THE FESTIVAL.
The next morning, when Gottlieb awoke, he discovered that he had a
visitor even at that early hour of the day. His uncle Fabian was pacing
backward and forward at the side of his nephew's bed, with a countenance
so wretched and woe begone, that Gottlieb could not but pity him.
"Good morning, uncle," said Gottlieb, cheerfully, "how is your health?"
"Why do you ask?"
"Your voice sounds just as if I was a robber demanding your purse or
your life. What is the matter?"
"That which you told me yesterday makes your comparison very apt."
"You are mistaken. It is not my intention to play the part of the famous
Rinaldo Rinaldini. I am the most peaceable person in the world, and if
you wish to remain at peace at home--which is very natural, you know--I
have no desire to prevent you from doing so."
"But, perhaps, you intend to demand from me three times the sum of money
necessary to fee a lawyer, to bribe you to secrecy."
"Shame upon you. I have not demanded anything. I only expect--"
"What?" inquired his uncle.
"That you will of your own free will and accord loan me the money
necessary to pay old Mr. Lonner's fine. In a few months, when Ragnar
Lonner returns and repays me, I will settle with you. If he does not
repay me, why it is but a small sum to lose."
"And what will you require for yourself?" inquired Mr. Fabian.
"Shall I peddle out my secret like a Jew? I swear by my honor that I
will not divulge to my aunt one word of all that has passed."
Mr. Fabian thrust his hand into his capacious pocket, and withdrawing
his purse, with a sigh counted the money into Gottlieb's hand.
"I shall not give you my note for this, for if I am not repaid I do not
expect to repay you."
His uncle did not immediately reply, but after opening and closing his
purse several times, he addressed his nephew in a tone which displayed
deep and true emotion.
"Gottlieb," said he, "I am not miserly. You have spared me when you
might have prepared a place of torment for me. I am grateful. Have you
any debts? Your father is not rich."
"That is spoken like a man of honor and a true relation," said Gottlieb,
warmly, "but fortunately I have always been obliged to live
economically, and therefore have escaped from falling into the foolish
habit of contracting debts."
"Well, then, if you have no debts, you at least have a future to prepare
for. You must not therefore refuse my offer."
"I do not wish to make use of it at present. Yet I do not wish you to
consider it refused entirely. At this moment I do not require anything,
unless indeed you wish to spare my feet and my boots, by giving me a
little money to pay my travelling expenses. When the time comes, and I
find myself fully engaged in my father's office, I will consider your
proposal with the greatest pleasure."
"Do so, and I will have a good memory, I assure you."
"One word more, uncle. You must promise me to trouble the worthy Mrs.
Lonner no longer. She will never submit to your desires."
As he thus spoke, an ashy paleness o'erspread Mr. Fabian's countenance,
and with a shudder he glanced fearfully around the room.
"O, the walls have no ears," said Gottlieb; "but uncle you will promise
me this, will you not."
"Most assuredly," replied his uncle. "That woman has driven me almost
mad; but I think that last night's fright has entirely cured me. I shall
not go there again under any circumstances."
* * * * *
The songs of the birds of the valley were more melodious than ever
before, the perfume of the roses and lilacs were sweeter than formerly,
at least so thought the occupants of the little cottage when Gottlieb
visited them that afternoon. Certainly, however, the feast which was
given on that day had never been equalled before, except perhaps on the
day of the arrival of Ragnar after a long absence from his wife and
home.
It was a splendid dinner--roasted spare ribs, and fish, and cakes. The
old man occupied the seat at the head of the table. Gottlieb, who had
provided this repast from the money he had received from his uncle for
travelling expenses, was seated beside Nanna. The children ate so
rapidly and heartily that it appeared as though they intended to swallow
a sufficient supply to last them for a year to come. Carl, wearing his
Sunday vest, a vest that Magde had made, and with a rose in his jacket
button-hole, a rose that Magde had plucked, was seated in his usual
place at the table, cheerful and contented. Magde attended almost solely
to the old man's wants, filling his plate, and replenishing his cup. And
lastly, little Christine, who trotted from place to place, taking care
of the cow, dog, sheep, goats, and the ancient cat, was as happy and
cheerful as the others. Altogether the scene was beautiful and
harmonious.
"And for all this happiness," said the old man, looking tearfully upon
the youth, "for all this happiness, Mr. Gottlieb, next to God, we are
indebted to you. Happy must be the parents of such a son!"
"Father Lonner," said Gottlieb glancing around the table, with a
friendly smile, "you have no reason to be envious."
"That is true," replied the old man nodding his head pleasantly to the
circle of beloved ones.
In the afternoon, after the old man had retired to his comfortable bed,
now doubly comfortable to him, to rest himself awhile, and Magde was
seated by his bedside pleasantly chatting with him, while Carl was busy
making little boats for the children, Nanna and Gottlieb were seated
near the spring beneath the tree, in the meadow.
It could easily be believed that the young couple were not very
talkative, for Nanna was busily engaged in searching in the grass for a
four leaved clover, and Gottlieb was amusing himself, according to his
childish custom, by blowing shrill blasts upon a thick blade of grass.
It was sunset. The glowing reflection of the sun fell upon Nanna's pale
neck and face, illumining them with a golden blush.
"I am sorry," said Gottlieb, at length, throwing aside the blade of
grass, and assuming a serious cast of countenance, "I am sorry that our
lessons must have an end; but all is for the best, for, my child, you
know enough already."
"More than enough," replied Nanna, softly.
"Especially for a school teacher," said Gottlieb.
"Yes, especially for a school teacher," repeated Nanna.
"But you speak so abstractedly. You are not so lively as usual."
"I did not know it; but if Gottlieb says so, it must be true. When one
has been so glad as I have been to-day, and then as sorrowful, it takes
much courage to meet the change indifferently."
"But, dear Nanna, you were aware that I should be forced to go away
soon."
"I did not know that you were going so soon as to-morrow morning."
"Neither did I, myself, when I saw you yesterday; but when I determined
to go by the steamboat, you perceive that--"
"Yes, yes."
"And then again what difference will a day or two more or less make,
when we part--"
"Never again to meet," interrupted Nanna.
"You will do right in the meantime not to hope too much."
Nanna glanced inquiringly towards Gottlieb.
"Do you not think it strange, Nanna, that we who have been acquainted
but so short a season, should think so much of each other?"
"It is perfectly natural that we should. Persons in fashionable society
cannot become so well acquainted with each other as we could in one
hour. At first we met each other every evening, then every morning and
evening, and at length--"
"And at length morning, noon and night!" interrupted Gottlieb, with a
smile. "In truth, Nanna, you are right, for if our every meeting was so
divided that we should be together but once each week, our acquaintance
would have been prolonged for an entire year."
"O, much longer than that even," said Nanna, joining in Gottlieb's
laugh.
"And as we have remained by our agreement not to fall in love with each
other, we part as friends, and not in despair, and what is still better,
not with reproaches, which, had the case been different, we would have
been obliged to make and listen to."
"Yes, it is fortunate, very fortunate, that--that--" stammered Nanna,
unable to finish the sentence.
"We need not conceal from ourselves that in making that arrangement we
ran a great risk. For my part, I am not too proud to say that it has
been very difficult for me to keep it."
"But Gottlieb," replied Nanna, "as you have kept it, it is better as it
is."
"Certainly; but then it is not so good as I wish to have it."
"How do you wish it to be then?" inquired Nanna innocently.
"Upon my honor I can hardly say; but if I was placed in better
circumstances--" Nanna dropped her eyelids over their soft tell-tale
orbits; but not so quickly but that Gottlieb detected a ray of hope
gleaming from their deep wells.
"Will you advise me what course to take, when I have obtained a
competency?" continued Gottlieb.
"No, that would be of no use; but Mr. Gottlieb, when I hear that you
have wedded the rich wife of whom you have spoken, I will rejoice at
your good fortune."
"And does not the thought of that rich wife cost you even half a sigh?"
"Not if that wife will render you happy."
"Nanna, you speak as though you did not love me at all!" exclaimed
Gottlieb hastily, forgetting entirely the part he had determined to play
during this interview.
"And should I love you?" inquired Nanna blushing deeply. "I think I am
not such a foolish girl as that."
"But I believe that you love me," replied Gottlieb. "Can you deny that
your heart is mine?"
"I do not deny it; but I shall not allow it to be so," said Nanna with a
glance that immediately cooled Gottlieb's sudden ardor. "My heart is my
own, and should not be an object of trouble to you; and I assure you Mr.
Gottlieb that I shall not allow any weakness on my part to cause you to
break the judicious contract we have made."
"Ah! Nanna, you are both wise and charitable. I shall not endeavor to
wrest the secret from you; but you are so much esteemed by me, that at
some future day, when I can follow my own inclinations I will return to
you."
"I will forget these last words, Mr. Gottlieb, for I think them the
saddest you have ever uttered."
"You are right; but I spoke as I thought. It is not my fault if I
thought that you were above all others most suitable to become my wife."
As he thus spoke Nanna trembled violently and she looked upon him with
a gaze which contained more bitterness than words could have expressed.
"I believe I am mad indeed. I have endeavored to speak in a better
spirit, and instead of so doing--I had better go immediately--or--"
"Or what?"
"Or I will, yes, I will, hold you to my heart, and swear to you, as true
as I am an honest man, that I love you, and you alone, come what may, I
can withhold myself no longer." Gottlieb suited the action to the word,
and enfolded the blushing girl in his warm embrace.
"O, Gottlieb!" cried Nanna, weeping and laughing, "this is madness
indeed!"
"No, on the contrary it is happiness!"
"But to-morrow you will repent it!"
"Never, Nanna, I sincerely believe that all is for the best. We can work
hard; we have only a few needs, and it is such happiness to love each
other."
"But--"
"You must accustom yourself to omit that disagreeable word. When my mind
is once made up, I permit of no _ifs_ nor _buts_. And as we do not
require a great amount of money to defray our little domestic expenses,
I think it would be wrong for us to waste the best part of our lives in
useless delay. After one year has elapsed, the parson shall unite us as
man and wife, and I shall take you from this valley, and we will look
forward to all the joys and sorrows, which our Heavenly Father in his
wisdom shall send us."
Nanna, who for a long season had battled against the intoxicating desire
which had filled her heart, gradually assented to Gottlieb's words, and
the interview terminated with a second agreement, which was directly
contrary to the first one, for by it they bound themselves to love each
other forever.
They agreed that this change from their former agreement should be
concealed from all others. They alone should know the secret.