Proud and happy as Walpurga had been when she left home in the morning,
it was with a heavy heart that she returned at evening.
She might well be proud, for no farmer's wife could present a better
appearance. Franz, the late cuirassier, had broken in the foal. It was
harnessed to the little Bernese wagon and looked around as if pleased
when Walpurga came out, dressed in her Sunday clothes and accompanied
by Burgei. Hansei helped his wife into the wagon and then gave her the
child.
"Come back safe and sound," said he, "and Franz, take care of the
horse."
"Never fear!" was Franz's answer, and the horse started off at a lively
gait, as if it were mere child's play to draw such a load.
Hansei stood looking after his wife and child for a while and then
turned about and went off to his work. He only nodded to Irma, who was
looking out of her window and waving a farewell to Walpurga. Walpurga
rode off, holding her hand to her heart, as if to repress the joy with
which it was overflowing.
What was there better in the world than a well-arranged household like
the one she was just leaving, and to feel, moreover, that the people
she met would know that she was well-to-do in the world? But Walpurga
was proud of something else which the people could not see.
She had, with great circumspection, arranged quite a difficult
affair.--On the following morning, Irma was to go to the shepherd's
hut, and all danger of discovery would be averted. It is no trifling
matter to keep such a secret a whole winter, for Irma had judged
rightly. Walpurga encouraged Irma's plan of spending the entire summer
in deeper solitude. Stasi, whose husband had heard it from the chief
forester, told her that the king intended to visit the neighboring
village during the following summer. She feared for Irma, and now her
fears had taken a still more decided shape. Stasi's husband had been
removed to the dairy-farm and had been ordered to arrange the forest
paths and drives, preparatory to the king's arrival.
Hansei was quite willing that his wife, instead of going to the
neighboring village, should go to a more distant town, in order to
purchase the articles of use and comfort which it would be necessary
for Gundel and Irma to take with them to the shepherd's hut. This
afforded her an opportunity to fulfill her promise to visit Stasi in
her new home. He even consented that Burgei should go along. And thus
Walpurga drove off, her heart full of happiness, and with a kindly
smile of greeting for all whom she met on the road.
"I only wish," said Franz, "that we could drive along the lake, and by
our old village, for we all came from there; you and I, Burgei and the
horse."
Franz had bestowed especial care upon his appearance.
His face beamed with joy, for he, too, cherished a secret thought. He
intended to buy a silver ring to place on Gundel's finger, before she
went to the shepherd's hut.
"Be careful of that horse," replied Walpurga. "He's so very young. What
a fine day it is. The cherries down here aren't in blossom yet, and the
sapling we brought from home is blossoming to-day, for the first time.
Didn't you see it?"
"No."
They drove on in silence.
When they drew near to the village in which Stasi lived, Franz, who
drove about the country a good deal, said:
"This pretty brook flows from up near our new meadow. It comes out of
the rocks scarcely a rifle-shot from there."
Walpurga smiled at the thought that a stream that flowed far through
the country, had its source on her own land. Yes, no one knows what
fortune may have in store for him.
Stasi was delighted at Walpurga's arrival, and was lavish in her praise
of all that belonged to her friend. She declared that the king himself
had not a finer horse, a better-behaved servant, a lovelier child or a
better wife, than Hansei had. Wherever she took Walpurga, the laborers
who were clearing the roads, or building bridges, would stop for a
while to look at the farmer's handsome wife and the child who, both in
dress and feature, was the very picture of her mother.
Stasi prepared an excellent meal. Walpurga had brought, as a gift,
enough butter and eggs to last for a great while. In the new
inspector's dwelling, as great honor was shown Walpurga as if she were
the queen herself.
At last, Walpurga set about making her purchases, and showed that she
was sensible and aware of what her position required. She always bought
the best of everything, and did not higgle long about the price.
They had returned to the dairy-farm, and Walpurga was on the point of
confiding a portion of her secret to Stasi, so as to put her on her
guard as to the king, when she heard of the distinguished man who, for
nearly four years past, had been living in the little town.
"Dear me! why he's the best friend I have!" said Walpurga. She handed
the child to Stasi and hurried off to Gunther's house. She felt as if
her heart would burst with joy, and was obliged to sit down before the
house, for a while, to get her breath.
But while she walked back to the farm, she did not once raise her eyes
from the ground. She could not. And what annoyed her most of all was
that she had told Stasi: "He's the best friend I have."
They expected her to tell about her visit, but all she could say was:
"Don't ask me to tell you what great folks are. If I were to begin I
couldn't get through before to-morrow, and I've got to go, or it'll be
dark before we get home."
Walpurga became quieter and sadder, the more Stasi and her husband
praised Doctor Gunther. She dared not tell what had happened to her.
This is all you get, thought she, if you depend on the respect which
others are to show you. Long after she had left them, Stasi and her
husband spoke of how strange and changeable Walpurga was. But she was
glad that she was no longer obliged to look any one in the face. And
now, at this late day, she was reminded of something that she had long
since forgotten. "Oh, dear mother!" said she aloud to herself. "You
were right. Everything in this world must be paid for, and now the gold
is to be paid for--but how?"
She seated her child upon her lap as though it was all that was left to
her. She hugged and kissed it and, at last, it fell asleep, resting
upon her heart. She grew calmer, although she keenly felt the wrong
that had been done her, and wondered what might yet be in store for
her. When, while in her old home, the envy and enmity of the villagers
had annoyed her, she could easily console herself with the fact that
they were simple, ignorant people; but what could she say now? Was she
to experience her old troubles over again? And there was no one to whom
she could confide them; her mother was gone; she could not tell Hansei
and, least of all, Irmgard.
It was twilight when she at last caught a glimpse of home. Mustering up
all her courage, she said to herself:
"The best thing I can do is to let suspicion rest on me until I die, or
till she dies; for then no one will come near us, and I needn't have
any fear for my dear Irma, who has far more to bear than I have. Thank
God, I didn't betray my secret; and how lucky it is, she's now going up
into the wilds where no one will find her."
Full of courage, she went into the house and told Hansei of her visit
to Stasi, but nothing more.
"I have borne it alone, thus far," said she to herself. "I'll do so,
hereafter."
With great self-command, she assumed a cheerful air while with Hansei
and Irma, and romped with her boy, for whom she had bought a little
wooden horse.