"Ah, blissful is the tender tie
That binds me, love, to thee;
And swiftly speed the hours by,
When thou art near to me."
They repeated the verse again, although at times the joyous shouting of
the child and the neighing of the foal bade fair to interrupt it.
* * * * *
As they drew near the house, they could hear the neighing of the white
foal.
"That's a good beginning," cried Hansei.
The grandmother placed the child on the ground, and got her hymn-book
out of the chest. Pressing the book against her breast with both hands,
she went into the house, being the first to enter. Hansei, who was
standing near the stable, took a piece of chalk from his pocket and
wrote the letters C.M.B., and the date, on the stable door. Then he too
went into the house,--his wife, Irma, and the child following him.
Before going into the sitting-room the grandmother knocked thrice at the
door. When she had entered she placed the open hymn-book upon the open
window-sill, so that the sun might read in it. There were no tables or
chairs in the room.
Hansei shook hands with his wife and said, "God be with you,
freeholder's wife."
From that moment Walpurga was known as the "freeholder's wife," and was
never called by any other name.
And now they showed Irma her room. The view extended over meadow and
brook and the neighboring forest. She examined the room. There was
naught but a green Dutch oven and bare walls, and she had brought
nothing with her. In her paternal mansion, and at the castle, there were
chairs and tables, horses and carriages; but here--None of these
follow the dead.
Irma knelt by the window and gazed out over meadow and forest, where the
sun was now shining.
How was it yesterday--was it only yesterday when you saw the sun go
down?
Her thoughts were confused and indistinct. She pressed her hand to her
forehead; the white handkerchief was still there. A bird looked up to
her from the meadow, and when her glance rested upon it it flew away
into the woods.
"The bird has its nest," said she to herself, "and I--"
Suddenly she drew herself up. Hansei had walked out to the grass plot in
front of Irma's window, removed the slip of the cherry-tree from his
hat, and planted it in the ground.
The grandmother stood by and said, "I trust that you'll be alive and
hearty long enough to climb this tree and gather cherries from it, and
that your children and grandchildren may do the same."
There was much to do and to set to rights in the house, and on such
occasions it usually happens that those who are dearest to one another
are as much in each other's way as closets and tables which have not yet
been placed where they belong. The best proof of the amiability of these
folks was that they assisted each other cheerfully, and indeed with
jest and song.
Walpurga moved her best furniture into Irma's room. Hansei did not
interpose a word. "Aren't you too lonely here?" asked Walpurga, after
she had arranged everything as well as possible in so short a time.
"Not at all. There is no place in all the world lonely enough for me.
You've so much to do now; don't worry about me. I must now arrange
things within myself. I see how good you and yours are; fate has
directed me kindly."
"Oh, don't talk in that way. If you hadn't given me the money, how could
we have bought the farm? This is really your own."
"Don't speak of that," said Irma, with a sudden start. "Never mention
that money to me again."
Walpurga promised, and merely added that Irma needn't be alarmed at the
old man who lived in the room above hers, and who at times would talk to
himself and make a loud noise. He was old and blind. The children teased
and worried him, but he wasn't bad and would harm no one. Walpurga
offered at all events to leave Gundel with Irma for the first night; but
Irma preferred to be alone.
"You'll stay with us, won't you?" said Walpurga hesitatingly. "You won't
have such bad thoughts again?"
"No, never. But don't talk now: my voice pains me, and so does yours
too. Good-night! leave me alone."
Irma sat by the window and gazed out into the dark night. Was it only a
day since she had passed through such terrors? Suddenly she sprang from
her seat with a shudder. She had seen Black Esther's head rising out of
the darkness, had again heard her dying shriek, had beheld the distorted
face and the wild black tresses.--Her hair stood on end. Her thoughts
carried her to the bottom of the lake, where she now lay dead. She
opened the window and inhaled the soft, balmy air. She sat by the open
casement for a long while, and suddenly heard some one laughing in the
room above her.
"Ha! ha! I won't do you the favor! I won't die! I won't die! Pooh, pooh!
I'll live till I'm a hundred years old, and then I'll get a new lease
of life."