GREAT EXCITEMENT.
When John knew by Violet's regular breathing that she was fast asleep,
he rose gently from his seat beside the bed and went over to the little
table, on which lay, amongst so many others of the child's treasures,
the mother's Bible and the gold-spotted book.
He took them up with quite a reverent, almost a guilty touch, and
placed them with care upon the larger table at the foot of the bed.
Then he lit the lamp, shaded it, and having once more leaned over the
bed to see that Violet slept, he sat down to look at this new book in
the pretty paper cover which seemed by its contents to have so excited
and interested her.
He placed his finger in the page at which he found it open, and turned
first to look at the title. He smiled rather sadly as he read the name,
for it was a book that he remembered well having read himself when he
was a youngster. He had forgotten the stories now, but he recognized
the clumsy woodcut which had had the power not so long ago to thrill
his own heart with a feverish excitement, and make it beat with a mixed
enthusiasm and distress.
But it was with no mixed distress that his eye fell on the page where
he had just placed his finger, and which had evidently been the centre
point of poor little Violet's interest. On one side of the open book
was a plate, divided by the old-fashioned style into three consecutive
pictures, one above, one in the middle, and one at the foot of the
page. On the opposite side was a short poem, consisting of three
verses, each verse explanatory of the plate opposite it.
It was called "The Hunchbacked Girl;" and as his eyes fell on the name
and the pictures which accompanied it, he closed the book hurriedly,
and said in a voice straining between anger and tears, "How wicked!
They shall answer to me for this."
But by-and-by, making a strong effort over himself, he opened at the
page again and stared at the plates and the print until he saw them no
more.
The first picture represented a woman lying, evidently at the verge of
death, in one of the garret rooms of a house situated in a large town;
for one could see through the open window the roofs of houses opposite
and the top of a church steeple. By her side knelt a man with a child
in his arms, which he was holding up towards its mother to receive
from her a last embrace; for her hands were outstretched also: and
underneath were written the words, "Auf wiedersehen" (To meet again).
The second picture represented a little child propped up in a chair at
the same window, with its head resting on its hand and its eyes looking
out desolately across the roofs and the steeple to the sky beyond.
Underneath, in small text, were printed these two words, pathetic in
their simplicity, "Ganz allein" (All alone).
In the third picture the room was the same, but the chair stood empty
at the window. The little pallet in the corner was empty also; but in
the centre of the apartment, with eyes steadfastly uplifted, and with
a radiant smile upon its face, stood the little hunchbacked child. On
either side was an angel, holding it by its hands; and from between
its poor, weary shoulders had sprung up two shining wings, rising
into the air behind it, and apparently stretching themselves out for
flight. Underneath was written, in the same small, close, old-fashioned
printing, "Keine thräne mehr" (No more tears).
John did not trust himself to look at the story. He laid his face down
on the page and stretched out his hand on the table, while his fingers
closed tightly on his palm.
"God help my little Violet," he said bitterly to himself; "as long as I
live she shall never be left alone."
But even as he spoke, while his head was still bowed over the open page
before him, and his heart throbbed heavily against the wooden table,
he was aware of an unusual stir in the street beneath, a hum of voices
rising higher and higher, the trampling of many feet, and far off, near
the barrack square, a bugle call, loud and shrill, which made him start
up from his sitting posture and walk quickly to the window.
But what a sight it was his eyes fell upon! The street, so silent and
peaceful a few minutes ago, and to all intents and purposes empty,
was now a surging mass of human beings. All Edelsheim seemed gathered
together in this one narrow thoroughfare. Every moment the voices were
becoming louder, the excitement greater. It was with difficulty the
lamplighter could force his way through the crowd to light the large
lamp which hung in the centre of the street on a chain suspended across
the roadway from the Adlers' house to his own.
John opened the window for a moment, and looked out across the wooden
box filled with violets which stood in the old mullioned embrasure.
"Hist," he cried, leaning down and trying to catch the attention of
some one immediately beneath the window, "what has happened?"
The question was heard, for a woman looking suddenly upwards to see who
spoke, flung her arms high up into the air and cried out in a shrilly
voice of anguish, "War is proclaimed."
He closed the window as suddenly as he had opened it, gave one glance
towards the little bed to see that Violet was still asleep, and then
sank down upon the broad window seat with his face covered.
[Illustration: Learning the News. _Page 52._]
War is proclaimed! Only three words, and yet the whole town was already
rocking with their import. Bells were ringing, shouts were rising,
men and women stood so closely packed beneath that one could have
walked across their heads with safety. Exultant youths, full of their
young life and young blood, so soon to be given and spilt for God and
Fatherland, were flinging their caps in the air; men, too, with beards
and grizzled hair, shouted and gesticulated frantically; others, grave
and silent, turned their voices inward and cried aloud to the God of
the fatherless and widow. Fritz, in his night-dress, at the little
gable window opposite, was blowing a shrill tin trumpet and screaming
out, in his high, boyish voice, "War, war, war!" which was echoed by a
still higher treble in the room beyond.
At last Violet stirred. It was almost impossible that with such a din
going on outside she could sleep on.
In a moment John had risen and was kneeling at her bedside. His hand
had clasped the little fingers which lay so loosely upon the knitted
counterpane. His bearded check was close to the white face on the
pillow, barely discernible now in the closely-shaded light of the lamp
which burned at the foot of the bed. He was ready with the word of love
to quiet her alarms, and with a kiss to soothe her back to sleep, but
they were not needed. She merely moved restlessly to and fro on her
pillow, and muttered to herself in some dreamful excitement,--
"Look! look out into the street! What dost thou see, father?"
John bent low over the child's face and touched it gently with his
lips. He must have kissed her then, or his heart would have broken.
Even in her sleep Violet knew who was bending over her. "Father," she
said softly.
"Yes, my heart's love, I am here beside thee."
"Seest thou? is it not lovely?"
"What? what?" he asked with a sob.
"The little hunchback has wings."
After this she gave a long, restful sigh, and turned her head against
her father's arm. Nor did the noise in the street disturb her any more,
though the cries at times rose almost to shrieks, and though the lamp
in her room burned on unextinguished until daylight had taken its place.