Ottilie heard some one ride away, and went to the window in time just to
catch a sight of Edward's back. It was strange, she thought, that he
should have left the house without seeing her, without having even
wished her good morning. She grew uncomfortable, and her anxiety did not
diminish when Charlotte took her out for a long walk, and talked of
various other things; but not once, and apparently on purpose,
mentioning her husband. When they returned she found the table laid with
only two covers. It is unpleasant to miss even the most trifling thing
to which we have been accustomed. In serious things such a loss becomes
miserably painful. Edward and the Captain were not there. The first
time, for a long while, Charlotte sat at the head of the table
herself--and it seemed to Ottilie as if she was deposed. The two ladies
sat opposite each other; Charlotte talked, without the least
embarrassment, of the Captain and his appointment, and of the little
hope there was of seeing him again for a long time. The only comfort
Ottilie could find for herself was in the idea that Edward had ridden
after his friend, to accompany him a part of his journey.
On rising from table, however, they saw Edward's traveling carriage
under the window. Charlotte, a little as if she was put out, asked who
had had it brought round there. She was told it was the valet, who had
some things there to pack up. It required all Ottilie Is self-command to
conceal her wonder and her distress.
The valet came in, and asked if they would be so good as to let him have
a drinking cup of his master's, a pair of silver spoons, and a number of
other things, which seemed to Ottilie to imply that he was gone some
distance, and would be away for a long time.
Charlotte gave him a very cold, dry answer. She did not know what he
meant--he had everything belonging to his master under his own care.
What the man wanted was to speak a word to Ottilie, and on some pretence
or other to get her out of the room; he made some clever excuse, and
persisted in his request so far that Ottilie asked if she should go to
look for the things for him? But Charlotte quietly said that she had
better not. The valet had to depart, and the carriage rolled away.
It was a dreadful moment for Ottilie. She understood
nothing--comprehended nothing. She could only feel that Edward had been
parted from her for a long time. Charlotte felt for her situation, and
left her to herself.
We will not attempt to describe what she went through, or how she wept.
She suffered infinitely. She prayed that God would help her only over
this one day. The day passed, and the night, and when she came to
herself again she felt herself a changed being.
She had not grown composed. She was not resigned, but after having lost
what she had lost, she was still alive, and there was still something
for her to fear. Her anxiety, after returning to consciousness, was at
once lest, now that the gentlemen were gone, she might be sent away too.
She never guessed at Edward's threats, which had secured her remaining
with her aunt. Yet Charlotte's manner served partially to reassure her.
The latter exerted herself to find employment for the poor girl, and
hardly ever,--never, if she could help it,--left her out of her sight;
and although she knew well how little words can do against the power of
passion, yet she knew, too, the sure though slow influence of thought
and reflection, and therefore missed no opportunity of inducing Ottilie
to talk with her on every variety of subject.
It was no little comfort to Ottilie when one day Charlotte took an
opportunity of making (she did it on purpose) the wise observation, "How
keenly grateful people were to us when we were able by stilling and
calming them to help them out of the entanglements of passion! Let us
set cheerfully to work," she said, "at what the men have left
incomplete: we shall be preparing the most charming surprise for them
when they return to us, and our temperate proceedings will have carried
through and executed what their impatient natures would have spoilt."
"Speaking of temperance, my dear aunt, I cannot help saying how I am
struck with the intemperance of men, particularly in respect of wine. It
has often pained and distressed me, when I have observed how, for hours
together, clearness of understanding, judgment, considerateness, and
whatever is most amiable about them, will be utterly gone, and instead
of the good which they might have done if they had been themselves, most
disagreeable things sometimes threaten. How often may not wrong, rash
determinations have arisen entirely from that one cause!"
Charlotte assented, but she did not go on with the subject. She saw only
too clearly that it was Edward of whom Ottilie was thinking. It was not
exactly habitual with him, but he allowed himself much more frequently
than was at all desirable to stimulate his enjoyment and his power of
talking and acting by such indulgence. If what Charlotte had just said
had set Ottilie thinking again about men, and particularly about Edward,
she was all the more struck and startled when her aunt began to speak of
the impending marriage of the Captain as of a thing quite settled and
acknowledged. This gave a totally different aspect to affairs from what
Edward had previously led her to entertain. It made her watch every
expression of Charlotte's, every hint, every action, every step. Ottilie
had become jealous, sharp-eyed, and suspicious, without knowing it.
Meanwhile, Charlotte with her clear glance looked through the whole
circumstances of their situation, and made arrangements which would
provide, among other advantages, full employment for Ottilie. She
contracted her household, not parsimoniously, but into narrower
dimensions; and, indeed, in one point of view, these moral aberrations
might be taken for a not unfortunate accident. For in the style in which
they had been going on, they had fallen imperceptibly into extravagance;
and from a want of seasonable reflection, from the rate at which they
had been living, and from the variety of schemes into which they had
been launching out, their fine fortune, which had been in excellent
condition, had been shaken, if not seriously injured.
The improvements which were going on in the park she did not interfere
with; she rather sought to advance whatever might form a basis for
future operations. But here, too, she assigned herself a limit. Her
husband on his return should still find abundance to amuse himself with.
In all this work she could not sufficiently value the assistance of the
young architect. In a short time the lake lay stretched out under her
eyes, its new shores turfed and planted with the most discriminating and
excellent judgment. The rough work at the new house was all finished.
Everything which was necessary to protect it from the weather she took
care to see provided, and there for the present she allowed it to rest
in a condition in which what remained to be done could hereafter be
readily commenced again. Thus hour by hour she recovered her spirits and
her cheerfulness. Ottilie only seemed to have done so. She was only for
ever watching, in all that was said and done, for symptoms which might
show her whether Edward would be soon returning: and this one thought
was the only one in which she felt any interest.
It was, therefore, a very welcome proposal to her when it was suggested
that they should get together the boys of the peasants, and employ them
in keeping the park clean and neat. Edward had long entertained the
idea. A pleasant--looking sort of uniform was made for them, which they
were to put on in the evenings after they had been properly cleaned and
washed. The wardrobe was kept in the castle; the more sensible and ready
of the boys themselves were intrusted with the management of it--the
Architect acting as chief director. In a very short time, the children
acquired a kind of character. It was found easy to mold them into what
was desired; and they went through their work not without a sort of
manoeuvre. As they marched along, with their garden shears, their
long-handled pruning-knives, their rakes, their little spades and hoes,
and sweeping-brooms; others following after these with baskets to carry
off the stones and rubbish; and others, last of all, trailing along the
heavy iron roller--it was a thoroughly pretty, delightful procession.
The Architect observed in it a beautiful series of situations and
occupations to ornament the frieze of a garden-house. Ottilie, on the
other hand, could see nothing in it but a kind of parade, to salute the
master of the house on his near return.
And this stimulated her and made her wish to begin something of the sort
herself. They had before endeavored to encourage the girls of the
village in knitting, and sewing, and spinning, and whatever else women
could do; and since what had been done for the improvement of the
village itself, there had been a perceptible advance in these
descriptions of industry. Ottilie had given what assistance was in her
power, but she had given it at random, as opportunity or inclination
prompted her; now she thought she--would go to work more satisfactorily
and methodically. But a company is not to be formed out of a number of
girls, as easily as out of a number of boys. She followed her own good
sense, and,--without being exactly conscious of it, her efforts were
solely directed toward connecting every girl as closely as possible
each with her own home, her own parents, brothers and sisters: and she
succeeded with many of them. One lively little creature only was
incessantly complained of as showing no capacity for work, and as never
likely to do anything if she were left at home.
Ottilie could not be angry with the girl, for to herself the little
thing was especially attached--she clung to her, went after her, and ran
about with her, whenever she was permitted--and then she would be active
and cheerful and never tire. It appeared to be a necessity of the
child's nature to hang about a beautiful mistress. At first, Ottilie
allowed her to be her companion; then she herself began to feel a sort
of affection for her; and, at last, they never parted at all, and Nanny
attended her mistress wherever she went.
The latter's footsteps were often bent toward the garden, where she
liked to watch the beautiful show of fruit. It was just the end of the
raspberry and cherry season, the few remains of which were no little
delight to Nanny. On the other trees there was a promise of a
magnificent bearing for the autumn, and the gardener talked of nothing
but his master and how he wished that he might be at home to enjoy it.
Ottilie could listen to the good old man forever! He thoroughly
understood his business; and Edward--Edward--Edward--was for ever the
theme of his praise!
Ottilie observed how well all the grafts which had been budded in the
spring had taken. "I only wish," the gardener answered, "my good master
may come to enjoy them. If he were here this autumn, he would see what
beautiful sorts there are in the old castle garden, which the late lord,
his honored father, put there. I think the fruit-gardeners there are now
don't succeed as well as the Carthusians used to do. We find many fine
names in the catalogue, and then we bud from them, and bring up the
shoots, and, at last, when they come to bear, it is not worth while to
have such trees standing in our garden."
Over and over again, whenever the faithful old servant saw Ottilie, he
asked when his master might be expected home; and when Ottilie had
nothing to tell him, he would look vexed, and let her see in his manner
that he thought she did not care to tell him: the sense of uncertainty
which was thus forced upon her became painful beyond measure, and yet
she could never be absent from these beds and borders. What she and
Edward had sown and planted together were now in full flower, requiring
no further care from her, except that Nanny should be at hand with the
watering-pot; and who shall say with what sensations she watched the
later flowers, which were just beginning to show, and which were to be
in the bloom of their beauty on Edward's birthday, the holiday to which
she had looked forward with such eagerness, when these flowers were to
have expressed her affection and her gratitude to him! But the hopes
which she had formed of that festival were dead now, and doubt and
anxiety never ceased to haunt the soul of the poor girl.
Into real open, hearty understanding with Charlotte, there was no more a
chance of her being able to return; for indeed, the position of these
two ladies was very different. If things could remain in their old
state--if it were possible that they could return again into the smooth,
even way of calm, ordered life, Charlotte gained everything; she gained
happiness for the present, and a happy future opened before her. On the
other hand, for Ottilie all was lost--one may say, all; for she had
first found in Edward what life and happiness meant; and, in her present
position, she felt an infinite and dreary chasm of which before she
could have formed no conception. A heart which seeks, feels well that it
wants something; a heart which has lost, feels that something is
gone--its yearning and its longing change into uneasy impatience--and a
woman's spirit, which is accustomed to waiting and to enduring, must now
pass out from its proper sphere, must become active and attempt and do
something to make its own happiness. Ottilie had not given up Edward--how
could she? Although Charlotte, wisely enough, in spite of her
conviction to the contrary, assumed it as a thing of course, and
resolutely took it as decided that a quiet rational regard was possible
between her husband and Ottilie. How often, however, did not Ottilie
remain at nights, after bolting herself into her room, on her knees
before the open box, gazing at the birthday presents, of which as yet
she had not touched a single thing--not cut out or made up a single
dress! How often with the sunrise did the poor girl hurry out of the
house, in which she once had found all her happiness, away into the free
air, into the country which then had had no charms for her. Even on the
solid earth she could not bear to stay; she would spring into the boat,
row out into the middle of the lake, and there, drawing out some book of
travels, lie rocked by the motion of the waves, reading and dreaming
that she was far away, where she would never fail to find her
friend--she remaining ever nearest to his heart, and he to hers.