MÄZLI PAYS VISITS
Whenever Mäzli found the time heavy on her hands, she would suddenly
remember people who might want to see her. She had been extremely
occupied all these days entertaining Leonore, as during school hours she
had been the older girl's sole companion. Her brothers and sisters were
now home for a holiday and constantly surrounded Leonore. Finding
herself without her usual employment, Mäzli ran after her mother on the
morning of the holiday and kept on saying, "I must go to see Apollonie.
I am sure Loneli is sad that I have not been to see her so long," until
her mother finally gave her permission to go that afternoon.
On her way to Apollonie Mäzli had been struck by an idea which occupied
her very much. She arrived at the cottage of her old friend and sat down
beside Loneli, who was not in the least sad, but looked about her with
the merriest eyes. "I must go see the Castle-Steward to-day," she said
quickly. "I promised it but I forgot about it."
"No, no, Mäzli," Apollonie said evasively, "we have lots of other things
to do. We have to see if the plums are getting ripe on the tree in the
corner of the garden, and after that you must see the chickens. Just
think, Mäzli, they have little chicks, and you will have to see them. I
am sure you won't ever want to leave them."
"Oh, yes, when I have seen them I must go to the Castle-Steward because I
promised to," Mäzli replied.
"I am sure he has forgotten all about it and does not remember you any
more," Apollonie said, trying to ward Mäzli off from her design. "Does
your mama know that you mean to go to the castle?"
"No, because I only thought of it on my way here," Mäzli assured her old
friend. "But one must always keep a promise; Kurt told me that."
"Mr. Trius won't even let you in," Apollonie protested.
"Certainly! He has to. I know the Castle-Steward well, and he is not in
the least afraid of Mr. Trius; I have noticed that," said Mäzli, firmly
holding to her resolution.
Apollonie realized that words would do no good and resolved to entertain
Mäzli so well with the little chickens and other things that it would
finally be too late for her to go to the castle. Mäzli inspected the
tiny chickens and the ripening plums with great enjoyment, but as this
had barely taken any time at all, she soon said resolutely, "I have to go
now because it is late. If you would like to stay home, Loneli can come
with me. I am sure we can easily find the way."
"What are you dreaming of, Mäzli?" Apollonie cried out. "How do you
think Mr. Trius would receive you if you ask him to let you in, I should
like to know? You'll find out something you won't like, I am afraid. No,
no, this can't be. If you insist on going, I had better go along."
Apollonie went indoors to get ready for the walk, as she always put on
better clothes whenever she mounted to the castle, despite the fact that
she might not see anyone. Loneli was extremely eager to have a chance to
find out who was the Castle-Steward whom Mäzli had promised to visit.
She had tried to persuade her grandmother to let her go with Mäzli, in
which case her mother would not need to change her clothes, But the
latter would not even hear of it, remarking, "You can sit on the bench
under the pear tree with your knitting in the meantime, and you can sing
a song. We are sure to be back again in a little while."
Soon they started off, Apollonie firmly holding Mäzli's hand. Mr. Trius
appeared at the door before they even had time to ring; it seemed as if
the man really had his eyes on everything. Throwing a furious glance at
Mäzli, he opened the door before Apollonie had said a word. But he had
taken great care to leave a crack which would only allow a little person
like Mäzli to slip through without sticking fast in the opening. Mäzli
wriggled through and started to run away. The next moment the door was
closed again. "Do you think I intend to squeeze myself through, too? You
do not need to bolt it, Mr. Trius," Apollonie said, much offended. "It
is not necessary to cut off the child from me like that, so that I don't
even know where she is going. I am taking care of her, remember. Won't
you please let me in, for I want to watch her, that is all."
"Forbidden," said Mr. Trius.
"Why did you let the child in?"
"I was ordered to."
"What? You were ordered to? By the master?" cried out Apollonie. "Oh,
Mr. Trius, how could he let the child go in and walk about the garden
while his old servant is kept out? She ought to be in there looking after
things. I am sure you have never told him how I have come to you, come
again and again and have begged you to admit me. I want to put things
into their old order and you don't want me to. You don't even know,
apparently, which bed he has and if his pillows are properly covered.
You said so yourself. I am sure that the good old Baroness would have no
peace in her grave if she knew all this. And this is all your fault. I
can clearly see that. I can tell you one thing, though! If you refuse to
give my messages to the master as I have begged and begged you to so
often, I'll find another way. I'll write a letter."
"Won't help."
"What won't help? How can you know that? You won't know what's in the
letter. I suppose the Baron still reads his own letters," Apollonie
eagerly went on.
"He receives no letters from these parts."
This was a terrible blow for Apollonie, to whom this new thought had
given great confidence. She therefore decided to say nothing more and
quietly watched Mr. Trius as he walked up and down inside the garden.
Mäzli in the meantime had eagerly pursued her way and was soon up on the
terrace. Glancing about from there, she saw the gentleman again,
stretched out in the shadow of the pine tree, as she had seen him first,
and the glinting cover was lying again on his knees. Mäzli ran over to
him.
"How do you do, Mr. Castle-Steward? Are you angry with me because I have
not come for so long?" she called out to him from a distance, and a
moment later she was by his side. "It was only on account of Leonore,"
Mäzli continued. "I should otherwise have come ages ago. But when the
others are all in school she can't be left alone. So I stay with her and
I like to do it because she is so nice. Everybody likes Leonore,
everybody likes her terribly; Kurt and Bruno, too. They stay home all
the time now because Leonore is with us. You ought to know how nice she
is. You would like her dreadfully right away."
"Do you think so?" said the gentleman, while something like a smile
played about his lips. "Is it your sister?"
"My sister? No, indeed," Mäzli said, quite astonished at his error. "She
is Salo's sister, the boy who was with us and who had to go back to
Hanover. She has to go back to Hanover, too, as soon as she is well, and
mama always gets very sad when she talks about it. But Mea gets sadder
still and even cries. Leonore hates to leave us, but she has to. She
cried dreadfully once because she can never, never have a home. As long
as she lives she'll have to be homeless. The beggar-woman who came with
the two ragged children said that. They were homeless, and Leonore said
afterwards, 'I am that way, too,' and then she cried terribly, and we
were sent out into the garden. She might have cried still more if she
had thought about our having a home with a mama while she has none. She
has no papa or anybody. But you must not think that she is a homeless
child with a torn dress; she looks quite different. Maybe she can find a
home in Apollonie's little house under the hill. Then Salo can come home
to her in the holidays. But mama does not think that this can be. But
Leonore wants it ever so much. I must bring her to you one day."
"Who are you, child? What is your name," asked the gentleman abruptly.
Mäzli looked at him in astonishment.
"I am Mäzli," she said, "and mama has the same name as I have. But they
don't call her that. Some people call her Mrs. Rector, some mama, and
Uncle Philip says Maxa to her and Leonore calls her Aunt Maxa."
"Is your father the rector of Nolla?" the gentleman asked.
"He has been in heaven a long while, and he was in heaven before we came
here, but mama wanted to come back to Nolla because this was her home.
We don't live in the rectory now, but where there is a garden with lots
of paths, and where the big currant-bushes are in the corners, here and
here and here." Mäzli traced the position of the bushes exactly on the
lionskin. The castle-steward, leaning back in his chair, said nothing
more. "Do you find it very tiresome here?" Mäzli asked sympathetically.
"Yes, I do," was the answer.
"Have you no picture-book"
"No."
"Oh, I'll bring you one, as soon as I come again. And then--but perhaps
you have a headache?" Mäzli interrupted herself. "When my mama wrinkles
up her forehead the way you do she always has a headache, and one must
get her some cold water to make it better. I'll quickly get some," and
the next instant Mäzli was gone.
"Come back, child!" the gentleman called after her. "There is nobody in
the castle, and you won't find any."
It seemed strange to Mäzli that there should be nobody to bring water to
the Castle-Steward.
"I'll find somebody for him," she said, eagerly running down the incline
to the door, in whose vicinity Mr. Trius was wandering up and down.
"You are to go up to the Castle-Steward at once," she said standing still
in front of him, "and you are to bring him some cold water, because he
has a headache. But very quickly."
Mr. Trius glanced at Mäzli in an infuriated way as if to say: "How do
you dare to come to me like this?" Then throwing the door wide open he
growled like a cross bear: "Out of here first, so I can close it." After
Mäzli had slipped out he banged the big door with all his might so that
the hinges rattled. Turning the monstrous key twice in the lock, he also
bolted it with a vengeance. By this he meant to show that no one could
easily go in again at his pleasure.
Apollonie, who had been sitting down in the shade not far from the door
now went up to Mäzli and said, "You stayed there a long time. What did
the gentleman say?"
"Very little, but I told him a lot," Mäzli said. "He has a headache,
Apollonie, and just think! nobody ever brings him any water, and Mr.
Trius even turns the key and bolts the door before he goes to him."
Apollonie broke out into such lamentations and complaints after these
words that Mäzli could not bear it.
"But he has the water long ago, Apollonie. I am sure Mr. Trius gave it
to him. Please don't go on so," she said a trifle impatiently. But this
was only oil poured on the flames.
"Yes, no one knows what he does and what he doesn't do," Apollonie
lamented, louder than ever. "The poor master is sick, and all his
servant does is to stumble about the place, not asking after his needs
and letting everything go to rack and ruin. Not a cabbage-head or a
pea-plant is to be seen. Not one strawberry or raspberry, no golden
apricots on the wall or a single little dainty peach. The disorder
everywhere is frightful. When I think how wonderfully it used to be
managed by the Baroness!" Apollonie kept on wiping her eyes because
present conditions worried her dreadfully. "You can't understand it,
Mäzli," she continued, when she had calmed down a trifle. "You see,
child, I should be glad to give a finger of my right hand if I could go
up there one day a week in order to arrange things for the master as they
should be and fix the garden and the vegetables. The stuff the old
soldier is giving him to eat is perfectly horrid, I know."
Mäzli hated to hear complaints, so she always looked for a remedy.
"You don't need to be so unhappy," she said. "Just cook some nice
milk-pudding for him and I'll take it up to him. Then he'll have
something good to eat, something much better than vegetables; oh, yes, a
thousand times better."
"You little innocent! Oh, when I think of forty years ago!" Apollonie
cried out, but she complained no further. Mäzli's answers had clearly
given her the conviction that the child could not possibly understand the
difficult situation she was in.
Mäzli chattered gaily by Apollonie's side, and as soon as she reached
home, wanted to tell her mother what had happened. But the child was to
have no opportunity for that day. The mother had been very careful in
keeping the contents of Miss Remke's letter from the children in order
not to spoil their last two weeks together. Unfortunately Bruno had that
day received a letter from Salo, in which he wrote that in ten days one
of the ladies was coming to fetch Leonore home, as she was completely
well. Salo remarked quite frankly that he himself hardly looked forward
to Leonore's coming, as he saw in each of her letters how happy she was
in Aunt Maxa's household and how difficult the separation would be for
her. Whenever he thought how hard it would be for her to grow accustomed
to the change again, all his joy vanished at the prospect of her return.
Bruno had read the whole letter aloud and had therewith conjured up such
consternation and grief on every side that the mother hardly knew how to
comfort them. Leonore herself was sitting in the midst of the excited
group. She gave no sound and had unsuccessfully tried to swallow her
rising tears, but they had got the better of her and were falling over
her cheeks in a steady stream.
Mea was crying excitedly, "Oh, mother, you must help us. You have to
write to the ladies that they mustn't come. Please don't let Leonore
go!"
Bruno remarked passionately that no one had the right to drag a sick
person on a journey against the doctor's wishes. The doctor had said the
last time he had been here that Leonore was to have not less than a month
for her complete recovery.
Kurt cried out over and over again, "Oh, mother, it's cruel, it's
perfectly cruel! We all want to keep her here and she wants to stay. Now
she is to be violently taken from us. Isn't that absolutely cruel?"
Lippo, coming close to Leonore, also did his best to console her. He
remembered that he could not say "stay with us" any more, but he had
another plan.
"Don't cry, Leonore," he said encouragingly. "As soon as I am big, Uncle
Philip has promised to give me a house and a lot of meadows. I'll be a
farmer then, and I'll write to you to come to live with me, and Salo can
come for the holidays, too."
Leonore could not help smiling, but it only brought more tears when she
thought how much love she was receiving from all these children, and that
she had to leave them and might never see them again. The mother's
attempts to comfort them failed entirely, because she had no hope
herself.
In the middle of this agitating scene Mäzli arrived, perfectly happy and
filled with her recent experiences. She wished to relate what the
Castle-Steward had said to her and what she had said to him, and what had
happened afterwards. But no one listened because they were so deeply
absorbed with their own disturbing thoughts. They were not in the least
interested in what Mäzli had to say about the Steward, as they all
thought that the steward was Mr. Trius. That evening the unheard-of
happened. Mäzli actually begged to go to bed before the evening song had
been sung, because the depressing atmosphere in the house was so little
to her taste that she even preferred to go to bed.
Mea had been hoping till now that her mother would find some means to
keep Leonore. If it could not be the way Apollonie planned, she might at
least stay for a long stretch of time. All of a sudden this hope was
gone entirely, and the day of separation was terribly near. The girl
looked so completely miserable when she started out for school next day
that the mother had not the heart to let her go without a little comfort.
"You only need to go to school two more days, Mea," she said. "Next week
you can stay home and spend all your time with Leonore."
Mea was very glad to hear it, but without uttering a word she ran away,
for everything that concerned Leonore brought tears to her eyes.
Leonore had been looking so pale the last few days that Mrs. Maxa
surveyed her anxiously. Perhaps the recovery had not been as complete as
they had hoped, for the news of the close date of her departure had
proved to be a great strain for her. Mrs. Maxa went about quite
downcast and silent herself. Nothing for a long time had been so hard
for her to bear as the thought of separation from the little girl she had
begun to love like one of her own, who had also grown so lovingly
attached to her. The pressure lay on them all very heavily. Bruno never
said a word. Kurt, standing in a corner with a note-book, was busily
scribbling down his melancholy thoughts, but he did not show his verses
to anyone, as the tragic feeling in them might have drawn remarks from
Bruno which he might not have been able to endure. Lippo faithfully
followed Leonore wherever she went and from time to time repeated his
consoling words, but he said them in such a wailing voice that they
sounded extremely doleful. Mäzli alone still gazed about her with merry
eyes and was dancing with joy when she saw that it was a bright sunny
day.
"You can take a little walk with Leonore, Mäzli," the mother said
immediately after lunch, as soon as the other children had started off to
school. "Leonore will grow too pale if she does not get into the open
air. Take her on a pretty walk, Mäzli. You might go to Apollonie."
Mäzli most willingly got her little hat, and the children set out. When
they had passed half-way across the garden Mäzli suddenly stood still.
"Oh, I forgot something," she said. "I have to go back again. Please
wait for me, I won't be long."
Mäzli disappeared but came back very shortly with a large picture-book
under each arm. They were the biggest she had found and she had chosen
them because she thought: The bigger the books, the bigger his delight at
looking at them.
"Now I'll tell you what I thought," she said on reaching Leonore. "You
see, up in the castle under a big tree sits the sick Castle-Steward. I
promised to go to see him soon again and to bring him a picture book.
But I am bringing him two because he'll like two better. I also promised
to bring you and something else besides. You don't know why he needs
that other thing, but you will hear when we are up there. Let us go
now."
"But, Mäzli, I don't know the gentleman and he doesn't know me," Leonore
began to object. "I can't go, because he might not like it. Besides
your mother knows nothing about it."
But Mäzli had not the slightest intention of giving up her expedition.
"I have everything I want to bring him now, and the Castle-Steward has
probably been waiting for us all day, so, you see, we simply must go.
Mama also says that one has to go to see sick people and bring them
things, because it cheers them up. He has to sit all day alone under the
tree and he gets dreadfully tired. When he has a headache not a person
comes to bring him anything. It is not nice of you not to want to go
when he is expecting us."
Mäzli had talked so eagerly that she not only became absolutely convinced
herself that it would be the greatest wrong if she did not go to see the
Castle-Steward, but produced a similar feeling in Leonore.
"I shall gladly go with you, if you think the sick gentleman does not
object," she said; "I only didn't know whether he would want us."
Mäzli was satisfied now, and, gaily talking, led Leonore toward the lofty
iron door. The path led up between fragrant meadows and heavily laden
apple trees, and when they reached their destination, they found it quite
superfluous to ring the bell. Mr. Trius had long ago observed them and
stood immovably behind the door. Hoping that he would open it, the
children waited expectantly, but he did not budge.
"We want to pay a visit to the Castle-Steward," said Mäzli. "You'd
better open soon."
"Not for two," was the answer.
"Certainly. We both have to go in, because he is expecting us," Mäzli
informed him. "I promised to bring Leonore, so you'd better open."
But Mr. Trius did not stir.
"Come, Mäzli, we'd better go back," said Leonore in a low voice. "Can't
you see that he won't open it? Maybe he is not allowed."
But it was no easy matter to turn Mäzli from her project.
"If he won't open it I'll scream so loud that the Castle-Steward will
hear it," she said obstinately. "He is sure to say something then, for
he is waiting for us. I can shout very loud, just listen: 'Mr.
Castle-Steward!'"
Her cry was so vigorous that Mr. Trius became quite blue with rage. "Be
quiet, you little monster!" he said, but he opened the door nevertheless.
"Maybe we shouldn't go in," said Leonore. Mäzli pulled her along,
however, and never let go her hand till they had reached the terrace; she
had no desire to leave her friend behind when they were so near their
goal. Now, Mäzli quickly taking back the second picture-book, which
Leonore had been carrying for her, began to run.
"Just come! Leonore. Look! there he sits already." With this Mäzli flew
over to the large pine tree.
"How do you do, Mr. Castle-Steward! Didn't I come soon again, this
time?" she merrily called out to him. "I have also brought everything I
promised. Here are the picture books--look! two of them. I thought you
might look through one too quickly."
Mäzli laid both books on the lion skin and began to rummage through her
pockets. "Look what else I brought you," and Mäzli laid down a tiny
ivory whistle. "Kurt gave it to me once and now I give it to you. If
you have a headache and Mr. Trius is far away, all you need to do is to
whistle. Then he can come and bring you some water. He'll hear it far,
far away, because it whistles as loud as anything. Just try it once! I
have also brought you Leonore."
The gentleman started slightly and looked up. Leonore had shyly
retreated behind the chair, but Mäzli pulled her forward. The gentleman
now threw a penetrating glance at the delicate looking little girl, who
hardly dared to raise her large, dark eyes to his. Leonore, who had
blushed violently under his scrutiny, said in a barely audible voice,
"Perhaps we should not have come; but Mäzli thought we might be allowed
to see you. Can we do something for you? Perhaps Mäzli should not have
brought me. Oh, I am so sorry if I have offended you."
"No, indeed. Mäzli meant well when she wanted me to meet her friend,"
the gentleman said in quite a friendly voice. "What is the name of
Mäzli's friend?"
"Leonore von Wallerstätten," the girl answered, and noticing the large
books on the gentleman's knees, she added, "May I take the books away?
They might be too heavy."
"Yes, you might, but it was very good of Mäzli to bring them all the way
up to me," he said. "I'll look at them a little later."
"May I fix your pillow for you? It does not do you much good that way,"
said Leonore, pulling it up. It had long ago slipped out of position.
"Oh, this is better, this is lovely," the sick man replied, comfortably
leaning back in the chair.
"What a shame! It won't stay, I am afraid. It is falling down again,"
said Leonore regretfully. "We ought to have a ribbon. If I only had one
and a thread and needle!--but perhaps we could come again to-morrow--"
Leonore became quite frightened suddenly at her boldness and remained
silent from embarrassment. But Mäzli got her out of this trying
situation. Full of confidence she announced that they would return the
next day with everything necessary.
The gentleman now asked Leonore where she came from and where she lived.
She related that she had been living in a boarding school for several
years, ever since the death of her great-aunt, with whom both she and her
brother had found a home.
"Have you no other relations?" the gentleman asked, keenly observing her
the while.
"No, none at all, except an uncle who has been living in Spain for many
years. My aunt told us that he won't ever come back and that no one
knows where he is. If we knew where he is, we should have written to him
long ago. Salo would go to Spain as soon as he was allowed to and I
should go to him in any case."
"Why?" the gentleman asked.
"Because he is our father's brother," she replied, "and we could love him
like a father, too. He is the only person in the whole world to whom we
could belong. We have wished many and many a time a chance to look for
him, because we might live with him."
"No, you couldn't do that. I know him, I have been in Spain," the
Castle-Steward said curtly.
A light spread over Leonore's face, as if her heart had been suddenly
flooded with hope.
"Oh, do you really know our uncle? Do you know where he is living?" she
cried out, while her cheeks flushed with happiness. "Oh, please tell me
what you know about him."
When she gazed up at the gentleman with such sparkling eyes, it seemed to
him that he ought to consider his reply carefully.
Suddenly he said positively, "No, no, you can never seek him out. Your
uncle is an old, sick man, and no young people could possibly live with
him. He must remain alone in his old owl's nest. You could not go to
him there."
"But we should go to him so much more, if he is old and ill. He needs us
more then than if he had a family," Leonore said eagerly. "He could be
our father and we his children and we could take care of him and love
him. If he only were not so dreadfully far away! If you could only tell
us where he lives, we could write to him and get his permission to go
there. Without him we can't do anything at all, because Mr. von Stiele
in Hanover wants Salo to study for years and years longer. We have to do
everything he says, unless our uncle should call us. Oh, please tell me
where he lives!"
"Just think of all the deprivations you would have to suffer with your
old uncle! Think how lonely it would be for you to live with a sick man
in a wild nest among the rocks! What do you say to that?" he said curtly.
"Oh, it would only be glorious for Salo and me to have a real home with
an uncle we loved," Leonore continued, showing that her longing could not
be quenched. "There is only one thing I should miss there, but I have to
miss it in Hanover, too. I shall never, never feel at home there!"
"Well, what is this?" the gentleman queried.
"That I can't be together with Aunt Maxa and the children."
"Shall we ask Aunt Maxa's advice? Would this suit you, child?"
"Oh, yes indeed," Leonore answered happily.
At the mention of Aunt Maxa she suddenly remembered that they had not
told her where they were going. As she was afraid that they had
remained away too long already, Lenore urged Mäzli to take her leave
quickly, while she gave her hand to the steward.
"Will you deliver a message for me, Leonore?" he said; "will you tell
your Aunt Maxa that the master of the castle, whom she knew long years
ago, would love to visit her, but he is unable? Ask her if he may hope
that she will come up to him at the castle instead?"
Mäzli gave her hand now to say good-bye, and when she noticed that the
pillow had slipped down again, she said, "Apollonie would just love to
set things in order for you, but Mr. Trius won't let her in. She would
be willing to give a finger from her right hand if she were allowed to do
everything Mr. Trius doesn't do."
"Come now, Mäzli," said Leonore, for she had the feeling that this
peculiar revelation might be followed by others as unintelligible. But
the Castle-Steward smiled, as if he had comprehended Mäzli's words.
Mrs. Maxa was standing in front of her house, surrounded by her
children, anxiously looking for the two missing ones. Nobody could
understand where Leonore and Mäzli might have stayed so long. Suddenly
they caught a glimpse of two blue ribbons fluttering from Leonore's hat.
Quickly the children rushed to meet them.
"Where do you come from? Where did you stay so long? Where have you been
all this time," sounded from all sides.
"In the castle," was the answer.
The excitement only grew at this.
"How could you get there? Who opened the door? What did you do at the
castle?" The questions were poured out at such a rate that no answer
could possibly have been heard.
"I went to see the Castle-Steward before. I have been to see him quite
often," said Mäzli loudly, for she was desirous of being heard.
Leonore had gone ahead with the mother's arm linked in hers, for she was
very anxious to deliver her message.
Kurt was too much interested in Mäzli's expedition to the castle to be
frightened off by the first unintelligible account. He had to find out
how it had come about and what had happened, but the two did not get very
far in their dialogue.
As soon as Mäzli began to talk first about Mr. Trius and then about the
Steward, Kurt always said quickly, "But this is all one and the same
person. Don't make two out of them, Mäzli! All the world knows that Mr.
Trius is the Steward of Castle Wildenstein; he is one person and not
two."
Then Mäzli answered, "Mr. Trius is one and the Castle-Steward is
another. They are two people and not one."
After they had repeated this about three times Bruno said, "Oh, Kurt,
leave her alone. Mäzli thinks that there are two, when she calls him
first Mr. Trius and then Mr. Castle-Steward."
That was too much for Mäzli, and shouting vigorously, "They are two
people, they are two people," she ran away.
Leonore had related in the meantime how Mäzli had proposed to visit the
sick Castle-Steward and how she had at first been reluctant to go, till
Mäzli had made her feel that she was wrong. She related everything that
had happened and all the questions he had asked her.
"Just think, Aunt Maxa," Leonore went on, "the gentleman knows our uncle
in Spain. He said that he had been there, too, and he knows that our
uncle is old and ill and is living all by himself. I wanted so much to
find out where he was, and asked him to tell me, but he thought it would
not help, as we couldn't possibly go to him. So I said that we might
write, and just think, Aunt Maxa! at last he said he would ask your
advice." Then Leonore gave her message. "He did not say that the
Castle-Steward, as he called himself to Mäzli, sent the message, but told
me that it was from the master of the castle, whom you knew a long time
ago," Leonore concluded. "Oh, just think! Aunt Maxa, we might find our
uncle after all. Oh, please help us, for I want so much to write to
him."
Mrs. Maxa had listened with ever-growing agitation, and she was so
deeply affected that she could not say a word. She could not express the
thought which thrilled her so, because she did not know the Baron's
intentions. Mea's loud complaints at this moment conveniently hid her
mother's silence.
"Oh, Leonore," she cried out, "if you go to Spain, we shan't see each
other again for the rest of our lives; then you will never, never come
back here any more!"
"Do you really think so?" Leonore asked, much downcast. She felt that it
would be hard for her to choose in such a case, and she suddenly did not
know if she really wanted to go to Spain.
"It is not very easy to make a trip to Spain, children," said the mother,
"and I am sure that it is not necessary to get excited about it."
When Kurt, after the belated supper that night, renewed his examination
about the single or the double Steward of Castle Wildenstein, their
mother announced that bedtime had not only come for the little ones, but
for all. Soon after, the whole lively party was sleeping soundly and
only the mother was still sitting in her room, sunk in deep meditation.
She had not been able to think over the Baron's words till now and she
wondered what hopes she might build upon them. He might only want to
talk over Leonore's situation because he had realized how little she felt
at home in Hanover. But all this thinking led to nothing, and she knew
that our good Lord in heaven, who opens doors which seem most tightly
barred, had let it happen for a purpose. She was so grateful that she
would be able to see the person who, more than anyone else, held
Leonore's destiny in his hands. Full of confidence in God, she hoped
that the hand which had opened an impassable road would also lead an
embittered heart back to himself, and by renewing in him the love of his
fellowmen, bring about much happiness and joy.