mild as on a spring evening.
"'Anna Maria?—what is she doing now?' thought I. And the minutes ran away and became quarter-hours; with a clank, the old clock struck seven. I sprang up; no, the old aunt did not quite forget the requirements of etiquette. I opened the door and went into my room. I saw the two standing at the window; he had put his arm around her, and was bending low over her.
"'And now, sayoneword, Susanna; say that you love me as I love you!' I heard him whisper, hotly and beseechingly.
"The moonlight fell all about her bright, delicate figure, and I could distinctly see her arm begin slowly to slip from his shoulder. The music out of doors had just ceased; for an instant there was a breathless silence, then the deep, sad tones of a young man's voice floated in at the open window:
"'I thought I held thee wondrous dear,Ere I another found;Farewell, I know it first to-dayWhat 'tis to be love-bound,'
"'I thought I held thee wondrous dear,Ere I another found;Farewell, I know it first to-dayWhat 'tis to be love-bound,'
came up the sound. Susanna's arm slipped quite down Once more I heard him whisper, more softly than before. 'Yes!' said Susanna, quickly and in a half-stifled tone, and I saw Klaus take her in his arms impetuously and kiss her.
"The following day fairly flew away, I can scarcely toll how, now. There were so many things to be talked about, agreed upon, and arranged.
"Klaus had talked with Isabella about the wedding, and they were agreed that the 22d of November should be the festal day. Isabella came out of his room with a new silk dress on her arm; she did not look wholly enraptured, for he had told her that he was going to hire a comfortable little dwelling in Berlin, and provide for her support; until the wedding she might stay here. Anna Maria had prevailed upon him to do this, and he himself did not consider the old woman exactly a desirable appendix to his wife. She cast an enraged look at Anna Maria as she went out; she knew to whom she owed this arrangement, so little to her mind.
"On Susanna's hand sparkled a brilliant ring. Klaus was constantly at her side. I saw them in the morning wandering up and down the garden-paths, and once, too, heard her charming laugh, but it was shortly broken off. She was quiet, but nevertheless let herself be adored like a queen by her attentive lover.
"How happy he looked, the dear old fellow, and how truly concerned he was about the little maiden to whom he had given his heart! Like an anxious mother, he bundled her up in shawls and rugs when she sat out on the terrace in the warm midday sun. Every sentence which he uttered began: 'Susanna, would you be pleased if it were thus?' and concluded: 'If you are content, of course, my darling!'
"Anna Maria had a great deal to do out of doors. Was it really the case? Did it pain her to see the two thus? Had a feeling of real jealousy come over her? She left the tiresome business of adame d'honneuralmost entirely to me.
"At evening Klaus had to go away again, and the hour drew quickly near; he grew silent and tender the nearer the moment of separation came. After supper we sat in the garden-parlor, about the lighted lamp. Klaus's travelling cloak and rug lay on a chair; Susanna had gone to her room for a moment, and Anna Maria to the kitchen to prepare a glass of mulled wine for Klaus, for he had grown icy cold. Klaus held a knot of ribbon in his hand, which he had taken from Susanna's hair.
"'Aunt Rosamond,' said he, suddenly, looking over at me, 'Stürmer comes here very often now, doesn't he?'
"'Yes, Klaus, very often.'
"'Does he intend to ride a pair of horses to death to—to play whist with you?' he asked, smiling.
"'I don't know, Klaus,' I replied.
"He came nearer to me. 'If it only might be, aunt,' he said gently; 'do you think that this time Anna Maria would, again——'
"'No, Klaus; if I understand Anna Maria aright, she still loves Stürmer.'
"'Still, aunt?Now, you mean to say?'
"I knew not what answer to make.
"'I should be so glad,' he began again, 'if Anna Maria and Edwin——'
"He broke off, for Susanna had entered; she had such a light, floating gait that we did not notice her till she was already standing in the middle of the room. Slowly she came nearer; she was doubtless suffering at the thought of separation, for she looked very pale and scarcely spoke that evening. When Klaus folded her in his arms on his departure she looked up into his true, agitated face, and for an instant, raising herself on tip-toe, she put both arms around his neck, but for his affectionate words she had no reply.
"She remained standing beside me on the front steps, looking after him, as, wrapped in his great cloak, he got into the carriage. Anna Maria went down the steps with him, and put extra rugs and foot-sacks in with her own hands. The brother and sister held out their hands to each other, but Klaus's looks sped past Anna Maria up to the delicate figure standing motionless in the flickering light of the lanterns. Brockelmann looked, suddenly transfixed, at the girl, who only waved her hand lightly. The carriage drove rattling away; once more he leaned his head out; then the carriage rolled through the gateway, out into the night.
"Susanna did not wait till Anna Maria had come up the steps; she ran back into the house as if pursued, and I heard her light step going up-stairs.
"Anna Maria and I went back to the garden-parlor. Neither of us spoke; I laid my knitting-work and glasses in my work-basket, and Anna Maria stood, reflecting, in the middle of the room. All at once I saw her take a few steps forward and quickly stoop over; when she stood upright again she had grown pale. Her hand held a small, shining object—Susanna's engagement ring!
"She said not a word, but put the ring on the table and sat down. She waited for Susanna. Shemustmiss the ring, and would hurry down directly, anxiously hunting for it.
"An hour passed. Anna Maria had taken up one of Scott's novels; she turned the pages at long intervals. I had taken out my knitting again. At last she laid aside the book.
"'We will go to bed, Aunt Rosamond,' said she. 'Will you give the ring to Susanna?'
"I took the little pledge of love, wrought in heavy gold. 'It must be too large for her,' said I, in excuse.
"'Yes,' replied Anna Maria, harshly, 'it is not suited to her hand.' And nodding gravely, she left the room before me.
"It seemed as if the autumn had only delayed commencing its sway in order not to interfere with the Bütze harvest festival. Now it broke in all the more violently, with its gusts of rain, its storms, and its hatred toward everything which reminded one of summer. Each little green leaf was tinged with yellow or red, and the garden was gay as a paper of patterns; the purplish-red festoons of the wild grape hung moistly down, and in the morning a heavy white mist lay over the landscape. The storks' nest on the barn roof was empty, whole flocks of wild geese flew away screaming over the village, and inevitably came the thought of the long, monotonous winter which Anna Maria and I were to pass alone.
"Anna Maria did not give herself up to idle reveries; she took hold of work, even too much work, as the best defence against worry and against a growing sadness. Only in the twilight she would sometimes stand idle, and look away across the court-yard, and listen to the measured sound of the threshing that came across from the barn. Then she would pass her hand over her forehead, light a candle, and move up to the table with her work—and work there was in abundance.
"Anna Maria had taken Susanna's outfit in hand without delay. She led the young girl to the huge linen-chests, and, with the pride of a housewife, showed her the piles of snow-white linen, told her which pieces she had spun herself, and spread before her eyes the choicest sets of table linen. Susanna stood beside her, and cast a look rather of astonishment than admiration at these splendors; she did not understand what one could do with such a monstrous pile; it was more than one could use in a hundred years, she thought. Isa, too, seemed to have no appreciation of the important treasures. 'Too coarse, too coarse, mademoiselle!' was all she said, letting the linen, which three seamstresses were making up into Susanna's underclothing, slip through her fingers. 'That will last forever, and will rub the child's tender skin to pieces.'
"Susanna grew somewhat more interested when dress-patterns arrived from Berlin, by Klaus's order. The small hands turned over the gay little pieces with real satisfaction; she ran from Anna Maria to Isa, and from Isa to me, asking whether we preferred satin or moiré antique, brocade orgros de Tours. And every evening, punctually at seven o'clock, came Edwin Stürmer, through autumn darkness, rain, and wind.
"I remember how one day he came into the room and inquired after the health of the ladies; how, when he was preparing to leave, Anna Maria said her friendly: 'Will you not stay with us, baron?' And how he then laid aside hat and riding-whip again, ate supper with us, and then sat down at the whist-table—all as usual, and yet so different.
"Susanna was a careless and not a clever player; she threw her cards down at random, never knew what had been played, and had no idea of the real meaning of the game. Anna Maria took this, like every occupation of life, seriously, and examined it thoroughly.
"'But, Susanna, do pay attention; you are playing into your opponent's hand!' she would say during the game; or, 'Please, Susanna, do not look at Aunt Rosamond's cards; you must not do that!" It had a pedantic sound when one looked at that smiling, rosy creature, who held the cards in her little hands with such charming awkwardness, forgot every instant what was the trump, laughed out from pure pleasure when she took a trick, and would be so truly disheartened when she lost. 'Oh,est il possible?' she would ask, shaking her head; 'not a trick?'
"Stürmer played this whist with the patience of an angel; he picked up Susanna's fallen cards unweariedly, smiled when she laughed, and when Anna Maria scolded an almost imperceptible wrinkle came between his brows. Occasionally, when he was Anna Maria's partner, she would appear confused and embarrassed, and he distracted; and once or twice they lost the rubber, just as they had done before. 'Unlucky at cards, lucky in love!' said Pastor Grüne, who sat behind Anna Maria's chair on such evenings. She blushed suddenly, and her hand, which still held the last card, trembled. Edwin Stürmer, with fine tact, seemed not to hear the allusion, and Susanna was silent and looked at Anna Maria with, all at once, a strange sparkle in her eyes. Of her relation to Klaus no mention had ever been made in the presence of a stranger, according to agreement; she herself had the least thought of betraying herself by a hasty utterance. Once I had asked if Stürmer might not be initiated. But Anna Maria declared that Klaus would not wish it, so I kept still.
"Susanna rarely spoke of her absent lover; but Isa put two letters to him into the mail-bag, regularly, every week, in answer to his frequent, longing epistles. In her room, meanwhile, all manner of presents accumulated, which Klaus bought for her in Breslau—knick-knacks, ornaments, fans, and such useless things, which I could never think of in connection with Anna Maria. Klaus had never cared for such things before, either, and therefore did not exactly understand choosing them, and many an old, unsalable article may have been put into his hand as the latest novelty for the sake of heavy money. Susanna had a remarkably well-developed sense of beauty, and the charming way of women, of wearing a thing out of devotion because a beloved hand gave it, seemed totally unknown to her. But she exulted aloud when she discovered a little old lace handkerchief which Anna Maria had found, in rummaging in a long-unopened chest; and in the evening, when Stürmer came, she wore it daintily knotted about her neck, and in the delicate yellowish lace placed the last red asters from the garden.
"Anna Maria was more serious and chary of words after every visit from Stürmer; but an unmistakable expression of quiet, inward happiness lay on her proud face. She reminded me daily, more and more, of that Anna Maria who once, on a stormy spring day, came into my room, fell on my neck, and almost—oh, if it had only happened!—confided to me the secret in her young heart. Unspeakably pleasing she appeared, in her quiet happiness, beside that young, childish bride-elect, who was never still, who now laughed more wildly than a kobold, and the next minute wept enough to move a stone to pity. Yes, Susanna Mattoni could laugh and cry like scarce another human being.
"Often I saw Anna Maria standing in the twilight under the old linden; motionless, she looked over yonder, where, in the evening haze, the dark, gabled roofs of Dambitz emerged from the trees of the park. She had fallen into a dreamy state, out of which she would suddenly start, when she was reminded of Klaus by some eccentricity of Susanna's. Then she would look again in warm anxiety at the mercurial little creature, and then run into her solitary room, and not appear again for several hours.
"One day, just three weeks before the appointed wedding-day, I was returning, toward evening, from a visit to my old friend, Mademoiselle Grüne, at the parsonage. It was windy and wet and cold, a regular autumn evening, such as I do not like at all. I drew my veil over my face for protection, wrapped my cloak more tightly about me, and took the shortest way across the church-yard and through the garden. The manor-house looked gloomy behind the tall trees; not a window was lighted, but from the great chimney the smoke blew away over the roofs, like long, dark, funeral banners, and wrestled with the wind which dissipated it in all directions.
"I began to think with pleasure of the comfortable sitting-room, of a warm beer-soup, and the regular evening whist-table. Just as I was passing a side-path, I saw a dark figure sitting under the linden. 'Anna Maria!' I murmured, 'and in this storm!' For an instant I stood still, with the intention of calling to her, for a fine, drizzling rain was now falling, and I feared she would take cold on this dreary evening. But I gave it up, because I thought, on reflection, she would not probably want to be seen at all, or have an inquisitive look taken at a shyly guarded secret, and I made haste to walk away down the path as quickly as possible, to get away unobserved.
"But my foot stopped again; a horseman was coming along by the hedge, and, in spite of the gray twilight, I recognized Stürmer; he waved his hat in greeting over toward the arbor, and there some one beckoned—I very nearly had palpitation of the heart from joyful fear—with a white cloth, and this little signal waved in the misty evening air till he disappeared behind the trees on the other side of the bridge.
"'Anna Maria! Is it possible?' said I, half-aloud, as I walked on—that it sounded like a cry of exultation I could not help. Ah, all must be well yet, and surely all would be well! I hurried up the steps to write a few words to Klaus. 'Anna Maria and Edwin were nearer than he had hoped'—how pleased he would be! But I did not accomplish that to-day. Brockelmann came to meet me in the entrance-hall, and in spite of my happy agitation, I had to listen to a long story, for which she even urged me to come into her neat little room. A married niece of hers, living in the village, had had a quarrel with her husband yesterday, in the course of which he had emphatically tried to prove conclusively the 'I am to be your master!' with a heavy stick. The good Brockelmann was beside herself at the 'wicked fellow,' and would not let me go till I had solemnly promised to take the tyrant to task. 'Anna Maria understands it even better, perhaps,' she added, 'but I don't know what is the matter with her now. I think I might tell her a story ten times over, and at the end she would look at me and ask: "What are you saying, Brockelmann?" I wish I could just get at the bottom of it!'
"'Well,' I said, smiling, 'I will see to it; send the rude old fellow up to me to-morrow.' She followed me into the hall, and clattered down-stairs in her slippers, scolding away, and in a very bad humor, because Rieke had not yet lighted the hall-lamps.
"In my room still glimmered the last ray of daylight, and in this uncertain light I saw a figure rising from the arm-chair by the stove. 'Anna Maria, is it you?' I asked, recognizing her.
"She came slowly over to me. 'Yes, aunt, I have something to deliver to you. Stürmer has been here; he wanted to speak to you; about what, I don't know.' She spoke hesitatingly and softly. 'Then he asked me to hand you this note, which he wrote hastily.'
"She pressed a note into my hand. 'Here, aunt, read.' I sat down in the low chair by the stove, and held the sheet in the flickering light of the flames, but the letters danced indistinctly before my eyes. 'We must have a light,' said I; 'or read it aloud to me, Anna Maria, it takes so long for Brockelmann to bring a lamp.'
"Anna Maria knelt down beside me, and took the letter. 'Ought I to know, too, what it contains?' she asked.
"'Oh, of course I allow it, only read!' And Anna Maria began:
"'My dear, esteemed Aunt Rosamond:—Unfortunately I did not find you at home. Please expect me to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock. I have something to discuss with you, and want your advice in a matter upon the issue of which the peace and happiness of my heart will depend. Say nothing yet to Anna Maria!"'In haste and impatience,"'Your most devoted"'Edwin Stürmer.'
"'My dear, esteemed Aunt Rosamond:—Unfortunately I did not find you at home. Please expect me to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock. I have something to discuss with you, and want your advice in a matter upon the issue of which the peace and happiness of my heart will depend. Say nothing yet to Anna Maria!
"'In haste and impatience,
"'Your most devoted
"'Edwin Stürmer.'
"Anna Maria did not read it just as it stands here; it came out in broken sentences; then the sheet fluttered to the floor, she buried her fair head in my lap, and threw her arms impetuously about me. 'Aunt, ah, aunt!' she groaned.
"I took her head between my two hands, and kissed her forehead; tears flowed from my eyes. 'Anna Maria! ah, at last, at last!' I sobbed; 'now everything may yet be well.'
"She did not answer; she rose and began to walk up and down the room, her arms crossed below her breast, her head bent. I could not distinguish her features in the deep twilight, but I knew that she was deeply affected. 'Aunt,' she said at last, coming up to me, 'what answer shall you make to Stürmer?'
"'That I will receive him, Anna Maria.'
"'No'—she hesitated—'I mean to-morrow, to his question—'she said, slowly.
"'What you will, Anna Maria. Shall I say yes?'
"Slipping to the floor, she threw her arms around my neck. 'Yes!' she said, softly, and burst into tears. The pain borne quietly for years gushed with them from her soul; I stroked her smooth head caressingly, and let her weep. How long we sat thus I know not. Then the girl rose and kissed my hand. 'I will go down,' she whispered.
"'Yes, Anna Maria,' I bade, 'you ought to rest a little or your head will burn. Let Brockelmann make you a cup of tea; you have surely caught cold in your head out in the wet garden.'
"She had her hand already on the door-latch, and now turned about again. 'I have not been in the garden, aunt,' she said; 'I have been waiting here up-stairs for you, certainly for half an hour, since he went away.' She nodded to me once more, then she went out, and left me standing in unutterable bewilderment.
"Anna Maria not in the garden? Who in the world could have stood there and beckoned to him? An oppressive fear overwhelmed me, and almost instinctively I went across to Susanna's room; my first look fell upon her, sitting on the floor before the fire-place; the bright light illuminated her face with a rosy glow, and made her eyes seem more radiant than ever. Her hands were clasped about her knees, and she was looking dreamily at the flickering flames. Isa was bustling about at the back of the room; she came nearer as she caught sight of me.
"'Susanna,' I asked, 'were you in the garden a little while ago?'
"She started up and looked at me with frightened eyes. 'No!' answered Isabella in her place. 'Susy has not left the room all the afternoon. What should she be doing out of doors in this weather?'
"'I do not know—but I surely thought I saw you, Susanna?'
"She turned her head and looked in her lap. 'I was not down there,' she said, hesitatingly.
"I went away; my old eyes were failing then. Close by the door my foot caught in something soft. I stooped down; it was the lace veil that Susanna used to wear over her head, heavy and wet with rain. Without a word I laid it on the nearest chair. Why did Susanna tell a lie? Why was she frightened?
"And all at once an ugly, shocking thought darted like lightning through my brain, that made me almost numb with fear. But no, surely it was not possible, it was madness; how could one imagine such a thing? I scolded myself. With trembling hand I lit a candle and went to my writing-desk; to this day I cannot account for my answer to Stürmer being as it was, and not different. I wrote under the influence of an inexplicable anxiety. Strangely enough the letter sounded:
"'My dear Edwin:—I shall be glad to see you here to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock, and can also tell you an important piece of news, which will please you. What do you say to this, that Klaus, our old Klaus, is engaged; and that the bride-elect is no other than Susanna Mattoni? Very likely you have guessed it easily?"'They have been engaged for some time, but it has been kept a secret for the mean time; but an old chatterbox like me may surely make an exception in your case."'Affectionate greetings from your old friend,"'Rosamond von Hegewitz.'
"'My dear Edwin:—I shall be glad to see you here to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock, and can also tell you an important piece of news, which will please you. What do you say to this, that Klaus, our old Klaus, is engaged; and that the bride-elect is no other than Susanna Mattoni? Very likely you have guessed it easily?
"'They have been engaged for some time, but it has been kept a secret for the mean time; but an old chatterbox like me may surely make an exception in your case.
"'Affectionate greetings from your old friend,
"'Rosamond von Hegewitz.'
"In the greatest haste I folded the note, rang, and gave it into the immediate charge of the coachman. I was seized with a nervous trembling as I heard him ride out of the yard. I sent down word to Anna Maria that I should not come to supper; I was rather fatigued.
"About eight o'clock I heard Susanna's light step in the hall; she was coming from supper, and trilling a love-song. Then the door of her room closed, and all was still.
"It was long past midnight when I stole out to the hall window to see if Anna Maria had gone to bed. She was still awake; in the candle-light which fell from her windows over the flower-beds of the garden a shadow was moving to and fro, incessantly, restlessly. In the anxiety of my heart I folded my hands: 'Lord God, send her no storm in this new spring-time,' I whispered; 'let her be happy, make me ashamed of my care and anxiety. Let my fear be an error. Ah! give her the happiness she deserves!'
"The next day broke gray and dark, not at all like a day of good fortune. Anna Maria stood at the open window in the sitting-room, breathing in the warm air, which was unusually sultry for a November day. She had a stunted white rose in her hand. 'See, aunt,' she said, holding the flower up to me, 'I found it early this morning on the rose-bush on mother's grave; how could it have bloomed now? We have had such cold weather lately, it is almost a miracle, like a greeting for the day.' And she took a glass and carefully put the awkward little rose in fresh water, and carried it to her room.
"In the mail-bag which came at noon there was, beside a letter for Susanna from Klaus, also one for Anna Maria from him concerning arrangements for the longer absence of the master of the house. 'Since I do not know how long I shall be away with Susanna,' he wrote, 'and since I probably shall not find time in the short stop at home to talk this over quietly with you, I have written down for you about how I think this and that will be best arranged.' Various arrangements of a domestic nature now followed. 'If any alteration seems necessary to you,' he continued, 'do as you please; I know it will be right. The furnishing of Susanna's rooms can be attended to during our absence. I should be very grateful to you if you would sometimes have an eye upon the work, that the nest for my little wife may be as comfortable as possible. In her last letter she told me a great deal about Stürmer's furnishings, and I have taken care to get something similar, at least, for her, as far as it in any degree agrees with my own sober taste; the terrace is to be re-paved, too. Now for the chief matter, my dear Anna Maria: on the right hand, in the secret drawer of my writing-desk, lie the papers which are necessary for the banns. Take them out and carry them to Pastor Grüne; Susanna's baptismal certificate and marriage license, which I had sent on from Berlin, will already be in his hands, as I am sending them off with this letter. Remember me to the old man, and say to him that he must not let us fall too roughly from the pulpit next Sunday.'
"Anna Maria had given me the letter, and gone with her key-basket into her brother's room. 'How will it be,' I whispered, looking over the long columns of these domestic arrangements, 'when he hasherno longer? He has been fearfully spoiled by her.' As I read about the banns, my old aunt's head began to whirl like a mill-wheel with what had happened yesterday—what was to come to-day. How would it result?
"I limped over to Anna Maria; she was standing before her brother's open desk, the papers in her hand. 'Aunt Rosamond,' said she, 'I wish this day were over, for see, when I think of Klaus I almost lose my courage!' And she laid the yellow papers on the flat shelf of the wardrobe-shaped desk, and folded her hands over them. 'It will seem almost wrong to me that I should think of my own happiness when he—is not going to be happy. Aunt, ah, aunt!' she sobbed out, 'I cannot help it; I love him none the less on that account, believe me! But I have not the strength to thrust from me a second time something which—' She did not finish; she colored deeply, took up the papers again with trembling hands, and closed the desk. 'I don't know what I do to-day,' she whispered, 'and I don't know what I say. I wish it were night, I am so anxious!'
"'You need not speak out, Anna Maria,' said I, seizing her hands. 'I have long known that you gave Stürmer up at that time only because you would not forsake Klaus.'
"She took a step back, and gave me a frightened look. 'No, no; it is not so!' she cried, 'it was my duty; he had lost so much for my sake!'
"'Anna Maria, I do not understand you,' I rejoined.
"'His bride! I know it,' she nodded. 'Because I was in the way, she forsook my poor, dear Klaus. How he must have suffered!'
"'How you came to know of that affair, my child, is a riddle to me,' I returned; 'but tell me, was that the reason that you—'
"'Oh, hush, aunt!' she cried, 'I know nothing any longer, it all lies behind me like a dark, oppressive dream. I could not tell you now what I thought and felt at the time, for it is not clear even to me. Some time I will tell you everything, but not now, not to-day. But you must promise me one thing,' she continued, beseechingly, looking at me through her tears; 'you must always keep an eye on Klaus; you must read from his face if he is in trouble, if he is unhappy, and then you must tell me. Ah! aunt, I cannot really believe that he will be happy with her! Dear Aunt Rosa, why must it beshe? Why not some one else who would be more worthy of him?'
"'Do not worry about it, Anna Maria,' I begged her; 'all is in God's hands.'
"'You are right, Aunt Rosa,' she replied, a crimson flush spreading over her face. 'I will not let this trouble me to-day; I will rejoice, will be happy. Ah! aunt, I do not know, indeed, what that really is; I am such a stupid, dull being. Listen, last evening I could have opened my arms and embraced the whole world from happiness. I could not sleep, I walked about my room restlessly, and read his letter a hundred times; as long as my eye rested upon it I was calm, and when I had folded it up doubts came to me, such anxious, evil doubts, such as, "What if you have made a mistake? What if he has something to say to Aunt Rosamond which does not concern you at all?" And then it seemed to me as if I were sinking into a deep, black abyss, and there was nothing that I could hold on to, aunt. Oh! it was frightful, so empty, so cold, so dead! Dear Aunt Rosamond, do laugh me out of these foolish thoughts, scold me for a stupid girl; tell me how faint-hearted I am, that a doubt of Edwin's love should come to me! He does love me, Aunt Rosamond, does he not? One can never forget it when one has once loved a person with his whole heart. I know it; yes, Aunt Rosamond, I am a foolish, childish creature; do laugh me right out of it, please, please!'
"She had drawn me to the sofa as she spoke, and hidden her face on my shoulder. Amid laughing and crying the words came out, all self-consciousness was gone, that unapproachable harshness of her nature had disappeared, and she was now like any other girl expecting her lover. She trembled and sobbed, and wound her arms tightly about my neck—the proud, cold Anna Maria had become a happy child. What a fulness of love and resignation now gushed from her heart, now that happiness touched it! 'So do laugh me well out of it, aunt,' she said, again.
"I stroked her hair caressingly; how gladly would I have laughed her out of it! But in my soul, too, there were doubts, inexplicable doubts; and why? There was really no reasonable ground for them, no, no! Susanna might have denied the walk in the garden because the evening air was prohibited on account of her health; and just because she stood under the linden and waved her handkerchief—was that any proof? And I thought of my letter to Stürmer, and really had to laugh.
"'Anna Maria,' said I, 'I will laugh at you, but you must laugh back at me. Only think, yesterday I sent an announcement of the engagement to Stürmer; I could not keep it to myself any longer that Klaus is engaged.'
"She straightened up with a start.
"'Heavens, the papers! I forget everything. The banns—I must see to that first, aunt.'
"To-day the hours seemed to pass much more slowly than usual. Toward four o'clock I sat waiting at the window; my heartbeat as violently as Anna Maria's, perhaps. She, I knew, was down-stairs in her room, restless and anxious. Half-past four struck, five, and Stürmer was not yet here. Instead, Susanna came into my room and sat down opposite me; she had her kitten in her arms and began to play with it.
"I should have liked to send her away, but no suitable excuse occurred to me at that moment. It is fearful how slowly the minutes pass when one is counting them in anxious expectation; heavy as lead, each second seems to spin itself out to eternity, and one starts at every sound. No, that was a farm-wagon, now a horseman; ah! it is only the bailiff.
"Susanna felt my silence and restlessness painfully at any rate. 'Oh, it is fearfully tiresome in the country in winter!' she sighed. 'What can one do all day long?'
"'Have you written to Klaus yet?' I asked.
"'O dear, no!' she replied, with a suppressed yawn. 'I don't know what to write him; I have no experience, I hear and see nothing.'
"'Well, an engaged girl is not usually at a loss for something to write to the future husband,' I remarked.
"'Indeed?' she asked, absently. 'Yes, it may be, but I—I find it so stupid just to drag out variations of the theme, "I love you."'
"'Klaus has written you, no doubt, Susanna, that you are to be published from the pulpit on Sunday?'
"She started, and stared at me with wide-open, awestruck eyes. 'I don't know,' she stammered, 'I——'
"'But you must know what is in his letter,' I said, impatiently.
"'Yes, I—' She put her hand in her pocket and drew out a letter. 'I haven't read it yet; I was going to this evening—but——'
"'You have not opened the letter yet?' I cried, quite beside myself. 'Well, I must say, this case is unparalleled! You complain ofennui, and yet carry quietly about in your pocket the most interesting thing that can exist for you! The variations on the familiar theme do, indeed, seem tiresome to you, Susanna!'
"I had spoken bitterly and loud. Susanna remained silent, and the same choking feeling of fear came over me as yesterday. I heard the girl sob gently, and was sorry at once for my vehemence.
"'Susanna,' said I, softly, 'you are standing before a very serious turn in your life, and you trifle along like a child!'
"She suddenly broke out in loud weeping. 'What can I do, then?' she cried, wringing her hands. 'Have I not a will of my own? must I be treated like a child?' And the passionate little creature flung herself on the floor and embraced my knees. 'Have pity on me, dear, dear Fräulein Rosamond. Do not let me be unhappy. I——'
"She got no further; the door opened, and the sound of Anna Maria's voice came in, so constrained, so forbidding, that my heart stopped beating, and the girl sprang up hastily from the floor.
"'Aunt Rosamond, Susanna—Baron Stürmer wishes to—say farewell to you.'
"I can see them all so plainly as they were at that moment: Anna Maria, pale to her lips, holding firmly on to the back of a chair for support; Stürmer beside her, his eyes fixed on Susanna; behind them Brockelmann with the lamp, and the trembling, sobbing girl, clinging to me, a troubled expression on her tear-stained face, and her great eyes unintelligently returning the man's look.
"At the first moment all was not clear to me; I did not understand how Stürmer had come to Anna Maria, but that a deep wound had been made in a young human heart, that I saw, and an icy chill crept over me.
"'Anna Maria,' I stammered, and sought to free myself from Susanna's arms. Then Stürmer came up to me.
"'I am going away to-morrow for a long time, Fräulein Rosamond,' said he, in a firm, clear voice, 'and want to take my leave of you. It is a hasty decision of mine, but you know that is my way. I thank you, too, for the letter, Fräulein Rosamond.' He kissed my hand and turned to Susanna. There was a tremble on his lips, as with a formal bow, he expressed a brief congratulation on her engagement.
"She looked fixedly at him, as if she did not understand him, her arms slipped from my waist, and she made a movement toward him; but he had already turned away. He bent again over Anna Maria's hand and left the room. I can still hear the closing of the door and his reëchoing steps in the hall, and can still see the vacant expression with which Anna Maria looked after him. She was standing, drawn to her full height, her proud head slightly bent, yet she seemed inwardly broken, and a ghastly smile lay on her firmly closed lips.