It was a long way to Niendorf, but Gertrude flew as if she had wings.
"Good Heavens!" she groaned as she reached the top of the hill and saw
the red glow in the sky. Faster and faster she rushed down the hill; at
the next turn she must see Niendorf--and at last she stood there,
breathing quick and loud, her eyes gazing with terror into the valley.
Thank God! The red smoke was still rising into the sky, the flames
still shot up here and there, but the force of the fire was broken. It
is true, shouts and cries still sounded in her ears, but already she
met men who were going home.
She moved aside into the deepest shadow and gazed down into the valley;
the old house stood there safe and sound, the red light of the dying
flames played about its green ivy-wreathed gables and lighted up the
shrubs in the garden. The barns were in ruins to be sure, but what
mattered that? As she stood there gazing at the house with insatiable
eyes, a light suddenly shone out behind two of the windows, gazing at
her like a pair of friendly eyes. The windows were his. But the young
wife found nothing reassuring in them. The terrible anxiety which had
left her at the sight of the uninjured house, suddenly leaped up with
renewed force. How happened it that there should be lights in his room
when the fire was still smouldering down there? He in the house when
his presence below was so necessary?
No, never--or he must--
On--on--only to see--only to see from a distance, whether he lived and
was well!
"Life hangs on the merest thread," Johanna's words sounded in her ears.
"God in Heaven, have mercy, do not punish me _so_!"
At the garden-gate she stopped. What should she do here? Her ambassador
had come here only to-day and had offered him money for her freedom.
Ah, freedom!
Of what use is it when the heart is still held fast in chains and
bands? And she ran in under the dark trees of the garden, round the
little pond, on the surface of which a faint rosy shimmer of the dying
fire still played, and she sank exhausted on a garden-chair under the
chestnuts; just in front of her, only across the gravel walk was the
house and a dim light shone out of the garden-hall.
Upstairs, the bright light was gone from his windows; shouts and voices
of men still came up from the court, carriages were being pulled about,
horses taken out, all mingled with the sharp hissing sound of the hose.
Gertrude shivered; a great weakness had come over her, her temples
throbbed, the smell of the fire nearly took her breath away.
Here she sat motionless, gazing at the steps which led to the
garden-hall. Her eyes sought out step after step and at last lingered
in the door. "Up there! In there!" she thought, her heart beating wildly,
but pride and shame held her fast as with iron chains.
It gradually grew quieter in the court, then steps approached, firm,
elastic steps. Gertrude quickly seized the dog by the collar. "Down,
Diana!" she cried, hoarse with terror, and then a figure passed the
bright light of the window, and brushing close by her went into the
house.
Frank! He was alive--thank God! But he was hurt, he kept his arm
pressed so closely to his side. Ah, but he was alive! and now, now she
could go again quietly and unperceived as she had come. There were
plenty of hands in there to bind up his wounds, to--
She shivered again as if in fever.
"Come," she said to the whining dog, and she got up and turned away
towards the darker paths, but the dog pressed eagerly toward the house,
and almost as if she knew not what she was doing she suffered herself
to be dragged forward by him.
At length she reached the steps and in another moment she was mounting
them. Only one look inside, only to see if he really was suffering, if
he really was alive! And holding the impatient animal still more firmly
she passed noiselessly across the stone terrace; then she leaned
against the door-post and peeped through the glass, trembling with
emotion, timorous as a thief, full of longing as a child on Christmas
Eve.
The room looked just as usual, the carpets, the pictures, all just as
she had left it; within were people hurrying busily to and fro, and by
the table near the lamp he was sitting, his face, pale and drawn with
pain, turned full towards the door. And beside him, bending over him,
and binding up his arm with all the charming grace of an anxious and
tender wife, was the agile little creature in a black dress and white
apron, her bunch of keys stuck in her girdle. How skilfully she laid on
the bandage! With what supple, tapering fingers she fastened it! How
nearly her dark hair touched his face!
And this must be done by other hands than these that she was wringing
so here outside!
A joyful bark sounded beside her, and the dog broke away from her
trembling fingers with a sudden spring and bounded against the door so
that it shook. She started to flee in terror, but her strength failed
her; the ground seemed to sway under her feet, half-unconscious she
could still hear the door hastily torn open, and then she lost
consciousness altogether.