Anna drove into Stralsund the next morning to her banker, accompanied by
Miss Leech. When they passed Axel's house she saw that his gate-posts
were festooned with wreaths, and that garlands of flowers were strung
across the gateway, swaying to and fro softly in the light breeze. "Why,
how festive it looks," she exclaimed, wondering.
"Yesterday was Herr von Lohm's birthday," said Miss Leech. "I heard
Princess Ludwig say so."
"Oh," said Anna. Her tone was piqued. She turned her head away, and
looked at the hay-fields on the opposite side of the road. Axel must
have birthdays, of course, and why should he not put things round his
gate-posts if he wanted to? Yet she would not look again, and was silent
the rest of the way; nor was it of any use for Miss Leech to attempt to
while away the long drive with pleasant conversation. Anna would not
talk; she said it was too hot to talk. What she was thinking was that
men were exceedingly horrid, all of them, and that life was a snare.
Far from being festive, however, Axel's latest birthday was quite the
most solitary he had yet spent. The cheerful garlands had been put up by
an officious gardener on his own initiative. No one, except Axel's own
dependents, had passed beneath them to wish him luck. Trudi had
telegraphed her blessings, administering them thus in their easiest
form. His Stralsund friends had apparently forgotten him; in other years
they had been glad of the excuse the birthday gave for driving out into
the country in June, but this year the astonished Mamsell saw her
birthday cake remain untouched and her baked meats waiting vainly for
somebody to come and eat them.
Axel neither noticed nor cared. The haymaking season had just begun, and
besides his own affairs he was preoccupied by Anna's. If she had not
been shut up so long in the baroness's sick-room she would have met him
often enough. She thought he never intended to come near her again, and
all the time, whenever he could spare a moment and often when he could
not, he was on her property, watching Dellwig's farming operations. She
should not suffer, he told himself, because he loved her; she should not
be punished because she was not able to love him. He would go on doing
what he could for her, and was certainly, at his age, not going to sulk
and leave her to face her difficulties alone.
The first time he met Dellwig on these incursions into Anna's domain, he
expected to be received with a scowl; but Dellwig did not scowl at all;
was on the contrary quite affable, even volunteering information about
the work he had in hand. Nor had he been after all offensively zealous
in searching for the person who had set the stables on fire; and luckily
the Stralsund police had not been very zealous either. Klutz was looked
for for a little while after Axel had denounced him as the probable
culprit, but the matter had been dropped, apparently, and for the last
ten days nothing more had been said or done. Axel was beginning to hope
that the whole thing had blown over, that there was to be no
unpleasantness after all for Anna. Hearing that the baroness was nearly
well, he decided to go and call at Kleinwalde as though nothing had
happened. Some time or other he must meet Anna. They could not live on
adjoining estates and never see each other. The day after his birthday
he arranged to go round in the afternoon and take up the threads of
ordinary intercourse again, however much it made him suffer.
Meanwhile Anna did her business in Stralsund, discovered on interviewing
her banker that she had already spent more than two-thirds of a whole
year's income, lunched pensively after that on ices with Miss Leech,
walked down to the quay and watched the unloading of the fishing-smacks
while Fritz and the horses had their dinner, was very much stared at by
the inhabitants, who seldom saw anything so pretty, and finally, about
two o'clock, started again for home.
As they drew near Axel's gate, and she was preparing to turn her face
away from its ostentatious gaiety, a closed _Droschke_ came through it
towards them, followed at a short distance by a second.
Miss Leech said nothing, strange though this spectacle was on that quiet
road, for she felt that these were the departing guests, and, like Anna,
she wondered how a man who loved in vain could have the heart to give
parties. Anna said nothing either, but watched the approaching
_Droschkes_ curiously. Axel was sitting in the first one, on the side
near her. He wore his ordinary farming clothes, the Norfolk jacket, and
the soft green hat. There were three men with him, seedy-looking
individuals in black coats. She bowed instinctively, for he was looking
out of the window full at her, but he took no notice. She turned very
white.
The second _Droschke_ contained four more queer-looking persons in black
clothes. When they had passed, Fritz pulled up his horses of his own
accord, and twisting himself round stared after the receding cloud of
dust.
Anna had been cut by Axel; but it was not that that made her turn so
white--it was something in his face. He had looked straight at her, and
he had not seen her.
"Who are those people?" she asked Fritz in a voice that faltered, she
did not know why.
Fritz did not answer. He stared down the road after the _Droschkes_,
shook his head, began to scratch it, jerked himself round again to his
horses, drove on a few yards, pulled them up a second time, looked back,
shook his head, and was silent.
"Fritz, do you know them?" Anna asked more authoritatively.
But Fritz only mumbled something soothing and drove on.
Anna had not failed to notice the old man's face as he watched the
departing _Droschkes_; it wore an oddly amazed and scared expression.
Her heart seemed to sink within her like a stone, yet she could give
herself no reason for it. She tried to order him to turn up the avenue
to Axel's house, but her lips were dry, and the words would not come;
and while she was struggling to speak the gate was passed. Then she was
relieved that it was passed, for how could she, only because she had a
presentiment of trouble, go to Axel's house? What did she think of doing
there? Miss Leech glanced at her, and asked if anything was the matter.
"No," said Anna in a whisper, looking straight before her. Nor was there
anything the matter; only that blind look on Axel's face, and the
strange feeling in her heart.
A knot of people stood outside the post office talking eagerly. They all
stopped talking to stare at Anna when the carriage came round the
corner. Fritz whipped up his horses and drove past them at a gallop.
"Wait--I want to get out," cried Anna as they came to the parsonage. "Do
you mind waiting?" she asked Miss Leech. "I want to speak to Herr
Pastor. I will not be a moment."
She went up the little trim path to the porch. The maid-of-all-work was
clearing away the coffee from the table. Frau Manske came bustling out
when she heard Anna's voice asking for her husband. She looked
extraordinarily excited. "He has not come back yet," she cried before
Anna could speak, "he is still at the _Schloss_. _Gott Du Allmächtiger_,
did one ever hear of anything so terrible?"
Anna looked at her, her face as white as her dress. "Tell me," she tried
to say; but no sound passed her lips. She made a great effort, and the
words came in a whisper: "Tell me," she said.
"What, the gracious Miss has not heard? Herr von Lohm has been
arrested."
It was impossible not to enjoy imparting so tremendous a piece of news,
however genuinely shocked one might be. Frau Manske brought it out with
a ring of pride. It would not be easy to beat, she felt, in the way of
news. Then she remembered the gossip about Anna and Axel, and observed
her with increased interest. Was she going to faint? It would be the
only becoming course for her to take if it were true that there had been
courting.
But Anna, whose voice had failed her before, when once she had heard
what it was that had happened, seemed curiously cold and composed.
"What was he accused of?" was all she asked; so calmly, Frau Manske
afterwards told her friends, that it was not even womanly in the face of
so great a misfortune.
"He set fire to the stables," said Frau Manske.
"It is a lie," said Anna; also, as Frau Manske afterwards pointed out to
her friends, an unwomanly remark.
"He did it himself to get the insurance money."
"It is a lie," repeated Anna, in that cold voice.
"Eye-witnesses will swear to it."
"They will lie," said Anna again; and turned and walked away. "Go on,"
she said to Fritz, taking her place beside Miss Leech.
She sat quite silent till they were near the house. Then she called to
the coachman to stop. "I am going into the forest for a little while,"
she said, jumping out "You drive on home." And she crossed the road
quickly, her white dress fluttering for a moment between the
pine-trunks, and then disappearing in the soft green shadow.
Miss Leech drove on alone, sighing gently. Something was troubling her
dear Miss Estcourt. Something out of the ordinary had happened. She
wished she could help her. She drove on, sighing.
Directly the road was out of sight, Anna struck back again to the left,
across the moss and lichen, towards the place where she knew there was a
path that led to Lohm. She walked very straight and very quickly. She
did not miss her way, but found the path and hastened her steps to a
run. What were they doing to Axel? She was going to his house, alone.
People would talk. Who cared? And when she had heard all that could be
told her there, she was going to Axel himself. People would talk. Who
cared? The laughable indifference of slander, when big issues of life
and death were at stake! All the tongues of all the world should not
frighten her away from Axel. Her eyes had a new look in them. For the
first time she was wide awake, was facing life as it is without dreams,
facing its absolute cruelty and pitilessness. This was life, these were
the realities--suffering, injustice, and shame; not to be avoided
apparently by the most honourable and innocent of men; but at least to
be fought with all the weapons in one's power, with unflinching courage
to the end, whatever that end might be. That was what one needed most,
of all the gifts of the gods--not happiness--oh, foolish, childish
dream! how could there be happiness so long as men were wicked?--but
courage. That blind look on Axel's face--no, she would not think of
that; it tore her heart. She stumbled a little as she ran--no, she would
not think of that.
Out in the open, between the forest and Lohm, she met Manske. "I was
coming to you," he said.
"I am going to him," said Anna.
"Oh, my dear young lady!" cried Manske; and two big tears rolled down
his face.
"Don't cry," she said, "it does not help him."
"How can I not do so after seeing what I have this day seen?"
She hurried on. "Come," she said, "we must not waste time. He needs
help. I am going to his house to see what I can do. Where did they take
him?"
"They took him to prison."
"Where?"
"Stralsund."
"Will he be there long?"
"Till after the trial."
"And that will be?"
"God knows."
"I am going to him. Come with me. We will take his horses."
"Oh, dear Miss, dear Miss," cried Manske, wringing his hands, "they will
not let us see him--you they will not let in under any circumstances,
and me only across mountains of obstacles. The official who conducted
the arrest, when I prayed for permission to visit my dear patron, was
brutality itself. 'Why should you visit him?' he asked, sneering. 'The
prison chaplain will do all that is needful for his soul.' 'Let it be,
Manske,' said my dear patron, but still I prayed. 'I cannot give you
permission,' said the man at last, weary of my importunity, 'it rests
with my chief. You must go to him.'"
"Who is the chief?"
"I know not. I know nothing. My head is in a whirl."
"He must be somewhere in Stralsund. We will find him, if we have to ask
from door to door. And I'll get permission for myself."
"Oh, dearest Miss, none will be given you. The man said only his nearest
relatives, and those only very seldom--for I asked all I could, I felt
the moments were priceless--my dear patron spoke not a word. 'His wife,
if he has one,' said the man, making hideous pleasantries--he well knew
there is no wife--or his _Braut_, if there is one, or a brother or a
sister, but no one else."
"Do his brothers and Trudi know?"
"I at once telegraphed to them."
"Then they will be here to-night."
The women and children in the village ran out to look at Anna as she
passed. She did not see them. Axel's house stood open. The Mamsell,
overcome by the shame of having been in such a service, was in hysterics
in the kitchen, and the inspector, a devoted servant who loved his
master, was upbraiding her with bitterest indignation for daring to say
such things of such a master. The Mamsell's laments and the inspector's
furious reproaches echoed through the empty house. The door, like the
gate, was garlanded with flowers. Little more than an hour had gone by
since Axel passed out beneath them to ruin.
Anna went straight to the study. His papers were lying about in
disorder; the drawer of the writing-table was unlocked, and his keys
hung in it He had been writing letters, evidently, for an unfinished one
lay on the table. She stood a moment quite still in the silent room.
Manske had gone to find the coachman, and she could hear his steps on
the stones beneath the open windows. The desolation of the deserted
room, the terrible sense of misfortune worse than death that brooded
over it, struck her like a blow that for ever destroyed her cheerful
youth. She never forgot the look and the feeling of that room. She went
to the writing-table, dropped on her knees, and laid her cheek, with an
abandonment of tenderness, on the open, unfinished letter. "How are such
things possible--how are they possible----" she murmured passionately,
shutting her eyes to press back the useless tears. "So useless to cry,
so useless," she repeated piteously, as she felt the scalding tears, in
spite of all her efforts to keep them back, stealing through her
eyelashes. And everything else that she did or could do--how useless.
What could she do for him, who had no claim on him at all? How could she
reach him across this gulf of misery? Yes, it was good to be brave in
this world, it was good to have courage, but courage without weapons, of
what use was it? She was a woman, a stranger in a strange land, she had
no friends, no influence--she was useless. Manske found her kneeling
there, holding the writing-table tightly in her outstretched arms,
pressing her bosom against it as though it were something that could
feel, her eyes shut, her face a desolation. "Do not cry," he begged in
his turn, "dearest Miss, do not cry--it cannot help him."
They locked up his papers and everything that they thought might be of
value before they left. Manske took the keys. Anna half put out her hand
for them, then dropped it at her side. She had less claim than Manske:
he was Axel's pastor; she was nothing to him at all.
They left the dog-cart at the entrance to the town and went in search of
a _Droschke_. Manske's weather-beaten face flushed a dull red when he
gave the order to drive to the prison. The prison was in a by-street of
shabby houses. Heads appeared at the windows of the houses as the
_Droschke_ rattled up over the rough stones, and the children playing
about the doors and gutters stopped their games and crowded round to
stare.
They went up the dirty steps and rang the bell. The door was immediately
opened a few inches by an official who shouted "The visiting hour is
past," and shut it again.
Manske rang a second time.
"Well, what do you want?" asked the man angrily, thrusting out his head.
Manske stated, in the mildest, most conciliatory tones, that he would be
infinitely obliged if he would tell him what steps he ought to take to
obtain permission to visit one of the inmates.
"You must have a written order," snapped the man, preparing to shut the
door again. The street children were clustering at the bottom of the
steps, listening eagerly.
"To whom should I apply?" asked Manske.
"To the judge who has conducted the preliminary inquiries."
The door was slammed, and locked from within with a great noise of
rattling keys. The sound of the keys made Anna feel faint; Axel was on
the other side of that ostentation of brute force. She leaned against
the wall shivering. The children tittered; she was a very fine lady,
they thought, to have friends in there.
"The judge who conducted the preliminary inquiries," repeated Manske,
looking dazed. "Who may he be? Where shall we find him? I fear I am
sadly inexperienced in these matters."
There was nothing to be done but to face the official's wrath once more.
He timidly rang the bell again. This time he was kept waiting. There was
a little round window in the door, and he could see the man on the other
side leaning against a table trimming his nails. The man also could see
him. Manske began to knock on the glass in his desperation. The man
remained absorbed by his nails.
Anna was suffering a martyrdom. Her head drooped lower and lower. The
children laughed loud. Just then heavy steps were heard approaching on
the pavement, and the children fled with one accord. Immediately
afterwards an official, apparently of a higher grade than the man
within, came up. He glanced curiously at the two suppliants as he thrust
his hand into his pocket and pulled out a key. Before he could fit it in
the lock the man on the other side had seen him, had sprung to the door,
flung it open, and stood at attention.
Manske saw that here was his opportunity. He snatched off his hat.
"Sir," he cried, "one moment, for God's sake."
"Well?" inquired the official sharply.
"Where can I obtain an order of admission?"
"To see----?"
"My dear patron, Herr von Lohm, who by some incomprehensible and
appalling mistake----"
"You must go to the judge who conducted the preliminary inquiries."
"But who is he, and where is he to be found?"
The official looked at his watch. "If you hurry you may still find him
at the Law Courts. In the next street. Examining Judge Schultz."
And the door was shut.
So they went to the Law Courts, and hurried up and down staircases and
along endless corridors, vainly looking for someone to direct them to
Examining Judge Schultz. The building was empty; they did not meet a
soul, and they went down one passage after the other, anguish in Anna's
heart, and misery hardly less acute in Manske's. At last they heard
distant voices echoing through the emptiness. They followed the sound,
and found two women cleaning.
"Can you direct me to the room of the Examining Judge Schultz?" asked
Manske, bowing politely.
"The gentlemen have all gone home. Business hours are over," was the
answer. Could they perhaps give his private address? No, they could not;
perhaps the porter knew. Where was the porter? Somewhere about.
They hurried downstairs again in search of the porter. Another ten
minutes was wasted looking for him. They saw him at last through the
glass of the entrance door, airing himself on the steps.
The porter gave them the address, and they lost some more minutes trying
to find their _Droschke_, for they had come out at a different entrance
to the one they had gone in by. By this time Manske was speechless, and
Anna was half dead.
They climbed three flights of stairs to the Examining Judge's flat, and
after being kept waiting a long while--"_Der Herr Untersuchungsrichter
ist bei Tisch_," the slovenly girl had announced--were told by him very
curtly that they must go to the Public Prosecutor for the order. Anna
went out without a word. Manske bowed and apologised profusely for
having disturbed the _Herr Untersuchungsrichter_ at his repast; he felt
the necessity of grovelling before these persons whose power was so
almighty. The Examining Judge made no reply whatever to these piteous
amiabilities, but turned on his heel, leaving them to find the door as
best they could.
The Public Prosecutor lived at the other end of the town. They neither
of them spoke a word on the way there. In answer to their anxious
inquiry whether they could speak to him, the woman who opened the door
said that her master was asleep; it was his hour for repose, having just
supped, and he could not possibly be disturbed.
Anna began to cry. Manske gripped hold of her hand and held it fast,
patting it while he continued to question the servant. "He will see no
one so late," she said. "He will sleep now till nine, and then go out.
You must come to-morrow."
"At what time?"
"At ten he goes to the Law Courts. You must come before then."
"Thank you," said Manske, and drew Anna away. "Do not cry, _liebes
Kind_," he implored, his own eyes brimming with miserable tears. "Do not
let the coachman see you like this. We must go home now. There is
nothing to be done. We will come early to-morrow, and have more
success."
They stopped a moment in the dark entrance below, trying to compose
their faces before going out. They did not dare look at each other. Then
they went out and drove away.
The stars were shining as they passed along the quiet country road, and
all the way was drenched with the fragrance of clover and freshly-cut
hay. The sky above the rye fields on the left was still rosy. Not a leaf
stirred. Once, when the coachman stopped to take a stone out of a
horse's shoe, they could hear the crickets, and the cheerful humming of
a column of gnats high above their heads.