While Lambert had been engaged within there came through the door a
bright light, which Catherine now saw was produced by a large pine
fagot burning in a corner of the room near a great stone-hearth. The
room was half kitchen and store-room, and half living-room--such as the
young woman had become acquainted with in many a farm-house where she
had rested during her journey. It was fitted up with various utensils
hanging on the walls and ceiling, standing in corners and lying on the
floor. Near the hearth there were a couple of rough pine chairs, and,
against the wall, a large four-cornered table, serving both for a
dressing-table and for meals. There still stood on it a couple of
earthen dishes on which were the remains of a meal to which a bear's
ham, which had not again been hung upon its hook, contributed the
principal part. The entire arrangement was planned on the basis of the
simplest necessity. There was no trace of an endeavor after grace and
beauty, or the merely agreeable. This observation, that the young
maiden made with her first glance about the room, fell upon her heart
even more heavily than the empty house. The house would fill up when
the absent ones returned, but would she be happy in the company of
those who lived here, who called it their home?
"I must look after my horse," said Lambert, "and after the rest of the
things. You may meanwhile prepare the evening meal--you will probably
find something. We will after that consider your sleeping apartment. It
looks very bad here, but Conrad knows nothing about order. However, you
can have a chamber upstairs. I will sleep below. I shall not go far,
and will soon be back. Do not be afraid."
He said all this forcibly, in snatches, while prying into the corners,
so that she scarcely understood him. Then he quickly left the house,
and she heard him outside untie the horse and go away with it.
"Do not be afraid! Should I be so it would not be strange. How
wonderful it all is! But he has been so heavenly kind to me, a poor
girl; and surely his intentions are as honorable and true as ever.
Where can they be? They must certainly be at some neighbor's." She had
seen at a distance from the creek a couple of roofs. "Does he still
expect them back? Now I will do what becomes a good maid who expects
her master. What shall I begin with? Yes, that is it. So, it will soon
begin to look more cheerful."
She turned to the hearth and in a few minutes had made a bright fire
with the dry, prepared pine wood that lay near. Then she took from the
hook the kettle that hung by a chain against the wall and filled it
half full of water, which she drew from a pump that stood directly
beside the hearth. She sought and soon found whatever else was needed
for the preparation of the evening meal. She was uncertain of the
number for whom she was to provide. She finally concluded that six
would be the correct number: Lambert's parents, his brother Conrad, of
whom he had spoken a couple of times, Lambert himself, and perhaps
there might be another member of the family, or they might bring a
guest with them. When she had finished this work she began to put the
room in order, but only what would come right with but little labor.
"For," said she, "I have no right to do it, and they might be
displeased with me."
She had thus quietly labored for a quarter of an hour, and as there was
for the moment nothing more to do and the water in the kettle was
boiling, she went to the hearth and looked at the flaming fire,
thinking that it must at least be time for Lambert to return. She heard
a noise behind her. She turned half around and was greatly frightened
when she saw, but a few steps from her, instead of Lambert, a stranger
staring at her without moving, with a look of such wonder, as though he
did not believe his own eyes. The light of the pine sticks burning with
a bright flame fell full upon him. It was fortunate for Catherine that,
the same moment, she saw that the giant-like man, clothed in a peculiar
half-farmer, half-Indian garb, was quite young, and that his sunburned
face was handsome, and that his great, wondering eyes had a merry look.
And now the young giant leaned his rifle, which he had allowed to slip
to the floor, against the table, gave his strong hands a ringing slap,
broke out in very loud laughter, threw himself into a chair which
cracked in spite of its strong construction, sprang up again and
approached the maiden, who drew back somewhat, again began to laugh,
though not so loud, then was silent, shook his short, brown locks and
said:
"Lambert has done this well; but where is the other one?"
Catherine did not answer. She did not know what to think of the words
of the young man though they affected her disagreeably, and her heart
began to beat powerfully.
The young giant looked about the room as though searching whether any
one were hidden there. He then again directed his glances toward
Catherine, but with a different expression in the large eyes which now
shone with a deeper light. He said through his white teeth:
"You are handsome, girl. I have never before seen anything so
beautiful. What is your name?"
"Catherine," said the young maiden, who felt that she must say
something. "Catherine Weise. You are Conrad, Lambert's brother. I see
it by the resemblance. Your brother Lambert has been very kind to
me--very kind. We have just arrived. He has gone to put the horse in
the stable. I think he will soon be here. You should have met him. Will
the others also come soon?"
"Who should come?" asked Conrad.
"Your parents," said Catherine. She said it very faintly, fear,
increasing every moment, almost strangling her.
Conrad showed his white teeth. "Our parents!" cried he, "our parents!
They are long since dead. You must be satisfied with us two."
"I will look for Lambert," said Catherine, and tried to pass Conrad to
the door. Conrad stepped in her way.
"So," said he smiling provokingly, "then Lambert has brought you along
for himself, the cunning fellow--and I must look further. Now, as for
myself, I am the younger man and can wait a little; but one kiss,
beautiful sister-in-law, that you must give me--that is the least."
He stretched out his powerful hands and with giant strength insolently
drew the resisting girl to him and kissed her glowing cheeks.
At this moment the water, which for a long time had simmered, noisily,
sissing and whizzing, poured over the edge of the kettle in a large
swell into the fire which it almost extinguished. A thick, gray vapor,
through which the light of the fire looked red, rose and filled the
room. Catherine tore herself loose, or was torn loose, she could not
tell which; but there were now two persons there struggling together,
and the other might well be Lambert. She also thought she had heard
Lambert call her name, and so again, as outside the evening wind fanned
her cheeks glowing with anger and shame.
Within, the vapor had disappeared. Conrad, having disengaged himself
with a powerful effort from his assailant, fell laughing on his neck.
"Lambert, dear, best Lambert!"
"Let me go!" said Lambert, freeing himself from the embrace. "Let me
go. Catherine!"
He looked with wandering, anxious eyes about the poorly lighted room.
"She has gone out," said Conrad. "I will bring her again for you."
"No, no, _I_ will, I must," called Lambert, already at the door. "At
least take me along--I beg you, Conrad, let me. I will afterwards
explain everything to you. Catherine! For the mercy of God! She may
have fallen into the creek!"
"Stupid stuff!" said Conrad, who, less excited than his brother, had
cast his eyes, sharp as those of a falcon, in every direction. "There
she sits, there, do you see?"
"I will go to her alone."
"You may, so far as I am concerned. And Lambert, listen, have you not
also brought me a wife?"
But Lambert was already hastening with beating heart to the place where
he saw Catherine sit, or lie, he could not tell which, on account of
the distance and the evening twilight which now prevailed.
Catherine had run straight forward from the hill on which the house
stood until she saw the creek at her feet. She now ran along its edge,
scarcely knowing what she wished to do, or whither to go, driven by the
painful feeling that the man whom she had trusted as she did her God,
had deceived her. She could not make it clear to herself. Everything
had come so quickly--had passed like a shadow in the smoke and mist
from the fire on the hearth. What she had conceived to be a family,
consisted of two brothers fighting with each other--fighting on her
account. And this was the end of her long pilgrimage, which she had
begun in such a hopeful spirit--with a constantly increasing
confidence--yes, at last with wonderful joyfulness. This the end! "O,
my God, my God!" groaned the young girl, stopping and looking anxiously
into the wilderness which in fearful silence surrounded her, the night
with its gathering darkness settling down upon her. "O, my God, my
God!"
A bridge, consisting of an immense tree trunk, led across the creek at
the place where she now was. She had already set one foot on the
dangerous crossing when it suddenly became dark before her eyes.
Involuntarily she turned and sank back on her knees, laying her head
against the trunk of the tree. Her senses forsook her.
Then, as if from a great distance, she heard her name called,
"Catherine!" Again, but now quite near, "Catherine!" She opened her
eyes. Near her in the grass kneeled Lambert. He had seized her
powerless hands. His long, smooth, brown hair fluttered confusedly in
the evening wind about his pale, anxious face.
"Catherine," he said again, "can you forgive me?" She looked at him.
She wished to say: "Why have you done this to me?" But her heart was
too full. Two large tears rolled down her cheeks. Others followed them
unrestrained. She wished to withdraw her hands from those of Lambert.
He, however, in his desperation, held her fast, and in a despairing
voice, cried: "For God's sake, Catherine, listen to me. I meant it
well. I wanted to tell you a hundred times, but I could not. I thought
you would not so willingly go with me if you knew the actual state of
things. I endured a great fear, as you may have perceived, when we
passed through Albany and Schenectady and the valley of the Mohawk,
where they all know me. I always went first into the houses to beg the
people not to speak to you of my situation. To-day I left the road and
came on through the woods so that nobody here on the creek should meet
me. It was not right; it was very foolish; it was bad in me that I did
not requite your confidence with confidence on my part; but I did not
know how to help myself. For God's sake, forgive me, Catherine."
She had now withdrawn her hands and laid them across her breast.
Lambert had risen. He brushed his hair from his face. With all the
thoughts that crossed his brain, with all the feelings that filled his
breast, he knew not what more he should say--what he had said.
"Catherine, believe me, oh, believe me! I had not thought when I
reached New York that I should not return alone to my home. I will take
you back again--will take you where you will. My uncle Christian Ditmar
and his wife, my aunt, are old and childless and will be glad to have
you; and Conrad and I will again live as we have hitherto. Conrad has
ever been to me a kind and faithful brother, and he now feels very
sorry that he has so offended you. We will both watch over you--watch
over you all--as we always have here where we are the farthest
settlers. However, as you will, Catherine, as you will."
She had now raised herself up, and, as she stood there in the light of
the moon which had for some time risen above the edge of the forest,
Lambert thought that the beloved maiden had never before appeared so
beautiful.
She had folded her hands, and, not looking at Lambert, but upward, she
said softly but firmly: "I will go with you, Lambert Sternberg--come
what will."
They walked back toward the house, side by side, the moon shining in
the deep blue sky with radiant clearness. From time to time Lambert
cast sly glances at the beloved one. He had yet so much to tell her--so
very much--but he would not speak since she herself was silent, and he
knew that she could speak more beautifully than he had ever heard any
one speak before. It was also so well and he was so thankful that at
last the burden was lifted from his soul, and that she had forgiven him
and would entirely forgive him when she learned how much he had
suffered.
This Catherine had already perceived in the painful vehemence of a man
otherwise so quiet and self-contained. She had felt it in the storm
that had swept through her own soul. Now after the turmoil of the
storm she was at peace. What had happened? Was everything that she
silently hoped, lived upon, cherished, forever destroyed? Or, amid
thunder-claps, did a new world bloom far more beautiful than she had
ever dreamed?
Thus, lost in their own peculiar thoughts, they again reached the
house.
"Do you come at last?" said Conrad.
He was standing in the door which he now opened wide for the two. Then
he gave his hand to Catherine and his brother and greeted them for the
first time. "You before took me so by surprise," said he, "that I did
not know where my head stood. In what a confusion everything about here
lay! It had become somewhat disordered during the two months that you,
Lambert, was away. You know I do not well understand housekeeping. I
came home a couple of hours ago, having been upon Black River for eight
days after beaver. However, instead of beaver I found Onondagas, whose
manner was far from friendly--the cursed scoundrels. I went to Uncle
Ditmar's who had, meanwhile, kept our cows. Bless has calved. Ditmar
will keep the calf if you do not wish to raise it. Take seats here. I
have meanwhile rearranged the evening meal as well as I could after my
awkward interference. There is baked ham, your favorite dish, Lambert."
Conrad was unusually busy while he thus spoke. He set the chairs to the
table, pulled them back, that he might wipe them off with his brown
hand, and then set them up again. Again and again he put wood on the
fire, so that the fire crackled and the flame went roaring up the
chimney. For no definite reason, except that it had to be so, he kicked
his wolfhound, Pluto, while she, having just come in, kept blinking at
Catherine with her large yellow eyes. He himself did not look at the
strange girl, and when his glance accidentally passed over her face he
became red and embarrassed, and speedily turned his eyes away again.
In this way he acted during the whole meal. He talked, stood up, sat
down again, tried to put things in order, but brought them into greater
confusion, so that Lambert became red in the face and thanked the Lord
when he saw Catherine smiling in a friendly way. She thought she could
interpret Conrad's conduct in his favor. It was apparent enough that it
had not made an unfavorable impression on the young and beautiful girl.
It cost her no trouble now and again to return a friendly word to his
talk. Lambert was astonished, and it sounded strange to him as she once
laughed in the same cheerful, soft tone in which she spoke. He had not
heard her laugh once during her whole journey.
So he sat there full of thankful joy that everything had turned out so
well after he had been very despondent and was filled with secret
unrest like one who, having with difficulty escaped a great danger,
does not venture to yield to the feeling of security and seems to feel
the ground shaking under his feet.
But as the meal was now drawing to a close another care began to press
upon him with increasing weight. During the journey, in the farm-houses
which they entered, which were often very small, it had happened more
than once that he had passed the night in the same room with the family
and his companion. Two or three nights when they could reach no human
habitation they had taken their rest in the forest, and he had seen
the beloved maiden by the light of the camp-fire sleeping peacefully,
while he looked up through the tops of the trees and thanked God that
he was permitted to watch over her slumber. But this occurred on the
journey--an unusual condition, which could not and should not last.
There was in the upper story a store-room partitioned off, in which one
of the brothers used to sleep, while the other had his simple couch in
a small recess in the lower room. The brothers had hit upon this
arrangement the preceding year, when the inroads of the French
necessitated redoubled watchfulness. Afterwards, though the danger was
over, they had kept up the custom until Lambert's departure. Lambert
had thought of each room for Catherine, but Conrad had mentioned during
the meal that, on his eight-days' excursion, he had learned that the
French were stirring again. Consequently renewed watchfulness was
necessary, and that since Lambert must be very tired from his journey,
he would undertake the watch for that night.
"Then we will in turn both watch above," said Lambert after a pause.
"Catherine will be satisfied for the night here below. To-morrow we
will make a better arrangement for her. Is that satisfactory,
Catherine?"
"Quite so," replied the young woman. "I saw in the recess
sweet-smelling hay, and here is the beautiful white bear-skin; do not
trouble yourselves. I shall get along all right. Good night."
She gave Lambert her hand and then Conrad, who looked on with surprise.
He wondered at his brother, and followed him up the narrow stairway
after they had bolted and barricaded the door.
Catherine watched them as they ascended, drew a deep breath, passed her
hand over her forehead, and began to clear away the supper table, and
to wash up and put away the dishes, that she might with better courage
carry forward the work of reducing things to order which she had before
timidly begun. This took a long time. Often she stood benumbed in the
midst of her work with her hand pressed against her forehead. Her heart
was so full she could have sat down and shed a flood of tears. At the
same time a firm, unchecked serenity filled her soul, such as she had
experienced when quite a young thing playing at forfeits when the band
of children in their colored dresses wildly pursued each other.
Then awakened out of such strange dreams, she again quietly continued
her work, and at last looked about the room with a self-satisfied air,
since it had now assumed quite a different appearance. Having carefully
put out the fire on the hearth, she sought her modest couch that she
had prepared in the recess on the farther side of the large room.
Through the narrow port-holes in the thick plank wall there stole in
streaks of the moon's rays, spreading about her a faint twilight. It
was easy to breathe in the fresh forest exhalation which blew in at the
openings and played about her cheeks. The brook purled uninterruptedly.
From time to time there was a rustle, first gentle, then swelling out,
and then again holding back like the tones of an organ. It was the
solemn music of the primitive forest. She had already noticed this
music on her journey when, sleeping under the trees on gathered moss,
she, with dream-veiled, half-open eyes, saw Lambert sitting at the
camp-fire. She could now also hear his step as he made the round
of the gallery above. Conrad's tread would be heavier. Once he
stopped directly over her head. Was he looking in the distance for the
blood-thirsty enemies? or was he listening to the mocking-bird's
wonderful song which she had for some time noticed coming from the
forest in soft, sobbing tones, as the nightingale had warbled, over in
her German home, in the linden tree at the gable of the parsonage. Then
again it, shrieked like a vexatious parrot, or laughed like a magpie.
This sounded quite ludicrous. Then it was no more the mockingbird's
twofold, demon-like singing, but two human voices, and Lambert spoke in
excited, suffering tones: "Catherine, can you forgive me?" and Conrad
laughed, saying: "Catherine is not at all angry," and she had to smile,
and with a smile on her lips she fell asleep.
Meanwhile, as Catherine had correctly supposed, Lambert, walking slowly
over the floor of the gallery, kept watch, though Conrad, recurring to
what he had reported, assured him that, for the present, the danger of
which he had before spoken did not exist, and that he had only
mentioned it that he might have good grounds for leaving. He then
became very angry as Lambert replied, "I do not know what you mean,"
threw himself on the bed in the watch-chamber and declared that he was
too tired to say another word.
However he did not sleep, for as Lambert, after an hour, softly walked
past the open door of the watch-chamber, he thought he heard his name
spoken. He stopped and looked in.
"Did you call me, Conrad?"
"Yes," replied Conrad, who had raised himself on his elbow, "I wished
to ask you something."
"What?"
"Are you then not married?"
"No; why?"
"Oh! I only asked; so good night."
"Conrad, dear Conrad, I wish with all my heart to tell you everything."
But Conrad had already sunk back on the bear skin and had fallen
asleep, or pretended that he had.
Lambert went sadly out. "To-morrow," said he to himself, "before we see
Catherine, he shall know it, and he will help me, and all will be
well."