MAN PROPOSES, BUT GOD DISPOSES.
Still no news came from Dietrich. Jost made many attempts to show Veronica
how much he wished to win her favor. He often went to meet her, and he
gave himself endless trouble to convince her of his attachment. He could
not boast that he made himself of any use by going to meet her; for she
was always accompanied by Blasi, who marched by her side with a triumphant
air as if to say, "Jost can judge for himself who holds the place of honor
here!" When Jost joined them, Veronica took care that Blasi should walk
between herself and the intruder, and she neither said a word herself,
nor seemed to hear what the others were saying. Jost grew pale with
suppressed rage. Whenever at other times he met Blasi anywhere, he threw
contemptuous words at him. If occasionally Blasi stepped into the Rehbock
for a glass of beer, Jost would cry out,
"Oh ho, she allows it to-night, does she, you donkey of a servant? How
will you look when she doesn't want your services any longer, and gives
you your dismissal? She is already beginning to soften towards me, but
until she comes to me and begs me to hear her, I won't listen to a word,
nor pay the slightest attention to her."
Such remarks as these, thrown out before all the company at the Rehbock
were very exasperating to Blasi and several times he seized the big bowl
to throw it at the insolent fellow's head. He did not throw it however,
for Veronica had charged him to have as little as possible to do with
Jost, and especially never to quarrel with him, and Veronica's influence
over Blasi grew stronger every day. So he did not throw the bowl, but
instead, drained it to the bottom and then left the room.
About this time Blasi began to meet Judith very often on his evening walk.
Judith seemed to have some business that took her frequently to Fohrensee.
Strange surmises were aroused, among the Fohrensee people; for it was
known that she went to visit the cattle-dealer. The two were often seen
standing before his house in the open street, gesticulating vehemently
with hands and arms. The people about said,
"Something's in the wind. They're going to be married. To be sure she is
cleverer than he, but then he is twenty-five years younger, and that
counts for something."
One evening in January, Judith met Blasi as he was coming round the corner
of Gertrude's house, where he was always at work till it was time to go
for Veronica.
"What makes you go about laughing all the time, and looking as if you had
been winning a game?" asked Judith.
"That's exactly what I was going to ask you," retorted Blasi, "What have
you got to laugh about?"
"Answer me, and I'll answer you, my lad."
"All right; it's nothing to be ashamed of. She'll have me."
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Judith "Who? Which one?"
Blasi did not turn round, but pointed with his thumb over his shoulder at
the house he had just left. "That one," he said.
Judith shouted with laughter.
"Will she have you all three?" she said; "first Dietrich, then Jost, and
now you."
"I don't see the joke," said Blasi crossly. "Dietrich has run away; she
avoids Jost as if he were a nettle, and who else is there? Who is there
for her to call upon if she wants help, hey?"
Judith was still snickering over the news.
"Now it's your turn," said Blasi, "tell me what it is that you're so
pleased about."
"It is very much like yours, Blasi; come a little nearer," and she
whispered in his ear, "I have him."
"Mercy on us!" cried Blasi. "You will be as rich as a Jew, for the
cattle-dealer is worth more than half the people in Fohrensee, all put
together."
"I'm not talking about the cattle-dealer."
"Pshaw! whom are you talking about then?"
"Somebody else, and I have him in such a fashion that he will not forget
it in a hurry, I tell you!"
As she spoke, Judith made a gesture with her hands as if she were choking
some one, who certainly would not escape alive from her clutches.
Blasi shook his head and walked on in silence. But in his inmost mind he
thought, "I can't make anything out of her; her head is all in a buzz. But
she's only a woman."
Soon after, they reached the turf-hut, and there they separated. Veronica
was not far off; and as she came up Blasi joined her, and they walked
quickly along over the crisp, frozen ground. She was more silent than
usual, and seemed sunk in thought. In the middle of the wood she stopped
suddenly and said,
"Blasi will you do me a great favor?"
"I will do anything in the world for you, Veronica," was the prompt reply,
"I will jump into the big pond over there, and never come out again, if
you want me to."
"You couldn't get in now; it is frozen hard," said the girl, laughing. "I
don't want you to do that, but something very different. Do you think you
could find out what Jost knows about Dietrich? Perhaps he has told Jost
where he is, and where a letter would reach him."
"Yes, but look here, Veronica, are you still thinking about him, all this
time?" asked poor Blasi, quite taken aback.
"We will not talk about that," she answered curtly. "To tell the truth, I
am very anxious about our mother. She has been very far from well lately,
and she says every now and then, 'If I could only see him once more!' as
if she felt that she was not going to live much longer. Oh, help me get
word to Dietrich if you can, Blasi! do help me!" Veronica's eyes were full
of tears, as she raised them beseechingly to Blasi's face. He was much
touched at the sight of her tears; but then a great fear arose in his
mind, for he thought, "She is beginning to soften, and it will all turn
out just as Jost said." And he determined to prevent it at any cost.
"Don't lose your courage, and I'll try my best! I'll see what I can do!"
he said in a very decided tone, and with a most courageous air.
"You are my only friend now," said Veronica; and the words spurred Blasi
on to immediate action. He left her in the doorway, and hastened away. He
would find out all that Jost could or would tell about Dietrich. He ran
across to the Rehbock, where he found Jost sitting with his glass. For if
Jost, as he complained, had to sit and work all the morning, while others
did as they pleased, yet he made enough money by his work to allow him to
spend all his afternoons at the Rehbock, and remain, drinking one glass
after another, all through the evening, and late into the night.
Blasi seated himself by his side, and opened his case very skilfully. He
wanted to know about their old friend; where he was now, and whether there
was any chance of getting a line sent to him. He did not mind paying for a
drink to-night, he said, if Jost would tell him exactly what he knew about
Dietrich; they ought to hang together, they three, who had known each
other ever since they were children. While Blasi was discoursing in this
clever manner, Jost looked squintingly at him, and when he stopped, he
answered scoffingly,
"Oh, so she has come to it at last, has she? I have been expecting it. You
go back and tell her that I can give her all the information she wants;
but she must come to me for it, herself, and speak pleasantly to me, as I
do to her. Tell her that she will never see him again, as long as she
lives; he is too far off. But if she wants to send him a message, she has
but to come to me and ask, and I will do her that favor, and she can do me
one in return. Go now, Blasi, and tell her this from me. I'll pay for the
beer myself."
Blasi felt stunned. Jost had seen through his little game at a glance, and
treated it with contempt. How could he carry such a message to Veronica?
It might bring the tears into her eyes again, and that was altogether too
painful to see. There was no use in remonstrating with Jost, who sat there
smiling scornfully without farther words. For the first time in his life,
Blasi left his glass unfinished. He pulled his cap down over his eyes and
left the inn. When he entered the widow's cottage, Veronica sat by the
table, stitching away at the old mail-bag. She put it down as he came in,
and looked up anxiously into his face.
"It's no use; he is just splitting with rage and fury;" and Blasi threw
his cap across into the farthest corner of the room. He related the whole
conversation and it was plain enough that it was useless for him to try to
get anything out of Jost.
She was silent for a time; thinking over Jost's words. "He wants to humble
me! I am to go and beseech him to tell me; and I must be friendly and do
him a favor. What favor? No, I will have nothing to do with him."
She took up the bag again, stitched up the last hole, and folded the work.
Then she said,
"May I ask one thing more of you, Blasi? I hope I shall be able to repay
you some day for all your kindness."
"Only speak, Veronica," said Blasi, "I will do anything you ask. If you
want me to, I will go to find Dietrich, even if I have to go on foot all
the way to Australia."
"Oh, it is no such long journey as that. I am sorry to ask you to do a
disagreeable errand, but you see Mother is much disturbed because this
mail-bag has not been sent back. She seems to be in a hurry to have
everything finished and settled up--as if she had no time to lose."
Veronica paused, and the tears that it so troubled Blasi to see, filled
her eyes to overflowing. "I promised mother that the bag should be sent
home early tomorrow morning, and you see I have no one but you to ask. You
can't leave your work in the daytime and at evening you have to go to meet
me; so there is no time but the very early morning before work hours."
"I will take it if it snows cats and dogs; but where is it to go?"
"It is not a pleasant walk, unless you go a long way round by the
high-road. The bag belongs at the post-office at the Valley bridge. Do
you think you could get down the steep foot-path in this deep snow? I
should feel dreadfully if anything were to happen to you, Blasi."
Blasi was not afraid. He was proud to show Veronica that she might count
on his courage, where he had only the forces of nature to contend against,
and not the treacherous tricks of Jost.
Veronica had a hard battle with herself that night. "Must I do it?" she
asked herself again and again, and each time her heart revolted and she
groaned aloud, "I cannot, oh, I cannot!"
Then the image of Gertrude rose before her, pale and suffering, and she
heard her heart-rending words, "If I could only see him once more!"
Veronica could not sleep, nor could she come to any decision.
Next morning it seemed that Blasi was to be taken at his word, and his
boast of being ready for service, no matter what the weather might be, was
to be put to the proof; for it stormed furiously and the wind blew so
fiercely when he left the house, that he could scarcely make way against
it. The half-frozen snow stung and blinded him, but it did not deter him.
He forced his way onwards, and though it was still dark and he could not
see one step before him, he went on as confidently and unhesitatingly as
if there were no chance of his losing his way. And he did not lose it.
When day dawned he found himself close to the Valley-bridge, in spite of
deep snows and stinging sleet.
"You are early," said the post master, who was busy sorting his letters by
lamplight. Blasi answered that he had to be at work by sunrise, and
having delivered the bag and received the pay for it, he started for home
again. He had scarcely gone twenty steps when the post-master called after
him,
"Hulloa! Blasi, you can do a neighborly kindness if you will, and it won't
cost you anything;" and he handed Blasi a letter.
"It is for the old Miller's widow, over there. Jost fetches her letters
himself, usually; it is marked "To be called for," but he'll be glad to be
spared the walk such a day as this. You can tell him he needn't come
to-day, you know."
Blasi took the letter. The Miller's widow was an old deaf woman, who lived
quite alone, in a little, tumble-down cottage, just off the road, on a
lonely hillside. The foot-path that Blasi took, led near her dwelling. The
woman was an aunt of Jost's, and had known better days when her husband
was alive; but now she had fallen into poverty, and had grown sour and
bitter, and would have nothing to do with the rest of the world. Blasi
worked his way to her hut, through the deep, pathless snow. As he
approached the door, he took the letter from his pocket, and looked at the
address.
"Heavens and earth and all the rest of it! It is from Dietrich!" he cried
out. "I didn't copy all his work at school for nothing. I know his
hand-writing as well as I know anything!"
He talked aloud in his excitement, as he stood hammering away at the door,
which the old woman was not very prompt in opening. At last he opened it
himself, and came stamping into the room. The widow was sitting on a bench
by the stove, picking wool. She had not heard his knocks, and she stared
at him with amazement. He explained how he came by the letter, but she was
too deaf to understand him. Then he held the letter close under her eyes,
and shouted in her ear,
"Read it! I want to know what's in it. It's from Dietrich."
She pushed the letter away and said sharply,
"It don't belong to me. I never get any letters. Take it away."
Blasi was fairly out of patience.
"That's your name, any way," he said. "I'll read it to you; I want to know
what he says." He tore the letter open and began to read:
"HAMBURG, 14th Jan., 18--
"My Dear Jost:"
Blasi started, but he read on. It was a short letter, and he read it
through twice.
"Will you get out?" said the old woman crossly, for Blasi stood as if
rooted to the floor. He stuffed the letter back into the torn cover, and
went out, but stopped again outside. What should he do? The letter was
Jost's. He was afraid of Jost, and he had opened Jost's letter! Presently
an idea struck him, and he instantly acted on it. He stuck the envelope
together as well as he could, ran through the storm back to the
post-office, tossed in the letter quickly, saying, "The old woman says
it's not for her, and she won't take it," and was off again on his
homeward way.
As for Veronica, she had but one thought in her mind all that day.
Gertrude was so ill when she went to her bed-side in the morning, that
Veronica's heart at once cried out, "It must be done!" and all day long
she kept repeating to herself, "It shall be done to-night."
When Blasi went to meet her that evening, he was so full of his news that
he could scarcely wait to greet her, before beginning to tell it; but he
was so startled by her looks that instead, he stopped short, and
exclaimed,
"What is the matter? Are you ill? Sit down and rest, in the hut, here."
Veronica shook her head; she could not lose a moment, she said, for she
was in a hurry to get home, and was not in the least ill. Then Blasi
blurted out his story; he was so eager, that he could scarcely get the
words out straight. Veronica listened with breathless attention. Suddenly,
such a happy radiance spread over her face, that Blasi stood still and
gazed at her.
"Hamburg! did you say Hamburg, Blasi? Was that where the letter came
from?" Her eyes danced with joy; Blasi had never seen her look like that
before.
"Certainly it was; I am sure of it; I can read Dietrich's writing fast
enough," answered Blasi, and he added to himself, "The women-folk are
queer creatures. No fellow can understand them. A moment ago she looked
all broken-down, and as if she could be blown out with a puff of wind,
and now she looks bright and strong as the sun at noon-day."
"Repeat word for word what you read in the letter, please, Blasi," and he
told her all that he could remember. It did not take long. Dietrich said
that he had not much to say, but wrote because Jost was the only person in
the world who cared anything for him. Perhaps some day his mother would
come to feel differently; but since he had brought so much trouble upon
her, he could not expect her to forgive him yet. If Veronica was going to
marry some one else, he did not want to hear about it. He could not make
up his mind to go to Australia as Jost advised; it was too far away; he
was almost dead of homesickness even in Hamburg. If they were after him
for the man-slaughter, he thought he could hide well enough there, and
perhaps in a few years when the whole thing was forgotten, he could come
home again.
If worst came to worst, and he were taken, he should at least get home, if
only to be put into the House of Correction. He felt the worst on his
mother's account. He wanted Jost to write and tell him about things at
home, and it was safest to send to the same address, as he always called
for the letters himself.
Veronica hung upon every word that fell from Blasi's lips, and when he had
finished, she walked silently by his side, deep in thought. Presently he
asked her what he should do if Jost found out that he had opened his
letter and hauled him up before a Justice of the Peace for it. Veronica
said she believed that Jost would scarcely care to say anything about the
letter. She advised Blasi to keep his own counsel, and to behave as usual,
in a perfectly unconcerned manner, whenever he met Jost. She would take
the rest in hand herself. Blasi was more than willing to leave it all to
her; he had entire confidence in her ability to manage the affair. The
letters of all the country round were collected at the central office in
Fohrensee, to be forwarded together from there to the nearest city, where
they were sorted and distributed. Veronica thought of this, and laid her
plans accordingly. The next day as soon as she reached Fohrensee, she went
to the post-office, and asked to see the address of a letter which had
just been sent in, on its way to Hamburg. The post-master, who knew her
well, did not think the request at all singular, supposing that it had
something to do with the school business.
"A letter for Hamburg came in last evening;" said his daughter who was his
assistant, "there it lies with the others that came with it."
The postmaster went to the table and found the letter, which he handed to
Veronica. "The address is not very nicely written," he said.
The handwriting was either that of a person unused to the pen, or it was
purposely disguised. The letter was addressed to a woman of the same name
as that of the miller's widow. The name of the street was illegible, but
the words "To be called for," were plainly written.
Veronica was convinced that the letter she was in search of lay before
her. So Jost had written as she had expected he would do, the day before.
He had undoubtedly seen that Dietrich's letter had been opened. Did he
write so promptly in order to frighten Dietrich into going farther away?
Had he suggested to him a new address now that the old one had been
discovered? She felt sure that Jost was trying to prevent anyone but
himself from having any communication with Dietrich. There was not a
moment to lose. What would she not have given to be able to withhold the
letter! But she did not dare. She returned it to the postmaster and asked
for a piece of paper. Her hand trembled with excitement and her heart beat
so loud, that she thought the post-master must hear it.
She wrote the following words:
"Dear Dietrich; your mother is very weak. Come home directly. You have
nothing to fear. Veronica."
She enveloped it, and addressed it as Jost had done his, and handed it to
the post-master.
"I thank you very much indeed," she said, "will you kindly see that this
letter goes by this morning's mail?"
"Yes, yes, I understand; it's a thread-and-needle business," he said
laughing, as he threw the letters down on the same pile. "They will travel
side by side and reach Hamburg together."
All day Veronica's hand trembled at her work. Outwardly she was tranquil
and composed; but within was a storm of conjectures, fears and hopes. What
had Jost written to Dietrich about his mother; what about her? Jost had
evidently let him believe that he had killed a man. What reason had Jost
for deceiving him and keeping him at a distance? These questions brought
the color to Veronica's cheeks as she suspected what the answers might be.
Did Jost think that she would marry him if Dietrich did not come back? or
were there other reasons why he did not dare to let him come? All sorts of
possible solutions flew through Veronica's head, and the conclusion she
arrived at frightened her. She did not wish to suspect any one of being a
rogue without good reason; yet the evidence seemed in this case to be
irresistible. If Dietrich came home, everything would be cleared up. But
if he did not come, what then? Would everything have to be allowed to go
on as it was? She would talk it all over with Gertrude this very evening.