"We are going to Leipsic," and Hélène Cruger looked closely, anxiously,
into the old man's face. No sign of recognition was there.
"Shall we go?" she asked after a pause. He shook his head.
"Don't go!" he said simply.
"Why not?" asked Hélène, as if his answer meant a great deal to her.
"Leipsic is not a--a pleasant place for honeymoons," he replied
evasively.
"That's just what--my--my father said." She was watching him closely
now. The expression on Von Barwig's face was unchanged.
"Your father is--right," he said finally.
"I told him to-day after the service," said Hélène, "that we were going
to Leipsic, and he tried to make me promise not to go. When I refused,
he forbade me to go, but he can't forbid me any more; he is beginning
to understand that for the first time to-day." She spoke now with a
deep-rooted sense of injury Von Barwig could only nod. He knew now
that she had made some discovery.
"It's so easy to deceive a child," continued Hélène in a voice that
must have betrayed the great depth of her feelings. "A child believes
everything you tell it. It will grow up on lies, but when that child
is older and a woman, then the truth comes out! Herr Von Barwig, the
truth comes out!" She looked him full in the face, but still there was
no sign.
"What truth?" faltered the old man. He realised now that she knew; but
exactly what did she know?
"You ask me that?" she said sadly. "You, my--my--old music master!"
"A music master who taught you nothing," he said evasively.
"Shall I go to Leipsic?" asked Hélène.
The old man shook his head. "No!" he articulated faintly.
"Why not?" demanded Hélène. There was no reply. "And you won't tell
me why?"
"I have told you," faltered Von Barwig.
"What have I done, what have I done!" cried Hélène, "that you won't
claim me?" Her voice was now choked with sobs and she no longer made
any effort to restrain them. "_He_ wouldn't tell me either; he
referred me to you. What have I done? I have waited and waited and
waited, but you won't speak! You knew me from the first. You must
have known me from the likeness. I was under your roof, you were under
mine; but you wouldn't claim me. There is some disgrace!" The old man
nodded. "Ah, then it's my mother!" cried Hélène.
"Your mother? No! No!" cried Von Barwig. "No! she was an angel; an
angel of goodness, of purity."
"Then what are you concealing?" cried Hélène; "of what are you ashamed?
Of what is he ashamed?"
Von Barwig rocked himself in agony, but at last he forced himself to
speak.
"It's a little story of life, of love--foolishness; of--of folly. Ah,
it is ended, ended!" wailed the old man. "It is over and done with.
Why should we bring it out into the daylight when it has slept so long
over there in Leipsic. Surely it has slept itself into silence. No!
no! The secret is buried there in Leipsic. I--I put these orange
blossoms on its grave!" and Von Barwig gently took the flowers from
her. "I take them back to Leipsic; a little token of silence she would
love."
"Now I know why she cried so constantly," sobbed Hélène. "She was
thinking of you!" She grasped his hand and looked pleadingly into his
face. "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"
Von Barwig shook his head. "Silence is best! The marriage is over; I
have the orange blossoms," and the old man kissed them tenderly.
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" entreated Hélène.
"Your husband, what does he say?" said Von Barwig, in a low voice. He
felt he could not restrain himself much longer.
Beverly came forward. "He says: 'Who giveth this woman to be married
to this man?'"
Von Barwig shook his head. The tears were running down his cheeks, and
when he tried to withdraw his hand from hers Hélène refused to let it
go.
"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" she said
entreatingly.
Von Barwig could restrain himself no longer. "Well, perhaps I do," he
said in a voice trembling with emotion; "perhaps I do!" Taking her in
his arms, he kissed her again and again.
"At last, at last! My little Elene! My little baby--my little baby!"
"Father, father!" was all Hélène could say. Beverly looked out of the
window.
"Now we mend that doll with the broken eye," said the old man, gulping
down a sob and smiling through his tears.
"Yes, father," and Hélène took his face between her two hands.
"Say it again!" he murmured. "It is the sound I have listened for
these sixteen years."
"Father!" repeated Hélène.
Beverly looked at his watch. "The steamer leaves in less than an
hour," he said. "How long will it take you to pack?" he asked. "You
are going with us now, father," he added, patting the old man on the
back and shaking him by the hand. Von Barwig seemed dazed.
"Come, father," pleaded Hélène, "no foolish pride! My home is your
home after this. Now don't hesitate!"
"Hesitate? I, hesitate?" and rushing to the stairway the old man
shouted loudly for Miss Husted. Poons was just coming up the stairs to
find out why Von Barwig didn't come down to drink Jenny's health. Von
Barwig gave him a message which brought them all up in breathless haste.
Mr. and Mrs. Cruger had gone below, and Von Barwig had finished packing
and was locking his portmanteau as his friends stood around begging him
to tell them why he was going and where.
"I go on a honeymoon," he said, and they all laughed. "I go home," he
added. "No cruel farewells, no sad partings! Jenny will tell you. I
am called away. Sit down, all of you, where you always sit. Fico,
your mandolin; Pinac, your violin! Poons, your 'cello!" They did as
he asked them, "So, now! Play, sing, be happy, just as always! Come,
the old dinner song we always sang; let it ring in my ears as I go!"
Though their hearts were heavy, they burst into their oft-sung glee,
Miss Husted and Jenny joining in the chorus.
"So, so!" murmured the old man, beating time and smiling approval. "I
want to go away seeing you all happy, as happy as I am, smiling, happy
faces!"
"You will come back?" whispered Jenny as the old man kissed her
tenderly.
"I come back," he said gently, "I come back! Good-bye, good-bye all of
you! Yes, I come back, I come back," and Anton Von Barwig disappeared
down the stairs and out of their lives. His eyes were still wet with
tears as he took his seat in the carriage. Hélène dried them with a
beautiful Duchesse lace handkerchief.
"Don't cry, father," she pleaded.
"Ach, I don't cry!" said the old man as he patted her hand. "I--I--"
he hesitated. "When I think of the many, many kind hearts in this
world--I--I just feel happy, that's all!"