GOTTLIEB ON THE WATCH.
The heat of the day had been followed by the pleasant coolness of an
August evening. The hands of the clock pointed to the hour of ten, and
Gottlieb, who had been walking during the entire evening in the
neighborhood of the little red cottage, began to think that his uncle
Fabian had in all comfort reached his home by another road.
"It is so quiet in the cottage," thought he, "that I think they have all
retired."
He glanced stealthily over the lilac hedge towards Magde's window. The
entire valley was bathed in moonlight, and the moonbeams glanced
directly through the window panes of Magde's apartment, with such vivid
brightness that Gottlieb was undecided how to act.
Soon, however, he resolved to convince himself of the true state of
affairs, that he might be prepared if his uncle should arrive.
He gradually made an opening in the hedge and having found his way clear
before him he advanced to the window which, as the weather was warm, was
secured only by a small cord. He glanced through the window, and a
beautiful picture met his gaze. In this chamber, the husband and wife's
little temple, the moonlight was brilliantly reflected from Ragnar's
brightly polished hunting and fishing implements which, neatly arranged,
were hung against the walls.
At the opposite side of the room, a much worn sailor's hat, commonly
called a tarpaulin, was balanced upon the point of a fishing rod, and
beneath this trophy was placed a small side board, the open doors of
which disclosed a number of shelves laden with gilt edged drinking
vessels of white and blue china; a set of rose colored tea-cups, and
several polished silver plated mugs. A few uncommonly excellent
specimens of carving in wood, decorated one of the shelves, and another
shelf contained several articles of jewelry which Magde had received
both before and after she was married. All these little valuables Magde
had gathered together, after she had put the children to bed, in the
hope that she might find some few articles among them that would save
her from disposing of the cow.
But her search, undoubtedly, had proved fruitless, for Magde's ornaments
were made almost entirely of bronze.
Seated in a chair with her hand resting upon the cradle, Magde was now
sleeping soundly.
She had been called, probably, while she was engaged in assorting her
little treasures, to attend to the wants of her infant, and overcome by
fatigue had unwillingly submitted to the power of that consoler of human
grief, sleep. Her face was turned towards the window, and the moonlight
illumined her entire figure, which was rendered more prominent by the
fact that the cradle stood in the centre of the room. She was still
attired in the garments she had borrowed, and her brown hair, fell in
two long braids over her loose white sleeves, from whence they dropped
upon the face of the sleeping child, while Magde's elbow was resting
upon the little pillow.
"What a picture for a painter!" thought Gottlieb. "Young Lonner is not
the most miserable of men, by my faith; but I know one who at some
future time will look much prettier in that position!"
The dull sound of a horse's hoofs, aroused him from his reveries.
"Ah, ha," thought he as a smile of triumph played upon his lips, "I was
right. We shall now see what is to happen."
Gottlieb returned to his hiding place in the hedge with noiseless
rapidity. He had not remained long in his somewhat tiresome position,
when the sound of the horse's hoofs ceased, and from the noise which
proceeded from the other side of the hedge he concluded that the owner
of the horse had dismounted and was securing his animal to a tree.
He soon heard the sound of light footsteps proceeding over the grass,
and then he discovered the familiar form of Mr. Fabian approaching the
cottage. After the new comer had assured himself that the door was
fastened he advanced to the window near which Gottlieb had been standing
a moment before. Instead of spending time in useless watchfulness he
immediately tapped upon the window; but Magde slept so soundly that the
noise did not disturb her.
Mr. Fabian flatted his nose against the window pane and suddenly
discovered the picture that Gottlieb had so much admired. Yet it was not
an expression of love which passed his lips as he gazed upon her.
"Confound that woman!" he exclaimed, "she drives me mad, and I believe
she would look on, if I was parching with thirst in the torments of
hell, and not give me a single drop of water."
He again tapped upon the pane so loudly, that a person less fatigued
than Magde would have awakened. At this moment Mr. Fabian was struck
with fear at his own temerity.
"Only think," thought he, "suppose I should awaken some one else! What
if an account of this should come to my wife's ear!"--the thought was
terrible, and the guilty husband's knees trembled violently. So much did
he respect his "dear Ulgenie," that he felt it even at his present
distance from her, and perhaps he would have relinquished all his plans
in relation to his beautiful Magde, had he not discovered that the
window was fastened only with a small cord.
To break off a small twig from a neighboring bush, and to thrust it
through the crevice of the window and remove the cord from the hook, was
the work of an instant, and before Gottlieb could fully understand the
nature of his uncle's movements he saw him suddenly disappear through
the window.
Of course Magde was now awakened by the noise of Mr. Fabian's abrupt
entrance, and she quickly sprang from the chair. When she recognized the
intruder she was seized with a deathly fear; which was however but of
momentary continuance. With flashing eyes, and haughtily curling lips
she advanced towards him with a bearing so threatening that Mr. H----
retreated in fear.
"Why do you visit me at this hour?" she inquired.
"I was unable to come earlier. I have been to see the justice and made
such arrangements that I think Mr. Lonner can be released as early as
to-morrow."
"And to speak these words--undoubtedly well intended--you have crawled
through my window."
"Upon my honor it was not my fault. I knocked several times, and not
wishing to go home without telling you this good news, which I thought
would cause you to sleep better--and observing you had not retired--I
seized the only opportunity remaining."
"Well," replied she, "I do not think harm will result from your friendly
visit, but as it is out of the order of things that you should remain
here, I must request you to leave the room in the manner you entered,
and then I can converse with you through the window."
"Cruel Magde!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian entreatingly, and even dared to
extend his hand towards her. But Magde repulsed him with a look of scorn
and anger.
"Travel no further upon this crooked path, and call me Magde no longer,
I bear the name of my husband, and wish to be called by that title
alone."
Gottlieb who could observe and overhear all that occurred, or was said
in Magde's chamber, could scarcely refrain from laughter as he saw his
good uncle retreating before the virtuous woman until he arrived at the
window from which he somewhat clumsily descended. Gottlieb was on the
point of rushing forward to receive his loved relative in his arms and
thus preventing him from injuring his precious limbs, when the sound of
Magde's voice prevented him from rendering this important service to his
uncle.
"There, that will do," said she, "we can now converse without
inconvenience to either of us. I hope Mr. H---- has not hurt himself."
"O, never mind me," replied he, "your heart is too hard to be moved at
my sufferings."
"I wish to say a word to you, Mr. H----. Your labor is entirely thrown
away upon me. I can pity the folly of a man if his folly is not evil;
but--"
"Am I evil? Try me," interrupted Mr. Fabian hastily.
"I will," replied Magde. "If you will bind yourself to release my father
I shall ever be grateful for the service."
"And nothing further?"
"Nothing."
"Then, at least give me your hand that I may with it wipe away the tears
that scald my eyes. I am a weak, a tender hearted man, and must weep
when I am scoffed at. But never mind, give me your hand, a moment."
"It is impossible."
"Give me but your little finger."
In lieu of a reply, Magde endeavored to close the window; but her
admirer prevented her from doing so.
"Ah!" exclaimed he furious at his defeat. "You wish to enjoy a boon, and
not reward the donor. Then listen, the old man shall remain where he
is. If I do not interest myself for him no one else will."
"That remains to be seen. Mr. Gottlieb has returned--"
"Ah! then, he has returned. Well, what can he do?"
"Not much, my dear uncle," exclaimed Gottlieb advancing towards Mr.
Fabian, "except to give my dear aunt Ulrica, a full account of the
interesting conversation I have accidentally overheard."
"Without replying Mr. Fabian stared a moment in bewildered surprise, at
the intruder, and then rushing wildly to his horse, he mounted and urged
the animal to a furious speed.
"Well, well," exclaimed Magde, "we can well compare Mr. H---- to a hare.
But Mr. Gottlieb, whatever chance brought you here, do not bring sorrow
upon him, by speaking to his wife of this adventure."
"Fear not, Mrs. Lonner, I have not been on the watch here to become an
informer; but as I heard certain things from Nanna to-day, and as I from
the first have suspected my uncle, and as I wished to have him in my
power--"
"I understand you Mr. Gottlieb. You are an honest and faithful friend,
and we shall never forget--"
"And I, Mrs. Lonner," interrupted Gottlieb, "I shall not forget this
valley I assure you, and now good night; in a short time everything will
be as it was before."
"Thank you, a thousand times! When Ragnar returns, through God's
assistance we will repay you."
* * * * *
Gottlieb's heart bounded with joy, as he proceeded on his road towards
Almvik, but the heart of another traveller in the same direction was
oppressed with gloomy forebodings. It is almost unnecessary to say that
the latter traveller was Mr. Fabian H----. On his arrival at Almvik he
entered his wife's chamber trembling with anxiety, lest Gottlieb had
been there before him.
"What is the matter with you?" inquired his wife, who had already
retired to her bed; "has the horse been balky, or have you met with an
accident?"
"Nothing, nothing, darling Ulgenie; but my head has been heavy all the
afternoon."
"That is caused by your excessive sleeping," said Mrs. Ulrica.
"Perhaps it is. Hereafter I shall sleep less, and after this, my dear
wife, I will follow your advice in everything."
"Then, my dear, you will be a good husband. If I should always find you
so, I would not have so many causes for complaint."
"Have you any complaint to make now?" inquired Mr. Fabian, anxiously.
Mr. Fabian was in a state of fearful suspense. The air to him appeared
populated with evil spirits.
"I did not speak thus for the purpose of troubling you, dear Fabian, it
would not be just for me to choose this moment, when you feel so
repentant, to remind you of other moments when you do not seem impressed
with the worth of your wife."
"Yes, yes, that would indeed be cruel, for it is true, really true,
that--that--"
"What, Fabian, good Fabian?"
"That I never before have so much esteemed and adored you, my dear,
dear--" He was unable to proceed.
"Ah! Fabian, that is the true spirit. You at last understand how happy
you are."
"Yes, as happy as the condemned sinner," sighed Fabian; but in such a
manner that his wife heard the first word only.