She continued to enjoy this happiness. It nestled in the cobwebby
corners, perched on the books, spun golden threads from beam to beam,
and it rode astride on every shaft of sunlight, which, reflected from
the opposite windows, crept along the leather backs of the books. All
the time Lilly heard humming within her a wonderful medley of tremulous
tones, snatches of melodies, harp-strings vibrating, chirping of
crickets, and twittering of birds. Waking or sleeping the concert went
on, with now and then a few majestic bars of "The Song of Songs" thrown
in.
Nothing was changed meanwhile in the ordinary daily routine. Frau
Asmussen was alternately sober and the blissful victim of comforting
drugs. Husband and daughters one hour ascended through the scale of all
the virtues to the dizzy pinnacle of saints, and the next were plunged
into deepest depths of infamy. Now a volume of Tolstoi was hunted for
in vain, and then a Spielhagen seemed to have been spirited into space.
Sometimes little gusts of wind wafted showers of powdery gold on to the
shelves. Like ordinary dust, it was swept away, yet it was a message
from the tossing boughs, in the country, laden with blossom. This was
all Lilly saw of the spring, save passing market-carts on which were
heaped bunches of lilac and may. Her young hero opposite had made no
further advances. She still trembled at the sound of his step, and
received with frantically beating heart the two shy daily greetings;
but there things ended.
He came no more to the terrace. The poring over books with his chums
now lasted far into the night. It was often nearly two o'clock before
she heard the last depart. Not till then did she fling herself on her
bed, and, staring into the summer twilight, let her fancy roam over
vast territories to find a throne worthy of her hero's attainment. She
saw him in the gorgeous uniform of a field-marshal winning victories on
the battlefield; she saw him a poet being crowned with laurels; an
inventor of world renown steering his own airship through the clouds; a
founder of some new religion.... But when she came to this point her
Pegasus halted in alarm, for she remained a good Catholic at heart,
though under the smart of bodily and spiritual castigation she had not
dared to take refuge in her religion. The courage to ask Frau
Asmussen's leave to go to St. Ann's every morning had soon evaporated,
and she had almost forgotten that confessions and masses existed.
Now, however, in an exuberance of emotions never before dreamed of, she
longed to unburden her spirit, and resolved to confess to Frau Asmussen
that she was a Catholic, and beg to be allowed to visit St. Joseph's
altar--kind, smiling St. Joseph, who stood with upraised finger behind
his golden-circled candles.
Frau Asmussen found in Lilly's avowal the secret of all her vices, her
artfulness, her laziness, her hypocrisy, and her lack of method; and
she included in her nightly prayer at table a petition for Lilly's
immediate conversion. All the same, she did not refuse Lilly permission
to go twice a week to early mass, which was as much as she had dared
expect.
Touching was the meeting between Lilly and St. Joseph after such a long
estrangement. It was like going home to come back to him. The angels in
the coloured glass window over his altar seemed to flutter their wings
and greet her like sisters and brothers, assuring her that her penance
would not be severe. The yellow and orange carpet invited her
hospitably to kneel down, and from the Virgin's shrine not far away
came the perfume of flowers.
The saint himself at first seemed a little hurt because she had
neglected him for such a long time. But when she had confided to him
all her woes, her loneliness, her beatings, her dislike of milk
puddings, he became softened at once and forgave her. He had been
presented width three new silver hearts since she had last knelt at his
shrine. They shot up flames as long as her hand, and she felt she would
like to dedicate one to him too: but why, she didn't know, for the
miracle in her case was yet to be performed. Maybe it was jealousy or
vainglory that prompted her desire, for she did not like the idea of
others standing on a nearer footing to him than herself. "But what can
I expect," she reasoned, "when I've treated him so badly all this
time?"
After confessing everything, except, of course, her love affairs--he
had become too much of a stranger for that--she hurried out of the
church. It was striking a quarter to eight, and her morning devotions
would have been objectless and thrown away had she not met her hero on
his way to school.
It was at the corner of Hassertor that she came upon him and his
companions. He lifted his cap and passed on with the others, but she
stood still, drawing a deep breath, as if she had just escaped a great
danger.
Meetings of this kind occurred twice a week from this time onwards. Her
dearly cherished secret desire that she would meet him alone one
morning, that he would stop and engage in friendly conversation, was
never fulfilled. There was not the faintest gleam of pleasure in his
face at her approach, the strained anxious expression of his eyes did
not relax in the least, though he blushed slightly as he raised his cap
and walked on.
* * * * *
She had long ago given up all hopes that he would ever speak to her
again, when one wet Sunday evening in July she heard the bell tinkle,
the front door being closed on Sundays to subscribers. She opened it
and there he was.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, and nearly shut the door again in her
confusion.
He asked if she had Rueckert's poems in the library. She knew quite well
that she hadn't, but she was afraid that if she said so there would be
no further pretext for conversation, so she replied that she would see.
Wouldn't he come in?
After a moment's hesitation, he sat down on the chair for subscribers
close to the door. Lilly hunted for a long time, for she feared if she
didn't that he would go away; rather aimlessly she looked on the
shelves, and kept saying half to herself, "I am sure I saw it not long
ago." Then she too sat down behind the counter to try and recollect
where she had seen the book. But he stimulated her to search further.
"If you saw it a short time ago, it must be there," he said. And when
it became clear that it was not there he sighed deeply, and murmuring,
"I don't know what I am to do," he departed.
Lilly could only stare aghast at the empty doorway, which a minute ago
had encircled his tall figure. She longed to cry out, "Stay, don't go!"
but the opposite door banged and it was all no good. She crouched on
the window seat, and mapped out in her thoughts what might have
happened if he had not gone away. Her heart beat so violently that she
felt as if she must faint.
A quarter of an hour later the bell rang again. She bounded up. Could
it be he come back? It was; he had left his umbrella. "You shall not
get off so easily a second time," she said to herself.
He caught hold of his soaking umbrella, which she had not noticed,
although it had made a puddle, which was running along the cracks of
the floor, and prepared to go away again.
"What do you want Rueckert's poems for?" she asked, seizing the
opportunity of opening a conversation.
"Life is so full of difficulties," he lamented. "You've no idea,
Fraeulein, how full."
Then he told her how they had to deliver extempore orations on subjects
sprung on them, with no preparation, whether they knew anything about
them or not. This time, however, it had leaked out that to-morrow, in
the literature lesson, a comprehensive _revue_ of Rueckert's works would
be demanded. For this reason he wanted to glance through the poems,
because he could not remember exactly who were buried in "The graves at
Ottensen."
Lilly was beside herself with joy. She could help him. She, the little
lowly sparrow, could be of assistance to him, the big soaring eagle.
Timidly she sketched the story of the poor beaten Duke of Brunswick and
the pious poet of "The Messiah." The only thing she could not remember
was who were the twelve hundred exiles who were buried in the first of
the graves.
He appeared incredulous at his unexpected good fortune. Was she
positive? He knew from his tables and history of literature it was all
right about Klopstock, but he shook his majestic head over the rest in
grave doubt. Lilly eagerly set his mind at rest. It was more than a
year since she had left school and had learned all these beautiful
things, but her memory was good and she wouldn't tell him wrong. At
last he seemed convinced. He breathed more freely, and remarked again,
turning his mind to more common things: "Yes, Fraeulein, life is hard,
very hard."
Now that the ice was broken he recounted his likes and dislikes.
Mathematics weren't bad, indeed he had got on very well with Euclid and
geometry. But there were languages, and history, and, worse still,
German composition. Alas! it was a troublesome world, enough to drive
one to despair.
Lilly quite agreed with him. She, too, had little reason to be
satisfied with the way the world wagged, and she expressed her thoughts
about it with passionate eloquence.
"And how you must detest," she concluded, "to be hampered in your high
ambition by the narrow limits of school life."
He looked slightly astonished and then said: "Yes, it's beastly."
"If I were in your place," she told him, "I shouldn't bother at all
about dry facts and dull lessons. I should just follow my own bent,
like the great poets and philosophers."
"That's all very well, my dear Fraeulein, but there's the examination,"
he cried, horrified.
"Oh, never mind stupid examinations. It doesn't matter whether you get
through them or not."
He became excited. "You don't in the least understand, Fraeulein.
Examinations are the entrance to every good position in life, no matter
whether you stay at the university, study law, architecture, or go into
the Civil Service. Not that I should dream of doing the last."
"I should think not, indeed!" she broke in. "A man like you!"
He smiled, well pleased at the flattery.
"I am not going to take the world by storm," he said, "but I have my
dreams, of course. What would a fellow be worth if he hadn't any?"
"Nothing!" she exclaimed, looking up at him delighted, with beaming
eyes. She was sure this was the happiest hour she had ever known in all
her life.
When he got up to go she felt actual physical pain, as if a limb were
being torn from her body. He had almost closed the door when he turned
as one feeling his way, and said:
"If it's not giving you too much trouble, Fraeulein, I should be glad if
you'd have another hunt for the poems." And then once more coming back
he added: "You might put them under the door-mat if you find them."
Lilly lit the hanging lamp at once, and obediently began to look for
what she knew she could never find.
* * * * *
He passed the long vacation in the country with a friend in misfortune,
with whom he crammed. Directly after the beginning of term the written
questions were to be set, and in the middle of September came the _viva
voce_.
Lilly's hero looked pale and haggard, and bristles, like red shadows,
appeared in the hollows of his cheeks. Lilly could not bear to see his
misery without speaking, so one morning on her way from mass, when she
met him alone in the empty street, she stopped.
"You must not overwork, Herr Redlich," she blurted out anxiously. "You
ought to consider your health for your parents' sake and the sake of
all who care for you."
He seemed more embarrassed than gratified, and before he answered cast
nervous looks around him.
"It's very kind of you, Fraeulein," he stammered, "but we'll discuss it
later--later, if you please," and he dashed on, scarcely raising his
cap.
It dawned on Lilly that she had done something dreadful. The
houses began to dance before her misty eyes; she gnawed her
pocket-handkerchief, and thought everyone she met must be laughing and
jeering at her. When she was once more in her corner behind the
catalogues she felt convinced that by her folly she had lost him for
ever. Yes! he would never speak to her again.
The next day he came in without greeting her, and went out again after
tea, and didn't look her way as he passed. It was all over, all over!
And then someone came and knocked in the twilight; one could hardly
call it knocking, it was more like a dog scratching to be let in. Lo,
and behold! it was he standing there. He had not the shy yet important
manner he had worn on that Sunday evening when "The graves at Ottensen"
had been on his mind. His air now was more that of a burglar who has
not learnt his trade.
"I say, is Frau Asmussen there?" he whispered.
"No; she never comes in here at this time," she whispered back,
trembling with joy.
"Than I may come in for a minute or two, perhaps?"
She drew back and let him in, wondering whether it was possible to feel
such bliss and live. He murmured apologies for his conduct at their
last meeting. She stammered that he mustn't reproach himself, and that
she had not meant to be so stupid. They sat down together on either
side of the counter as they had done that Sunday evening. He was the
first to lead the way back to their former point of intimacy.
"A fellow would often like to chat with a girl with whom he has
something in common," he said a little pompously, "but his time is not
his own, and there are so few opportunities."
"As for opportunities," Lilly thought to herself, "they could easily be
found."
He went on to say that, owing to her kindly interest in him, he felt an
interchange of ideas between them would be salutary, especially as he
believed in the emancipation of women.
Here he halted, not knowing how to proceed, but still retaining his
dignity. He challenged Lilly with his eyes, as much as to say: "You see
how tactfully I am dealing with this delicate situation."
Lilly hadn't a notion what he was driving at, but it did not matter.
The one thought that obsessed her was to save him from working himself
to death.
"We had a master when we were in the Selecta, Herr Redlich," she began,
"whose lectures were simply glorious. I shall never forget them! Like
you, he overworked. By this time I am afraid he must have died of
consumption, and if you don't take care you may come to the same end."
He nodded dejectedly. "Everything's so deuced hard," he muttered to
himself.
"You ought to have more sleep and take walks--plenty of walks----"
"Do _you_ go for walks, Fraeulein?"
Lilly couldn't say truthfully that she ever did such a thing. Since she
had been incarcerated in this den of books she had not seen a field of
white snow or a green tree.
"I!" she exclaimed, shrugging her shoulders. "Why should I go for
walks?" Then, rejoicing inwardly at her own boldness, she suggested:
"Couldn't we go together one day?"
He looked amazed. "There would be all sorts of objections," he
said, shaking back his forelock. "People might talk. For your
sake--especially for your sake--one must be careful."
Lilly had read about gallant young knights who set more store on their
lady-love's reputation than their own passion. She glanced up at him
full of grateful admiration.
"As far as I'm concerned," she cried, "you needn't be alarmed, I should
simply shirk mass."
Though she may have felt a slight stab of conscience as she made this
sacrilegious announcement, she was conscious that for the sake of this
walk she would cheerfully have sacrificed all the saints, even St.
Joseph himself.
"I must wait till after the examination," he explained.
So the matter was allowed to rest. He took his leave, Lilly speeding
him with warnings and good wishes, while he glanced uneasily up and
down the street, round the terrace and the entrance.
* * * * *
Lilly's life from this time onwards was one enraptured trance of hope
and delightful anticipations. She lay awake half the night, and
pictured herself wandering at rosy dawn with him through golden
meadows, her hand pressed against her side to still her joyously
beating heart, her arm brushing his elbow. And each time that she
thought of this, a little thrill ran through her, to the tips of her
toes. She read nothing but stories of glowing love and passion, pages
full of "transports," "intoxicating raptures," and "clinging kisses."
But of kisses in connection with herself she did not dream. She checked
herself when her thoughts drifted in that direction. He was too exalted
a being, too far above mere earthly desire. Now she felt that she had
good reason to promise St. Joseph a silver heart.
One Sunday morning she told St. Joseph the whole story of Fritz
Redlich's examination throes, of his high ideals, and her anxiety about
him. But on the subject of the arranged walk she was silent, for she
could not very well mention that she intended to shirk mass.
Lilly had saved during this year about sixty marks, which she carried
next her skin in a leather purse. The silver heart would cost at most
twenty marks, and there would be more than enough left to buy her
friend a present. She vacillated for a long time between purchasing him
a gold-embroidered cigar-case, equally ornate slippers, and a revolver.
Finally, she decided on a revolver in a case, for she anticipated that
in the struggle for existence he would often find himself in perils
that he could only be saved from by mad, daring, and swift action. The
revolver cost twenty-five marks, the gold thread for embroidering a
monogram on the case, five marks. So she thought she had managed very
satisfactorily.
The morning of the examination she saw him come out on the terrace with
a face as white as the gloves he waved in farewell to his parents. He
appeared to have forgotten her. She felt half inclined to run after him
and press the revolver into his hand, but she reflected in time that
the examiners might not appreciate his being so armed, and was glad
when at the last moment he turned round and gave her a timid glance of
recognition.
At one o'clock there was quite a little stir outside. They were
carrying him home on their shoulders. He looked exhausted, but his
friends cheered and shouted with glee. The old pensioner, in ragged
slippers, ran to meet his son and embrace him. She saw how he scrubbed
his greenish-grey goat's-beard against the hero's cheek. From the
kitchen at the bottom of the house came an appetising odour of fried
sausages. Lilly ran about between the bookshelves clapping her hands,
and crying inwardly: "St. Joseph is a brick!"
The next morning Lilly went to order the silver heart, and with blushes
requested that the initials L. C. and F. R., entwined, should be
engraved on it. When she came back from this errand she found in the
letter-box--among subscriber's slips--an envelope addressed to herself.
Inside, written on the back of an old menu card, were the words: "Be on
the terrace Sunday morning at five."
* * * * *
Grey dawn pierced the chinks of the library shutters. Lilly jumped out
of bed and threw up the window. The street looked like a big bowl of
milk, the mist of early autumn rose so densely from the ground. The
damp soft vapour cooled her burning cheeks, and she held out her arms
as if bathing in it. Her thin summer dress, which she had washed and
ironed with her own hands the night before, hung on the whitewashed
wall like a blue cloud. She had never made herself so smart as she did
to-day; for a picnic so fraught with fate she must be worthily adorned.
The small sum left out of her savings, after the purchase of her gifts,
had been spent on a burnt straw picture-hat with pale blue ribbon
strings tied under the chin, and did instead of a neckscarf. A pair of
long open-work silk gloves, which she had forgotten all about, were
unearthed from the depths of her trunk.
She put the heavy revolver in her hand-bag, after kissing it several
times first and murmuring over it:
"Protect him, destroy his enemies, and lead him to victory." Thus she
consecrated the weapon dedicated to his defence.
Punctually at five she heard the opposite door open and shut. She
slipped out at once, and they met on the terrace. He shook hands. His
eyes were haggard, yet there was an expression of energy in them. There
was something of the dandy almost in his air and apparel. His hat was
tilted slightly on one side. He flourished a bamboo cane in his hand
with a silver knob.
Lilly murmured shy congratulations. He thanked her with lofty
condescension. The examination was now a very small matter, hardly
worth mentioning.
"We are playing the fool now to a frightful degree," he added. "I can't
say I find it congenial, but a man must know something of the frivolous
side of life as well as the serious."
As they passed St. Ann's, a happy thought occurred to Lilly. It would
be delightful to enter the church for a few minutes, and by removing
the burden of deception win St. Joseph's blessing on their day's
outing. She made the suggestion timidly, and found she had put her foot
in it.
"I am a Freethinker, Fraeulein," he said, "and have the courage of my
convictions. Still, all enlightened people should be tolerant, and if
you would like to go in I will wait for you outside."
Lilly felt she didn't care about it any more and blushed for shame and
vexation. Of course, he didn't know how much St. Joseph had to do with
his success, or he would not have been so ungracious.
They walked on in silence through the still deserted streets of the
suburbs. The mist lifted a little. Lilly, chilled to the bone, shivered
at every step she took. She thought she shivered from excitement, and
yet she was much calmer than she had expected to be. Everything was so
different. What had disenchanted her? She didn't know. She gazed
wistfully before her at the trees that appeared at the far end of the
street. "Let us only get out into the country," she thought, and
clenched her teeth to prevent them chattering.
The silence began to oppress her. She wanted to begin a conversation,
but could think of nothing to say. In front of them a baker's boy
started whistling on his round.
"We used always to buy hot rolls after we had worked all night," said
young Redlich suddenly. "We might buy some now."
Lilly felt happy again. If he had said "We will steal some," she would
have been happier still.
The boy was not allowed to sell his rolls. They were on order, but
there was a shop open opposite. When Lilly saw her hero come out of the
shop with a big bag of rolls under his arm, she had a nice sort of
feeling as if they were setting up housekeeping together.
Now they were passing gardens, and showers of drops fell on their heads
from the branches. Lilly bent her shoulders and stamped her feet. She
was simply frozen. At last they were out in the open fields. Masses of
silvery gossamer cobwebs, weighed down by the heavy dew, hung about the
stubble, which had grown high; and the outline of yellowish hilltops
bounded the circular landscape on one side, while on the other in the
distance rose a wall of dark woods. Lilly struck out her arms like a
swimmer and breathed deeply several times.
"Aren't you well?" he asked.
"Oh, I don't know! I must make up for all I've missed," she answered.
"You see, I haven't really breathed for a whole year."
As she still shivered from cold, she started running. He tried to keep
up, but soon was left behind, panting and stumbling. When they reached
the first hill the sun began to rise over the fields. The undergrowth
seemed aflame and the cobwebs glistened like diamonds; the dewdrops
glittered like sparks of fire.
Warmed and excited by her run, Lilly pressed her hands against her
throbbing heart, and gazed with dizzy eyes into the sea of glowing
light. "Oh, look, look!" she stammered, and then turned an appealing
glance of inquiry on him. She had half expected that he would spout
odes, sing songs, and, if it had been possible, play the harp. But he
stood struggling for breath, and appeared entirely absorbed in himself.
"Do recite something, Herr Redlich," she besought him. "A poem of
Klopstock's--anything."
She hadn't got as far as Goethe when she left the Selecta.
He laughed, a short scoffing laugh. "No, thank you," he said. "Now the
examination is over, the whole of German literature may go hang for all
I care."
Lilly felt snubbed. She had probably done a very ignorant thing in
asking him to recite. When she next looked at the view the glow had
faded, though the fields still sent up a faint golden haze towards the
sun, the face of which had grown hard and indifferent.
They continued their way in the direction of the woods. He swung the
paper bag, and Lilly picked blackberries, which hung on the bushes like
strings of beads in a filigree of cobwebs. A little further on, close
to the outskirts of the wood, they came to a seat; and without
discussing whether they should sit down or not they took possession of
it. It was just what they wanted. Lilly was a little awed. This was the
spot where the soul of a young genius was to be revealed to her, by
whose clear vision she was to be guided upwards to the sun. He opened
the paper bag, and she laid her handkerchief full of blackberries
beside it. The revolver in the bag was put under the seat for the time
being. Lilly cut the rolls, scooped out the middle, and filled them
with blackberries, and they had a delightful breakfast together.
The magic glow of early autumn cast its spell upon them. Lilly's head
swam with delight and longing. She could have thrown herself at his
feet and pressed her forehead against his knees to find a support in
the approaching joy of fulfilment. He had taken off his cap, and a
curly forelock fell over his eyebrows, which gave him a sombre,
world-challenging air. The lock of genius had been the fashion in the
Upper Prima, and was assiduously cultivated by all who didn't aspire to
the smartness of a Students' Corps. His gaze rested on the church
spires and towers of the old town, which stood up like sleepy sentinels
watching over the clustering roofs of the houses stretching in all
directions.
"I wish you would tell me your thoughts," Lilly said in a tremor of
admiration. The great, crucial moment--had it come?
Again he gave that short rather scoffing laugh.
"I am calculating how many parsons get their living in a hole like
that," he said, "and what a comfortable thing it is to go in for
theology."
"Why don't you go in for it?" she asked. "All sources of knowledge have
a common fountain."
"You don't understand anything about it, my dear Fraeulein," he rebuked
her gently. "What matters is not knowledge, but conviction. A man must
suffer everything for his convictions; he must drudge and starve for
his convictions. The town has in its gift six livings for theological
students. But I would rather cut off my right hand than accept one. For
your convictions' sake you must go out into the world and fight your
way. That is what I am going to do. I begin the day after to-morrow."
His small, short-sighted eyes flashed. He pushed back the lock of
genius from his forehead with a trembling hand.
Now he was talking according to her expectations. She wondered if this
would be the right moment to present him with the revolver. But she
deferred the presentation out of respect for the grandeur and
significance of his new mood.
Taking up the bag with the weapon in it, she clasped it tightly, and
then aired her sentiments with the same enthusiasm as she had done that
night on the terrace.
"Oh, Herr Redlich," she cried, "can there be anything more splendid
than to fight like that--to plunge into the ocean of life, to wrest
happiness from the grim powers of fate, to become ever stronger and
more iron in purpose, no matter how things go against us? Oh, it must
be sublime!"
But, as before, her appeal failed to wake any response in him.
"Good heavens, Fraeulein, when you come to consider it, of what does the
much-vaunted battle of life consist?" he said. "Letting yourself be
trampled on, sleeping in a cold bed in the winter, and getting nothing
for dinner all the year round, I am going to try it, of course, but
it's hard all the same. If I had an income I shouldn't feel so bad."
"And is this all the spirit with which you enter the battle?" asked
Lilly.
"Dear Fraeulein," he replied, "how can a fellow who starts in life with
a few darned shirts and socks, and borrowed money, feel any different?"
"He is the very one who should conquer," Lilly urged, eager to inspire
him with her own confidence. "You, with your consciousness of being
great and different from other people, are bound to carry all before
you."
She waved her arm with an impassioned gesture, which took in the whole
prospect before them: the plain with its silver streams and its green
trees, the city embosomed in its gardens, perched among its meadows
like a lark's nest. She would show him a small symbol of the future
kingdoms over which he was to reign.
He nodded gloomily, convinced that he knew more about it than she did.
"Life is hard--hard," he repeated.
She still did not despair of infecting him with her own ambition for
his future, and in an outburst of eloquence she went on:
"If only I could express what I feel and know is true--if only I could
make you courageous and hopeful.... Look what a pitiable creature I am.
I have neither father nor mother nor friends.... I hadn't even the
chance of staying at school and finishing my education. Here I am,
without position, money, or even winter clothes.... Look at my feet."
She thrust out her shabby boots, which till now she had been careful to
hide beneath her skirt. "I never have enough to eat, and if I am late
home to-day I shall be thrashed. Yet I am certain that somewhere
happiness is waiting for me.... It is there, in every little breeze
that blows in my face--though invisible--in every sunbeam that greets
me. The whole world is made up of happiness, really, and of music....
Everything is a Song of Songs--a Song of Songs is everything."
She turned away from him sharply so that he should not see how moved
she was.
Below in the town the bells began to chime. St. Mary's, which once had
been the Catholic cathedral and was now the chief Protestant church,
led off with its deep triple clang. St. George's, once the Church of
the Order, gave out a clear E G third; on feast-days it added a C. More
bells sounded, and among them the modest tinkle of St. Ann's,
unmistakable and insistent, making itself clearly heard in the chorus.
To Lilly's ears it whispered, "We know and love each other, and St.
Joseph greets us."
Her friend meanwhile had been recovering his mental equilibrium. He
assumed his little air of pedantic dignity, feeling that he had got the
best of the argument.
"I don't think you and I altogether understand one another," he said.
"I have made a deep study of the problems of life, and so see things
rather differently from you. I call a spade a spade, and am not taken
in by the so-called illusions of youth. I know what men are, and should
advise you to be a little more careful in what you do and say."
"What on earth do you mean?" Lilly asked in astonishment.
He smiled with a half-embarrassed and half-superior air as he glanced
askance at her.
"Well, you know, beauty has certain dangers connected with it."
"Beauty!" Lilly cried, burning all over. "What nonsense!"
"Those on whom nature has conferred this gift have special reasons to
be more cautious than others less favoured. For instance, it is lucky
for you that you have fallen in with anyone so correct, old-fashioned,
and honourable in his ideas as I am. Another, less steady, more
frivolously inclined, might easily, you know, have taken advantage of
such a walk as this. You may indeed be quite sure that he would."
Lilly stared at him in dismay. She was overwhelmed in a whirl of far
from agreeable reflections. What did he want her to do? Was he
reproaching her, or making fun of her most sacred sentiments?
"Oh, good heavens!" she exclaimed, completely losing her composure. "I
wish we were at home."
"You mustn't misunderstand me, Fraeulein," he began again. "I am not a
saint. I am fully acquainted with the weaknesses and failings of human
nature. I am only offering you a word of counsel, for which you will
one day be grateful to me. Principles count for something, and in
after-life, if we meet again, you will, it is to be hoped, have no
reason to be ashamed of the acquaintance made in your youth."
"Ashamed," thought Lilly. "I ought to feel ashamed of myself now."
She felt all at once that it had been fast, undignified, almost common
of her to have proposed this morning walk. Before it had not seemed
wrong, why did it now suddenly seem so awful?
The chimes still sent forth their melody; the sun still spun a network
of gold around them. She saw nothing, heard nothing, so deeply hurt and
ashamed was she. She would have preferred to run away there and then,
but dared not stir a finger.
He for his part no longer seemed a person in need of sympathy and
consolation, but very self-satisfied and proud of what he had done. He
removed a blackberry stuck in the lattice-work of the seat, and put it
in his mouth.
"It would be a pity to get our clothes in a mess," he said, as he
crunched the seeds slowly between his teeth.
Lilly grew more composed and stooped to pick up the bag.
"What is in that?" he inquired. "It looks a heavy thing to carry."
In alarm Lilly clutched it to her heart.
"It's only the door-key," she faltered.
Then they set out homewards.
"If only I could make him change his opinion," she thought, "and think
better of me again!"
The only thing that occurred to her was to gather a nosegay of all the
most beautiful wild-flowers she could reach.
With downcast eyes, she offered him the nosgay as a parting souvenir
instead of that other gift of which she now could not think without
feeling a fool.
He thanked her with a courtly bow and a flourish of the bamboo cane
with the silver knob, an heirloom, of which he had only just come into
possession.
Lilly was too depressed and humiliated to utter a word.
"Doesn't something tell you," he asked, "that we shall meet again
sometime in the future?"
She turned aside; it was all she could do to suppress the tears that
rose to her eyes.
"If we do," he went on, "I hope I shall prove to you what incessant
work and unwavering loyalty to one's convictions can accomplish, even
without money."
His voice now vibrated with gleeful self-confidence and importance.
It seemed almost as if, in reducing her to a state of insignificance
and despair, he had imbibed something of her former gay courage. When,
however, they drew near the old market-place, he became exceedingly
uneasy again, as he looked up and down the streets. They were very full
now, he remarked; it would be better if they parted here, and pursued
their way home by different roads.
He said "pursued," to show that his studies in German literature had
not entirely been wasted.
* * * * *
A few days later he left on his travels. The atmosphere was long heavy
with the odour of the garlic in the sausage with which Frau Redlich had
flavoured her son's soup at parting.
Poor Lilly crouched behind the window curtains with a sore heart, and
wished that she had never set eyes on him.