Notwithstanding its being the month of September, a burning July heat
prevailed, and, as a breath of wind would occasionally stir, great
clouds of dust rose from the streets and lanes of the settlement. But
in spite of the intense warmth of the sun, masons and carpenters were
busily at work on Brother Mauer's house, which was located in a
pleasant district on the outskirts of the town. From the windows on
the first floor, which stood quite high from the ground, one could
catch a fine view of the broad, sunny landscape. There was the green
meadow-land, with its duck-pond, and beyond, round the road to the old
mill in the valley, the steep path leading uphill to the graveyard, and
finally, away off towards the south, great masses of dense forest,
rising one above the other, covering the mountain-sides and shutting
out all that lay beyond.
"So that will be your room dear father, and this one next to it mine,"
said Carmen, pleasantly, as she and the old man wandered about in the
bright morning air over the grounds and through the partially finished
building which was to be their home.
"How pretty it will be here, father! I will raise vines all around the
windows, so that, in summer, a pretty shade will fall in the rooms; and
even though we are not allowed to have any ornaments, a cabinet of
books will be here, and by the window shall stand a table with a vase
of flowers on it, while over there I will make a cosey little nook,
like the one Frau von Trautenau has in her room. And then when evening
comes, dear father, you shall sit by me, and tell me of the snow-capped
Himalayas, and the wonders of the East Indian world. Or when the lamp
is lighted, I will read to you, just as I did to Frau von Trautenau in
her dear little nook."
"How often you speak of that lady, Carmen! Is she so very dear to
you?" asked Mauer.
"Yes, very dear, father," she replied eagerly, and the warmth of her
feelings betrayed itself in her countenance. "She was very, very kind
to me; and with her, I, who was so lonely, felt how good it must be to
look into a mother's eyes. I could always turn to her for sympathy and
advice, feeling sure of being understood; and that was a great comfort
to me, when I thought you never would return, father. She is not grave
and austere, like our Sisters here, but is in all things noble and
good; and even though she belongs to those who are outside in the
world, yet anyone following her could not go wrong. The world!" she
continued thoughtfully. "We are all of this world as long as we live.
How can one set of people consider themselves so much better than the
others?"
"We do not think ourselves better, child, but on a surer road to become
so," interrupted the father. "And yet, even with us, there are no
insurmountable barriers to keep us from straying into the by-paths
which lead us away from the goal!" he added, with a sigh.
"Yes father," she said, with a fond smile. "That is just what I say.
The right way and the wrong, cross each other everywhere in life, and
we must ever be striving more and more to distinguish between them."
"May your heart never mislead you, child!" answered the old man with
emotion. "One who has lived as long as I have, who has fallen and
endeavored to make atonement, learns to mistrust the human heart."
"Listen, father; are not those shots?" exclaimed Carmen, excitedly, as
from a distance were heard, at this moment, several dull reports of
cannon. Closer and closer they came, mingled with the cracking of
rifles; while from the borders of the forest, on the south, clouds of
smoke ascended and curled in wreaths among the sombre pines, Mauer and
his daughter went out and took up their station on the lawn, under an
old linden-tree, from whence they could survey the scene at leisure.
In the west the sky had become overcast; black clouds were gathering in
threatening masses, and there was every indication of an approaching
storm. Low rumblings of thunder reached the ear from time to time,
together with the dull booming of artillery.
"What a number of shots! There must be something extraordinary going
on!" exclaimed Carmen.
"There are troops practising over yonder in the forest," said one of
the workmen, who had come out to satisfy his curiosity. "I hear they
are quartered in the village on the other side of the woods."
Troops! What a startling circumstance! The other workmen, heretofore
so quiet and diligent, stopped their labors, and gazed with surprise
and curiosity towards the place from whence the smoke came. It was an
almost unheard-of event for soldiers to be in this neighborhood. The
Brothers, being conscienciously opposed to the use of fire-arms, had
been exempted by the government from military duty; and many a one who
left the settlement to go abroad had never seen a soldier.
Suddenly a flash was seen among the trees, followed by a roar, this
time louder than before. Through the openings in the woods could be
seen the gay colored uniforms, at first singly, then in groups; and
finally in whole companies. Bayonets glittered in the sunlight; flags
and standards waved, and bugles sounded from the distance.
"Oh, there they are!--the soldiers! How their weapons glitter!" cried
Carmen, in delight. "How the cavalrymen gallop to and fro, and how
their sabres shine! Just look, dear father, how splendid it is!"
"Yes, when no blood is being shed, one can look at it from a safe
distance," said Mauer, soberly.
"Yet I don't know but what I would be a soldier if I were a man,"
replied the girl, excitedly. "It is, of course, a great sin to commit
murder; but to fight for the fatherland, that must be a noble
employment for a man. It seems to me, father, that a true man would
stand in the fight and know no fear; who would throw himself into
danger bravely, face it unflinchingly, and turn it aside by his
prowess; under whose protection the weak seek for shelter; who has,
with all his bravery, a gentle, tender heart, and a well-balanced
mind--a man father, who, like the oak, sways not when weaker trees
tremble in the storm."
"How is it possible that you know anything about soldiers?" asked
Mauer, astonished at her enthusiasm.
"I met some of them at Wollmershain," she replied quickly.
"And were they such men as you describe?"
She hesitated a moment.
"No, not all of them. A man is not always what he ought to be."
"Wollmershain and Frau von Trautenau: between the two, your thoughts
seem continually to wander, Carmen; everything you say springs from
that subject, or leads back to it. You seem to have received very deep
impressions; deeper, I am afraid, than is good for you."
She did not answer. Her gaze lingered on the scene before her,
watching the troops as they began to file off from the forest.
Suddenly a large body of cavalry wheeled around from a screened corner
in the woods, and the spectacle became more and more lively.
Carmen's face glowed with pleasure, and her eyes moved restlessly
hither and thither, as if to take in the whole picture.
"I could sit here all day and watch them," she said. "It cannot be
late, father, is it? Sister Agatha told me, when I came away this
morning, that I must be back at eleven o'clock for something important."
"Eleven o'clock!" replied Mauer, looking at his watch. "Why, my child,
it is almost twelve."
Carmen sprang up quickly. "Then I must go at once. What a pity! I
want to stay so much. Adieu, dear father; I will be with you again
this afternoon." She embraced and kissed the old man, and hurried away.
Meanwhile an unusual commotion prevailed in the Sisters' house.
Whenever two met together there was whispering going on; the hands in
the work-room rested oftener, and the heads were put together for a
softly-spoken word; the eyes wandered about with inquiring glances, or
watched the dial of the large clock that quietly ticked on in its usual
monotonous fashion.
At last the hands pointed to the appointed hour, and eleven deliberate
strokes chimed forth; whereupon the Sisters began to issue forth from
every door, and betook themselves to the assembly-room.
Sister Agatha and the recently elected supervisor of the unmarried
Sisters, Brother Jonathan, stood in the centre of the room, and near
them the teachers and elders. When all had entered, and an expectant
silence prevailed, Jonathan commenced an address to the congregation.
"As you probably already know, dear Sisters, a letter has been received
from Brother Daniel, at Cape Colony, in which he informs us of his safe
arrival in the country of the Caffres. He goes on to tell how he has
met Brother Joseph Hubner and two other Brothers; and how a little band
of devout Christians has begun to spring up, which with the Lord's help
will further the work of rescuing souls from the darkness of
heathenism, and win them to the truth. It is a glorious work which
they have so piously undertaken, and blessed is every one who lends
them a helping hand. Nothing is needed in their simple life, except
one thing. They have no women to help to lighten the labor, and so
Brother Joseph begs that his wife Christina, whom he left behind, may
follow him; and Brother Daniel desires that we choose a helpmate for
him, who may be sent out in company with Sister Christina. This
request is very proper, and a beautiful field of work is thus opened
for her who will become his wife, as she will be of the greatest
assistance to her husband. We now wish, dear Sisters, to draw lots,
and thereby decide which of you is called to this honor of helping our
dear Brother in building up the faith; and we are prepared to recognize
in the result a direct expression of the Lord's will, hoping it will be
gladly and humbly obeyed."
When Jonathan had finished speaking, and arrangements were being made
in the usual manner for the drawing, a buzz of excitement arose among
the Sisters. Suspense was written on every face, but no one showed any
fear. Custom and habit, which govern so completely the feelings of
people, prevented the Sisters from feeling wounded or alarmed at being
disposed of in this business-like manner; and therefore they allowed
the ceremony to go on with cheerful resignation. Brother Jonathan laid
down one after another of the drawn papers containing the names of the
Sisters, while Sister Agatha at the same time let the blanks which she
drew fall on the floor, waiting until she should turn up the one on
which was written Brother Daniel's name. The spirit of humility with
which it all was accepted, as coming from the Lord, stood written on
these gentle faces which bore this trial so firmly. Not a single
Sister trembled as her name was read by Brother Jonathan. About half
the list had been called in this manner, when Jonathan, unrolling
another paper, looked at it a moment in silence. He changed color, and
involuntarily hesitated; but controlling himself, read in the same calm
voice as before: "Carmen Mauer." He looked anxiously at Sister Agatha,
whose trembling fingers tried to open the folded paper which she drew.
After many futile efforts it was at last unrolled; she looked at it,
and her hand sank slowly to her side as she read: "Brother Daniel
Becker."
Hate or love, triumph or despair: which was it that stood so plainly
written on Jonathan's face? For the moment he could not master his
feelings.
"Sister Carmen Mauer!" The name passed from lip to lip, and echoed
through the room. Carmen had endeared herself to everybody, although
she was so different from them all. Her sweetness of manner had won
their hearts, and her unselfishness and kindness had gained her many
friends. "Carmen Mauer!" they called, repeatedly, but no answer came.
Carmen was not present.
"Where is Sister Carmen Mauer?" asked Brother Jonathan, who had become
sufficiently calm to speak; and something like a gleam of hope lit up
his features.
"Here," replied a voice half-choked from swift running.
All eyes were turned towards the doorway where she stood; her cheeks
rosy, and her large black eyes filled with wonder, as she glanced
rapidly over the assembly.
"Here I am," she repeated, stepping forward. "Do you wish me?"
Sister Agatha hesitated; she did not know exactly what answer to make.
How very unfortunate that Carmen should have been late on this
particular day, thus rendering it impossible to prepare her beforehand
for what might occur! Even now Sister Agatha would gladly have spoken
with her alone, and told her gently about the choice which had fallen
upon her. But Jonathan had already advanced to meet the girl. He had
resumed his usual manner, and as he fixed his eyes on the unsuspecting
maiden, there was a certain air of assured triumph in his looks, as if
he had her now securely in his power.
"Dear Sister Carmen," he said, "you have, by your tardiness, missed
hearing that Brother Daniel Becker has written to us from the land of
the Caffres, and has desired us to choose a wife for him. The lots
have just now been cast, and the Lord has directed it to you."
"To me?" said Carmen, with an air of perplexity, turning her astonished
glance on the speaker, as if she did not understand what he was saying.
"Yes, to you, dear Sister," continued Jonathan, with a louder voice;
"and I hope you will receive this choice humbly, as becomes you, and
accept your position as Brother Daniel's wife--" he hesitated a moment,
and then added with emphasis; "if you are not already betrothed to some
other man."
Carmen's eyes flashed with anger, and she drew herself up proudly.
"Cast lots for me!" she exclaimed bitterly; "disposed of me at a
chance, as if I were a bale of goods, a lifeless piece of machinery!
Promised me to a man to whom no impulse of my heart draws me; to whom
it is quite indifferent whether I or some other girl falls to his
share--and all in the name of religion! This is indeed degradation,
slavery! It never could be worse among the slaves on the islands whose
freedom you all have taken so much trouble to secure."
She had spoken with all the passion of her warm nature stirred to its
depths; and now she stopped, exhausted. All color had vanished from
her face; only the lustrous eyes glistened with a dangerous light.
"I will never submit to your inspired decision, and refuse to recognize
this choice," she said at length.
Every one looked at her in amazement, thunderstruck at this candid and
straightforward announcement. All at once, as if she had been struck
with leprosy, the Sisters shrank back from her--she stood alone in
their midst; only Agatha approached her, and with an anxious look
seized her hand.
"Dear Sister," she commenced gently, "you are excited, and cannot
listen to the higher voice. Reflect a moment."
Carmen shook her head, and with that peculiar mixture of pride and
child-like humility which marked her character, she bowed herself
submissively before her faithful admonisher.
"Forgive me, dear Sister Agatha," she pleaded, embracing her fondly;
"forgive me if I am constrained to speak in a manner that you think is
wrong; but I can retract nothing of what I have said. Let me go to my
father; he is my natural protector, and he alone has the right to
dispose of me."
She avoided looking at Jonathan again; it seemed as if this new trouble
must, in some way, have originated with him; and every pure, womanly
instinct of her nature felt insulted. Gently unclasping her arms from
Agatha's neck, she left the room. It was not possible to remain longer
in the house; something impelled her to get out into the fresh air, by
that means to throw off, if possible, some subtle influence which
seemed to be weaving a spell over her.
As she hurried along, dark clouds began to scud across the sky
overhead, and the low mutterings of thunder came from the distance. It
may have been the thunderings of nature, or of war--she did not heed
them; her heart was filled with bitter, rebellious thoughts, and her
flying feet seemed to skim over the road; nor did she check her hasty
steps until she was about to enter her father's room. Mauer sat in his
arm-chair, absorbed in thought. She threw herself down on her knees
beside him, and flung her arms about his waist. Pressing her head
against his breast, she said half breathlessly: "Father, protect me!"
He looked at his daughter with a bewildered air. Only one hour ago so
gay and light-hearted, and now so utterly unnerved, crouching in
despair at his feet! Raising her up, he gazed into her pale
countenance.
"Heavens above! what has befallen you, my child?"
"Father, they have cast lots for your child!"
"Cast lots?"
"Yes; cast lots, as for a thing that does not live and feel--a toy,
that has no will of its own, no self-respect; given as a prize to a man
who is nothing to me. And it is all done in the name of religion!
Father, protect me!"
"Cast lots!" the old man repeated, as if his brain could not grasp what
his ear heard. "No! Heaven forbid that such a misfortune, should
befall you! It is enough that one of us has suffered and lived through
such an ordeal. No, Carmen, be at rest, my darling. Your father will
tell the elders that he cannot do without his child."
The faintest shadow of a smile appeared again on Carmen's lips as she
listened to his comforting words, and she breathed more freely.
"I knew you would help me, my own dear father! I rejected the choice,
and hastened to you for support."
"But for whom have they selected you as a wife?" asked Mauer, gently
stroking her cheek.
"For Daniel Becker, the missionary who, six months ago, went to the
land of the Caffres. Oh, father, you will not let me go from you? We
will remain together; no one shall separate us--not even this
Jonathan--" She involuntarily shuddered. At mention of that name the
old man started and fixed his eyes on her.
"Jonathan?" he asked slowly. "Why do you blame him?"
"Father, I feared to speak of it," she stammered, shocked that she had
so clearly betrayed herself. "He is your friend, and you become so
agitated when he is mentioned. But you must listen now. Before your
return he asked me, from Sister Agatha, for his wife; and after I
refused him--for oh, father, I cannot help it, I have an aversion to
him--he pursued me with a wild love that frightened me. He embraced
and kissed me against my will, and then begged I would be silent about
it. I promised; but that was before I knew I had a father living. Now
I have told it, and I am glad you know all about the matter."
Her eyes rested trustingly on him, but she could not catch a responsive
glance; he kept his head turned away, and looked out into the distance
with a countenance full of distress and anguish.
"Dear father, are you angry with me?" she asked humbly.
"Not angry, no; but it is a misfortune--a great misfortune," he
whispered.
At this moment there was a knock at the door; it opened, and Brother
Jonathan entered. Father and daughter stared at him without stirring;
no one uttered a word; no one moved. Mauer remained leaning back in
his chair; Carmen did not rise from her kneeling posture, and only
pressed her head closer to her father's bosom.
Jonathan silently regarded the pair. Never had Carmen looked more
beautiful than in this clinging posture--in this outpouring of love and
confidence. To see her thus reclining on her father's breast was
nothing to give rise to jealous feelings, but it increased his longing
to have her leaning thus on him.
"You are troubled; I know it, and have come to help you," he said at
last, in his gentlest tones. "I am sorry, very sorry, that Sister
Carmen has allowed herself to be so far carried away by her feelings as
to lose all sense of duty and humility, and to speak such wild words
before the people. We must see if things cannot be arranged
pleasantly. I will consider what can be done, if Carmen will permit me
to act at all for her in the matter."
"Dear Brother, spare me my child," pleaded Mauer, with faltering voice.
"She cannot accept the lot which has fallen on her; she must not go so
far from me just now, when I have found her again. I cannot live
without my daughter."
"You know, dear Brother," returned Jonathan, "we of the faith always
recognize in the casting of lots the most direct indication of the will
of Heaven. Each one must fulfil the duty laid upon him, and not pause
to consider if it concurs with his own wishes or not. If Carmen's hand
is still free, she must follow the call which has been given her. She
may not be separated from us forever. Perhaps in a few years she will
return with her husband."
"A few years! Will they be granted to me?" said Mauer, sadly.
"Dear brother, I have already remarked that if Carmen is already
betrothed, the choice made by lot is null and void, and the elders must
be requested to give their consent to the alliance she has in view,"
replied Jonathan, sharply, emphasizing each word.
Carmen's lip curled scornfully as he spoke, and the cutting, scathing
glance she gave him was enough to wither a braver man than he. She
surmised what he was aiming at, but uttered never a word. Leaning
against her father's heart, she felt sure of finding there a secure
resting-place, and a precious sense of sheltering love made her able to
endure anything. But her proud glance roused Jonathan's spirit, which
grew hotter and hotter under his calm exterior. Would he be compelled
to give her up?
He could not satisfy himself whether his feeling for the girl was love
or hate; at any rate, he thought within himself that to bend her pride
and destroy her fancied security would afford him infinite satisfaction.
"But she is not betrothed," said Mauer, when Jonathan ceased speaking.
"I, as her father, am the natural guardian of her destiny. I have the
right to decide."
"The right, dear Brother?" interposed Jonathan, with a scornful smile.
"That depends. It could not be granted to every parent in the
Brotherhood." And as the old man before him dropped his eyes, he added
smiling: "Yet if I asked, for the sake of old times, that you would
give me Carmen for my wife, would I be able to gain your consent, as
her father?"
It was a helpless, imploring look that Mauer now directed towards his
daughter; his hands clasped over hers with a convulsive grasp; his lips
moved, as if to speak, but no sound came from them.
Carmen looked at her father in perfect amazement.
"Father, dear father, indeed I cannot become the wife of this man," she
whispered with a beseeching tone.
"Child, cannot you make yourself do it for my sake?" were the words
wrung from his lips.
"No, never! Urge me not, my father; it would bring untold misery on
me, and afford happiness to no one."
A deep flush rose to Jonathan's brow, and anger and disappointment
completely triumphed over self-control. "You cannot be my wife, Sister
Carmen? Very well; then you will be the wife of Brother Daniel in the
land of the Caffres. Do you think I am going to tolerate your
rebellious, stubborn spirit, which is so unsuitable to a member of our
community? Let your father tell you that I have the means in my hands
to compel you to decide between the two fates!"
As he spoke, Carmen sprang up, and, drawing herself to her full height,
measured him with a proud, contemptuous look; then, as if unable to
bring herself to address him, she turned to her father and said calmly:
"Dear father, speak for your child, and protect her!"
She clasped her hands imploringly; while he shook his head in sorrow
and grief, but remained silent.
"Father," she cried, "have you nothing to say?"
No sound issued from his pallid lips; the anguish of his soul was
betrayed only in his eyes.
Burying her face in her hands, Carmen now broke down utterly; and
Jonathan's evil countenance gleamed with triumph. As she appeared
before him, bowed in despair and grief, like some beautiful flower
crushed by a ruthless hand, his eyes feasted themselves on the lovely
girl, who was at last humbled and forced to give herself to him.
"You will do well to consider the matter calmly, and give me your final
decision, Brother Michael. I will return this evening for it. We will
try to help each other in a spirit of brotherly love, and you well know
I am willing to exercise mercy and patience, as we are commanded; but
there are times when both must cease." Saying thus, he left the room.
* * * * * *
Brother Mauer sat alone with his daughter, and a deathly silence
enwrapped the two, left alone together with their grief. The sky was
still dark, with threatening dark clouds, which threw their deep
shadows over the room, and at intervals a blinding flash of lightning
illuminated with dazzling ray the bowed figures of father and daughter;
while loud claps of thunder called to them, as if to rouse them from
the sorrowful trance.
But they stirred not. Outside, the rain poured in torrents, and the
wind swept howling by; but they seemed not to hear. At last Mauer's
hand felt its way to the girl's head, and passed lovingly and gently
over it. She caught his fingers, as if the very touch inspired her
with new life; and raising her head, she turned her hot, tearless eyes
up to him, saying in an inexpressibly sad tone:
"Father, why have you forsaken your child in her hour of need?"
"Because, Carmen, I am powerless before this man," he returned in a low
voice.
"Powerless?" she asked. "But how can he have any power over you if you
do not wish it? He, a friend, against his friend!"
"Ah, Carmen," answered the old man, "that he has not used his power
against me before is another proof of his friendship for me; but now,
when he sees fit to exert it, I cannot prevent him, and must bear it.
I have already told you that it is a great misfortune that he loves
you, and you cannot return his affection."
"Father, my thoughts are so perplexed by all this. I cannot understand
how any one can have such power over you that you are forced to leave
your own child unprotected."
Mauer sighed deeply. Carmen rose, and began to pace restlessly up and
down the room. Outside, the thunder-storm raged with ungovernable
fury; within, the poor girl was endeavoring to quiet the tumult of her
aching heart, and collect her scattered thoughts.
"Father," she said at last, breaking silence, and seating herself near
him, "speak, and let me know how and why Brother Jonathan can injure
you. What can we do to avert the peril we are in?"
"Carmen, could you bear to behold in your father a culprit, a great
sinner?" He looked so crushed, so very, very miserable, that her
loving heart overflowed with sympathy and pity. To look at that dear
face, and see the wretchedness of gulf and remorse written there, wrung
her heart beyond endurance, and brought the scalding tears to her eyes.
She threw her arms about his neck, and answered tenderly: "You cannot
be guilty in your daughter's eyes; and if you appear so before the
world, I will only love you the more for it, and help you to bear your
grief, father." He sobbed aloud, and drew her closer to him.
"It must be God's gracious mercy and pity which speaks to me through
you, my child. May He bless you, and for your sake, and my sufferings,
may He forgive my great sin! It is indeed an old story of guilt and
sorrow which I have to tell, and which has weighed heavily upon my
heart for nineteen long years! Listen, then, Carmen."
Mauer sat silent a moment, as if trying to refresh in his memory the
half-faded events of long years ago, and shape into more definite forms
their outlines, obscured by the mists of time.
At length he spoke.
"Thirty years ago, my child, I left here with my first wife, and moved
to Jamaica to carry on the linen business, for the Brothers had
established themselves in business in connection with the mission
there. We arrived in May, and were in a short time quite settled. The
country and climate are lovely at that time of the year, but during the
rainy season, when the wet ground sent forth its poisonous miasma, we
both were stricken down with the fever. I, being the stronger,
recovered from the attack pretty soon; but my wife, a small, delicate
woman, succumbed at once to the fell destroyer.
"For two years I remained a widower, and led a lonely life of hard
work. Gladly would I have returned home to Europe, but the business
once begun was not so easily given up; it would have been attended with
great losses. Therefore I wrote home, saying I needed a wife, and
would like one sent out to me. I named two Sisters of whom I had
thought, hoping that one or the other would come to me. One of them
was dead, the other married; so the lot was cast among the other
Sisters, and it fell on Sister Julie. When my new wife arrived, I was
greatly shocked. She was, not only homely of face, but deformed in
figure. In spite of my love for the beautiful, I conquered myself, and
hoped she would be so much the more lovely in disposition. But hers
was a narrow, severe nature, from which no congeniality could be
expected. She prayed zealously and worked diligently carrying out with
the greatest precision the rules prescribed for us; but she had not a
single idea beyond that; and when she was not praying, was peevish,
suspicious, and avaricious. For nearly eight years I lived with her,
my aversion daily increasing. About that time, as misfortune would
have it, a friend, who was living in Jamaica, died, owing me a large
sum of money. His affairs were left in such confusion that I was
obliged to receive the plantation as payment for my debt. I found the
place in a wretched condition, and, in order to oversee its management
to any advantage, I resolved to transfer my business in the mission to
an agent, and move on the place with my wife. Then came a fatal hour
for me. Into my darkened soul, into the comfortless, emptiness of my
life, entered the power of a great passion.
"A slave belonging on a plantation about two hours' ride from mine, and
owned by a Spaniard, ran away, and fled to me for protection. The
slaves all knew that my laborers were free, and that induced the
unhappy creature thither. Don Manuel was not a hard master, but the
poor wretch had committed a grave fault, and was afraid to go home. So
I resolved to ride over and speak with Don Manuel about it. I reached
the hacienda of the Spaniard, and as I was about to enter, saw,
reclining in a hammock under the palm-trees, a slight, delicate figure
robed in white. Her arms were thrown above her head, and the lace of
her sleeve falling back gave me a glimpse of the beautifully rounded
limb. The sound of my horse's hoofs aroused her; she glided gracefully
from the hammock, and looked at me with a curious expression of
surprise as a quick blush mantled her cheek. She was scarcely more
than a child, being only fifteen, but the loveliest, the most
fascinating creature my eyes ever beheld. It was Inez--your mother.
"I was ushered into her father's presence, and while discussing
business with him, watched her on the veranda feeding the peacocks and
caressing a cunning little black monkey. I could not turn my eyes from
her; each attitude seemed more exquisite than the last; each tone of
her voice sounded like music.
"When I rode away, she was standing under the trees, and waved her hand
to me in farewell. Turning after a moment, to see if she was still
there, I beheld the same lovely picture, which lives in my heart to
this day."
Mauer paused, affected by his own words. Before his mind's eye rose
the past in all its beauty; and a crowd of sweet memories overwhelmed
him. Carmen had listened with intense eagerness to his recollections
of her mother; she had almost forgotten that she was about to hear the
confession of a great crime. With a smile parting her lips, she looked
at her father, impatient for him to proceed.
"How this storm rages!" Mauer resumed; "and yet it is nothing compared
with the blows they have in the West Indies. Can you remember them,
Carmen? One September, a few weeks after my visit to Don Manuel, the
sea-breeze lulled, and we were almost suffocated with the heat. For
many days the heavens were overcast with leaden clouds, which grew
darker and darker as they continued to pile up in huge masses; electric
flashes danced and quivered through them, and a continual rumbling of
thunder threatened danger, and indicated that the rainy season was
approaching. I had been to the mission to look after my business, and
was riding slowly homeward, through the heavy sultry air, when all at
once the storm broke over me. It came tearing down from the blue
mountains, raging and driving over the savannas in unchecked fury. I
put spurs to my horse, in a fruitless effort to reach home before the
worst came, for I knew full well what would follow this outbreak. At
this moment I saw approaching me, at full speed, a white horse, whose
rider was making hopeless attempts to manage him. I at once recognized
Inez, and placing myself across the path, succeeded in seizing the
bridle and stopping the animal in his mad night.
"No time was now to be lost in bringing the girl home to her father,
and in such a storm my presence was necessary for her protection. She
had been riding alone, as usual, and on the return home her horse had
taken the wrong road. The storm became more and more violent; the
lightning nearly blinded us, and terrified our horses. The rain now
began to pour down in torrents, and it was impossible for Inez to
retain her seat in the saddle. She remembered a little deserted negro
cabin in the neighborhood, under a grove of magnolias, and thither we
fled. There was no light in the hut; the wind bent the trees down on
its roof and dashed the rain against its sides, so that we expected
every moment to be killed. Inez drew closer to me and trembled
violently, as I supported her quivering form with my arm. I spoke
soothingly to her, as I would have done to a timid child; and as I bent
over to comfort her, a flash of lightning lit up the place, so that I
could look into her eyes dilated with fear, and she into mine.
Then--she kissed me again and again. Carmen, your mother was one of
the most innocent, the purest beings on earth; in her heart was no
impure thought, in her life was no action which could not bear the
light of day. But there, under the glowing, tropical skies, blood
flies quicker through the veins than here in our cool Germany; and from
childhood to womanhood is but one, sudden leap. When I felt her kisses
on my lips, I was taken aback; I had thought of her only as a beautiful
child, but now I recognized the woman in her, and--I was a married man.
"A sound of anxious hallooing reached our ears. It was made by the
negroes which Don Manuel had sent out in search of his child; and as
the first fury of the storm had now spent itself, we parted from each
other.
"When I reached home, my unfortunate wife seemed more repulsive than
ever; in fact, her disagreeable ways, added to her natural homeliness,
had rendered her almost intolerable. The memory of Inez's lovely form
and face, her graceful manner and silvery voice, was ever present with
me. I repeatedly told myself how wicked this was, and resolved not to
call again on Don Manuel, lest I should see her. But it was impossible
to banish her image, and day after day the struggle within my soul grew
more severe. Thus the rainy months passed away; during which I
scarcely left home at all, and saw no one but my wife. One day she was
taken sick, and soon became so ill that Brother Jonathan, who was the
physician of the mission, and for whom I sent at once, became very
anxious. It was on the fifth day of her illness, and Jonathan had been
to see her in the afternoon; but in the evening she became much worse.
She complained so much that about ten o'clock I concluded to ride out
to the doctor's. Jonathan was much sought after as a physician, and
when I reached his house about eleven o'clock, he had already been
roused up from his sleep by a man who wanted some medicine for a child,
and who was waiting to have it prepared. Ah, how I remember every
trifle, exactly as if it all had occurred only yesterday!
"When I told Jonathan how very ill my wife was, he gave me very little
if any hope, but said he would prepare a soothing draught for her. I
was full of anxiety and in great haste to get back, as was also the
other man; and when at last Thomas, Jonathan's servant, brought the two
bottles of medicine, I seized mine eagerly, as I had a long way to go;
and as I left, Brother Jonathan said to me: 'They are opium-drops; give
her fifteen when you get home, and if she does not get easy, then two
hours after repeat the dose.'"
"I sprang on my horse and hurried away. Jonathan's words seemed to
ring in my ears: 'I have scarcely any hope of saving her.' Ah, Carmen,
they were to me like words of deliverance. I had borne for so long the
fearfully heavy yoke which had been laid upon me that at times it
seemed beyond human endurance; for this woman's soul was almost more
repulsive than her body. At last I reached home. It was twelve
o'clock. My wife was suffering as much as ever; she complained
incessantly of the increasing pain, and I at once prepared the drops
for her. She groaned; then I began to count the drops: one, two,
three, four--and then the thought came into my mind: 'Scarcely any more
hope.' My hand trembled; a mist seemed to gather before my eyes. The
drops fell, faster; I counted on: thirteen, fourteen, fifteen; a few
drops more had fallen unawares into the spoon; then followed one more,
and again one more--twenty-five, twenty-six. I pushed the vial away
from me. 'Where are the drops? Give them to me!' she cried with
sinking voice. She snatched the spoon from my hand, and I turned away
my head. My good angel had forsaken me."
Mauer groaned and hid his face in his hands. Carmen held her breath;
she dared not speak, or raise her eyes to look at her father; she could
not even think.
"The patient," resumed Mauer, after a short pause, "became quieter; her
breathing was scarcely audible. Did she sleep? From my heart I
prayed: 'God of mercy, let her sleep and not die--not now!' But I did
not dare to look at or listen to her. I threw myself on a couch, and,
in the horror that filled my soul, buried my head in the cushions.
Time passed on; the clock ticked as usual, I know not whether for
minutes or hours. Then I heard the ring of horse's hoofs before the
door. I got up to let the visitor in, for the servants were in bed.
It was only three o'clock in the morning. To my surprise, in walked
Brother Jonathan. 'How is she?' he inquired hastily; and I answered
softly, 'She sleeps.'
"He approached the side of the bed, and drawing the lamp near, so as to
observe her closely, said: 'Yes, never to wake again. I was sure
nothing could save her!'
"I did not utter a word; my tongue seemed glued to my mouth, and
refused to move. Had she died because nothing could save her, or
because I had dropped double the number of drops? The fatal vial still
stood on the table by the bed where I had placed it. I feared to touch
it again; but Jonathan took it up, and, looking at it, said casually:
'Did you give her from it twice? I see there are more than fifteen
drops gone.' I nodded my head. 'After two hours?' he asked again, and
put the vial in his pocket. I again nodded affirmatively. He examined
the dead woman again, felt her skin, and raised her eyelids.
'Strange,' he said. 'You gave her the first dose about twelve o'clock,
and the second at two; it is now only three o'clock, and this corpse
has been cold for several hours. Your wife must have died at least two
hours ago; how is that?' He looked at me in perplexity, and I felt
myself grow pale under his inquiring glance; my limbs refused to
support me, and I sank fainting on the floor.
"The funeral was over; I had suffered with another attack of fever, and
was restored to my usual health, when one day a hasty messenger
summoned me to go at once to Don Manuel, who needed my presence. He
had been thrown from his horse, and was suffering intensely from
internal injuries, which threatened to terminate fatally at any moment.
I was conducted to his bedside, at which Inez knelt, her face buried on
her father's pillow. At the foot of the bed stood the physician,
Brother Jonathan.
"Don Manuel motioned me to his side. 'Don Mauer,' he said in a faint
voice, 'I must die; but, before I leave this world, I would like to
provide for the future of my child, who, as you know, has no mother.
You have saved her life in the storm, and she has confessed to me that
she loves you, and hopes you return her affection. Therefore I ask you
now, while death is hastening on, can you love her? And will you take
her to your heart, to love and cherish her as your wife? She has
always been a good daughter to me; she will be a true and faithful wife
to you.'
"Inez raised her lovely head, and her dark eyes, which, in their
innocence did not know how to veil her sentiments, looked pleadingly at
me. I laid one hand on the graceful, girlish head, and the other in
that of the dying man.
"'I will vow to honor and cherish her as my most precious treasure,' I
said solemnly, 'for I love her above everything on earth.'
"Inez sank into my arms, and the weak voice of her dying father
pronounced a blessing on us. He begged that a priest might be quickly
brought, to unite us by his death-bed, so that he would know Inez was
safely provided for.
"Scarcely was the ceremony over, when he drew his last breath.
"The surprise, the overwhelming emotion, caused by this event,
impressed me so powerfully that I could think of nothing but the one
fact--'Inez is mine!' When I left the house, after handing the weeping
girl over into the hands of her faithful nurse. Brother Jonathan rode
along with me.
"'Brother Michael,' he said, glaring at me darkly and menacingly, 'I
now know what sinful love prompted you to give Julie, your wife, a
double dose of opium; and why, when I came to see her early in the
morning, the corpse had already been cold for some hours.'
"As I felt myself turn pale, and answered nothing, he laughed
scornfully, turned his horse's head, and rode off in another direction.
After that the sight of Brother Jonathan became torture to me. I
always read the terrible accusation in his face, although he has never
uttered it; and I soon found he was equally obnoxious to my wife.
Indeed, she actually hated him; for, as she told me, he had persecuted
her with his love, long before I had ever been to Don Manuel's. She
shunned him as much as possible, whenever he came to the hacienda; and
it was most welcome news to both her and me when he told us his health
could not stand the climate any longer, and he only needed money to
take him to a colder climate. I gave him several thousands out of my
fortune, so as to get rid of him; and he, with his negro servant
Thomas, went to Bethlehem in Pennsylvania. To my relief, I saw no more
of him; he wrote to me some time afterwards, but I did not answer, and
never heard from him again. All this time the worm of self-accusation
was gnawing at my heart; but as long as Inez lived, I found happiness
in her love, so that not even the voice of conscience could be heard.
But when she was taken from me, then the cry arose in my heart: 'This
is my punishment; she has died for my sin!' and all peace vanished from
my existence. It was then that I formed the resolution to atone with
my life for the crime. I longed to sacrifice myself; to suffer for the
Lord's sake, and win over souls to the truth. I parted from you, the
one single thing that remained to me of Inez. I sold my lands in
Jamaica, and went wherever I was ordered--across the seas to India,
where the least work had as yet been done, and to various other parts
of the world. The rest you already know. No one can imagine how
gladly I have suffered, although those years of slavery and misery were
very grievous. I hoped thereby to win the favor of Heaven; and when I
was at last permitted to return home, I thought I saw in that an
assurance that my crime was forgiven. But it is all a mistake, Carmen,
for Brother Jonathan lives, and is here, and he is a perpetual reproach
to me. Every word he utters seems to refer to it, and I never fail to
shrink with pain from having him touch the sore point. He has it in
his power to bring my sin to light, at any time; and it is an evidence
of his great friendship for me that he has been hitherto silent. If
either you or I anger him, he will not allow our old friendship to
influence him any longer. You have heard his threat, and he will,
without fail, carry it out. I will bear submissively whatever comes;
but I am not able, my dear child, to protect you. If you refuse him
for your husband, he will disclose my guilt, and I, a criminal, can do
nothing for you, but must quietly bow before the inevitable."
He was silent, and dared not look at Carmen, for he feared to read what
might be written on her countenance. She sat perfectly still, absorbed
in her own thoughts, her hand shading her eyes, and her breath heaving
quickly. The blood seemed frozen with horror in her veins at what she
had heard; her brave heart quailed before the dreadful future, which
she knew not how to meet. And yet one thought stood prominently forth
from the rest: she must prove her love for her father at any cost. He
needed it sorely now, and she had only a short hour ago declared she
would love him the better for his fault, and thus help him to bear his
misery. He had sinned for the sake of her mother, who surely would
have forgiven him and loved him, whatever other people might have felt.
The daughter, must not set herself up to condemn her father. God would
judge him mercifully, according to the depth of his repentance and
suffering. Of this she felt perfectly assured; so, raising her head
and turning her face to her father, she threw her arms about the old
man's neck.
"Be comforted, dear father, and trust in God!" she said lovingly. "You
have atoned so deeply and long that your sin is surely forgiven, and I
am sure we will find some way out of this dreadful trouble."
She was silent a moment, sunk in deep thought. "I must inherit my dear
mother's aversion to Brother Jonathan, for I have felt it as long as I
can remember, and it would be quite impossible to give myself to him.
I hate him as I do the Evil One. I could believe anything, however
bad, about him; and yet what he does is good, always good, and he has
shown himself a friend to you. Let us consider if there may not be
some way out of this dreadful dilemma."
The old man leaned, sobbing, against the girl whom he, as a father,
should have been able to succor, and whose poor brains were now racked
with caring for both herself and him.
* * * * * *
The fury of the storm had spent itself, but the rain still poured in
torrents, when, towards five o'clock in the afternoon, two companies of
soldiers, which had been manoeuvring during the day, came marching
along, in rather disorderly fashion, on the highroad to the settlement.
"It is well the order to bivouac in this deluge has been countermanded,
for we would certainly have been drowned like rats," said one of the
two officers, who were marching a little in advance. "Yet almost
anything would have been preferable to taking up our quarters with
these pious people, whom I doubt will give us any sort of a welcome.
They look on us as cannibals and murderers, and I tremble to think how
their untiring zeal will urge them on to attempt our conversion."
His companion laughed. "It will not be so bad as you think, Hansen;
although I must admit I don't think our wild boys will be very welcome
guests to them. It will sadly disturb their extreme orderliness and
quiet routine of life."
"You are sure of being well received, Captain Trautenau," resumed the
first speaker, "having already been in this Bethany, and also having a
sister at school here among the saints. You must look out for us, and
get the best shelter you can."
Having now reached the suburbs of the village, Alexander von Trautenau
ordered a halt to be made and the soldiers fall in rank. "We will
march in with as imposing an appearance as possible," he said gayly;
and they passed through the streets, while many a terrified and
astonished form rushed to the windows and watched them go by.
Alexander, being familiar with the place, marched with his men directly
to the Brothers' house and entered the spacious yard; there he gave the
command to stack arms. That surely was a peaceful proceeding! The
Brothers' house was much larger than that of the Sisters, as here they
usually carried on their various branches of industry. The door was
now opened and, with a pale, terror-stricken countenance, Brother
Martin, the presiding elder, stepped out. Alexander immediately went
up to him, and asked politely: "Are you the elder in authority over
this house?" When he answered in the affirmative, Alexander continued:
"I have been ordered here with two companies to find shelter for the
night, as the heavy rain has rendered bivouacking impossible. Will you
be so good as to assign me quarters for the men?"
"We will, mein Herr. But, first of all, tell me, I pray, if these guns
are loaded," answered Brother Martin, pointing anxiously to the stacks
of arms.
"Of course the guns are loaded, but only with powder; and there is no
danger whatever of their going off by themselves," said the officer,
trying to reassure him.
But Brother Martin only grew paler than before. "Herr Officer, I must
humbly beg that the guns be removed."
"With pleasure," replied Alexander, "if you will show me a room in
which my men may carry them and keep them dry."
Brother Martin hastened with alacrity into the house, and opened a room
in the basement. The murderous weapons were carried in by the
soldiers, the door was shut, and, to the great relief of the poor
elder, the key turned and put away safely in the officer's pocket.
Meanwhile, Hansen had not been able to repress his ridiculing remarks.
"It is enough to turn an honest soldier's heart around in his body to
listen to such stuff," he said. "Guns! As if we would carry anything
else! The man must be a fool."
Alexander divided his men into squads, to occupy the apartments where
they were to be accommodated with pallets of straw.
One of the married brothers now came up and addressed the captain.
"Herr Officer," he said modestly, "I have room in my house for a few
men. Will you allow me to accommodate four or six? I promise to give
them the very best that my poor house affords."
"With many thanks, kind sir," was the reply. "Please select from among
them those you would like to have; the poor drenched creatures will be
only too glad of your hospitality."
The man chose the first six which came to hand, and carried them off
with him. The ice being thus broken, one brother after another offered
to take in some of them, and pretty soon everything was satisfactorily
arranged. Another Brother begged to have the officers for his guests,
and with hearty hospitality withdrew to prepare the best of everything
the simple larder afforded for the entertainment of the strangers.
Clean white linen was spread over the table and refreshments of every
kind were brought out. Pretty soon the provision-wagon arrived. Meat
and vegetables were unpacked, and preparations were made to prepare the
evening meal. The pioneers commenced to take up the paving-stones in
the yard, in order to make a deep hollow in which to light the fire;
but Brother Martin rushed out perfectly horrified.
"Herr Captain, you surely will not allow your good people to kindle a
fire here in the yard? I beg that you will forbid it; there is no
knowing what mischief might result from it; and besides, it will ruin
the yard."
"But where, then, can the men cook their supper if it is too dangerous
here?" asked Alexander, somewhat impatiently. "The men are wet and
hungry, and have had no regular meal to-day; they must be permitted to
prepare something warm to eat."
"Oh, of course," said Martin, with compassion. "We will not let them
suffer, and I will gladly allow you the use of a large kitchen, where
all the cooking for the Brothers is done every day."
The proposition was received with many thanks. Every convenience which
the house afforded was offered for the comfort of the men.
"Trautenau," said Hansen, rubbing his hands with satisfaction, "things
seem very good about here; and if they don't try to convert us, in
addition, it will be the best place we have found quarters in for a
long time. The sneaks have even a glass of choice wine in their
cellar, and we will forgive Brother Martin's horror of our weapons in
hopes that he will give us a taste of it. I thought they drank only
water, and would be very much scandalized to hear of wine being
anywhere about their premises."
"Hush your mocking, Hansen, else I will not answer for your being
allowed to remain in this paradise. I hope you will not disgrace me
while I go to seek my sister, before it is too late. You know we march
early in the morning."
* * * * * *
Carmen and her father had been too deeply absorbed in their sorrows to
observe what was transpiring in the settlement. The outer world had
vanished completely from their minds. Concluding finally to leave
everything undecided until after the interview between the old man and
Jonathan, Carmen turned her steps homeward, for it was after eight
o'clock. After ascending the steps, she remained standing under the
arched portico in front of the house, trying to forget herself, her
father, everything. She felt as if her own conscience was in some way
guilty; and then, too, what was to become of her now? His crime, and
her duty as a daughter, urged her imperatively into the arms of this
man whom she thoroughly despised. There seemed no way of escape. The
idea flashed across her brain to renounce her identity with the
Moravians; but that would be synonymous with total separation from her
father, for in his present frame of mind, when he was continually
dwelling on repentance and reparation, he would never tear himself away
from his old faith. Leave her father? Never! One thought tempted
her--the thought of Wollmershain and Frau von Trautenau; but she put it
resolutely from her: she could not, she dared not; she had no claim on
any one there, and here she belonged to her father.
Ah, how her poor bleeding heart ached! If she could only weep, perhaps
it would help to lighten the weary burden which was crushing her to the
earth; but no relieving tears would come to her burning eyes. At last
she sat down on a ledge of the wall near the doorway, to rest in
solitude a little while, and to try to compose herself before going
into the house. It had now ceased raining, and a dimly-burning lantern
which was hung near by dispelled the darkness in a measure, and threw
its uncertain rays over the wet stones of the yard, and over Carmen's
drooping figure. The streets were perfectly quiet, the water dripped
monotonously from the roofs, now and then the footsteps of some
solitary passer-by echoed faintly on the ear, followed by the deep
silence, broken only by the falling drops. There was something
soothing in this great hush of nature; and the gentle dripping seemed
like a loving voice singing some tired child to sleep; Carmen felt as
if drawn within a magic circle. For a long time she sat there, till at
last she heard a step approaching from the distance, and a man made his
appearance in the light of the lantern. Something sparkled and
glittered on his coat; and as he strode along with quick, firm steps,
the spurs on his boots clanked. Carmen saw and heard it all as if in
her sleep. Still motionless, she sat staring out into the darkness,
and her heart, her poor heart, seemed dead and cold. There! did not
the stranger enter the portico? He certainly did; and, as his figure
became more distinctly discernible in the uncertain light, her pulses
began to throb violently--those pulses which she a moment ago believed
would never again beat with lively emotion. She leaned back closer to
the wall, and stared at the figure with wide-opened eyes. As the man
ascended the steps and saw the shrinking form close against the wall,
he started, hesitated a moment, and then, putting his hand to his cap
in greeting, said joyfully: "Fraulein Carmen, can it really be you? I
have come, although it is so late, to greet you, and make the
acquaintance of your father, as I am here only for to-night, and leave
early in the morning. Adele told me I would find you here, in the
house with the portico." He spoke with a glad tone and put out his
hand, for at Wollmershain they had parted with a hearty hand-shake, and
now he ventured on the same privilege.
The girl laid her hand in his; it was so cold and clammy it chilled
him; and Carmen, as she leaned her head back against the stone wall,
had such a tired, weary, wretched look that he could not refrain from
asking with an anxious air: "For Heaven's sake! Surely some misfortune
has happened to you! Carmen, dear Fraulein Carmen, I implore you, tell
me just one word, that I may know what is the matter, and help you if I
can."
She had risen slowly and with difficulty, for her knees trembled, and
she could scarcely stand. He kept her hand in his as if to assist her,
and pressed it with gentle warmth. At the sound of his sympathizing
voice, the heavy pressure on her tortured heart suddenly gave way, and
agonized sobs burst from her lips, while a flood of scalding tears
flowed from her eyes. Her slender frame shook with the violence of her
emotion; and as he sought to support her with his arm, her head sank on
his shoulder.
"Dear Carmen," he pleaded, "do not keep back from me the cause of this
distress! You cannot know how I am racked with grief for you. What
shall I say to convince you of my feelings? It troubles me sorely, oh,
believe me, to find you in such sorrow."
His words seemed to increase the intensity of her grief; and yet how
those blinding tears relieved her! What an angel of light he
seemed--he, of whom she had once thought so differently! She did not
repulse him now when his arm encircled her; but leaning on him
confidingly, she somehow felt that he who held her was a true man; that
he alone was able to help and comfort her, and that it was a precious
privilege to have him near in this hour of need. She could not turn to
her father for succor; that one great hope had melted away; but in this
man she knew there was courage, as well as will and the power to assist
her in her woe. As he poured question after question upon her, she
attempted at last to speak.
"They have cast lots for me to-day," she stammered. "I am forced to be
the wife of a man I despise--by lot, Herr Trautenau!"
"By lot?" he asked, flushing angrily. "You, our beautiful, proud
Carmen, given away by lot? That is incredible! Your father will
surely not permit it!"
"My poor father!" she cried. "He can take no step to prevent it; he
cannot save me."
"But!--by heavens, I will not allow such a horrible thing!" he cried
passionately, and drew her closer to him. "Carmen, I conjure you, I
beseech you, not to submit to this shameful custom of your people!"
"No; I would rather die than do it!" she replied, as something of her
old courage returned to her. Now that he stood by her, she felt that
some escape might be possible. She dried her tears, and raised her
pretty head, which had rested so wearily on his shoulder, endeavoring
to free herself from a position which, now that she was calm enough to
think, had become embarrassing to her. As she did so, she gave a
terrified start, for, unheard by either of them, Brother Jonathan with
his cat-like step had drawn near, and she now caught a glimpse of his
hated countenance, distorted with scorn and anger.
"Rather die than be my wife?" he asked mockingly, as he approached
nearer. "A pleasant answer, surely, for me to listen to! This is,
then, the modest, prudish Sister whom I must not presume to touch! She
refuses me, an honest man who loves her, and declines to follow the
rules of her faith, only to throw herself into the arms of a strange
interloper! Do you think we will have a Sister among us who bids
defiance to all the meek love and submission, the decorum and modesty
which is necessary for a member of our community? I, as superintendent
of the Sisters, will now suggest to the Sister in charge that Carmen
Mauer be expelled from our communion."
Carmen seemed not to hear these severe words. She breathed heavily,
but answered not a word, only pressed her hands against her throbbing
heart and raised her pale face to him calmly and indifferently, not
seeming to care for his condemnation and threats.
"Fraulein Carmen," said Alexander, as Jonathan ceased speaking. His
voice chased all fear from her heart, and she turned her gaze, full of
trust and confidence, on him again.
"Fraulein Carmen," he continued, "you once told me that only your
father's or your husband's arm should enfold you. When my arm
supported you just now, you suffered it to do so; was it because you
trusted my honor and love sufficiently to give me the right to protect
you through all time as your husband?"
She gave him a quick glance of glad surprise.
"Yes," she replied with a firm voice, offering him her hand. He
pressed it with passionate warmth.
"Mein Herr," he said coldly, turning to Jonathan, "will you have the
kindness, as superintendent of the Sisters, to inform them that
Fraulein Carmen Mauer and her betrothed husband, Captain von Trautenau,
have gone to her father's apartments; that this lady, on account of her
betrothal to me, declines the destiny chosen for her by lot; and will,
moreover, be obliged to leave the community and follow her husband?
This may perhaps prevent any unpleasant misunderstanding." He bowed
stiffly to the astounded Jonathan, drew Carmen's hand through his arm,
and turned away.
Carmen had listened to his words in such a confused state of mind that
she was powerless to resist even had she wished to. What he had said
almost took away her breath; but as the strength of his arm, so that of
his will, held her captive, and she would have followed him blindly to
the end of the world. But now, when she was about to return to her
father, she was torn with anguish for the poor sufferer who tarried
alone in his room. He must be cared for at once; so, pausing a moment,
she turned towards Jonathan. The threat he had hurled at her showed
the point where she might gain the victory over him, and render him
powerless to harm her father.
"Brother Jonathan," she said, "you told me that if I was affianced to
some other man, the validity of the lot would be annulled. You now see
that the threat against me is vain, but I would like to relate a little
occurrence to the Brothers and Sisters which would not tend to increase
the holy reputation which the pious Brother Jonathan Fricke now enjoys.
You have been kind to my father up to this time; I beg that you will
continue to be so in future, for your own sake. I would not willingly
inflict any injury upon you; but the slightest hint from him will
compel me--I think you understand."
Jonathan stood as if turned to stone as Alexander led Carmen away,
saying:
"Let us go to your father."
When they reached the house, he opened the door and passed in with her.
"Wait a moment," he said, as they stood in the hall. "I was too hasty;
the intense desire to save you dictated my impulsive question, and your
prompt answer was called forth by the rashness of a man who, in all the
heat of his fervent love, sought to avert an impending danger. But you
shall not be compelled thus to resign your freedom. Tell me now calmly
if you can love me a little; if otherwise, take back your hastily-given
word, and after a while, when you can do so with perfect safety to
yourself, let the world know that our engagement has ceased. Let my
love shield you as long as it can; but only if you love me do I want
you to marry me."
They had been talking in the dark; but now a faint light shone through
the window and flickered on the girl's little white cap. It seemed
like a halo to Alexander; he gazed at it fixedly, as if it were an omen
of happiness for him.
Carmen had been standing with folded hands; now she raised her arms and
clasped them gently about his neck. "I love you with my whole heart,"
she whispered softly, "and my happiness rests with you alone."
He drew her to his heart with a violent outbreak of passionate love;
and it was almost as if with a sob that the strong man cried, "Carmen,
my love, my darling!" and kissed her with all his heart on his lips.