"If there is a post-office," I said, "the mail must stop there, and the
mail takes passengers."
But, arrived at the neat little post-house--to reach which without a
most tremendous round we had to climb up a really precipitous path,
so called, over the stones and rocks in front of the inn--new dismay
awaited us. The postmaster was a very old man, but of a very different
type from our host. He was sorry to disappoint us, but the mail only
stopped here for _letters_--all _passengers_ must begin their journey
at--I forget where--leagues off on the other side from Silberbach. We
wanted to get away? He was not surprised. _What had we come for?_ No one
ever came here. Were we Americans! Staying at the "Katze"! Good heavens!
"A rough place." "I should rather think so."
And this last piece of information fairly overcame him. He evidently
felt he must come to the rescue of these poor Babes in the wood.
"Come up when the mail passes from Seeberg this evening at seven, and I
will see what I can do with the conductor. If he _happens_ to have no
passengers to-morrow, he _may_ stretch a point and take you in. No one
will be the wiser."
"Oh, thanks, thanks," I cried. "Of course I will pay anything he likes
to ask."
"No need for that. He is a _braver Mann_, and will not cheat you."
"We shall be here at seven, then. I would rather have started to walk
than stayed here indefinitely."
"Not _to-day_ anyway. We shall have a storm," he said, looking up to the
sky. "Adieu. _Auf Wiedersehen!_"
"I wish we had not to stay another night here," I said. "Still,
to-morrow morning will soon come."
We spent the day as best we could. There was literally nothing to see,
nowhere to go, except back into the forest whence we had come. Nor dared
we go far, for the day grew more and more sultry; the strange, ominous
silence that precedes a storm came on, adding to our feelings of
restlessness and depression. And by about two o'clock, having ventured
out again after "dinner," we were driven in by the first great drops.
Huddled together in our cheerless little room we watched the breaking
loose of the storm demons. I am not affected by thunder and lightning,
nor do I dread them. But what a storm that was! Thunder, lightning,
howling wind, and rain like no rain I had ever seen before, all mingled
together. An hour after it began, a cart, standing high and dry in
the steep village street, was hidden by water to above the top of the
wheels--a little more and it would have floated like a boat. But by
about five, things calmed down; the few stupid-looking peasants came out
of their houses, and gazed about them as if to see what damage had been
done. Perhaps it was not much after all--they seemed to take it quietly
enough; and by six all special signs of disturbance had disappeared--the
torrents melted away as if by magic. Only a strange, heavy mist began to
rise, enveloping everything, so that we could hardly believe the evening
was yet so early. I looked at my watch.
"Half-past six. We must, mist or no mist, go up to the post-house. But I
don't mind going alone, dears."
"No, no, mamma; I _must_ go with you, to take care of you," said Reggie;
"but Nora needn't."
"Perhaps it would be as well," said the little girl. "I have one or two
buttons to sew on, and I _am_ still rather tired."
And, knowing she was never timid about being left alone, thinking we
should be absent half an hour at most, I agreed.
But the half hour lengthened into an hour, then into an hour and a half,
before the weary mail made its appearance. The road through the forest
must be all but impassable, our old friend told us. But oh, how tired
Reggie and I were of waiting! though all the time never a thought of
uneasiness with regard to _Nora_ crossed my mind. And when the mail did
come, delayed, as the postmaster had suspected, the good result of his
negotiations made us forget all our troubles; for the conductor all but
_promised_ to take us the next morning, in consideration of a very
reasonable extra payment. It was most unlikely he would have any,
certainly not many passengers. We must be there, at the post-house, by
nine o'clock, baggage and all, for he dared not wait a moment, and he
would do his best.
Through the evening dusk, now fast replacing the scattered mist, Reggie
and I, light of heart, stumbled down the rocky path.
"How pleased Nora will be! She will be wondering what has come over us,"
I said as the "Katze" came in view. "But what is that, Reggie, running
up and down in front of the house? Is it a sheep, or a big white dog?
or--or a child? Can it be Nora, and no cloak or hat? and so damp and
chilly as it is? How can she be so foolish?"
And with a vague uneasiness I hurried on.
Yes, it was Nora. There was light enough to see her face. What had
happened to my little girl? She was white--no, not white, ghastly. Her
eyes looked glassy, and yet as if drawn into her head; her whole bright,
fearless bearing was gone. She clutched me convulsively as if she would
never again let me go. Her voice was so hoarse that I could scarcely
distinguish what she said.
"Send Reggie in--he must not hear," were her first words--of rare
unselfishness and presence of mind.
"Reggie," I said, "tell the maid to take candles up to our room, and
take off your wet boots at once."
My children are obedient; he was off instantly.