"No man it is!Hallowed raptureThrills through my heart;Fiery anguishEnfolds my eyes.My senses wanderAnd waver.Whom shall I summonHither to help me?Mother, mother!Be mindful of me."
"No man it is!Hallowed raptureThrills through my heart;Fiery anguishEnfolds my eyes.My senses wanderAnd waver.Whom shall I summonHither to help me?Mother, mother!Be mindful of me."
Later in the afternoon when they had almost reached their own cottage in the woods, Betty suddenly slipped an arm across her older sister's shoulder. Polly had already said good-by.
"After all we did discover a kind of enchanted forest, didn't we, Esther?" she whispered.
But Esther was tired and annoyed. "Lieutenant von Reuter was an agreeable enough fellow for a foreigner, if that is what you mean, Betty," she returned. "But I got rather tired of his telling us the story of Siegfried which I certainly knew perfectly well. Besides, it seemed to me that he was trying to make an impression upon us. And I shall never, never be able to understand how you can like these German youths so much. I should feel a great deal happier about you and so would your brother if you were safely back in Woodford."
"Don't be a goose, dear," was Betty's only answer.
"Have you ever wished some days that you were nine years old instead of nineteen, Miss Adams—Margaret?" Polly O'Neill corrected herself hastily.
The girl and the older woman were sitting out in the yard in front of their funny little German cottage one afternoon just before twilight. Polly had been reading aloud until the dusk had settled down too thickly, and since then had been silent, gazing pensively at the far line of hills toward the west.
Margaret Adams looked closely at the girl before replying. For the past few days she had seen that there was something unusual weighing upon Polly's mind, since she was never able to conceal her emotions, and had wondered whether she was feeling homesick or if something had occurred to worry her. But she only answered lightly: "No, Polly, I am afraid when one is thirty-five one is more apt to wish to be nineteen than nine. But would you like to tell me, dear, what special objection there is to your present age? Don't, if you feel that you would rather not, or if you would be betraying a confidence."
But Polly gave a characteristic shrug. "No," she returned, "I would not be betraying a confidence, only an imagination, and since the imagination happens to be my own, I suppose I have the right to betray it."
Not comprehending exactly what the younger girl was trying to say and yet understanding that she would make herself plain later on, the woman quietly waited. She was interested in the processes of Polly's mind and liked to see them work themselves out.
"Do you like foreign men?" was the girl's next apparently irrelevant question.
But by this time Miss Adams had begun to have a faint suspicion of what might be at the end of her companion's confession. For in the past two weeks since Polly's, Betty's and Esther's visit to the German forest, she too had become interested in some of its consequences. Yet she answered with entire truthfulness:
"Why, of course, Polly child, I like foreign men. Why should not one? It is absurd and prejudiced to like or dislike a person because of his nationality; it is the man's own character that counts."
"Oh, yes, I know that is what one should feel and say. I don't mean to be rude," Polly added quickly, blushing over her fatal habit of saying whatever was uppermost in her mind. "I was just wondering whether it was actually true. Don't most of us really in the end like best the kind of people and life to which we have been accustomed. Now, for example, just suppose that we take a girl who has been brought up in the United States almost all her life, where she has had boy acquaintances and friends whom she has known in a simple, intimate way, without thinking of any one of them seriously. Then bring her to a foreign country, take Germany, just when she is about grown. All of a sudden imagine a young fellow turning up entirely unlike her old boy friends, handsome, charming and behaving as though he were falling in love with her. Do you believe that the girl could honestly care for him? Don't you think that it would just be a mistaken fancy on her part and that some day when she grew older she would want her old friends and associations again. Why, she might even meet one of her former acquaintances and find that she liked him best, because after all he was also an American and thought about life and women and lots of other things more in the way that she did."
Margaret Adams covered both ears with her hands. "My dear Polly," she began, "if you think I have imagination enough to follow all those supposings and all those mixed-up sentences and ideas, you must consider me cleverer than I am. But as long as I happen to be able to guess whom you are talking about, don't you think we might be straightforward. We will never speak of it to any one else, nor to each other if it seems wiser not. But of course you mean——"
"Betty!" finished Polly. And then sighing profoundly: "You see, ever since our meeting in the woods the other day with Carl von Reuter he has been coming to see Betty. He brought his father, the old count, to call on Mrs. Ashton and has been sending Betty flowers and they have been riding together and he does not even pretend not to admire her tremendously. He makes Esther and me perfectly miserable, for you see Germans seem so different from Americans, so sentimental and silly, I think. Why, I overheard Lieutenant von Reuter calling Betty Brunhilde, and instead of being bored she actually appeared pleased. Esther and I can't understand it. Of course we realize that it is absurd to believe that people can learn to care for each other in two weeks, yet just the same Betty is behaving strangely. And Esther wonders if it is her duty to speak to Richard Ashton before things go any further. Mrs. Ashton would be no good; she is too pleased over Betty's being admired by a member of the German nobility. She would never be able to see all the mischief that might result from it. But then Esther and Dick Ashton are not friends as they once were. Dick has hardly anything to do with Esther nowadays—even leaves on an earlier train the mornings that she has to go into Berlin for her music lessons. And yet when Esther first came to live with Mrs. Ashton, when she was a hundred times less attractive than she is now, why he was kinder to her than any of the rest of us. Oh me, oh my, it is a strange world!" And down went Polly's chin into the palm of her hand in a characteristic manner.
For a moment Margaret Adams did not reply. For perhaps a good deal better than Polly she appreciated the disaster that might result from the present circumstances. Betty was only nineteen and of course Polly was right in presuming that she could hardly know her own mind. And yet the romance and beauty of her surroundings, the good looks of the young lieutenant with the glamour of his title and position, were sufficiently strong influences to affect a much older person.
Yet notwithstanding Betty's beauty and charm, Miss Adams did not have the same uneasiness that Esther and Polly suffered. For she did not believe that Lieutenant von Reuter could marry a girl without a dower, no matter what his personal inclination might be. And Betty had no money and so far as any one knew no chance of receiving any amount except what her brother and sister might some day be able to earn. The danger that the older woman dreaded was that Betty herself might possibly misunderstand the young foreigner's attentions and that she might learn to care for him more than would be wise for her happiness.
Frowning, Miss Adams waited for a moment without speaking. And yet she looked so entirely interested and sympathetic that Polly dropped to the ground at her feet, taking one of her slim hands in hers and pressing it softly to her lips. For it was wonderfully kind of this famous lady to have forgotten herself so completely that she felt as deep a concern over Betty Ashton as though she had known her all her life.
"It was Betty herself who told me that young Count von Reuter had been brought up with the idea that he must marry a wealthy girl. Don't you suppose that she understands that anything else is impossible for him?" she asked. "The family is deeply in debt and even if the young man had the faintest knowledge of any kind of work it would be regarded as a disgrace for him to engage in it. Besides, he has chosen his career of a soldier, which also requires a fortune back of him. Don't you think we might be able to make Betty see this, even supposing that she does not already appreciate it?" Margaret Adams finally inquired.
"I don't know," Polly answered. "For you see, Margaret, it is like this. All her life Betty Ashton has never known anything but love and admiration. Why, when we were little children and began having beaux that nobody knew about except just ourselves, we always expected the admirers to be Betty's and were surprised when they were not. Oh, I don't mean that she expected it. The Princess used to be spoiled in lots of ways before our Camp Fire club and the change in their family fortunes, but she never has been silly or vain. Then when we grew up together it was pretty much the same thing. I remember how cross I once was in Woodford because a young fellow there, who was not Betty's equal then in any kind of way, in money or family or education, had the presumption to feel a kind of fancy for her. But now I wish that he or John Everett or any one of our old friends would turn up here and show her how much nicer an American fellow is. Any old kind of an American!" Polly ended almost viciously.
Miss Adams laughed, touching the girl's dark braids of hair and looking closely into her emotional, sensitive face.
"Don't let us worry before it is necessary," she suggested. "But tell me, Polly, and I am not asking you for curiosity, with all these admirers whom you insist your beloved Betty has had, hasn't there ever been any one who has cared for you and whom you may some day care for?"
For the moment the unexpectedness of this question took Polly's breath. And then to her deep chagrin she felt herself blushing, even while vigorously shaking her head in denial.
And yet at the same time in her intense desire to be perfectly straightforward with her new friend she was wondering if her denial had been entirely truthful. Or was it her duty to confess Billy Webster's stupidity?
"There was some one once," she murmured after her little period of hesitation had passed. "But really, Margaret, he did not care for me a bit; he only wanted to manage me. And I—I didn't care for him in the least. I never shall care for anybody," Polly insisted with the absolute conviction of youth.
Then completely forgetting everybody and everything else, Polly O'Neill put both arms about her slender knees and there on the grass at the feet of the great Miss Adams began slowly swaying herself backwards and forwards as she always had ever since she was a little girl when in the thrall of some dominant idea.
She did not look at Miss Adams; she did not even look at the hills or trees, nor feel the summer darkness that was beginning to close about them like a soft cloak. For Polly was having one of her moments when the things inside her mind were so much more visible and important to her than any outside scene. Never since leaving New York had she mentioned to Miss Adams her own desire to go upon the stage. It had not seemed fair to take advantage of her friend's kindness by annoying her with her own ambition. For it might look as though she expected or hoped for aid and advice from Miss Adams' friendship. But tonight Polly had forgotten her past resolutions and reserves.
"I shall not care for anyone, Margaret, because you know in another year I intend either going upon the stage in some little part, or if mother will give me the money, I shall go to a dramatic school. For I am going to make the stage my career whether I succeed or fail." There was a catch in the girl's breath and although it was too dark to see her face, the older woman could imagine the glow in her cheeks and the light in her curious blue eyes. She looked like an elf or a sprite, something born of the woods or the sky and hardly an ordinary flesh-and-blood girl, as she sat in her curious position, dreamily rocking herself back and forth in the evening dusk and silence.
"I suppose there are some women great enough to have a career and to marry besides," she added so solemnly that Miss Adams did not dare smile, "but I don't believe I am one of them. And I want a career. Yet it is odd, isn't it? I don't think I have any special talent and Esther Crippen is so talented we think she is almost a genius. I wish you could hear her sing, but she is too afraid of you yet. Nevertheless Esther does not want to be famous one bit and Betty and I don't even dare mention the word 'career' before her. I am sure she would much rather marry some day and have babies and sing to her husband and to them, or perhaps in a church where no one would think much about her. For she does love her music for itself."
"But why then does she go on working so intensely, if she does not intend making a profession of her singing? The poor child is actually wearing herself out," Miss Adams avowed.
"Why, don't you know?" Polly faced her companion and though it was now almost entirely dark, they could yet catch the outlines of each other's faces. "Esther Crippen does not care for money for herself, but she cares for it beyond anything for Betty. You see, she and Betty were separated during all their childhood and now that they have found each other again Esther fairly worships her sister. She is going to earn all the money she can with her voice so as to be able to lavish on Betty the things that she used to have when the Ashtons were rich. Of course Betty does not know that this is the chief reason that is urging Esther to sacrifice everything in the world for her work. For naturally Betty thinks that Esther has so wonderful a talent that she ought to wish to cultivate it for its own sake. And so does their father, Herr Crippen. I believe he has the feeling that he has failed with his own music, but that if Esther succeeds in some way it will redeem his failure. In a way it does seem rather hard upon Esther if she should ever happen to fall in love."
But before Miss Adams could answer her maid had announced an unexpected visitor.
Esther Crippen ran out of the front door of their little house with her coat still on her arm, so great was her hurry.
"Dr. Ashton," she called several times. And at last the young man striding on ahead turned and glanced back in surprise. Esther was carrying her usual music roll, a book and a box of lunch which she always bore into town on her lesson days.
Richard Ashton took these from her.
"I beg your pardon, Esther. I did not know that you were going in on the early train or of course I should have waited. What is taking you in so soon? Have you a special appointment?"
And Esther could only blush and stammer nervously. For intimately as she had known Dick Ashton, living in the same house with him for several years in a curious position as though she were a member of his family yet without any real bond of relationship between them, she could not now quietly tell him that she was taking this train into town because she wished to accompany him. At one time in their acquaintance this would have been a simple and natural enough confession, but recently Dick Ashton had been so unlike his former self. Or at least if he had not changed personally, his manner toward her was different. And in these weeks in the country when Esther had been pondering over the change it had seemed to her that she could almost remember the day and hour when the transformation began.
Now as Esther made no reply to his question Richard Ashton looked at her more steadily. He was a physician and the girl's pallor and weariness were more conspicuous to him than to other people, although he was not alone in noticing it.
"There isn't any point in your going into the city at daybreak for these singing lessons of yours," the young man protested in a friendly tone. "I should think that your wretched old Professor would have brains enough to know that you won't do him or yourself half as much credit if he wears you out completely before the date of his concert. When does it take place?"
"In October," Esther returned, apparently with little interest. However, Dick was walking her toward the station with such rapidity that she had little breath for any other exertion. And yet they had plenty of time, there was no reason for such hurry. The young man himself did not seem to be aware of their haste.
"Look here, Esther," he began a little later, "I am glad of this chance for our having a talk together. There is something that I have had on my mind to say for some time without having had the courage or the opportunity."
Just for the moment Esther's pallor left her, a slight flush coming into her cheeks and her lips parting.
"You see, I think it will be better for you to break the news to mother and Betty than for me to speak of it first," he continued. "But I—I have got to go back to the United States this autumn for good. I have spent all the time studying over here that I have the right to spend and if ever I am to make a success of my profession I have to get down to hard work building up a practice. I suppose they will both take it kind of hard, my deserting them in this way, but they must have anticipated it."
In reply Esther's voice was less interested and sympathetic than Dick Ashton was accustomed to hearing it.
"Why, I don't believe they will mind half so much as you think; at any rate your mother will not," she returned. "I have heard Mrs. Ashton say half a dozen times lately that she wished we were all to go home when Polly and Miss Adams sail in November. And as far as Betty is concerned I shall be glad to have you take her back with you."
"Take Betty home with me!" Dick Ashton's exclamation was in itself a denial of any such intention. "Why, Esther, I hadn't the faintest thought of either mother or the Princess coming along with me. You don't mean that Professor Hecksher has suggested thatyoutake a rest and that you are going to see your father?"
With a frown and a sudden nervous movement of her hands Esther shook her head. But they were now within sight of their little station, where several other passengers were waiting and no other word of intimate conversation was possible between them until they were on the train. And Esther made no protest when Dick, in spite of their poverty, discarding his regular ticket, bought seats for them both in an empty first-class coach. There they could be alone and without interruption. And there was no denying that their conversation, which had just been broken off so abruptly, must be continued as soon as possible. They were both too full of things too long left unsaid.
"Of course you know, Dr. Ashton, that there is not the remotest chance of my going back home for a long time," Esther went on when once again they were settled, just as though no interruption to their talk had ever taken place. "For you see after I make mydébutat this concert I have to go on studying. I have even to make a reputation here in Europe if I can before I return to the United States. Professor Hecksher says that it is absolutely necessary, and he is willing to help me get engagements to earn some money, so I shall not continue to be so dreadful an expense."
"Sounds rather glorious, doesn't it, Esther, fame and fortune all ready and waiting to drop at your feet? What a wonderful thing it is to be born into this world with a great talent and how it must make you look down on us poor mortals who have to grind and grind for just a bare existence. I'll be proud some day to say that I have had the honor of knowing you. You won't forget we were acquaintances, will you, Esther?" the young man concluded, it was hard to tell whether in bitterness or joking.
And his companion turned her face away, pretending to glance out of the car window at the uninteresting stretch of country and the rapidly disappearing telegraph poles.
"I shall never forget that I was a girl being raised in an orphan asylum and that your mother took me to her home and did what she could to give me my first start in learning to sing, if that is what you mean, Dr. Ashton," Esther continued. "Neither can I forget what you have always done for Betty, though I feel of course that Betty will more than repay all the people who love her. But if you mean that you only wish us to be acquaintances in the future, why—" But in spite of her strong effort at self-control Esther's lips were trembling and the tears gathering in her eyes.
Nevertheless she made no effort at withdrawal when Dick Ashton for an instant placed his hands over her own tightly clasped ones.
"You are not playing fair, Esther," he urged, "for you know in your heart that I meant no such thing."
Then both the girl and the man were silent with the vision of their possible futures before them. If only Dick Ashton could have asked Esther to give up the career ahead of her, to renounce her music, to come back home with him to the United States to be his wife. But what had he to offer in exchange for these great sacrifices? He was a penniless young doctor without more than a hundred dollars in the world once he had paid his passage home and set up some kind of office. Moreover, suppose he should win patients and success sooner than other men? Did he not owe his first earnings to his mother and to his sister, Betty, whose courage and resourcefulness had helped him prepare for his career? Besides, what did Esther not also feel that she owed to this same sister? Plainly she had let him know her views on that afternoon some time ago when he had tried dissuading her from making herdébutif the thought of a professional life made her unhappy. Esther had then said that she felt that she must work until she was able to take care of herself and Betty and even to assist her father and new stepmother. For Herr Crippen was growing older and had nothing except what he earned by his music pupils. No, Esther's way was straight before her and one owed it to a great talent like hers to make the best of it. She had never manifested for Richard Ashton more than a warm friendliness which was natural enough to their position. Neither had he ever given Esther any reason to believe that the old kindness and sympathy which he had once felt for her had deepened into emotions much stronger. Yet, to him Esther's plain face, with its pallor and serious sweetness, with its big mouth and splendidly modeled lips was more beautiful than all his sister Betty's vivid prettiness.
"Betty!" The thought of her brought him back to the every-day world again. He laughed good-humoredly.
"Esther, Betty has everlastingly been saying that you had a perfectly determined passion for sacrificing yourself. Please get it out of your head at once that I have the faintest idea of taking Mistress Betty home with me. For if ever you needed her in all your life it seems to me you will need her in the next few years. And as long as half your effort is being made for her sake don't you think that she might at least be allowed to stand shoulder to shoulder with you? The Princess is rather a nice person, you know, Esther, in spite of us, and I don't believe that all the pleading in the world that I could do would persuade her to desert you."
"But it must," Esther replied so solemnly that Richard Ashton stared at her in fresh astonishment. For now that they were talking of Betty and not of herself she was looking directly at him.
"You see, it is for just this reason that I wanted to talk to you alone," Esther went on hurriedly. "Of course I may be mistaken or perhaps I have not exactly the right to interfere, but I am awfully afraid, Dick, that Betty is learning to care for that young German fellow, Carl von Reuter. Oh, I can understand that you may consider it absurd of me to be so suspicious, because Betty has been having dozens of admirers ever since we came to Germany. But I am sure this affair is quite different. In the first place the man himself is so much more attractive. He is heir to an old title and——"
"But Betty could not be such an utter goose as to care about a title," Dick interrupted; "and this fellow is as poor as a church mouse and she has only known him a few weeks. Don't you think it is rather looking for trouble? Why, I shouldn't dream of allowing Betty to consider the fellow seriously. I'll tell him not to come to the house again, as I did that other youth, if you say the word. Anyhow, I'll give Betty a piece of my mind tonight."
"You won't do any such a thing, Richard Ashton," Esther remarked firmly, actually shaking the young man's arm to express her scorn of his stupidity, "for if you do you will involve us all in a great deal of discomfort if nothing worse. In the first place I don't think Betty yet dreams that she is beginning to care seriously for this young German and perhaps she won't if no one says anything to her. But from what Polly and I have seen she does like him a great deal already and she tries to see him by himself without Polly or me. And you know that isn't in the least like the Princess. But she is awfully interested in her Camp Fire club in the village and perhaps if you take her home pretty soon nothing serious will happen. Lieutenant von Reuter is awfully poor, I know, and everybody says he simply has to marry a rich girl. But I don't know which I should hate the most: to have Betty care for him and he not return her affection or to have them both care and——"
"For goodness' sake, don't say another word, Esther, or I shall take the next train back home and sit and watch every breath Betty draws for the rest of the day," Dick answered miserably. "Please remember that I have a particularly hard lecture on anatomy in another hour. But I shall meet you on the train going out this afternoon and perhaps we can think up some plan of campaign together."
When Dick and Esther returned home just before dusk on that same afternoon, Betty was not there. They found Mrs. Ashton in tears from nervousness and fright, Polly O'Neill divided between anger and solicitude, and only Miss Adams sufficiently composed to have been making the necessary investigations.
So far as the newcomers could learn Betty had left the cottage at about eleven o'clock in the morning to go to the village of Waldheim for the work with the Camp Fire club which she had recently organized. But instead of waiting for Polly to accompany her after their regular custom she had seemed restless and in a most unusual hurry, and when Polly happened to be ten or fifteen minutes late for their appointment, Betty had gone off without her, taking their little German maid-of-all-work as her companion for the walk.
Afterwards the maid had reported thatdas Fräuleinhad arrived safely at the school and had joined her German friend, who was learning the business of a Camp Fire guardian. Later the girl had returned home expecting Betty to appear at lunch time; but it was now half-past five and no word had come from her, notwithstanding that several hours before Mrs. Ashton herself had gone into Waldheim and learned that Betty had presumably started for the cottage a short time after noon.
She had no other acquaintances in the village to detain her, so that the mystery of her disappearance was complete. There were, however, several persons who claimed to have seen her leaving for home at about the accustomed hour.
Naturally for the first few moments after their arrival both Dick and Esther were more astounded and stunned over the Princess' unaccountable behavior than frightened. For it seemed impossible to imagine that anything serious could have happened to her. Yet ten minutes later both the girl and man were suffering from even greater apprehension than Mrs. Ashton had endured. For whatever had induced Betty to attempt the walk from the village to their cottage alone? Of course the neighborhood in which they were spending the summer was presumably a quiet and peaceful one; still the two older women and Richard Ashton had objected to any one of the girls going any distance from their homes without companionship. And Betty was ordinarily obedient to her mother's slightest wish, fearing to cause her anxiety.
Rather helplessly Richard Ashton turned toward Margaret Adams, as a stranger is oftentimes of more use in an emergency of this kind than a member of one's own family.
"I had better go down to the village at once, don't you think?" he suggested. "There must be police, some one to whom I can appeal for assistance. If we were only in our own country one would know so readily what to do."
"I will go with you, Dick," Polly answered, beginning to put on her hat and light wrap. "No, Esther dear, you look tired to death already and some one must stay here with Mrs. Ashton and Margaret. In all probability Betty will return before we are able to get back."
Esther had gone to their front door to look out, but at Polly's words she returned and faced Mrs. Ashton.
"Don't you think we had best find Lieutenant von Reuter and ask his assistance?" she volunteered. "We know no one in this part of the country who would have so much influence. If Betty has lost her way, if the woods have to be searched, why no one could give us such valuable aid."
Mrs. Ashton's expression changed; she looked much relieved. "Esther dear, you are such a comfort. Why in the world did I not think of that idea at once? Lieutenant von Reuter is such a friend of Betty's and of mine that I am sure he will tell us what to do, even if he is unable to discover Betty himself." She put her hand on her son's shoulder, for Dick Ashton was growing more and more stern and uneasy. "Don't you think you had best drive up to the castle and see him yourself? Or if you could telephone that would be quicker."
"I dislike very much asking a stranger to have any part in a family affair of this kind, mother," Dick answered severely. "I have met Lieutenant von Reuter only two or three times and it surprises me to find that you appear to regard an acquaintance of a few weeks as a friend. I shall prefer to make my own investigations first without asking his advice."
So accustomed was Mrs. Ashton to yielding to her son's wishes that for the moment, although she was plainly unconvinced of his wisdom, she seemed about to give up. However, Esther Crippen laid her hand quietly on Richard Ashton's arm. "Please, please," she whispered so faintly that no one else could catch her exact words, "don't let anything that I have been saying to you today influence you or keep you from following the wisest course. Mrs. Ashton and I are right. And besides," Esther's voice trembled in spite of her effort at self-control, "we must find Betty no matter what method we use. I am afraid she has been taken ill and is among strangers unable to let us hear. I—I can't imagine what else could have occurred."
Dick's face softened. Why did Esther's advice always seem to him so much more admirable and intelligent than other persons'? Possibly because she so seldom thought first of herself!
"Dr. Ashton, do hurry," Polly O'Neill now urged impatiently. "I want to study every foot of the way from here into Waldheim before it grows too dark for me to see. If our Camp Fire training only will come to our aid! For if Betty has lost her way, surely she ought to be able to give us one of our old signals which we may recognize."
She was hurrying out of the door when Margaret Adams, who was sitting next Mrs. Ashton, trying to soothe the older woman's nervousness, said in a voice whose thrilling and sympathetic quality never failed to hold any audience that heard it. "Please wait for a moment, Dr. Ashton and Polly. There is something I want you to hear—a confession I must make. Earlier this afternoon when we first began to feel afraid that Betty was not coming home it occurred to me that perhaps Lieutenant von Reuter might know something about her. You must not think I intended being officious, but was there not a possibility that she might have gone for a walk or drive with him? You see, American girls so often fail to understand that they cannot do away from home the things they do in the United States without any thought of harm. And so I wondered if the walk or drive together might not have become a longer one than they realized or if an accident might not have taken place so as to delay them unaccountably. Therefore at about four o'clock this afternoon I telephoned to the castle and asked to speak to Lieutenant von Reuter. The man servant told me that he was not at home, that he had left the castle at an early hour in the morning without saying where he was going or when he would return. However, I left word begging him to let us hear as soon as he came in. I made the message so emphatic that I hardly think it could have failed to be delivered. Notwithstanding we have heard nothing thus far. But if Dr. Ashton feels that it would be best to inquire again, I want him to know what I have done and——"
Never in their acquaintance had Polly O'Neill before shown impatience with her new friend. Now, however, her loyalty to Betty Ashton seemed the most important issue in the world. Particularly when on the faces of Mrs. Ashton, of Dick and even Esther, she could observe that Miss Adams' suggestion had left its influence. Well, she and Betty had been like sisters always, members of the same Camp Fire club. She knew that Betty could do no such thing as Margaret Adams suggested, even in a spirit of thoughtlessness. It would seem too much like an effort to mislead her mother and deliberately to desert her.
Just as emphatically as of old Polly shook her head, although she did manage to speak with more than her usual restraint. "You are mistaken, Margaret, in supposing that Betty's disappearance has anything to do with Carl von Reuter. Oh, yes, I—I know it is partly my fault because I told you the other afternoon that Esther and I were both uneasy because she seemed to like him so much. But that did not mean that she would ever do anything wilful or foolish because of him. You see, dear, you are confusing the Princess and me. Betty thinks before she does things; I don't as often as I should, though I hope I have improved." Deserting her position next Richard Ashton, Polly slipped across the room, dropping on one knee before her friend. "You must not think we do not appreciate your kindness in trying to help us, but if you had known the Princess as long as I have you would not misunderstand her."
"Bravo, Polly," whispered Margaret Adams kindly. Then she turned gracefully toward Mrs. Ashton. "I hope you do not feel as offended with me as Polly does. Truly I did not mean that my suggestion should reflect seriously upon Betty. It has not taken me so long a time to understand her as one might think. But it did not seem to me that taking a walk or a drive with a friend would be thought so serious an offense. Also there is the possibility that she may have met Lieutenant von Reuter on her way home and that without reflecting on your possible uneasiness——"
But Miss Adams could not continue her apology, for at this moment there was an unexpected noise of some one approaching the front door. And as the sitting room was so close to the small hall everybody started up with broken words of relief. Betty was doubtless arriving and within a few seconds would be able to explain the mystery of her delay.
Almost at the same moment Dick Ashton and Esther managed to reach the little front door together, although it was Dick's hand that opened it. The changed expression in his usually serious eyes showed the burden of anxiety that had been so suddenly lifted from him.
However, he made no outward sign—it was Esther who gave the muffled cry of disappointment—when outside they discovered the figures of two young men, Lieutenant von Reuter and his cousin Frederick.
"I have been in Berlin for the day," Carl von Reuter explained formally, "and when I returned, bringing my cousin with me, I found the message that some one here wished to speak to me. It seemed best that I come in person. I do not understand, but if I can be of service——"
Brushing past Richard Ashton, Esther held out her hand.
"You are very kind, Lieutenant von Reuter. Won't you both please come in? For you see my sister Betty has been lost for five or six hours and as we are dreadfully worried, we hoped you would be kind enough to try to help us find her."
From twilight until almost midnight Dick Ashton, the other two young men, Polly and Esther and a number of people from the village of Waldheim searched the surrounding country for Betty Ashton. It seemed utterly incredible that she could not be found! She was not a child; she was almost a woman and could not have been lured away by strangers. But why if she were lost did she not make some sign? There were several signals learned in her Camp Fire days, which Polly and Esther would assuredly have understood.
Earlier in the evening by the aid of a lantern Polly O'Neill had insisted that she had discovered tracks that were surely Betty's, turning from the main road which would have brought her to the cottage, into a small stretch of woods. But at night it was quite impossible to follow these tracks over the brush and bracken, and after the woods had been thoroughly searched and no other suggestion of a wanderer discovered, Polly's idea did not carry much weight. Moreover, the two girls were too utterly exhausted and frightened to continue the investigation, though neither of them would consent to return home.
By chance the two girls, Richard Ashton and Carl von Reuter had separated from the others and were resting for a moment by the side of a low stone fence enclosing a forest.
Dick was leaning over Esther urging her to let him take her into the village, where a carriage was in waiting to drive any one of them who might have news, back to Mrs. Ashton and Miss Adams, who were still together at the cottage. Carl von Reuter happened to be standing close to Polly, but he was not speaking to her nor observing her. All through the evening he had seemed as anxious and interested about Betty as her brother and even more nonplussed at their inability to find any trace of her; because, of course, he knew so thoroughly well every inch of ground in the surrounding country and had also called in his servants from the castle to assist in the search.
Suddenly Polly clutched at the young lieutenant's arm. She had risen unexpectedly to her feet and was pointing ahead apparently at nothing so far as her companions could see.
The night had been dark and cloudy, the atmosphere sultry with suggestions of a September storm. Therefore the task of finding Betty, should she be out of doors, had been the more difficult and the more imperative.
"Look, Esther," Polly called sharply, "there over in the woods toward the west. Do you see anything?"
Esther had gotten up on her feet more slowly and was leaning on Dick Ashton's arm. She had become weary of false clues and false hopes. And Polly with her sanguine temperament had been more often deceived than any one else.
"That is only a mist you see rising between the trees, Miss O'Neill," Carl von Reuter answered before the others spoke. "It very often occurs in these damp old forests on sultry nights."
Polly made no reply for the moment, only walking over to where Esther was standing she whispered something to her that no one else could hear. And Esther took tight hold of Polly's hand and without regarding their escorts they both stared unceasingly in the direction that Polly had first indicated. Were the light clouds they saw at so great a distance away, rising and floating lightly in the night air like pale ghosts, really nothing but mist? Then it was curious that the mist should rise always in double clouds, the one within a few feet of the other.
A second time the two girls together watched this phenomenon and then after an interval of ten minutes, during which neither one of them would change her position, for the third time they saw the two light clouds unfurl and this time, though they may not have been perfectly certain of this detail, there appeared tiny sparks and cinders amid the clouds.
Polly turned deliberately toward Carl von Renter. "Lieutenant von Reuter," she said, "Betty is somewhere within your woods. I am perfectly sure of it and so is Esther by this time. You may not understand, but we have lived together in the woods for over a year and have studied woodcraft until we know almost as much about it as Indian women. The two columns of smoke which we have discovered rising at regular intervals are a woodsman's signal for help. We must go to Betty at once. It is dark and we are not familiar with your forests, so that it would take us a longer time to reach her alone. Will you be good enough to lead the way?"
There was no disputing the girl's quiet conviction, and as Esther was now equally convinced, neither young man advanced any denial. Only Carl von Reuter plunged ahead so rapidly that following him was almost out of the question.
By some magic he seemed to know the open spaces between the trees and where the underbrush could be safely trodden down. Neither did he make any effort to assist either of the two girls, leaving that task entirely to Richard Ashton. And though under ordinary circumstances neither girl would have needed help, tonight Esther was strangely tired. All day, since the early hour of leaving their little German cottage, she had been under unusual strain. So that now, though she was ashamed of it, remembering her long training in outdoor life, now and then she did manage to stumble and to have to clutch either at Polly or at Dr. Ashton for support.
In one of these moments of delay, Carl von Renter did hesitate for an instant, calling back over his shoulder: "We will reach the path in a short time. It is the same path which you took through the woods to my hunting lodge several weeks ago."
But when they finally reached this path their leader had disappeared into the distance ahead of them, leaving the three strangers to stumble on through the darkness alone.
And if ever in her life Polly O'Neill was to recognize the need which any woman may some day require of a knowledge of the woods and fields, she needed it tonight. For here the three of them were in an unknown forest in a strange land with no light except that made by the dark lantern which some one in the village had loaned Dick. Esther was too tired to be of much assistance, and Richard Ashton did not understand half so much of outdoor life as the two Camp Fire girls. Always he had been too devoted a student of books for the right kind of acquaintance with nature. Moreover, Dick was extremely angry at Lieutenant von Reuter's desertion of them. Of course Betty must be found as promptly as possible, if it were true that she was signaling for their aid from some place in the woods. But if Dick had realized it, in his prejudice against their new acquaintance, he would honestly have preferred that Betty should have to wait for her deliverance a few moments longer than that this young foreigner should manage to be her deliverer. And this in spite of the fact than an occasional drop of rain was beginning to fall and that now and then a line of lightning streaked the sky.
Under other circumstances nothing would have persuaded Carl von Reuter to have so failed in courtesy as his present action showed. For whatever the difference in points of view between an American and a foreigner, there is little difference in the code of good breeding between one civilized nation and another. And Lieutenant von Reuter was a member of the old German nobility. Indeed, one of the objections to him which both Esther and Polly had expressed was that he was almost too formal, too conventional in his manner and behavior for their simpler American taste. So of course there was some unusual impulse, some strong emotion and design now urging him ahead almost to the complete forgetting of his other companions.
But not since the hour of their original meeting had the young German failed to acknowledge to himself that Betty Ashton had a charm for him which no other girl had ever before possessed. He had known no other American girls until now, and his acquaintance with German girls of his own position in life had been at solemn parties, where they were usually too frightened and self-conscious to have much to say for themselves. Of course he had always been told that American girls were unlike any others and yet had failed to imagine that they could have the beauty and fascination that Betty Ashton had for him. Why, he had not even tried to find out anything about her family, about her position in the world! For it is a curious fact that foreigners who care so much for class distinctions in their own countries have no such attitude toward Americans. Because we have no titles, because a family that is poor and obscure in one generation may be rich and distinguished in the next, they consider that all Americans are of equal position except in the matter of wealth. And this fact Carl von Reuter had learned in connection with Betty Ashton. She was poor, there was no possibility of doubting it. One could see it plainly enough in the simple fashion in which they were living and through their ordinary conversation. Moreover, Betty had made no effort to hide the fact. Indeed, it had seemed at times as if she were anxious to speak of it for some secret reason of her own. Yet she need not have felt this necessary, since there could be no uncertainty in the young count's mind. Frederick von Reuter, who seemed to have almost forgotten his own emotion in his deep interest in his cousin's, having made careful inquiries through his bank, had sadly reported that Miss Ashton could not possibly be regarded as an American heiress.
This information, tragic as it may have sounded at the time, had no place in Carl's thoughts tonight. He was only possessed of the one thought that the girl whom he admired and liked so much was alone in the woods, probably hurt and needing his aid. And that at any moment she might be caught in a fierce thunderstorm.
As the young fellow strode swiftly along—he had hunted too frequently in his own forests not to be entirely familiar with them—he began to realize that the signal which his two girl companions had recognized first was coming from the same neighborhood where he had had a previous meeting with them. For as he drew nearer, once again the signals flashed, though dimmer now because of the increasing strength of the storm.
Curiously enough, as he strode along he was recalling the story of Siegfried and Brunhilde which he had repeated to the three girls at Polly's request. And the words of Siegfried's song came back to his mind. This was not just an idle coincidence. The Germans are a far more sentimental and music-loving race of people than we can fully understand. And from the hour when Carl von Reuter had first seen Betty, the beauty of her gold-red hair had suddenly made him think of his small boy dream of this best-loved heroine in all the old German legends. There was hardly a time in his childhood when he had not been devoted to this story, which is usually unfamiliar to American boys and girls until such time as they are grown and begin seeing Wagner's wonderful operas, written about these tales of the Nibelung.
And in truth the young man found Betty Ashton as much encircled by fire as ever the famous Brunhilde could have been and with the thunder and lightning playing over her head like the final scene in "Siegfried."
The girl lay on the ground between two smouldering fires from which only feeble columns of smoke were now arising, although there were flames enough still left among the embers to reveal the outline of her form. Nevertheless, though Carl von Reuter called her name aloud long before he could reach her side, Betty made no response. A short time after the reason was sufficiently plain, for she had fainted.
For half a moment the young lieutenant stood silent, staring down upon her, too full of feeling to trust himself to speak. She looked so utterly worn out and exhausted. Her thin summer dress of some light color and material was torn and soiled and her hair had come unfastened and was hanging loose about her shoulders, making a kind of vivid pillow against the darker background of the earth. For when another sudden flash of lightning followed the girl's hair was the color of the flame.
"Miss Ashton," Carl von Reuter called.
It was evident enough even in these first few minutes what had taken place. For one of Betty's shoes was off and her ankle had been put into splints and bandaged with the sleeve torn from her gown. She must have dragged herself about collecting wood and underbrush for her camp fires and there was at present no way of guessing how many she may have had to build before her signals were discovered.
"Miss Ashton—Betty!" Lieutenant von Reuter called again. But the girl made no answer and the heavens suddenly seemed to part wide open, letting forth a heavy downpour of rain.
In the same instant the young man gathered up the girl in his arms and ran toward the shelter of his hunting lodge. He had always the key with him, so that the door was quickly opened. Placing her on a couch, he then lighted candles; but the next moment, now that Betty was safe, he had a sudden appreciation of the struggle and anxiety of his three companions, whom he had so unceremoniously deserted. With a silver hunting whistle to his lips he blew loudly and then waited for an answer. None succeeded and he tried again and again. The third time an answering "hello" came from the lips of Richard Ashton.
When the young count finally turned and re-entered the room he discovered that Betty's eyes were now open and that she was looking gratefully and with entire consciousness at him.
But without attempting to do anything more than smile at her reassuringly the young lieutenant knelt and started a fire in his big open fireplace. And before it had done more than flicker into a light blaze, Polly, Esther and Dick were also crowding into the room, the girls kneeling beside Betty, while Carl von Reuter apologized to Dr. Ashton for his desertion.
It was now past midnight and out of the question for any one of the three girls to attempt the journey home. So after seeing that his four guests were made as comfortable as possible in his lodge for the night, it was the young German officer who tramped the long distance back through the rain to assure Mrs. Ashton and Miss Adams of Betty's discovery.
Several days later Betty Ashton was driven over to spend the day with Polly and Miss Adams. Her accident had not been a serious one, since by putting her ankle into splints at once she had saved it from dangerous swelling. Nevertheless she was unable to walk about except on crutches and so the tedium of staying at home was trying. Particularly as this was one of Esther's days in Berlin devoted to her music lesson, Betty wished to be with her friends.
The three women had spent the morning out of doors, but after lunch, as it grew unexpectedly cool, Polly suggested that a small fire be laid in their queer German stove, which was built of porcelain and stood like an odd-shaped monument in a corner of the sitting room.
Betty was resting on the sofa, Miss Adams writing letters at her desk and Polly sitting on a low stool as close as possible to the few embers visible near the base of the stove. She had never forgotten her old devotion to a camp fire and this was as good a substitute as one could obtain in their little German household.
Strangely enough no one of the little company had spoken a single word for the past ten minutes, so that it might have appeared as though all possible confidences had been exchanged during the morning. Margaret Adams finally got up and coming across the room, seated herself on the edge of Betty's sofa. She was wearing a soft, dark-blue silk made with no other trimming than a girdle and a little round collar of lace, and she seemed very few years older than her two companions.
The Princess looked at the great lady admiringly. It had been difficult to think of Miss Adams today except as one of themselves. She had been so gay and friendly, laughing over their jokes and apparently never once thinking or talking of herself. How wonderful to be able to accept fame and wealth in so simple a spirit, and what an object lesson for erratic Polly! Yet some benefit must Miss Adams have received from her friend, for surely she was looking years younger since her arrival in the German forests and so rested that she might soon be able to go back to her work with renewed talent. Think of being rested by being in Polly O'Neill's society! How surprised Polly's mother and Mollie would be by this information! And unconsciously Betty began smiling into the lovely face now bending over hers.
Could it be possible that Miss Adams was actually blushing, that she was returning her gaze with a kind of gentle timidity that somehow recalled either Mollie or Meg?
Then suddenly Margaret Adams said, "Betty, I have been wishing to apologize to you ever since the day of your accident. I know that no one else will tell you, but on the evening when we were so worried over deciding what might have become of you, I suggested that you might have gone for a walk or drive alone with Lieutenant von Reuter without thinking to let your mother know, and that some accident had occurred to delay you. At the time Polly scolded me dreadfully for my lack of faith in you, yet I don't feel that it would be quite fair to you unless I make this confession."
What on earth would Betty Ashton not have given at this moment to have prevented her cheeks from suddenly crimsoning in such a ridiculous fashion? Would she never hear the end of her escapade? Excepting her mother, her own family had been curiously severe and unsympathetic over what had seemed to her only an act of foolishness on her part, scarcely a crime. And here was Polly O'Neill also frowning upon her at this present instant as if she had been a saint herself during all her past life.
"It is all right, Miss Adams, of course," Betty murmured. "I am not in the least offended by your conjecture. It was natural enough under the circumstances, I think." And here Betty raised herself on one elbow, forgetting everything else in her earnestness. "Won't you tell me, please, Miss Adams, if it would have been so dreadful a thing if I had done what you supposed? Of course I should have let mother know, but otherwise I should not have thought anything of it. Why, it seems to me that it would have been much better had I had a companion on my walk. Because when I was such a goose as to catch my foot in a tangle of vines and tumble headlong, had Lieutenant von Reuter been with me he could have helped me home or at least let mother hear so that I need not have given so much trouble and uneasiness."
Miss Adams kissed the girl impetuously, failing to see that Polly was frowning at them both.
"Yes, dear, since you honestly wish to know, it would not have been wise," the older woman answered, "though I understood at the time that you might have done the thing without thinking. You know there is an old expression—and of course these old expressions bore us so that we are apt to forget how vital they are—that when we live in Rome we must do as the Romans so. I wish American girls would remember this adage a little better when they are traveling in Europe. You see, these old countries over here have had their customs much longer than we have had ours, and a walk with a friend would have meant nothing of any importance to you, but to them——"
"Margaret," Polly O'Neil broke into the conversation abruptly, "I don't mean to be rude in interrupting you. But there is one thing that Betty Ashton has never yet explained to my satisfaction or anybody else's, and I don't see why she should not do it now. Will you please tell me, Betty, whatever induced you to start off on such a journey by yourself? You must have known that the walk would take you several hours at least, even if nothing unforeseen had happened. Surely you had sense enough to know that your wandering around in a strange woods alone without anyone's knowing where you were would not be safe at any time or place. What made you do it?"
Betty bit her lips. It was true that she and Polly had never failed in the past in being absolutely honest with each other, nor had she ever hesitated to ask of Polly anything that she herself desired to know. Yet it was hardly fair that she should be asked this particular question before a comparative stranger. It had been difficult enough to make Dick and Esther accept her explanation as a reasonable one after several days of discussion. So what should she now answer Polly? For her friend's eyes were upon her with that queer searching gaze they sometimes wore, and her high cheek bones were flushed with determination—and something else.
"Answer me," Polly repeated firmly.
"Why, I thought I told you the other morning," Betty returned meekly. "I had no very special reason for taking the walk. I was just nervous and restless and kind of worried and all of a sudden as I started for home, why it seemed to me that I could not bear to go indoors so soon. And then I thought of the beautiful woods where we were together a while ago and I believed that if I could rest there for a little I should be——"
"Be what, Betty Ashton?" Polly demanded almost savagely. And then she shook her head sagely and with her arms about her knees relapsed into her old habit of rocking herself thoughtfully back and forth. "You need not try to explain anything further to me or to any one else for that matter. Your explanations are too absurd. Because if you don't know yourself what is the trouble with you, Esther and I both do. You are falling in love. You have not been like yourself for weeks! Why do you suppose that just now when I asked you a simple question that you should hesitate and flush? You went to that same old place in the forest alone just because you wanted to think about——"
But the Princess was now getting up from her place on the sofa and the other girl understood perfectly well her pretty air of offended dignity.
"Miss Adams," Betty began quietly, "it is growing late and if you don't mind will you ask your maid to send for my carriage. I have had a lovely day with you. Thank you for having asked me." And as she started limping into the other room for her wraps it was the older woman who slipped her arm affectionately about her, in the meantime frowning at Polly with more displeasure than she had ever before shown.
But Mistress Polly did not stir from her stool nor cease from rocking herself after the other two women had disappeared. Nor did she even repent sufficiently to help Betty out to her carriage, in spite of her friend's temporary lameness and need of her. The maid and Margaret could this time fill her place. But it was not only bad temper nor was it exactly repentance for her impertinence that kept Polly so steadfast in her childish position. It was ridiculous of her, certainly, and yet she could not keep back her tears. She had been fearful that her beloved Betty was beginning to care for this young foreigner; now she felt absolutely assured of it. For Betty would not even deny her accusation nor quarrel with her effrontery. How grown-up she had become, her dear Princess! And what a gracious, high-bred manner she had! It was too dreadful to have to think of leaving her behind in a foreign country forever and ever, married to a man whose ideas of life must be so different from theirs. Well, for her part she should fight against such a marriage taking place to the bitter end!
Nevertheless this resolution did not keep Polly from feeling like a very rude and much-snubbed little girl for the rest of that afternoon and evening. Miss Adams did not refrain from assuring her that she had behaved like a bad-mannered child. For whether or not the Princess was beginning to care for the young lieutenant, it was both unjust and unkind in Polly to try to tear away the delicate veil of romance which in the beginning should cover all young eyes.
As for Betty herself, she of course made no comment on the day's experiences to her family, except to say that she had had a pleasant enough time, but was tired. No one of them paid her as much attention as usual, for they were too deeply interested in some news which Dick Ashton had just received in an American letter. Anthony Graham had written saying that old Judge Maynard had recently died and that Betty had been mentioned in the old man's will. The will had not yet been probated, but would be within the month, when full particulars would be furnished them. At the time of his death Anthony had been with the old Judge, who had asked that the Ashton family be advised of his intention.
It was odd that under the circumstances Betty should appear to be the least interested of the four persons about their small dinner table in the news of her own good fortune.
"I wonder how much the legacy will amount to, mother—only a few hundred dollars, I presume," Dick Ashton suggested. "It is an amazing thing to me, however, why Judge Maynard should have left Betty a cent. Of course he is an old bachelor with no heirs, but he seemed to have taken a great fancy to this Graham fellow. And moreover, Betty was entirely an outsider."
Mrs. Ashton would not entirely agree to her son's line of argument. For Judge Maynard and her husband had been great friends, and interested in a number of business ventures together in earlier days, when Mr. Ashton had helped make the Judge's fortune as well as his own. And the older man had not had the misfortune to lose his. Moreover, he had been devoted to Betty when she was a small girl and later had shown much interest in her effort to hold on to the old Ashton place.
"I should not be in the least surprised, dear, if the old Judge has left you as much as a thousand dollars," Mrs. Ashton insisted as she helped Betty undress and kissed her good-night.
Three weeks had passed and Betty Ashton had fully recovered from her accident. Today she had been doing a hundred small tasks in the house, marching up and down their little garden, sometimes alone and sometimes with Polly, yet never getting beyond calling distance of home. Now and then she would tiptoe softly to a small bedroom and stand outside for a moment listening silently. If a voice called her she went inside for a little while, but if not she would go quietly away. For a solemn edict had been issued in the family the evening before, that on the following day no matter what should take place Esther must have absolute rest. At four o'clock, however, she was to be aroused, dressed and given a light tea, since at five they were to start for Berlin, where Esther was to make herdébutas a singer at Professor Hecksher's celebrated autumn concert.
And curiously enough, Esther had been able to sleep the greater part of the morning. For weeks before it had seemed to her that she had slept neither day nor night, so intense had been her nervousness and dread. Suppose she should make a ghastly failure of her songs; suppose as she stepped out on the stage, facing an audience largely composed of German critics and musicians,—that one of her old attacks of shyness should seize her? Her own disgrace she might be able to bear, but not Betty's, nor her father's, who was writing such eager, excited letters from Woodford with the sailing of each ship to their port; and not Richard Ashton's, who had always been her good friend. Through his kindness had she not first been allowed to play the grand piano at the old Ashton homestead, in those early days when her hunger for music had been almost as strong as her hunger for love?
But after her breakfast, which Betty brought to her sitting beside her on the bed while she ate, Esther for the time at least forgot her fears. There was nothing more that she could do—no further thought or study or preparation of any kind that she could give to her evening's work. So a feeling of gentle lassitude stole over her with the conviction that she was now in the hands of fate, and that it was useless to struggle further.
But if Esther was spared this final nervous tension before herdébut, Betty Ashton experienced a double portion of it. Indeed, in after years she often used to say that never at another time in her life had she suffered anything like it—not even on her own wedding day when every girl supposedly reaches the climax of excitement.
It was not because Betty had any lack of faith in her sister's talent, for no one who had heard Esther sing in the past few months could have doubted her ability. Even Miss Adams, who had heard most of the world's great singers, had assured them that they need have no fear for her future. Yet Betty knew her sister's disposition so well, knew how little self-esteem Esther had, how little of the vanity that sometimes seems necessary to success, and there was a harrowing possibility that she might suddenly be made ill from stage fright. Yet of course the younger girl recognized her own foolishness in allowing her imagination to dwell on such remote chances. Hardly was she able to explain even to herself the exact reasons for her feeling of stress and strain on that day which seemed so interminably long. Of course she and Polly had made up their difficulty long before—they had been having quarrels and making up ever since they were tiny girls—but today even Polly's society had failed to offer her any consolation, until at last Polly had gone back home to rest for an hour or two before dressing for their journey into Berlin.
And Mrs. Ashton had insisted upon Betty's doing the same thing. The girl could not make up her mind to stay shut up in the house, for although it was early October, the day was delightfully warm, so she lay down in a steamer chair under a tree in the yard, and covering herself with a light-blue shawl, fell at once into her former train of thought.
For in some way it was not just this thought of Esther's concert alone that had so filled her mind, but the idea that this concert in a measure was to be a turning point in their lives. Soon after it was over Polly and Miss Adams intended returning to America and Dick Ashton was to go with them. For not long after his talk with Esther on the train he had also discussed the same matter with his mother, and though she and Betty were both deeply grieved over giving him up, it was plain enough to them that Dick's future now lay in the United States. There he must make his reputation and establish himself in his profession. Nevertheless Betty could not now leave Esther to fight her battles alone, and just as surely Mrs. Ashton must remain with Betty. So Dick was to begin his struggle without his family. He had received a fine opening with a prominent physician in Boston, an old friend of his father's who had always known of his devotion and success in his chosen work, so that except for his loneliness there was no special reason for troubling about his immediate future. Notwithstanding, Betty was troubled. For Dick was not in the least like himself, had not been all summer, and now was becoming more and more solemn and stern as the time of his leave-taking approached. Of course she had always remembered him as more serious than most other young men; yet he had never before been morose or unhappy. All their lives had they not been having wonderfully good times together? And now—well, for one thing, Betty knew perfectly that her brother was feeling uneasy over her friendship with Lieutenant von Reuter and had not hesitated in telling her so, expressing his own disapproval of any further intimacy between them. And assuredly she had failed in giving him any satisfaction in return. For Betty had made no clearer revelation of her feeling toward the young foreigner to her brother than she had to Polly O'Neill. She had positively declined having their friendship interfered with, and as Richard Ashton knew nothing against him he was forced to yield to his sister's wish. Mrs. Ashton entirely sympathized with Betty, and made no effort to hide her pleasure in Carl von Reuter's attentions.
As the girl lay almost as if she were asleep in her big chair, now and then opening her eyes to glance up at the deeply blue October sky, it did not seem to her that her own obstinacy in this one particular was a sufficient reason for Dick's dejection. And yet what other reason could there be? He had promised to come home from Berlin earlier this afternoon in order to escort them back again. And probably if Esther'sdébutwas a tremendous success he might be made more cheerful.
And then in all probability Betty must have fallen asleep for about ten minutes, because when next she opened her eyes, Dick was standing within a few feet of her and some one else was beside him.
"Betty," she heard her brother's voice saying, "wake up, please, won't you and speak to an old friend? For otherwise you would never guess in half a lifetime who has arrived and come to me in Berlin today."
Making a tremendous effort to attain her usual dignity, Betty opened wide her gray eyes, stared, tried to get up out of her chair, and then finding her feet tangled in the blue shawl, stumbled and would have fallen except for the newcomer's outstretched arm.
Yet even when he had restored her to her usual equilibrium she did not immediately recognize their visitor, although she found herself looking up into a pair of clear hazel eyes and at the strong, clean outline of a typical American face. The young man must have been about twenty-three or four years old. He had dark hair, resolutely forbidden to curl, and curiously brilliant skin; but the contour of his face was almost too lean and the expression of his lips and chin too set and firm for so young a fellow.
"Miss Ashton," he began unsmilingly, "am I always to have to tell you who I am each time we meet?"
And then, just as she had once several years before, Betty held out both hands in a surprised and happy greeting.
"Why, it is Anthony Graham! But you must please forgive me, because how in the world could I ever have dreamed of seeing you here? What in the wide world has brought you to Germany?"
And as Anthony did not answer at once, Dick Ashton walked away, coming back a moment later with two porch chairs, which he placed near his sister's larger one.
"Sit down again, please, Betty," he asked. "I realize that we have very little time, but I think it better that you should hear at once what Mr. Graham has come all the way across the ocean to tell you." And Dick's face was so queer that it was quite impossible to tell what his emotions might be, so that Betty clutched the sides of her chair, white and frightened.
"Yes, please, if it is bad news, tell me at once," she whispered.
Anthony Graham's smile, appearing now for the first time, was immediately reassuring.
"But it is not bad news and we should not have frightened you," he began at once. "It is news that almost anybody in the world would be more than happy to hear. Judge Maynard has left you the greatest part of his fortune, which will amount to about fifty thousand dollars, I believe, and as he made me his executor, I have come over to try and make matters clear to you and your mother and brother."