As Eric had first gone to the Major to tell him of his happiness, so

the Cooper also, and his betrothed, first sought the Major and Fraeulein

Milch, to tell their new-found joy.

Here they met Knopf, who was an especial favorite with Fraeulein Milch,

because he had a faculty for being taken care of; and besides he had

brought her a great many books in former days, and instructed her in

many things. He must always be the young ladies' school-teacher, even

with Fraeulein Milch.

When Knopf heard of Eric's betrothal with Manna, he said,--

"That is the way! If is the old story over again,--the story of the

maiden freed from enchantment, which is a great favorite here on the

Rhine. This is a new version of it. Only a youth as pure as Dournay

could have set the pure virgin free."

He spoke in a kind of low, dreamy mysterious tone, which so touched the

Major's heart, that he fell upon the speaker's neck, embraced and

kissed him, and cried,--

"You must enter our society. You must speak so there. That is the place

for you."

Knopf had come to fulfil Weidmann's commission, and to make some

inquiries of Eric about the black man Adams. When the Cooper and his

betrothed entered, and the Major gave them his blessing, and Fraeulein

Milch brought in a bottle of wine, Knopf was the merriest of the

company. He could not fully say what was in his heart; but he laid his

hand on the tablets in his breast-pocket, which meant, "Here is another

beautiful romance for me to write down. Ah, how beautiful the world

is!"

Into the midst of this joyful company came the tidings of Sonnenkamp's

flight.

"And we have not yet passed sentence upon him!" cried the Major.

Fraeulein Milch smiled knowingly at the Major, as much as to say, "Did I

not tell you he was making fools of you?"

Without waiting to finish their wine, the Major and Knopf hurried to

the Villa.

Eric was busy with the notary, and they had to wait some time before

they could speak with him.

The notary had brought Eric a paper in Sonnenkamp's handwriting,

which declared that he had taken with him all the property made in

slave-traffic; he appointed Weidmann and Eric guardians of his

children, and arranged for Roland's being declared of age in the

spring.

Another messenger came from Weidmann bringing the good news, that,

according to a letter just received from Doctor Fritz, Abraham Lincoln

had been elected President.

The thought passed through Eric's mind, that there might be some

connection between this event and Sonnenkamp's flight.

He had no time to dwell upon the idea, for immediately after Weidmann's

messenger had been admitted, the Major and Knopf entered.

News followed hard upon news. A telegram arrived, desiring Eric to go

to the city and wait at the telegraph-office, as some one wished to

communicate with him. The despatch was signed, "The Man from Eden."

Eric requested the Major to stay with his mother and send for Fraeulein

Milch to join him; at the same time he begged Knopf to bring Roland

home, and prepare him as gently as he could for what had happened.

From every side, fresh difficulties poured in upon Eric. How every

thing had come together! Clodwig's death, Sonnenkamp's flight, the fate

of Roland, the fate of Manna--all weighed upon his heart.

As he was mounting his horse, he fortunately descried Professor

Einsiedel, to whom he told in a few words what had happened, and begged

him to stay with Manna.

He rode to the city. A despatch awaited him, telling that in an hour he

should receive some definite tidings.

This suspense was most trying to Eric: he knew not what steps he should

take next.

He walked through the city: everywhere were men and women safe in the

privacy of their homes, while he and his seemed cast out into the

street. He lingered long before the Justice's house. Lina was singing

her favorite song from "Figaro;" and the words, "that I with roses may

garland thy head," were given so feelingly, with so much suppressed

emotion, that Eric's breath came hard as he listened. He knew just how

it looked up there in the sitting-room. The Architect was leaning back

in the red armchair, while his betrothed sang to him; flowers were

blooming in the window; and the whole atmosphere was rich with music

and perfume.

Unwilling to disturb their comfort by his heavy thoughts, he returned

to the telegraph-station, and left word that he should be sent for at

the hotel if any despatch came for him.

He sat alone in a dark corner and waited. The guests were gathered

about the long table with their glasses of beer before them. Their talk

was dry, and seemed to make the liquor the more refreshing. Eric forced

himself to listen to their chat. They talked of Paris, of London, of

America; one man was going to one place, another to another, a third

was coming back: the free, mobile character of the Rhineland people was

spread out before him; they live as if always floating on their native

stream.

Suddenly the cry was raised,--

"Hurrah! here comes the story-teller."

Eric recognized the man who had been a great favorite with all ever

since he had spent his first night in the city, at the Doctor's house.

He had one of those faces, red with constant drinking, whose color

makes it impossible to distinguish any age short of forty, and his

countenance was as mobile as if made of gutta-percha.

The new-comer winked to the bar-maid, who knew what kind of liquor he

drank; then he established himself comfortably in a chair, threw open

his wraps, and drew some cigar-ends out of his pocket.

"What's the news?" asked the guests.

The man gave the usual answer: "Fair weather, and nothing beside."

"Where have you been for these three days, that we have seen nothing of

you?"

"Where a man can prolong his life."

"What sort of a place is that?"

"I have been in the dullnesses of the capital: and there you can

prolong your life; for every day is as long as two."

"Old, old!" cried the drinkers. "Give us something new!"

"Something new! I tell you many lies have no truth in them, and those

often the best. But go out among the boats yonder; there's a jolly life

going on in the cabin. Each one brings his own cook-book to the

wedding, and then they marry the messes together."

The speaker was ridiculed on all sides for having nothing but such

nonsense, such dry husks, to give them.

"If you will keep quiet, I will tell you a story; but first, one of you

must go out to the Rhine, that he may be able to bear me witness

afterwards that my story is true, as the old forester says."

A cooper was sent out to the boat that lay at anchor in the Rhine, and,

after letting him know what he was to inquire about, the man began,--

"I do have the luck of falling in with the best stories! they come

without my looking for them."

"Let us hear! let us hear! Is it about that big Sonnenkamp, or about

the handsome Countess?"

"Ah, bah! that would be stale: this is one fresh from the oven. It is

called the loves of the 'Lorelei' and the 'Beethoven,' or a sucking pig

as matchmaker. Oh, yes! you may laugh, but you will see that it is all

true. To begin, then. You know the steward of the 'Lorelei?'--the great

Multiplication-table they call him. A man of standing he is, and an

honest one, too; for he honestly confesses, that, by a skilful adding

up of accounts, he has added together a pretty little property for

himself. Now, he is single, frightfully so. He can eat and drink,

but"--

"Yes, yes; we know him. What next?"

"Don't interrupt me. I must not anticipate my story: it is enough for

me if I know it myself. So, then, the state of the case is this: the

captain of the 'Lorelei,' you know him, that tall Baumlange, he was

steersman on board the 'Adolph' for some years; he managed to make his

cook's mouth water for the stewardess of the 'Beethoven,' a round,

dainty little body, and two years a widow. Greetings were exchanged

between the paper cap and the muslin; but they never spoke together

except for a few minutes a fortnight ago at Cologne, when the 'Lorelei'

and the 'Beethoven' lay side by side. Since that time, the great

Multiplication-table smiled graciously upon the 'Lorelei,' but would

not hear of marriage. His great delight is to get up a nice little dish

that no one should know any thing about; and so one day he prepared a

neat little sucking-pig, that was to be roasted on the morrow. Now, his

captain knew, that the next day, and that is to-day, the two boats

would anchor here together for the night: so he steals the pig, and

hands it to a fellow-captain, who, in turn, delivers it to the widow of

the 'Beethoven,' with directions to serve it up nicely, and something

else with it, which order she obeys with a good will. Then the Captain

invites his steward to supper on board the 'Beethoven;' and, since the

stewardess has furnished the meat, it was but fair that the 'Lorelei'

Multiplication-table should add the wine. They sit down to supper on

board the 'Beethoven,' the stewardess of course, with them, and all

goes on merrily. The Multiplication-table said a pig could not be

better served, and that it was almost as fine a one as his. Then the

trick came out; but they took it in good part, and the upshot of it all

was, that the two were betrothed over the little pig."

The story-teller had got thus far in his tale, when the cooper returned

with the Captain of the 'Lorelei,' who confirmed the whole history. The

merriment became noisy and riotous; and the Captain told how the

newly-betrothed couple were sitting together, and how the same tastes

were in both of them. They collected all the gold they could in the

summer, and now they were sitting and laughing together as they

polished it up with soap-suds.

Eric listened to it all as if he were in another world. There are still

those, then, who can take life lightly: a change for the better must

come in time.

Now the pilot entered, who, as custom required, had been taken on board

the steamer for a little while, to steer it through the part of the

stream he was familiar with. He amazed the company by telling them

that, the night before, in the storm, the Countess von Wolfsgarten and

Herr Sonnenkamp had gone down the river: he had recognized them both

distinctly.

Eric had risen from his seat to question the man further, when he was

summoned to the telegraph station. The despatch, which was signed, like

the first, "the man from Eden," was to the effect that the writer was

to sail the next morning for the New World, and that if, in the course

of a year, no further tidings were received from him, he might be

considered dead. It almost seemed as if the last part of the telegram

could not have been correctly written; for the question was asked,

whether Frau Ceres was living, and in what condition. In case of

wishing to send any news of her to the New World, the name of a

Southern paper was given, in which a paragraph should be inserted over

the initials S. B.

While Eric was still holding the despatch in his hand, Pranken entered,

and signed to him to come into an adjoining room. "I was in search of

you," he said. He looked pale and agitated, and Eric was fully prepared

to receive a challenge. His first question, however, was, whether Eric

knew whither Sonnenkamp had fled, and how he could be addressed. Eric

replied that he was not at liberty to answer that question.

"Ask him then whether"--he could hardly bring his lips to utter what he

had to say,--"ask him whether there is anyone with him. No, better

still, give me his address."

Eric repeated that he was not at liberty to do so. Pranken gnashed his

teeth with rage.

"Very well: ask him yourself, then, whether any one is with him about

whom I have a right to inquire."

As the two stood side by side, looking out upon the landscape, it

suddenly flashed through Eric's mind, that in this very room, at a

table before this window, they had sat together that day over their new

wine. Prompted by the feeling of gratitude that overpowered him, he

said,--

"I regret sincerely that there should be such ill feeling between us."

"This is no time to speak of that--of that presently. If you will--no,

I will ask no favors. You are to blame for all this wretched

complication: you have made every one go wrong. This would never have

happened but for you."

A cold shudder passed through Eric's frame. Was he in truth to blame

for Bella's fall? There was an expression of humility in his face as he

answered,--

"I am at your service; I am only waiting for a despatch."

"Good: I will wait with you."

Pranken left the room, and walked restlessly up and down the embankment

without, until the despatch arrived, and Eric summoned him.

"Very well: now put my question."

"Will you repeat your question to me once more exactly?"

"How long since you became so slow of comprehension? This then. Tell

Herr Sonnenkamp, or Banfield, that if, before twelve hours are over, he

does not let me know where he is, I shall take his silence as a proof

that--No! ask--outright--whether my sister is with him."

Pranken's lips trembled: he had grown sadly old in these few days. Here

he was obliged to stand and beg for information from Sonnenkamp;

information on what a subject, and at whose hands!

"Will you have the goodness," he added, "to send the answer to me at

the parsonage?"

He left the room, mounted his horse, and rode away.

"Medusa sends greeting to Europe," was the answer Eric received.

As he was about to start for home, the Doctor came up: he also had

heard of Bella's flight.

"That is a master-piece!" he cried. "Herr Sonnenkamp, with the most

skilful diplomacy, could have done nothing better than that. Bella's

flight and fall will eclipse every thing that he himself has done. This

will divert tongues from him: all is eclipsed by this new development.

His children, too, will be freed from the old scandal; for the fact of

Bella Pranken's eloping with him will count for more than years of

selling slaves. From this time we shall hear of nothing but that: all

else is obliterated."

Eric did not believe that the fugitives had yet started for America.

Immediately on his return to the Villa, he was summoned to Manna.

"Have you news of him?" she said. "Is he living?"

"Yes."

"Is he alone?"

"No."

"That, too, must we have to bear!"

"Does your mother know?"

"She only knows that father has fled; and she keeps crying, 'Henry,

Henry, come back!' For hours, she has kept saying those words over and

over. It is incredible how her strength holds out. O Eric! when we were

in your father's library, Roland said, 'In all these books is there a

fate to compare with ours?'"

All Eric's attempts to soothe her were fruitless.

CHAPTER II.

THE CHILDREN OF MAMMON.

Roland arrived, and Herr Weidmann with him. He had heard of his

father's flight, but not of Bella's. A great change had come over the

boy in these four days, especially in the lines about his mouth: its

childish expression had changed into one of pride and sadness, and his

whole character had gained in firmness. He went directly to his mother,

who had not once paused in her cry of, "Henry, Henry, come back! Henry,

I will give you my ornaments: come back!"

She appeared not to have noticed Roland's absence, and showed no

surprise now at seeing him. She only said,--

"Your father will soon come back: he is only gone for a vessel, a great

vessel; he sits at the helm, he guides"--

For the first time in his life, Roland was friendly and affectionate to

Fraeulein Perini, and thanked her warmly for her fidelity to his mother.

Fraeulein Perini replied, that she was sure the young master would treat

her kindly, and not forget her services. Roland hardly understood her

meaning.

He went to Manna, he went to the Professorin, and had for every one a

word of encouragement.

The notary came, and, on being asked if he had received any further

news, answered hesitatingly, and fell back upon his power of attorney.

Roland, Manna, Eric, and Weidmann were summoned into the great hall;

and, as they entered the room which his father had left, Roland for the

first time shed tears, and threw himself on his sister's neck. But he

quickly recovered his composure.

The lawyer told them that he knew the secret of opening the great

fire-proof safe that was built into the wall on one side of the room.

The keys lay in the writing-desk, and the mysterious word which the

letters must be made to spell before the keys would turn the locks, was

Manna.

"My name!" cried Manna, more touched than she could tell at her

father's thus opening the rich treasures of his wealth with her name.

To the notary's amazement, she grasped Eric's hand.

A strange chill spread through the room as the great safe was opened.

On the top lay a little box labelled, "My last will and testament."

They opened it. A sealed paper lay in it on which was written, "To be

opened immediately after my death." These words, however, had been

erased, and beneath them was written, "To be opened six months after my

disappearance."

Every thing was in perfect order. In different compartments lay the

notes of hand, state bonds of all the countries in Europe, and

more still of America, deeds of mining companies and of various

banking-houses; there were papers of every sort and color: all the

shades of the rainbow were represented.

Roland and Manna hardly heard the great sums that were named. They

fixed their eyes with the curiosity of children upon separate valuable

documents as they were taken out. That is money then--

Manna turned to Eric, with a timid entreaty that he would do and say in

her place all that was necessary: she felt her head growing dizzy.

Eric replied, that he hoped she would not have the affectation of those

persons who receive thoughtlessly the burden of great wealth without

being willing to learn their own position in the world.

"I do not understand," said Manna. In view of all these great

possessions she addressed him for the first time by the familiar German

"Thou" in the presence of others.

"You will soon learn to understand it. We are children of the actual

world; and, if we cannot preserve our ideality in the midst of the

actual world, we have no ideality. We will learn together to use aright

this immense wealth. This is the first time, too, that I ever saw such

a vast amount."

"It is a great thought that the whole world is made up of debtors and

creditors," exclaimed Roland.

Still greater was the amazement of the children when the lower drawer

was opened, which, being on casters, was easily drawn out in spite of

its great weight.

Here lay piles of gold from the mint, and gold in bars.

Roland and Manna involuntarily knelt down, like little children, and

felt of it. After the notary had sat down to his writing in the

adjoining room, and Eric and Weidmann had been called away, they

remained still upon the floor, gazing wonderingly at the gold and then

in one another's faces. Manna was the first to recover her voice.

"Are we not like the children who lost their way in the wood, and

stumbled upon hidden treasure? But"--

She could not finish her sentence; for what she wanted to say was, "an

evil spirit guards the gold."

"Come," said Roland, "lay your hand here on mine and on the gold. This

gold shall do good, only good, and always good, and shall make amends

for the past. We swear it."

"Yes, we swear it," repeated Manna. "Ah! if only our father may not

have to be suffering want out in the world, while we here have all

things in abundance. Perhaps he is seeking a shelter, while these

luxurious rooms are his own. Oh! why do men strive for riches, and sell

their own brothers? O God, why dost thou suffer it? Take all that we

have, and drive the iniquity out of the world."

The girl's tears fell upon the gleaming gold. Roland soothed her, and

laid her head on his breast; and so the two children knelt in silence

before the glittering gold.

"Now we have had enough of this," said Roland at last. "We must be

strong: we have great duties before us."

Almost with an angry hand, he pushed in the heavy drawer; and as they

rose to their feet, while the boy still had hold of the door of the

great safe to shut it, the Major, Knopf, and the negro Adams, entered.

For a moment, Roland and Manna stood motionless: then Roland ran up to

the black man, embraced him, and exclaimed with a loud cry,--

"Let this make atonement to your whole race, to all your brothers!

Come, Manna; give him your hand, embrace him: we owe it to him."

Manna approached, but with difficulty held out her hand to him; she

trembled as she did it.

Adams held her hand long and firmly; and a shiver, a shudder, which

made her blood stand still, shot through her whole frame.

With a great effort she controlled herself, and said in English, she

hardly knew why,--

"We welcome you as a brother."

"Yes," cried Roland, "you shall counsel us, you shall help us, we will

do every thing through you."

Manna whispered to Roland that they would give Adams at once a handsome

sum of money; but Roland explained, that, although they must

undoubtedly provide generously for Adams, it would be better first to

find out if he understood the proper use of money.

Manna looked at her brother in wonder.

The notary now came from the adjoining room. Eric and Weidmann

returned, and signed a receipt for the whole amount.

Eric now learned for the first time that Roland had insisted on Adams

being brought. Knopf said in an aside to Eric, that he might be proud

of the boy: there was great strength of character in him. He had

repeatedly said that he must show he felt no hatred towards the

innocent cause of this great calamity, and that, instead of persecuting

the negro, he was bound to show him kindness.

Weidmann urged Adams's immediate departure from the Villa, fearing the

effect that a chance meeting with him might have upon Frau Ceres,

associated as his appearance would be with recollections of her home.

He advised the man's going with him to Mattenheim: but Roland bogged

that Adams might be allowed to remain till he himself went back to

Mattenheim; and the Major joyfully agreed to take him home with him.

Eric was incensed that Knopf should have brought Adams at all; but

Knopf told how he had met the negro on the way to the Villa, and, with

an air of triumph, went on to tell what a model of knavery the fellow

was. He had devised a plan for going to Sonnenkamp, openly expressing

repentance for his deed, and offering to appear as a false witness, on

condition of being handsomely paid for it. He was beside himself,

therefore, when he learned that Sonnenkamp had fled, and his false

testimony was of no value.

An important consultation took place in Sonnenkamp's room, upon the

subject of a new enterprise which Weidmann had in contemplation. He was

about to purchase a large estate three leagues from Mattenheim, in the

direction of the mountains, and asked Roland and Eric if they would not

invest a considerable sum in the land. He wanted to make the attempt to

settle a new village there, in combination with an old design of his,

of attracting artisans by establishing them on small pieces of land of

their own.

Eric questioned whether they would have a right to use this money in a

foreign land for the benefit of foreigners; and, besides, at present

they were only stewards of the property.

Weidmann praised his caution, but convinced him that this was a safe

investment, and one that would be of benefit to many. He promised not

to act alone, but to take the advice of the Banker in the matter.

Security should be given that the amount of capital invested, should be

set free again in a certain number of years.

That evening, Weidmann departed for Mattenheim with a great chest of

gold.

Eric was to bring the papers to the city, and then deliver them into

the Banker's keeping.

CHAPTER III.

A SON OF HAM.

On no one of the persons interested in Villa Eden, had the startling

events that had taken place produced a greater impression than on the

Major. He could find no rest at home, and, since hearing Sonnenkamp's

statement, he had lost the best possession he had,--his sound,

healthful sleep. He wandered about restlessly all day, often talking

with Laadi, throwing the dog sometimes a mushroom fried in fat, and

then punishing her severely when she tried to eat it. At night, his

inward excitement was so great, that he kept talking in a low voice to

himself, and occasionally even roused Fraeulein Milch in the hope that

she would dispel the disturbing thoughts. Sonnenkamp's flight, and now

the news that Bella had gone with him, increased the distemper of his

mind.

He summoned all his strength when Knopf brought in the negro, received

him most cordially, and insisted upon his staying in his house first.

Adams consented; and the Major took him at once to the castle, where

the work was still going on.

Fraeulein Milch confessed to Herr Knopf that she was oppressed by a fear

she could not control, and begged him to stay with them; but he

regretted that his duties to Prince Valerian made his stay impossible.

So far from allaying Fraeulein Milch's anxieties, he rather increased

them by the satisfaction with which he dwelt upon the consummate

knavery of this Adams.

"I take delight," he repeated, "in observing what a savage the fellow

is. A savage nature is not soft, not good-natured, but sly as a

tiger-cat. After all, how can you expect a slave to be a model of

virtue, and an example of all that is good?"

The good-natured, soft-hearted Knopf took a real pleasure in knowing

consummate rascals like Sonnenkamp and Adams. When he had discovered

evil in a man, he carried it to extremes at once, like all idealists:

the man must instantly be a consummate villain. The royal descent that

Adams boasted of, was, according to him, nothing but a lie: he was

usurping the character of some man of princely blood who had been

drowned. "For," added Knopf, with great satisfaction, "he could not

have taken the stamped sailing papers from him before he was launched

on the sea of eternity."

He declared to Fraeulein Milch that he had caught Adams in the lie; for

the man had made a mistake in the dates: and Knopf was not a teacher of

history, with all the dates at his tongue's end, for nothing.

On the Major's return with Adams, his disease fairly broke out, and he

was obliged to take to his bed.

The Doctor came, and administered soothing remedies, which relieved the

Major; but he had no soothing remedies for Fraeulein Milch. She was to

receive these from a man who had no knowledge of medicine. When the

Professorin could not be with Fraeulein Milch to relieve her loneliness,

and keep up her courage, she sent Professor Einsiedel; and to him the

poor woman confided all her uneasiness with regard to Adams. The man

would engage in no occupation; he could drink and smoke all day; but

that was all. He had worked only while he was a slave, and driven to

it; and as lackey he had had nothing to do but to sit in fantastic

livery upon the box of the royal coach. So there he remained in the

house with Fraeulein Milch, doing nothing but inspire her with an

unconquerable terror. The greater her fear became, the more pains she

took to preserve a friendly manner towards him.

Only to Professor Einsiedel did she complain of the presence of the

negro.

"I must take care," she said, "not to let this one black man give me a

prejudice against the whole race."

"What do you mean by that?"

Fraeulein Milch blushed as she replied,--

"If we do not know a foreign nation, or a foreign race, and our

preconceived notions of it are unfavorable, we are very apt to consider

the solitary individual who may come under our observation as a

representative of the whole, and to charge upon the whole his peculiar

characteristics and faults. This Adams, now, is a man who will neither

learn nor labor. As a slave, he was used to being taken care of, and as

a lackey the same: it would be very unjust to let him prejudice me

against the whole race, and to conclude that all negroes have these

peculiarities."

"Very good, very reasonable," was the Professor's verdict. "But I

should like to know how you come to be so carefully on your guard

against prejudices. I know very little about women, to be sure; but I

had supposed this quality was not common among them."

Fraeulein Milch bit her lip. This acknowledgment of the claim of every

individual to be judged by his own merits had had a peculiar origin in

herself; but she could not tell it. She felt the Professor's keen

glance fixed upon her face, and fancied he must have discovered her

secret. She waited, expecting to hear it from his lips, but he was

silent: after a pause, she continued,--

"Do you not think with me that the blacks will never be free until they

free themselves, until a Moses appears from among their own number, and

leads them out of bondage? And do you not think, also, that this

generation which has been in bondage must perish in the wilderness, and

that the new generation, that has grown up in freedom, will be the one

to enter the promised land of freedom?"

"You seem very familiar with the Old Testament," said the Professor.

Fraeulein Milch colored up to the border of her white cap.

"But you have the right idea," continued Professor Einsiedel. "I hope

you understand me. The black race has developed nothing original: as

far as we can yet see, it contributes nothing to the intellectual

possessions of the human family. Certainly no outsider can free them;

but our new age, the only redeemer which we acknowledge, culture, will

reach and deliver them. Are you acquainted with the recent

investigations into the Japhetic races?"

"Alas! no."

"Certainly; I forgot myself. But you must know that the sons of Ham,

this, of course, you have learned from the Bible, are without a

history: they bring nothing of their own conquest, acquisition,

creation, into the great Pantheon. It is the Semitic, Japhetic races

that must free the descendants of Ham."

The Professor was about to lay before Fraeulein Milch the result of the

latest investigations; to tell her what extraordinary discoveries had

been made among the Egyptian papyri; how it was proved that the author

or the compiler of the Bible had not understood Egyptian; in fact, that

the contents of the Bible had existed before in Egyptian writings, and

the deliverance of the slaves was the only one great act of the

mythical Moses in the whole ancient world. In his delight at finding so

good a listener, he was about to deliver himself at great length, when

Claus came in, having been sent by the Doctor to take Adams home with

him. Fraeulein Milch whispered in his ear that he would have difficulty

in making Adams work, at which he cried with a smile,--

"Yes, yes: slaves and rich men are alike in that. The slave does

nothing because his master feeds him, and the rich man does nothing

because his money feeds him."

Fraeulein Milch impressed upon Claus that he must treat the black man

kindly, and remember that he did not represent the black race. The

field-guard laughed heartily, and carried Adams off to his house.

The dogs barked fiercely, and the women screamed in terror, when the

negro appeared. The screams soon ceased; but, whenever Adams went out

of the house, the dogs set up a fresh chorus of barks.

CHAPTER IV.

BELLA'S LEGACY.

When the Doctor came with the Professorin, he was highly rejoiced that

Adams had left the house, and still more that the Major was able to sit

up in bed, and smoke his long pipe. After enjoining upon him great

quiet, he went with the two women into the sitting-room, and there

informed them that he had reason to be proud; for Bella had written to

him from Antwerp, and to no one else. He read the letter to them which

was as follows,--

"You alone are no puppet; you never made a pretence of friendship for

me, and therefore you shall have a keepsake. I give you my parrot. The

parrot is the masterpiece of creation: he says nothing but what he is

taught. Adieu!

"BELLA."

The ladies exchanged glances of surprise; and Fraeulein Milch rejoiced

the Doctor by saying, for once in her life, an unkind word; for she

could not help expressing pleasure that Frau Bella had come to such an

end. The Doctor, on the other hand, said, in a tone of complaint,--

"I feel a want now that she is gone. I miss in her a sort of barometer

of thought and an interesting object of study. Strange! now that this

woman is gone we see, for the first time, how widely her influence was

extended,--more widely perhaps than was her due. But still the story

pleases me, as a proof that there still exist persons of courage and

strong will."

"You like eccentricity," suggested the Professorin.

"Oh, no! What seems eccentric to others appears to me the only natural

and consistent course, Bella could not have acted otherwise than she

has: this very step was a part of her heroism. Your son can tell you

that I suspected something of this sort before it happened. There is

much in common between Bella and Sonnenkamp. Both are quick and clear

in judgment where others are concerned; but, when self is touched, they

are tyrannical, malicious, and self-asserting. And, now that she is

fairly gone, I may say that she has fled a murderess: to be sure, she

did not kill Clodwig with poison or dagger, but she smote him to the

heart with killing words and thoughts. He confessed to me that it was

so, and now I may repeat it."

"I am confounded," said the Professorin. "With all her culture, how

were such things possible?"

"That was just it," broke in the Doctor delighted. "All this

intellectual life was nothing to Frau Bella: she found herself in it,

she knew not how. She had to destroy something, or what would she have

done with all this culture? Formerly there was hypocrisy only in

religion; now there is hypocrisy in education. But, no: Frau Bella was

no hypocrite, neither was she really ill-natured; she was simply

crude."

"Crude?"

"Yes. Thought of others educates at once the heart and the mind; Frau

Bella thought only and always of herself; of what she had to say and to

feel."

"Do you think," asked the Professorin with some hesitation, "that these

two persons can be happy together for a single hour?"

"Certainly not, according to our ideas of happiness. They have no real

affection for each other: pride and disappointment, and a desire to

shock the world, have induced them to make their escape together. There

is one other motive which persons like us cannot enter into. I tried

for a long time to discover it, and believe at last that I have

succeeded: it is the consciousness of beauty. I am a beauty: that is a

principle on which a whole system is founded. Other people are only

made for the purpose of seeing and admiring the beauty. Bella committed

an act of treason against herself when she married Clodwig: she could

not have done it except in a moment of forgetfulness of this great

principle. But how can we judge such people aright? The longer I live,

the more clearly I see that human beings are not alike: they are of

different species."

"You want to provoke us by heresies."

"By no means: that is the reason why this anti-slavery fever is

distasteful to me. This claiming equality for all men is a wrong."

"A wrong?"

"Yes. Men are not all the same kind of beings; one is a nightingale

that sings on a tree; another is a frog that croaks in the marsh. Now,

to require of the frog that he should sing up in a tree is a wrong, a

perversion of Nature. Let the frog alone in his marsh, he is very well

off there, and to him and his wife his song sounds as sweet as that of

the bird to his mate. Men are of different kinds."

The Major called from his room to know what the Doctor was talking so

loudly and excitedly about. Fraeulein Milch soothed him by telling him

it was nothing for a sick man to hear, though she confessed that they

had been talking of Bella. As she re-entered the sitting-room, a

messenger arrived from Villa Eden with intelligence which summoned the

Doctor and the Professorin thither instantly: Frau Ceres was

dangerously ill.

The Doctor and the Professorin made all haste back to the Villa.

CHAPTER V.

THE BLACK HORROR.

"Henry, come! Henry, come back! these are your trees, and your house.

Come back! I will dance with you. Henry, Henry!"

Such was Frau Ceres' incessant cry.

She refused all nourishment; she insisted on waiting till her husband

said "Dear child, do take something." Only after the most urgent

entreaties of Fraeulein Perini, did she at last consent to eat

something. She wanted to embroider, and took up her work; but the next

moment she laid it down again.

Weeping and lamenting, she went through the gardens and greenhouses.

Fraeulein Perini had the greatest difficulty in soothing her.

Then Frau Ceres reprimanded the gardener for raking over the paths. The

marks of her husband's feet were in the gravel, and they must not be

removed, or he would die.

At other times, she would sit at the window for hours together, looking

out upon the hills and the clouds, and the river where the boats were

sailing up and down; and all the while she would be grieving in a low

voice to herself,--

"Henry, I grieved you sorely, I wounded you; you may whip me as you

would your slaves; only let me be with you, forgive me. Do you

remember that day when you came out to me, and Caesar played the harp,

and I danced in my blue frock and my gold-colored shoes? Do you

remember?"--"Manna," she suddenly cried; "Manna, bring your harp and

play for me. I want to dance; I am still pretty. Come, Henry!"

Suddenly she turned to Fraeulein Perini, and asked, "He is coming back,

is he not?" Her tone was so quiet and natural as for the moment to

re-assure them.

"Tell him he shall marry Frau Bella when I die," she suddenly began

again, her great eyes gazing vacantly before her. "Frau Bella is a

handsome widow, very handsome; and he shall give her my ornaments, they

will look so well on her."

"Pray, do not speak so."

"Come, we must see that his heaths are well taken care of. He taught me

all about them. We will have some good bog-earth dried and pounded and

sifted. Then, when he comes home, he will say, 'That was very clever of

you, Ceres: you did that well.'"

She went with Fraeulein Perini to the hot-house, and gave intelligent

directions to the head gardener that he should be careful to keep the

heaths very moist, and not in too high a temperature.

Fraeulein Perini sent one of the boys who was working in the garden to

fetch Eric. Her anxiety was so great, she could not bear to be left

longer alone with Frau Ceres.

Frau Ceres appeared very composed. After examining all the heaths, and

lifting each one up to see that the saucers were kept properly damp,

she left the hot-house, saying as she went,--

"It is quite time that Captain Dournay should learn the care of plants.

These scholars fancy there is nothing they can learn from us: I can

assure them they can learn a great deal from my husband. There are more

than two hundred heaths at the Cape. Yes, you may take my word for it;

he told me so. Now let us go back into the house."

On their way, they came to an open space, where was a pond, and a

little fountain playing.

Suddenly Frau Ceres uttered a piercing cry. Down the broad path towards

them came the black man Adams, with Roland on one arm, and Manna on the

other.

"You are changed into a negro! Who did that to you? Henry! Fie, Henry!

Take off the black skin!" With piercing cries, she threw herself upon

Adams, and tore the clothes from his body; then sank lifeless on the

ground before him. They were just bearing her into the house, when

Doctor Richard and the Professorin arrived.

Frau Ceres never woke.

Her body was laid in the great music room; and the flowers that

Sonnenkamp had so tenderly cared for were set about his wife's corpse.

Here in the music room, where the young people had so often sung and

danced--would there ever be dancing and music here again?

The friends came, and kissed and embraced Roland; Lina also appeared,

and embraced Manna in silence. By a pressure of the hand, a silent

embrace, each one expressed to the mourners his sympathy, his desire to

help them.

Pranken appeared also among the mourners, and, with Fraeulein Perini,

knelt beside the body.

After a blessing had been pronounced in the church, the funeral-train

moved towards the burial-ground.

The members of the music-club had been gathered together by Knopf and

Fassbender, and sang at the open grave. Roland stood leaning on Eric,

while the Mother and aunt Claudine supported Manna.

Eric's thoughts reverted to that day in spring when he had sat over his

wine with Pranken, and had looked out at the churchyard where the

nightingale was singing. Who could have foretold then that he would be

standing here a mourner at the grave of the mother of his betrothed,

and of his pupil?

The music ceased, and the Priest advanced to the edge of the grave.

There was a hush for a while over the whole assembly. The chattering of

the magpies, and the screaming of the nut-peckers, was heard in the

trees.

After repeating a prayer in a low tone, the Priest raised his voice,

and cried,--

"Thou poor rich child from the New World! Now thou art in the new world

indeed. Thou hast gone hence with thy sins unforgiven, in delusion, in

frenzy. Thou hast left thy children behind to atone, to suffer, to

sacrifice, for thee. They will do it: they must do it. Children, God is

your father; the church is your mother. Hearken unto me. Here we stand

beside an open grave. Ye can live without us, without the church; but,

when ye come to die, ye must call upon us: and, though ye have scorned

us, we shall come full of grace and compassion; for God so commandeth

us. O thou departed one! now thou art ennobled; for death gives

nobility: thou art decked with ornaments fairer than thy diamonds; for,

with all thy worldliness, thou didst have a believing spirit. Grief set

her crown of thorns upon thee: thou hast suffered much, and thou wilt

be forgiven. But I call upon ye who stand here this day alive: Ye can

build country houses, and furnish them sumptuously; but the prince of

all life, which is death, shall come and mow you down, and ye shall

moulder in the ground. A house of boards, that is the country house

which is decreed to every one, deep in the bosom of the earth. But

woe to those men whose holy ark is the fire-proof safe! The men of

so-called philosophy and natural science come and flatter the believers

in the fire-proof safe, and when the bolt from heaven falls, they say,

'There is a lightening-rod on our house, we have nothing to fear.' And

if death comes, what say ye then? Ye have no answer. O ye poor, rich

children! Turn unto us! The arms of mercy are open to receive you; they

alone can defend you. To that rich young man the answer was:--I speak

not of how the wealth was won from which the young soul will not part;

I only call--no, it is not I who call--my passing breath but bears the

eternal word. Leave all that thou hast and follow me. Wilt thou too, go

hence weeping, because thou canst not give up the riches of the world?

Oh! I call thee--no, He who has brought this day upon us, who looks

down from the height of heaven into this grave--He calls to thee: Rend

asunder the bonds of slavery! Thou art thyself a slave: be free! And

thou, noble maiden, who hast the highest in thyself, look down into

this grave, and forward to the time when such a grave shall open for

thee. Save thyself! Despise not the hand that will save thee. Days of

sorrow, nights of desolation will come upon thee. In the day thou wilt

ask, 'Where am I?' and for what is my life on the earth? And thou wilt

send forth thy voice weeping into the night, and wilt shudder at the

night of death? Thou knowest what is salvation; thou bearest it in

thyself. And now? Faithless--thrice faithless! Faithless to thyself, to

thy friends, to thy God!" Beating himself upon the breast, he cried in

a voice broken by tears,--

"How willingly, how joyfully would I die, I who am speaking to ye now,

if I could say, I have saved them. And yet, not I, but the Spirit

through the breath of my mouth. Come, leave all that holds ye back, all

on which ye lean--come to me, ye children of sorrow; to me, ye children

of misery, of pain, of riches, and of helpless poverty!"

There was a pause in which no one stirred, and the Priest resumed,--

"I have spoken, I have warned, I have called as I was forced to, and

because I was forced. I appeal to thee whose mortal frame we are here

consigning to the earth, speak to thy children, 'Children, the three

handfuls of earth which you were to throw upon my grave, ye shall throw

them when this hand resigns what is called the riches of this world,

but which is nothing but the ransom of a lost soul.' If ye do it not,

we shall still pray for ye who are dead in the living body, as we do

for thee whose dead body we are sinking into the grave, but whose soul

is risen into eternity. Grant that thy, children may receive eternal

life, only the life eternal!"--

The Priest's whole body trembled, and Roland trembled as he stood by

Eric. Weidmann approached the boy on the other side, and, laying his

hand on his shoulder, said in a low voice, "Be calm."

The grave was filled up with earth; the Priest hurried from the

church-yard and Pranken with him: the mourners took their way back to

the Villa.

"Who would have believed that the Priest would dare to speak so at the

grave? But it is well. What more can come? Is not all accomplished now?

It is best that she should have died when she did. The poor rich

children!"

"What will the children do now?" Such were the words that might have

been heard on all sides, as the people dispersed after the burial of

Frau Ceres.

The children returned from their mother's grave to the Villa.

Roland was the first to recover his self-command.

"I will not let myself be broken down," he cried. "The black horror

shall not frighten me. Give me something to do, Eric. Herr Weidmann,

now for the first time, I am yours: I will work, and not let myself

give way."

Manna, too, began to be herself again.

Their mother's death, and the painful scene at her grave, had given

added firmness to the character of both.

The day after the funeral, Roland was first applied to upon a question

of money: Fraeulein Perini asked for her discharge. With the approval of

Eric and Weidmann, she was abundantly provided for, besides receiving

Frau Ceres' entire wardrobe. She packed the clothes in great trunks,

and had them taken to the parsonage; but she herself soon departed for

Italy, where she joined the young widow, the daughter of Herr von

Endlich.

Villa Eden stood now entirely at the disposal of Eric and Roland.

Once more, the Professorin became the one point of attraction; and all

assembled in her cottage. She had now a good helper in Professor

Einsiedel, who had obtained leave of absence, and promised to spend the

winter at the Villa.

After the shocks that Roland and Manna had experienced, their mourning

for their mother was almost a relief. That her death should have been

caused as it was by terror at the sight of Adams, by a diseased

imagination, and that the Priest at the grave had made his last,

desperate attempt upon them,--these things were almost a comfort to

them. Roland gratefully clasped his sister's hand as she said,--

"Let us not have any feeling of hatred or bitterness towards the negro

for having been the innocent cause of our mother's death."

"If there were only something else in prospect for you, if you could

only find such an active interest as I have at Mattenheim," said

Roland, in whose mind the idea became uppermost, that he must return to

Mattenheim. But with a sad smile, like a sunbeam breaking through heavy

clouds, he soon added,--

"I forgot: there is something else for you, and something so beautiful!

You will be Eric's wife."

Manna was silent.

"What are you reading so earnestly?" she asked Roland one day, after he

had been sitting for hours without looking up from his book. He showed

her what it was, a book treating of forests. That subject was the only

one which now fascinated him, he told her; and, as she spoke, it seemed

almost as if it must be Eric talking, so entirely had the boy entered

into the spirit of his teacher.

He felt refreshed by the study of this perpetual and permanent growth,

and the voluntary protection of it by men. With a real enthusiasm he

added,--

"I could not be interested in raising flowers, as my father was; but I

get from him the love with which I can devote myself to the trees and

woods."

CHAPTER VI.

THE VOLUNTEER.

In accordance with a wish of Weidmann's, Eric accompanied Roland and

Joseph to the city, in order to deposit the valuable papers in a place

of safety.

The first house they visited on arriving in the city was the Banker's,

which, situated in a garden outside the gates, combined the repose of

the country with the animation of the city. The business life of the

owner was in the heart of the city: here he was his own master.

Everywhere throughout the richly furnished house were marks of

refinement and elegance.

To Eric's surprise, he found the Banker in the great library where were

several beautiful statues. The man, who, at Wolfsgarten, at the time of

Clodwig's death, had kept so modestly in the background, here in his

domestic life presided over a rich and solid establishment.

After a short explanation of the object of their visit, the Banker took

his guests to his office. Here, in his business activity, he seemed

another man, or rather two men. He had, so to speak, an office nature

and a home nature: in his own house friendly, amiable, generous, and

communicative; at his office chary of words, curt, decided, and

cautious.

He declined receiving all these valuable papers himself, but advised

their being taken to the city bank for deposit: as an additional

precaution, the coupons should be separated from the bonds, and kept by

themselves.

The Banker advised that Roland should acquire some insight of his own

into business and money matters. As he would one day have the

management of such a large property, it would be desirable for him to

enter some business house for a while; otherwise he would always be in

a measure dependent upon others. He offered to make an exception in

Roland's favor, and, contrary to his custom, receive the young man into

his own office.

Eric assented, seeing what an advantage this would be; but Roland

looked embarrassed. The Banker now produced Weidmann's letter in which

the same desire was expressed.

Roland cast a timid look about the room, where several young men were

standing at desks writing, or were walking to and fro. Should he be

standing there too? What did these strangers mean by disposing of him

so, and wishing to give him a career?

All this passed rapidly through his mind, and, when he was asked his

opinion, he replied,--

"I am grateful not only for the kindness, but for the frankness, of

Herr Weidmann and yourself in speaking so openly with me."

The Banker sent word through a speaking-tube, that he desired Herr

Rudolph Weidmann to come up to his room.

Weidmann's youngest son, who was a clerk in the banking house, soon

entered.

There was a general introduction: the young man bowed to Eric, and

shook hands with Roland. The Banker told young Weidmann that he should

be excused from work as long as Roland remained; but the young man

replied, that there was so much work going on as to make that

impossible. The Banker dismissed him with an invitation to come that

evening to his house; and, after a few friendly words with Roland, the

boy departed.

The Banker considered whether it would not be well to sell some of

Sonnenkamp's American paper, owing to the unsettled state of the times;

but, on the other hand, he could hardly take upon himself the

responsibility. He received with a cordial smile Roland's suggestion,

that they were bound to keep his money as it was till there should be

some new developments.

Roland and Eric next accompanied the Banker to the house. It was just

at the time, when, owing to the election of Lincoln, American paper was

falling from day to day in value, occasioning great excitement in

business circles. Roland and Eric were greatly impressed by the fact;

and the question arose in their minds. How could men take a purely

moral and disinterested view of great public events, when the rise and

fall which they occasioned affected so immediately their own profit and

loss?

Bewildered by the noise and the contradictory emotions that the scene

aroused in them, they left the Exchange, and became the Banker's guests

in his own house.

Here the Banker assumed the part of teacher, and explained to his two

guests that the laws of economics and those of humanity were hard to

reconcile, almost as hard as the conflict between the freedom of the

will and the limitations of nature in the department of philosophy.

They are parallel lines that rarely meet, and then only to part again

at once. After all, what was one man's loss was another man's gain, so

that none of the world's property was really lost.

Eric showed how these contrasts had been recognized, though in a

different way, in the most ancient times. The rod of Hermes is at once

the wand of divination and the symbol of that instantaneous flash--the

introduction into life and the dismissal from it--by which the old

myths represented human life and death.

The Banker, who was always ready to receive information, listened to

Eric's explanation of the myths and sagas, and their similarity in all

the different nations. He was always eager to penetrate any new realm

of knowledge, and grateful for instruction.

While the company were at table, several telegrams were brought to the

Banker, who read them tranquilly, and then handed them to his two sons,

who were sitting at table with him.

Here, at this table, Eric was for the first time conscious of a change

in himself. The Banker liked to have every finished result of science

served up for him, and he brought intelligence and relish to the

enjoyment of it, as he did at the same time to a perfectly ripe

pine-apple; but Eric was not so communicative as he used to be, and no

longer felt called upon to give himself out at every demand. He kept

silence, and left the talking to others. As soon as he had finished his

comparisons of the different mythologies, the Banker, in his turn,

spoke of the effect that was produced by the rise or fall of this or

that paper; the exchange also he described as an organic existence.

Eric was a ready listener, he wanted now to be instructed by others.

The Banker's daughter-in-law, a lady of noble bearing, treated Eric and

Roland with marked cordiality, and expressed a great desire to become

acquainted with the Professorin and Manna.

Eric was surprised at being reminded of an incident that had almost

passed from his memory. This lady had heard him sing at the festival,

and said how much pleasure it would give her to hear him again, as she

sang a little herself: upon his saying, however, that he was not at

that moment at all in the mood for singing, she at once ceased from her

request, in the hope that it might, by and by, at some happier time be

granted her.

As the company were rising from table, young Weidmann and the cashier

Fassbender were announced. The host made them come in, and sit down

with the party at dessert. The young men were evidently embarrassed,

and felt it a great favor to be thus admitted into the private life of

their chief.

The gentlemen repaired to the billiard room. And the young men, as a

special favor, were allowed to smoke a cigar in the house of the chief,

even in his presence.

As Roland showed ho inclination to take part in the game, the Banker

told him to consider himself at perfect liberty to go to his room, or

to take a walk with Weidmann and Fassbender. He preferred going with

the young men to his room. He returned presently, when the gentlemen,

having finished their game, were sitting in familiar chat about the

open fire, and with many thanks announced his resolution of entering

the office for a while; only stipulating that he should not be charged

with fickleness of purpose, if he did not stay long in the employ.

Far into the night, Roland talked with Eric, telling him how strange it

seemed to have so much guidance and protection offered him, although he

acknowledged the advantage it was to him, and the gratitude he felt

towards these gentlemen for it.

The next morning, the box of papers was taken to the vaults of the

bank. Eric and Roland stood as in a fairy tale before all this hidden

treasure. Some old recollection must have been stirred in Roland; for

he suddenly said to Eric,--

"What would Claus say if he could see all this?"

He looked in amazement at Eric, standing there so tranquil and

indifferent.

"Does it not impress you strongly too?" he said.

"Not at all; for what is all this treasure? From the top of a mountain,

you see things of much more value than this stamped metal. Houses,

fields, trees, are much more, much greater."

Roland looked disheartened. For a long time to come, he would have

nothing to do but cast accounts, and watch the money market. The full

life at the Villa, the mountains, the river, the drives, and

Mattenheim, all seemed removed to an immeasurable distance.

Nevertheless, he remained firm.

Eric took Roland to the counting-house, where the latter was assigned a

place at young Weidmann's desk.

Eric staid several days; for he wished to become acquainted with

Roland's associates. He was especially pleased with the cashier,

Fassbender's son, a young man of much discernment and youthful

freshness, active in body, and vivacious in mind. He was president of

the mercantile _turnverein_, and assiduously cultivated the love of

learning in himself and his companions.

Eric could resign the guidance of Roland to this young man with entire

confidence.

He talked much with the Banker about Clodwig. The Banker was very

lenient in his judgment of Bella, and could not refrain from

reproaching Clodwig with having married again: he had deceived himself,

and allowed Bella to be deceived; for the latter had really believed

that she could find pleasure in a quiet life, and relinquish all the

privileges of youth; and it was the smothered passion for adventure

which had driven her to this extreme.

Eric listened, but said little. He even felt it his duty to tell the

Banker that he had got over his old zeal for imparting knowledge, and

was no longer in a condition to give the total results of his thoughts

and study.

The Banker considered this perfectly natural. The knowledge which

constituted a man's calling, he said, was a man's capital, and ought

not to be drawn upon: every man held a kind of trust fund, and the

interest only should be risked and freely employed in trade.

He thought it eminently proper that Eric should now learn to be

economical of himself.

On the third day, Eric returned alone to Villa Eden, promising to

forward all necessary aids for Roland.

He came, as it were, out of another world; but his heart was lightened:

he rejoiced at Roland's sudden resolve, and even began to consider

himself no longer as a mere scholar, but as one to whom a great

treasure has been intrusted which he is to care for next to truth.

The announcement of Roland's decision created great astonishment at

Villa Eden.

Eric found Professor Einsiedel and Fraeulein Milch at his mother's; and

all gazed wonderingly at the latter when she suddenly exclaimed,--

"Roland enter the house of a Jew!" But to the inquiry what there was

strange about this, she made no reply, only looking round as if

bewildered.

Eric told the Professor he should now make great allowance for the

rich, to whom full aspiration could scarcely be possible with their

vast possessions ever in their thoughts. The safe-key in the breast

pocket must, he thought, lock up something in the heart.

Manna, alone, comprehended the true grounds of Roland's strange

resolve; for she said that it would not merely prove the youth's

salvation to learn the management of wealth, which, after all, was only

a kind of military drill, but that he evidently considered it a

fortunate opportunity to be transplanted into an entirely new sphere of

life.

And so it was.

Manna almost envied her brother the opportunity of doing and becoming

something new. She, too, would gladly have engaged in some occupation.

A trait of Sonnenkamp's strange nature asserted itself within her. She

wanted to go forth into the world. She was more with the Aunt than

with the Professorin, who desired, if possible, to effect a speedy and

fundamental cure; while the Aunt preferred to begin by a tender

fostering care.

Eric and his mother pondered much upon how best to deal with Manna's

restless mood, and to satisfy her longing aspirations.

So much had come upon her at once; and her love for Eric did not seem

quite to compensate her for what she had lost, since at heart she still

yearned for a firm support in the Church.

Weidmann came, and with him they discussed the question of waiving all

ordinary considerations, and celebrating Manna's and Eric's marriage at

once.

He declared that one ought never to have recourse to marriage as a

remedy, but should enter into a new phase of existence with a tranquil

heart, and a new joy in existence itself.

This coincided with Eric's own secret feeling, and he said to Manna,--

"Your desire to travel, to find something outside yourself, is a

perfectly natural one. You miss that great other home of yours, the

church, which you could visit at any time, and come back in an altered

frame of mind. You want some other human being to proffer you out of

his own thought and soul, and upon constituted authority, something

distinct from yourself,--something which you yourself have lost.

Instead of this, you have now to find your all at home and in yourself.

It is hard, I know; but so it must be. So long as you seek any thing

without, you are not at home with yourself. Here in this place, in

these rooms where such horror overwhelmed us, we must learn to compose

and control ourselves. 'Stand to your post!' is the military command;

and it has also a moral significance."

With such words, and more to the same effect, did Eric lighten Manna's

perplexities: she embraced and thanked him for thus entering into her

very soul, and freeing her from every yoke.

Quietly and serenely the days glided by, until an invitation arrived

from the Justice's wife. The Professorin accepted at once; but Manna

said she could not accompany her: she was not yet chastened and calm

enough to mingle with the world and submit to being received with

compassion.

Eric made a sign to his mother not to urge Manna; and she was left to

do as she liked.

CHAPTER VII.

BITTER ALMONDS BECOME SWEET.

The Justice's wife was an object of envy in that the first coffee-party

of the winter was to be at her house. It seemed hardly necessary to

provide any entertainment; for who would care to eat and drink when

there was so much to talk about?--of Sonnenkamp, of Bella, of the

betrothal of Eric and Manna, of poor Frau Ceres, of the negro, of the

Prince, of Clodwig's death. There was so much, that only a part of it

could be brought into play.

At length the company assembled.

The corner of the sofa where Bella used to sit--it seemed decades

ago--was shunned with a kind of superstitious dread. Frau "Lay-Figure"

was so extremely fortunate as to have a story to tell about a

sofa-corner. There was a physician back in the country, with a very

small practice, and the sofa in his parlor had a great hole in it: so,

whenever a caller came, the doctor's wife was very affable, and seated

herself forthwith upon the torn place in the sofa. It was a good story

enough, and Frau Lay-Figure told it well, too: and she laughed, as she

generally did; for she laughed at every thing: but nobody else laughed

very heartily.

Luckily, a stranger was now introduced; quite a distinguished

personage, who now made her first appearance at the grand coffee-party.

This was the wife of the Director of the Water-works, who, in the

discharge of his duties as Rhine Commissioner, had come to reside for a

short time in the little town.

The Frau Directorin of the Water-works seated herself, all

unconsciously, in Bella's old place.

And now they could begin.

But who would have guessed that the covetousness of the Cabinetsraethen

would be first discussed as a kind of appetizing morsel! This was the

way with great people. Of course, one could get clothes from Paris by

such machinations. A magnificent system of bribery indeed! Who knew

what else she might have got out of Sonnenkamp, and others besides? The

ladies were almost ashamed of their own virtuous stupidity.

The English lady spoke with great respect of the Americans who had

purchased the villa of the Cabinetsrath.

The Consul's wife in particular, she said, belonged to one of the first

families in the Northern States; for there was a decided aristocracy

there, distinguished for its noble bearing. The great merchants, the

millionaires of the North, were usually called "merchant-princes."

Frau White, or Frau "Coal," as she was called, gazed reverently up at

the English lady. Her glance said that she considered the latter a

happy woman to have any thing so well worth telling.

The Rhine Commissioner's wife had a very good time. To her they could

tell the whole story of the house of Sonnenkamp; and the ladies took

turns, and supplemented one another's narratives.

The wife of the cement-manufacturer wore her perpetual frown, and

nodded occasionally, as if she had much to say, when, in reality, she

had nothing.

Frau Lay-Figure observed, smiling sweetly, that it was very interesting

to have known a slave-trader. She had often wished to see one.

"And a cannibal too!" said the wife of the steamboat-agent, who, as

usual, held her cup aloft in her left hand, and dipped her cake in it

from time to time. She had always the very best appetite.

"Yes, that is interesting too," assented Frau Lay-Figure, smiling so as

to show her teeth.

It was remarkable that no one ventured at first to allude to Frau

Bella, until the wife of the steamboat-agent told how she had gone with

her eldest daughter to the dentist, and he had told her he was never so

startled in his life as when the Countess von Wolfsgarten came to him,

the very night Count Clodwig was so ill, to have a front tooth set.

The Doctor's wife said that Frau Bella was not guiltless of her

husband's death.

All now fell upon her. She must tell them what she knew; and, before

she could explain herself, Frau Lay-Figure added,--

"And no doubt Herr Sonnenkamp was guilty too! Who knows what he did?"

The good Doctor's lady turned pale; but though she protested earnestly

and solemnly, that her husband had said nothing about it, that she

never would have spoken if he had, they would not believe her. The

Doctor's wife was exceedingly sorry, and retracted her remarks, that

Bella, in a passionate outburst, had wounded deeply her husband's

feelings. The mistaken declaration of the coroner, so strenuously

contradicted, was revived; and they said it was evident that Frau Bella

had felt herself in some way to blame, and had fled on this account.

"I pity Herr von Pranken," said Lina suddenly.

All eyes were turned upon her; and Lina quietly continued,--

"Yes, he is not so bad a man after all. He has lost his bride, and now

his sister has deserted him; and for so much shame and misery to be

heaped upon his head is too hard."

The wife of the Director of the Waterworks praised Lina's

kind-heartedness, and wanted to know more about Bella's character. Frau

Lay-Figure said she was the one to inform her; for she had a cook who

had formerly lived with Bella. The latter was not bad to her servants,

only capricious. She sometimes scolded them dreadfully, but made them

presents afterwards, and took care to have them enjoy themselves.

A good deal of curiosity was expressed by one and another, as to

whether Eric and Manna would soon marry. The death of Frau Ceres and

the Priest's violent harangue were next discussed.

The steamboat-agent's wife had some further information to give about

Bella's nocturnal journey. She had questioned the pilot; and universal

astonishment was expressed that Bella had taken no wardrobe with her.

"I fancy she will assume man's attire, and she will look remarkably

well in it."

Frau Lay-Figure rolled her eyes about the circle after this audacious

remark; but she encountered no glance. The eyes of all the ladies were

cast down.

The question was now asked, whether the Professorin had been invited.

The Justice's wife replied in the affirmative; and Frau Lay-Figure

began, that people said,--but they all knew no one had ever said it but

herself,--that the Professorin had managed very adroitly to oust

Pranken, and substitute her son. Before any one could reply, there was

a knock, and the Professorin entered. All rose; and Frau Lay-Figure,

who had ensconced herself in the harmless corner of the sofa, insisted

upon giving the Professorin her place.

With winning frankness, the lady remarked, that she had had a strong

desire to see something of her fellowmen once more, and could enter

most heartily into their simple and delightful mode of life. Amidst so

much confusion, one was apt to forget that there could be any thing

steadfast in the world.

Every one was struck with respectful surprise, Frau Lay-Figure most of

all.

Inquiries were made for Manna; and the Professorin said she had wished

to be remembered to them, and regretted that she could not come. A

genial feeling prevailed; and Lina did not wait to be entreated, but,

at the request of the Professorin, seated herself at the piano, and

sang. She felt that her music would refresh the good lady; and she sang

with her whole soul. She had never sung better. In the midst of her

performance. Manna appeared with Aunt Claudine in the adjoining room.

Both waited in silence till the song was ended.

Lina was overjoyed at Manna's arrival, and accosted her thus,--

"Forgive me for being so naughty! It has vexed me that my happy

betrothal-time should be spoiled by all this trouble; and now it is

just the same with you! I was thinking even now, as I sang, how I

wished I could give you some of my joy and forgetfulness and

hopefulness and all the rest."

The eyes of all were fixed upon Manna, whose appearance was totally

changed by her mourning dress. The Rhine Commissioner's wife observed

in a low tone, that she had never seen such dark eyes, or so broad and

fair a forehead. Manna was perfectly self-possessed, and bowed when

assailed on all sides with entreaties that she would continue to live

at the Villa, and not sell it, and remove to another country. They were

all so much attached to Eric and herself, and would like so much to

have them for friends and neighbors.

In fact, a magnanimous spirit took possession of the company; and, on

their way home. Manna exclaimed,--

"O Mother! Eric was perfectly right. He persuaded me to come here, and

I am glad I did. We ought not to seclude ourselves from people when

they are kindly disposed towards us."

During the whole drive. Manna held the Professorin's hand, and, when

they arrived at the Villa, ran up the steps for the first time with a

firm and rapid tread. She ordered the room to be brightly lighted, and

also begged Eric to sing to her. He knew what songs to choose; and,

when they separated, she said,--

"Yes, my dear ones, I have taken my journey, and now I am once more

quite at home."

CHAPTER VIII.

TRANSPLANTED.

Roland, meanwhile, was living quietly at the commercial town,

industrious and happy. He resided in the Banker's house, and made

friends with the children of the latter, particularly with a younger

son, who, just returning from the University, had laid aside his books,

and entered immediately upon the banking business. But for Weidmann's

youngest son he cherished a genuine youthful friendship, very unlike

that artificial intimacy with the cadet, which had been forced upon him

by others. They were incessantly busy during the day, which closed with

a late dinner, after which they had a game in the billiard-room, or

attended some concert or play, or, more frequently, read or studied

quietly, each by himself.

Roland often sat in his room till late at night, teaching English to

his young friends Weidmann and Fassbender.

He, too, had now become a teacher, and derived a singular pleasure from

thus imparting something of himself, and not merely of his

possessions,--a pleasure which was exalted into the purest joy by the

bright and cordial nature of young Weidmann.

Wherever Roland appeared, he was the object, first of remark,

afterwards of kindly attention. He thought often of his winter at the

capital, and how different life had been there. Here he found a circle

of commoners, understanding itself thoroughly, and not without pride in

its own strength. All the officials at the counting-house were

particularly friendly to Roland. His beauty, his confiding disposition,

above all his hard fate, seemed to recommend him to their especial

consideration. The Banker praised him for having mastered, in so short

a time, the essentials of the business; for he could now compute the

price of any public funds by means of the exchange lists, and had a

good insight into book-keeping.

So passed several weeks, until the elder Weidmann arrived, and invited

his son, the cashier Fassbender, and Roland to visit him.

Weidmann first saw his son and Fassbender alone, and learned from

them that the younger tradesmen had discussed the subject of the

slave-trade, and had even held a meeting, and formally debated the

question, but disagreed in their final vote. They stood twelve against

twelve; it having been strongly urged that a man might lawfully carry

on this traffic, provided he were not personally engaged in it;

especially since others would be sure to carry on the lucrative

business if he were held back by scruples.

Weidmann looked grave.

Roland came. He was very animated, and re-assured by Weidmann's

encouraging glance, he begged to be allowed to return to Mattenheim.

The Banker assented readily.

With expressions of genuine affection, they bade Roland good-by. First

of all, he revisited Villa Eden with Herr Weidmann. He had left it a

boy; he returned a mature man.

In a few days, Roland's effects were all packed, ready for a removal to

Mattenheim.

Eric accompanied him thither, and Roland turned crimson, when,

on entering his room--it was the same that Lilian had formerly

occupied--Knopf handed him a note from the latter. She had expressly

requested that it might not be given to Roland until he returned

permanently to Mattenheim.

The next day, Eric went back to Villa Eden, and announced to Manna and

his mother his own intention of removing to Mattenheim.

A strange conflict ensued in Manna's breast; but, as she made no

allusion to it, Eric thought it right to respect her reserve.

The Major, to whom Eric confided his plan, complained that he, too, had

got to build himself a new nest in his old age; for his brother, the

Grand-master, whose wife had died, had become engaged, and was to be

married again in the spring. Now, Fraeulein Milch had no mind to be

tolerated, and patronized by a young wife; and when his Masonic

brother, the Grand-master, had informed them that he should wish to

reserve one of the rooms which the Major had formerly occupied, for a

guest-chamber, Fraeulein Milch had behaved in a most independent manner.

She thanked him, but declared her fixed determination to leave the

house.

They had never had a quarrel before.

But when the Major perceived how sorrowfully Fraeulein Milch repented

her obstinate determination, he scolded himself for being too meek and

yielding, and thanked the Fraeulein for preserving her dignity as he

ought to have done himself, but which he was so apt to lose sight of.

He proposed to Fraeulein Milch the plan of removing to the castle, where

there were fine rooms all in readiness, and where it must be very

pleasant to live; but Fraeulein Milch would hear nothing about living in

a knightly castle. She set forth to the Major the bother it would

entail: with the butcher, the baker, the grocer, the milkmaid, with all

the various trades and callings, did she persecute the Major, until he

was sore dismayed.

"We will say no more about it," he cried, "but pray don't let me forget

to ask Captain Dournay how the old knights used to live."

Upon Eric's arrival, this had been the Major's opening question, and

then, for the first time, he made known his own difficulty.

Eric did not regret it; for he hoped, that, in the spring, the Major

would remove to the green cottage, while his mother would live with

Manna at the Villa.

The Major laughed. "Did you ever hear," said he, "the story of the man

who was a suitor forty years? Courting-time is very fine, I tell you;

but even ten years is too long. And now away with you! There is

something for you to learn yet. But don't tell a soul about that stale

old suitor, will you? On your honor? He, too, was once young."

On the eve of his departure, when he and Manna were alone, Eric said,--

"Manna, we have no betrothal time. Our hearts are torn by sorrow and

separation, we must comfort one another."

"And might I know why you, too, forsake me?"

"I shall be much with you and my mother; but I must be alone also. Just

think, I have to become a new man, to change my scholarly vocation for

some other, I know not what; but whether I am near you, or not, whether

I hold your hand, and look into your eyes, or am far away, be sure that

you are the inmost life of my heart: I bear you about with me like a

blessed faith."

As Eric continued in this strain, a new and delightful understanding

was established between the two, and Manna embraced him, saying,--

"I will not shed a tear to-morrow when you leave; and I will follow you

in all your wanderings with trustful eyes. I know that I am with you

and in you, as you are with me and in me. It seems inconceivable to me

that I never knew you before that spring day. I cannot think what the

world was like before I knew you; for I cannot imagine the world

without you."

When Eric left for Mattenheim, the next day, he kissed his betrothed

for the first time before his mother; and, after he had mounted his

horse. Manna said to him,--

"I am glad you are going; and I will stay quietly with your mother, and

be perfectly content. Thank you for letting me be a child once more

before I become your wife. Ah! I had no childhood; but forgive me. I

will never cease to be grateful for what has come to me, and I will not

mingle sorrow with it all. And I promise that you shall have in me a

strong and trustworthy wife."

So Eric departed.

Adams went with him. He, too, was to learn husbandry at Mattenheim.

The ladies were now alone with Professor Einsiedel and the Major, who

was more at the Villa than ever.

The Villa itself, however, was silent and deserted; for they all lived

at the green cottage. Many of the servants were dismissed, and the

gardeners only were kept at the Villa.

CHAPTER IX.

UPON NEW SOIL.

A cheerful life they led at Mattenheim. The day began and ended early.

There was no trespassing upon the night. All were incessantly occupied,

and even Adams could not hold aloof.

Weidmann had arranged matters very methodically.

Adams received no orders; but they allowed him to see that every one

about him was busy, and, in the end, he could not choose but follow

their example. He became ashamed of his idleness; and the servant who

had once been a criminal must now teach him to plough and sow. He was

even eager to thresh; but this was exceedingly difficult for him,

because he could not keep time. He liked best to work in the mill; and

it was a droll sight to see the stalwart negro pass and repass,

powdered with meal. He also applied himself zealously to his books, in

the evening, with Knopf for a teacher.

Of all the dwellers at Mattenheim, Knopf was the happiest. What more

could he desire? He had Weidmann whom he revered, Eric whom he held in

high esteem, Roland whom he loved enthusiastically, and a prince and a

slave to instruct; for Prince Valerian had to submit to being taught at

Adams's side; and, while Adams toiled at his writing-book, the Prince

pursued his studies in history and mathematics; and it was often

amusing to hear Knopf say, when giving a lesson in the history of

literature, "Observe, my dear young lady," for hitherto his pupils in

this department had been mostly girls.

During the day-time, they were employed, whatever the weather, in the

open air. Surveys were undertaken, especially of the recently purchased

domain; and many a good hunt came off, in which Roland distinguished

himself by his great expertness.

Roland was passed, so to speak, from hand to hand; for each of

Weidmann's sons took possession of him for hours or days at a time, and

found a peculiar pleasure in affording the youth all possible

assistance. Roland gained an insight into many different processes of

manufacture; but his curiosity was also awakened in quite another

direction.

In the cement-manufactory all was so still, that Roland asked the

Inspector, Fassbender's eldest son, whether the workmen were not

allowed to speak.

"They prefer not to," was the answer; "for talking distracts their

attention, and, as they work by the job, it would hinder them very

much."

Roland looked confounded. These men imposed silence upon themselves for

the sake of earning their bread!

The noon-bell rang. He saw young men and girls of his own age come out

of the manufactory: some of the girls were knitting as they walked; and

the question arose within him, In what respect do you and your sister

differ from these, and why?

On Saturday evening, Roland stood by while the workmen were paid off.

They were gathered in groups before the house. Some had washed

themselves, and others were still covered with dust. The little sliding

window in the counting-room was opened, and Roland stood near the

Inspector, as the latter opened a drawer in which lay various packages

of money, and read aloud the list of the workmen's names. He watched

their hard hands as they took up the money from the shelf, or swept it

with the right hand into the left.

When they were all paid off, he went out and mingled with the people.

There were soldierly fellows among them: some were young, and some old;

and all carried sticks with sharp ferrules, and were chaffering with a

baker-woman for loaves of bread, which they wrapped in cloths, and

carried away under their arms. One called to another to bear him

company in his walk; and they dispersed up and down the mountain.

Is it really the lot of human beings to live so? How old are these men?

Where are their homes?

Roland gazed thoughtfully after them.

Is there any help for such things? or is there none?

"What are you thinking about?" asked the Inspector.

"I am wondering why these tired men should have so far to go."

"It is good for them. It is what keeps them well. The worst feature of

their lot is being pent up in a confined space."

Roland was silent; but countless questionings arose within him. He

could not cope with them; and no one else, however well disposed, could

solve them for him. He did not regain perfect composure except after an

interview with Weidmann.

Weidmann possessed a firm and unvarying equipoise of character, before

which the stormy agitation of other souls subsided. He had dignity

without severity. He was not so vivacious and stimulating as Eric; but

he preserved a steady and quiet moderation in all things. He took note

of a blunder, a disaster, whether in public or private affairs, with

manly calmness; never allowing himself to be bewildered or disheartened

thereby.

Eric had caused his pupil to see things through a polished and

many-sided prism, which seemed to remove objects from their true

position, and make them appear higher or lower than they really were.

Weidmann, on the other hand, revealed them in their simple, natural

aspect. He introduced method into Roland's thought, life, and work;

for, thus far, the latter had been too unstable, even in spiritual

things. He gave Roland a course of lessons in agricultural chemistry,

which, at the same time, served Prince Valerian as a review of the

teaching he had already received.

Eric, too, came in for a share of this instruction, and became Roland's

fellow-pupil.

Very seldom did Weidmann pass from positive facts to spiritual

interpretations; but he was all the more impressive when he did. He led

Roland to a comprehension of human life, to patience, and wisdom. He

showed him, that, despite the stress laid on the equality of mankind,

men differed as widely in their power of grasping thoughts, as

different substances in their ability to conduct heat. Earth warms

quicker than water; but it cools more rapidly also. Thus, by analogies

from Nature, did Weidmann endeavor to teach his pupil justice, and

humanity, and was not unfrequently surprised to discover in Roland a

kind of previous preparation, which enabled him to receive new ideas

readily, and to develop them; for ideas having an analogy to each other

must needs suggest and flow into one another, giving rise to new

combinations of thought, as we see in mechanics, and conspicuously in

chemistry.

Weidmann often expressed briefly to Eric his pleasure at Roland's zeal

in work and study, and his interest in the labor of others in the

manufactories.

But, if a great and noticeable change was taking place in Roland, a

still greater transformation was being effected in Eric. Here, where a

man wrought always with reference to his neighbor, where no one dreamed

of grasping the entire system, but each throve quietly by himself; here

Eric's lips were often sealed for days together. He no longer felt it

his duty to be always imparting. He not only found a deep joy in his

love for Manna, but he preferred listening to talking, and seeing to

showing. He felt as if he were on some peaceful island, where yet he

could hear a friendly voice at any hour. Pranken might now have watched

him from morning till night in vain: he would have had to retract that

bitter speech of his about Eric's zeal for imparting knowledge.

Roland and Knopf often regarded him with surprise. He would accompany

them on long walks without uttering a single word.

The evening of each day was devoted to festivity. Great stress was here

laid upon that evening recreation, which, unfortunately, has become

obsolete in the world. Frau Weidmann, who dressed neatly but plainly

during the day, appeared regularly each evening in holiday attire. They

did not have prayers at Mattenheim; but Weidmann held private worship

in his soul.

When Roland expressed his peculiar pleasure in the fine and efficient

system of horse-breeding at Mattenheim, Weidmann would say,--

"I have a story to tell about that. Everybody has heard, and possibly

seen with his own eyes, how the old lord of the manor used to drive

through the village with his span of dock-tailed bays, to the

admiration of all beholders. And it is customary to say that we have no

such horses now-a-days, so large, so fat, so handsome! Well, that may

be. But no more are there such miserable nags to be seen as in old

times. All horses are moderately strong and handsome, and of tolerably

good blood. The breed generally has improved. And there you have the

present age. The horse is a fine emblem to my mind; the lilac is

another. They used to bring this flowering shrub from Persia, and set

it only in the parks of great people; but now it grows everywhere, and

is none the less beautiful for being common. And so the beautiful

enlarges its circumference perpetually."

Roland's eyes sought Eric's at such words; and their flash said, "How

new, how glorious, how wide, the world is!"

On another evening, Weidmann made the casual remark,--

"If the last century deserves to be called the age of enlightenment,

ours should be called the age of free labor; for self-imposed labor is

alone genuine and productive."

Roland did not look at Eric after this, but sat with downcast eyes. He

knew what the expression signified, having heard it used before now in

contradistinction to slave-labor.

Prince Valerian, too, created much amusement. He had always retained

that insatiable desire for knowledge, which he had displayed on his

first day at Wolfsgarten; but Weidmann was as indefatigable in his

answers as the Prince in his questions.

Teaching had acquired a new impressiveness for Roland. He was a member

of society. He heard questions answered which he himself had not

proposed, and, when he subsequently asked these same questions of

himself, the replies sank into his heart more deeply than the answers

to his own inquiries used to do. Weidmann's teachings were always clear

and definite. They fixed attention on the subject exclusively, never on

the teacher, insomuch, that Weidmann's own worth was often quite

overlooked.

A stream so clear that its bed is plainly visible frequently appears

shallower than it really is; and so it was with Weidmann. He was not

brilliant; but he had genuine common sense.

There was always unusual excitement at Mattenheim when a letter arrived

from Dr. Fritz; and Weidmann said openly, that, since storms were

abroad in the world, he trusted that the tempest which had broken over

America might clear the air in Europe.

Encouraged by this remark, Knopf related how it had been represented to

Louis XIII. that he could never convert savage nations, and bring them

into the church, without first enslaving them: now, however, he said,

the heathen were brought into the church, but the little matter of

freeing them afterwards was forgotten.

Frau Weidmann deprecated this sort of discussion before Roland, but

comforted herself with the thought that her husband must have some

deliberate purpose in it all.

And, in fact, it was Weidmann's design to lead Roland to a full

consideration of this question. He knew the sophistry of the world, and

how accessible to such sophistry is a heavy heart. He had often in the

commercial town heard intelligent and philanthropic people discuss the

question of the slave-trade, and offer all manner of palliations for

it. Roland must feel to the full the anguish of having to work out the

solution of this problem as best he could. With a vehemence altogether

unusual, Weidmann expressed his indignation that any one should ever

justify the trading in human beings endowed with speech and reason, as

if they were inanimate things.

It was, however, impossible to brood long over any one thought amid the

far-reaching and many-sided activity of the place. Moreover, the

laying-out of a new village upon the lately-purchased domain afforded

manifold occupation.

Weidmann particularly enjoyed the carrying out of this plan. He

admonished the younger men that it was a misfortune not to have arable

land connected with a vineyard, not only because crops sometimes fail,

but because the smaller vine-dresser, who must sell in the autumn, is

underpaid for his petty crop. A peasant who has wheat or potatoes to

sell receives the same fixed price for a given amount of produce as

others do whose crops are large; but it was not so with grape-culture.

Knopf was very urgent that the village should not be one of those

tiresome colonial settlements built exactly in a straight line: and the

architect consoled him by pointing out that the meandering brook, and

the church upon the hill hard by, gave an effect of grouping by no

means geometrical.

Knopf won Roland over to his plan of building a music-hall forthwith.

So there was perpetual interest and variety about the life at

Mattenheim.

When they came home from the fields, the manufactories, the mines, or

the domain, they could see it at once in Frau Weidmann's face, if she

had had a letter from America.

Doctor Fritz wrote often; but their greatest pleasure was when Lilian

wrote also.

Roland's interest in Lilian was stimulated and enhanced in two ways.

Prince Valerian liked particularly to congratulate Roland on cherishing

an early love without losing his manly energies. Knopf had a poet's

deep delight in being the secret confidant of so romantic a love.

CHAPTER X.

THE LOST ORGAN-TONES.

Mattenheim was the seat of a hearty Rhenish hospitality. There were

almost always visitors in the house. The Banker came, and was rejoiced

to find Roland so busy and cheerful. Professor Crutius came, and made

friendly overtures to Roland; but the latter said,--

"You cannot want my friendship."

The information brought by Crutius concerning the state of affairs in

the New World gave rise to many an animated discussion on the great,

decisive, protracted struggle between freedom and slavery apparently

impending there. Crutius could corroborate from his own observation the

statement, that the Southern States were abundantly provided with

disciplined officers; for in the military school at West Point, where

he had formerly been a teacher, there were many more Southern than

Northern students. If the Union succumbed, if, as was very possible,

the slaveholders should conquer, the cause of freedom was wounded to

the core. Not only would men lose their faith, but the cause itself

would be injured; who knew how deeply or for how long a time?

Soon after Professor Crutius departure, a kind of dulness and dejection

was observable in Roland. He did what was required of him; but he wore,

for hours together, a fixed and hard expression. Neither to Weidmann

nor to Eric did he reveal what was passing in his mind. To Knopf alone

he confessed his anxieties, making the latter promise that he would

tell no one else.

Roland had learned that Dr. Fritz was his father's bitterest foe; he

had also accidentally heard Crutius tell Weidmann, that he had no doubt

Sonnenkamp was one of the most zealous of the Southern leaders, and

would take an active part in the war.

Like a smothered fire which suddenly sends up countless tongues of

flame, so did all Roland's anguish revive. Anguish for his father's

deeds, for his flight and the elopement of Bella while his mother yet

lived, for his mother's death and his own inheritance of sorrow--all

these several pains were blended confusedly within him, and his one

hope of deliverance seemed annihilated. Lilian is the child of one of

his father's most determined enemies, and, if forced to decide, can he

take the field against his father?

Roland became desperate. Is there any thing like a righteous moral

order in the affairs of this world? No: all is chaos and barbarism.

Knopf knew not how to comfort him, and found it hard to keep his own

promise of secrecy.

One day, a bright, cold, bracing winter day, Weidmann crossed the river

to close a contract for the supply of railway sleepers, and took Roland

with him.

On their return, they found the Rhine full of floating ice. The bells

were ringing in the valley and on the hills; the sunset-glow in the

heavens, spread in strange waves of light over a background of pale

green sky. Griffin stood in the prow of the boat, looking out upon the

landscape; and as they made their way, the boatmen pushing aside the

blocks of ice, Roland said suddenly,--

"It was just such a day, just such an evening, when Washington crossed

the Delaware."

He said no more. Weidmann divined that Roland was wondering why

Washington had not abolished slavery immediately on the close of the

war; but he turned the subject aside, saying that he thought it one of

the finest traits in the great Washington's character, that he was so

ready to be convinced of an error.

Roland was startled. What might that mean?

Weidmann continued, "I have left you to yourself, Roland; but now I

will tell you the state of your mind. You are involved in doubt and

despair; but you are no strong man unless you rise above them."

The young man's eyes dilated, and Weidmann continued,--

"Two things are to be noted. In the first place, you have ceased to

believe that the world is under the dominion of moral law, you have

lost your faith in that Supreme Being whom we, as well as the Priests,

call God; and, secondly, you believe (and this is worse still),--you

believe that you must take upon yourself the expiation of sins which

you never committed. You dread the inevitable consequences entailed by

every earthly event, and are confused by your fears."

Roland gazed wonderingly at the man who thus calmly and deliberately

spoke out his own inmost thought.

Weidmann continued,--

"On the one hand, you deny the operation of eternal laws; on the other,

you fear it. Now look at these masses of ice in the river. Do you care

to learn something of that immeasurable and all-pervading wisdom which

interrupts the laws of Nature when their strict, logical consequences

would involve the destruction of the world?"

"Oh, if that were so! If I might but learn it!"

"Well, then, stop there. Do you know what changes regularly take place

in bodies as they become warmer or colder?"

"Heat expands, and renders them lighter. Cold contracts, and makes them

heavier."

"Is it the same with water?"

"I think so."

"No, it is not. If ice were heavier than water, it would sink, and the

streams would freeze from the bottom upward. There suddenly we have a

deviation, an exception to the so-called stern and implacable law of

Nature. Water attains its utmost weight and density at a temperature of

38 deg. 75 Fahrenheit. Beyond this point, it grows lighter, and expands.

And I tell you I do not comprehend how a man knowing this can

persist in denying God. For God is here. Here is no mere blind,

self-regulative, natural law. Here is the free Genius of the Universal.

Here is Wisdom. Observe, if solidified water went on increasing in

weight, and streams froze from beneath upward, the river-beds would

remain undisturbed until the spring-thaws. And do you understand what

the consequences would be?"

"Certainly; the fish would all die."

"Even so. Here is the wisdom of God. Here is the Deity who modifies the

law of Nature for the preservation of his creatures. Our God no longer

towers aloft above the waters and their laws. He lives and works within

the waters. The law of Nature is broken that Nature may be preserved.

There are no more visible miracles; but all life, beyond a certain

point, subsists by a miracle,--the miracle of Genius. The very surface

of the earth, whereon we plant and build, is such a natural miracle.

Our globe is molten fire inside, and the crust remains cool above it.

Do you understand?"

"I believe I do."

"And now, my son, you have not to suffer and repent and make atonement

under some iron law of Nature, because the man who was your father

sinned. You are free. Least of all creatures, is man the helpless

subject of natural law. He is lord of his fate. Look up! The world is

very bright, and this whole, vast, beauteous world is full of God. Let

the bell-ringers, yonder, understand and address him after their own

fashion. It is not ours. The churches are but little chambers in the

great temple of the universe. Let no man, in my presence, restrict the

Highest to one revelation and one mode of worship. God, the great, the

holy, is everywhere. It is impossible not to find him. We have him

here, out under the broad arch of heaven, and we have him in our own

hearts. He who thus feels the breath of the Infinite upon him--he lives

a holy life. Come to my heart, my son! You have wrestled manfully! You

are saved!"

Roland threw himself into the arms of this man, and kissed his garment,

and wept in the fulness of his heart.

It was night when they disembarked; but within and around Roland all

was ineffably bright. A new man stepped upon the shore.

Roland and Weidmann walked home in silence.

With a feeling of release, as if the evil spirit which possessed him

had been exorcised by a spell, Roland entered the house with Weidmann.

He stood at the window, gazing long into the starlit heaven, and then

wrote a letter to Manna. Out of an overflowing heart, he told her that

to-day he had found the Highest--a trust, a faith, a rest, such as he

had never believed possible. But he could not finish the letter.

He sought Eric, and begged that he would go back with him to Villa

Eden.

Eric understood him; and the next day they departed together.

It was a happy coming home, when Eric and Roland arrived at the Villa.

They found the ladies tranquil and happy. Manna beamed with a twofold

rapture. Her brother and her lover had come; and both brought strength

with them and substantial invigoration.

They had much to tell one another; yet, when the first greetings were

over, they reverted to higher and more general themes. All were struck

with surprise, that Manna should have a story so like Roland's to tell.

Professor Einsiedel had several exceptions to take to Roland's

communication; but he stifled them. The youth might some time advance

another step; still it was needful for him to have taken this.

To the story of Manna's experience he listened with satisfaction. He

could reflect that he had helped to establish her self-dependence.

Sitting with her hand in Eric's, Manna told her tale.

"It was hard for me to forego the old sacred consolations. Whenever I

went to church, I thought of you and of myself. The strong, tremulous

swell of the organ speaks so directly to the heart. Those tones are

lost to you and me. You have told me that your friends used to deride

you as a sentimentalist, because you could not overcome the longing in

your soul for those organ-tones; and now that same desire awoke within

me when I thought of you. But 'tis vain! It must be enough for us that

the realm of music and of feeling is still vast and wide, without the

strains of the church-organ. I cling to those noble words, 'My temple

are ye.' If the human soul has become the temple of the Holy Ghost, we

need no visible temple."

A spirit of consecration hovered over them as they were now assembled

in the vine-clad house. They felt that they were members of the

communion which has no name.

When Eric visited the little town, he was informed by the cooper, now,

mine host of the "Carp," that the comedy-writer had wanted to make a

carnival play out of Sonnenkamp's story, and bring it out in the

market-place; but that he himself had not favored it, and they were

going to represent a nobility-mill instead. Commoners in front were to

be thrust in above, and noblemen with weapons and shields were to come

out below, on the back side.

He begged Eric to be present at the carnival performance next day; but

Eric was not in the mood.

CHAPTER XI.

A FULL HOUSE AND FULL DAYS.

On the following day came the Major, and Fraeulein Milch, and Lina with

her betrothed.

It was settled, that, if the snow remained, they were all to have a

sleigh-ride to Mattenheim; for they wished to say good-by to Prince

Valerian, who was soon to return home.

It was a day of domestic happiness and cheer.

Manna said repeatedly, that she had often wondered why they should have

imposed this separation upon themselves; but she now understood that it

was better so.

Fortune smiled upon them. They went to Mattenheim in several large

sleighs; and, on their arrival, Knopf took his young friend, Roland,

aside, and gave him a private letter from Lilian.

No one else knew why Roland was so extravagantly gay; but Knopf smiled

quietly to himself.

Manna and the Professorin were cordially received by Frau Weidmann and

her daughters-in-law. It refreshed the heart to see how full and rich

at every stage of existence was the home-life at Mattenheim.

While Lina expressed her especial satisfaction in the fact, that here

at Mattenheim one had five good meals a day, and insisted upon it that

love sharpened the appetite, the ladies from Villa Eden thoroughly

enjoyed a glimpse into Frau Weidmann's housekeeping arrangements.

The Professorin had known her in her early years, and remembered what a

fine appearance had been made by this tall lady, who now always wore a

huge pair of spectacles. She, Manna, and Aunt Claudine, were moved to

reflection and self-examination, as they beheld the woman's active

life. All her household were busily employed, and yet it was perfectly

quiet and orderly; and Frau Weidmann discharged her round of duties

without tormenting herself by needless anxiety. She was proud to show

the ladies her whole house, and particularly her great preserve-jars,

containing provision not only for the various branches of her own

family, but for the poor who have no forethought. She frankly

complained that she had not time enough for self-culture, but said

smilingly, that it was like the question of driving the birds away from

her garden: she must either forego their singing, or good berries and

lettuce, as it was impossible to have both.

Manna learned from Frau Weidmann many particulars of Pranken's life; of

his bearing during his short stay at Mattenheim, as well as the facts

generally known at the capital.

It had been painful to Manna to be obliged to deal so harshly with

Pranken; for he had shown himself kind and good, both to her father and

herself: but she was now relieved from this trouble also.

The ladies of Villa Eden were not a little surprised, however, to hear

at Mattenheim of the great commotion in the New World; for papers and

despatches had come with Lilian's letter from America, and Weidmann

could not withhold from them his conviction that the new year would

bring the great crisis of the century, perhaps of all modern history.

Were it possible to break up the Union, and to elevate slavery, which

had been tolerated hitherto as a species of smuggling, into a prominent

article of state-policy, the cause of freedom and humanity, for which

they were all laboring, would be so fearfully injured and impeded, that

the petty efforts of individuals would seem of no account.

Relief from this dark apprehension was experienced by all the company,

as Weidmann read aloud a passage from his nephew's letter.

Doctor Fritz wrote,--

"Surpassing all others in the greatness and majesty of his bearing,

bright as the brightest example of classic times, we have the noble

Seward: and Germans ought especially to honor him, for he has publicly

declared, that, wherever the Germans go, it is their task to clear the

way for liberty, and that the true Germanic spirit is the spirit of

freedom and toleration. This man, who had been named as a Presidential

candidate along with Lincoln, and even before, when he saw that

Lincoln's chances were better than his own, resolved that there should

be no split in the Republican vote, and became a most zealous agitator

in Lincoln's behalf."

Weidmann paused, adding the remark that Prince Valerian, who was now

leaving for his native land, would there find a similar state of

transition.

The last remark was lost upon Manna, who said to Eric in an

undertone,--

"Oh, our father! Do you not think that he will take part in this

struggle?"

"I do; and that, too, we must bear."

The Prince departed. At the last moment, Lina and Eric had to sing, "We

meet again." He deeply regretted that he could not take Knopf with him;

but the latter had promised Lilian that he would come to America, and

do something there. He did not specify what it was to be.

After the Prince had left, they drew closer together. Roland, Manna,

and Eric were sitting in Roland's room when the latter said,--

"Manna, if it comes to war in our native land, I shall go there. I have

decided, and no one can deter me."

The words were upon Manna's lips, "And what if our father is fighting

on the other side?" but she checked herself, and only said,--

"If you go to the New World, I shall go with you."

"And then Eric will go too. I have talked with Herr Weidmann about it.

He has consented; and the thing which he sanctions is, beyond question,

right and safe. But I have promised him that I will not go until he

says, 'Now is the time.'"

Manna was comforted. She saw that her brother's life was in safe

keeping.

On their way home, Aunt Claudine expressed the general feeling, when

she said,--

"It seems to me as if these days had been all music and feasting."

"Yes," cried Lina; "one could eat there enough for the whole year."

And they drove on their way laughing.

CHAPTER XII.

FETTERED HANDS UPLIFTED.

The great law of our time, that of the unity of all existence, asserted

itself with peculiar and perpetual force in the busy home at

Mattenheim. A man of mature years had deliberately concentrated his

thoughts upon the movement in the New World; and the destiny of a youth

was bound up in the same.

Papers and despatches from America came thicker and faster.

They lived a twofold life, immersed in pressing and manifold business

here, but intent, meanwhile, upon the sharp crisis so rapidly

approaching in a remote quarter of the world.

Roland devoured the letters and journals in which the so-called

slavery-question was discussed. Doctor Fritz wrote doubtfully of

Lincoln. The man's nature was so simple, and his faith in men's

goodness so thorough, that he feared he would not be decided enough

with the chivalry of the South.

For the first time, Roland heard the slaveholders called _chivalry_;

and Weidmann declared that it was no mere form of speech, but a

perfectly explicit term. The slave-owners wanted to live merely for the

nobler passions, as they were called: other men must toil for their

subsistence, and even for their luxuries. This is the true feudal

spirit, which looks upon labor as something humiliating and

disgraceful, whereas, in reality, man's only true nobleness consists in

labor.

Two books exercised a powerful influence upon Roland's mind. He read

"Uncle Tom's Cabin" for the first time, and wept over it, but presently

roused himself, and asked,--

"How is this? Shall we point the scourged and oppressed to a reward in

the next world, where the master will be punished and the slave

elevated? But who can compensate him for the torment he has endured

here? Is it not as it was with Claus? Who could indemnify him for the

captivity he had to undergo before he was pronounced innocent?"

Very different was the effect produced upon the young man's mind by a

book of Friedrich Kapp's, entitled "Slavery in America," which had

grown up out of a dense mass of previously accumulated material, and,

by a remarkable coincidence, appeared at precisely this time.

At first, Roland could not comprehend how it was possible for a man to

give so clear and lifelike a picture of facts so revolting. When he

came to the ensuing passage, he wept aloud.

"The owners of the slave-ships are almost always

foreigners,--Spaniards, Portuguese, and, alas!" here followed a dash

that was like a dagger to the reader,--"alas! even Germans."

Everywhere, by day and by night, Roland talked of what was agitating

his soul; and, for the first time, he felt something like distrust of

Benjamin Franklin. He learned, indeed, that Franklin was president of

the Abolition Society in Philadelphia, but, also, that he, like the

other great heroes of the American War for Independence, in his earnest

desire for unanimity at the time the Union was founded, had trusted to

the expectation that slavery would be extinguished within a lifetime by

the mere increase of free labor.

This hope had proved deceptive, and Roland recalled with anguish that

remark of Theodore Parker's,--

"All the great charters of humanity have been written in blood."

Often did Roland stand thoughtfully before a picture of Ary Scheffer's,

which hung in the large sitting-room. It represented the adoration of

Jesus; and there was a negro in it, stretching out his fettered arms

toward the redeeming and consoling Saviour, with a most affecting

expression. For two thousand years, this race had been extending its

fettered hands toward the redemptive thought of mankind. Why had this

lasted so long?

To Weidmann, Roland confessed what was weighing on his heart; and

Weidmann succeeded in changing his sorrow into joy, that the time had

now come in which these things would have an end. He was peculiarly

severe upon those, who, like sentimental criminals, represent, sin and

crime as _evil_, and yet say, "There is no help for it. So it has been,

and so it must be."

Goethe's verses now occurred to Roland, and he repeated them to

Weidmann, who said,--

"It is the free man's inherited privilege to see absolute perfection in

no man. Like Goethe, the Americans boast in having no mediaeval

conditions to overcome; but they have inherited slavery, which many

even declare to be the natural condition of the laboring classes."

Weidmann gave Roland, Abraham Lincoln's speech at the Cooper Institute

in New York.

Roland was requested to read it aloud; but his voice choked, and his

utterance was painfully agitated, when he came to the words,--

"Were we even to withhold our votes, Republicans, you may be sure the

Democrats would not be satisfied. We could not stop there. We must

leave off calling slavery a wrong, and justify it loudly and

unconditionally; we must pull down our Free State Constitutions; the

whole atmosphere must be disinfected from all taint of opposition to

slavery, before they will cease to believe that all their troubles

proceed from us.

"And since the Southerners pretend that slavery is a righteous

institution, honorable to mankind, the logical inference is, that it

ought universally to be recognized as a moral good and a social

blessing, and everywhere introduced.

"Our sense of duty forbids such a thought. And, if so, then let us

stand by our duty fearlessly and effectively. Let us be diverted by

none of those sophistical contrivances wherewith we are so

industriously plied and belabored,--contrivances such as seeking for

some middle ground between the right and wrong, vain as the search for

a man who should be neither a living man nor a dead man,--such as a

policy of 'don't care' on a question about which all true men do

care,--such as Union appeals beseeching true Union men to yield to

Disunionists, reversing the divine rule, and calling not sinners but

the righteous to repentance.

"Neither let us be slandered from our duty by false accusations against

us; nor frightened from it by menaces of destruction to the Government,

nor of dungeons to ourselves. Let us have faith that right makes might,

and, in that faith, let us, to the end, dare to do our duty as we

understand it."

Tears rose to Roland's eyes. He glanced up at the picture where the

slave was stretching out his fettered hands; and within him rose the

words, "Thou art free."

CHAPTER XIII.

IN THE BOND OF BROTHERHOOD.

"The bees we brought from Europe are flying out into the spring air,"

wrote Lilian from New York.

At Mattenheim, also, spring was close at hand. Out-door work became

pressing; sunshine and hail followed one another in swift succession;

but the buds were swelling, and verdure refreshed the eye. In the new

shoots, or _sleeping eyes_, as they are called, choice grafts were set,

that the tree henceforward might bear richer fruit. The same thing was

to take place elsewhere.

One evening, when they were all together at Mattenheim, Weidmann read a

letter from Doctor Fritz, in which he described the base league of the

so-called Knights of the Golden Circle. A network of their societies

extended over all the Southern States, and they had their accomplices

even in the North.

They conducted a kind of criminal court by means of signs; and murders

and secret executions without number were accomplished by their means.

He added that if one wanted to realize the entire range of man's

capabilities, both for virtue and vice, he had but to offset against

this band a character like Seward's.

While they were still pondering upon this intelligence, a letter with

the royal seal arrived, containing expressions of high consideration

for Weidmann, together with the Prince's request that he would inform

young Sonnenkamp Banfield that no obstacle existed to his entering the

military service, and that especial pains would be taken to show the

young man, personally, all due regard.

"It cannot be," said Roland with a fixed look. "Too late!"

He expressed his gratitude, however, for the kindness of the Prince,

and added with an accent of deep pain, that it was a comfort to know

that the privilege of fellowship was restored to him.

"You shall have one of a different kind," said Weidmann. "You shall be

received with your brother and friend, the Herr Captain, into our

Order. Strictly speaking, you are too young; but we will show you how

much we honor you."

In the evening, it rained steadily; and as Weidmann lay beside the

window, gazing out upon the landscape, he called Roland to his side,

and said,--

"These are pleasant hours, my son, in which we can look out of the

window, and know that the rain is quickening and refreshing all

things. A spirit who has awakened and refreshed the souls of many

men, a benefactor who has renovated the being of numbers of his

fellow-creatures, must experience in tranquil and elevated hours a

similar joy. Rejoice that this happiness may be yours also. If I am not

here to welcome you back from the war, know that I feel this on your

behalf, and be thankful for it."

"Is the crisis, then, so near?"

"Yes. I have by me a letter from my nephew, and I tell you that the

time has come."

Roland shuddered. He seized Weidmann's arm, and held it fast.

Weidmann continued,--

"My nephew writes, it is true, that they think the war will not last

long; and that those who have enlisted hope to return to their homes in

a few weeks. I think otherwise. You will be quite early enough for the

great struggle. Rejoice that you are prepared for it beforehand."

Roland hastened to Eric; and the latter said,--

"Give me your hand, Roland: I go with you!"

Adams approached them with flashing eyes, and cried,--

"We will all go,--all."

They embraced one another, as though the world's deliverance had

arrived.

They passed a sleepless night; and, on the morrow, Roland and Eric rode

to the Villa. They made known their resolution, and Manna responded,--

"I shall go too."

But she gave Eric a look which was perfectly intelligible to him; for

it said, "You approve, then, of the son's taking the field against the

father."

Eric told her that he had sent by way of Paris a notice to the

Confederate journal which Sonnenkamp had designated, couched in terms

which he alone would understand, to the effect that Roland would join

the land-forces of the Union, hoping that he should not encounter his

father, who was probably in the naval service.

Eric found it difficult to restrain Roland, and to convince him that

days must elapse before their departure. They went together to the

Major, who said,--

"It is all right! Now you must join! Brother Weidmann told me long

since that you were to be initiated before engaging in this

philanthropic struggle. And now let me tell you that our bond is

especially effective in war. You will receive a sign; and, if you make

that sign, no enemy, even though his weapon were raised against you,

can kill you face to face; and you cannot kill any one who gives you

this sign. Yes, my dear brothers, I must begin to call you so, all the

good in this world has been wrought by Freemasons; for those who have

wrought it have all been Freemasons at heart, if not in reality. But

I'll say no more. Brother Weidmann will tell you all. Now go! I must be

off to the castle. It has come at last."

Once up at the castle, the Major wandered about, saying to himself,

over and over again,--

"If the Builder of all the worlds will only suffer me to hold together!

I want this and one thing more, and then I shall be satisfied!"

* * * * *

Men are coming and going; workmen are hammering; the Major's long

cherished wish is fulfilled. There is to be a great Masonic celebration

at the castle, and what a celebration! Eric, Roland, and Adams are to

be received into the order.

From all the surrounding country, men came flocking to the castle. The

Major went with Roland, the Architect with Adams, the Banker, who, with

his daughter-in-law, was visiting at Villa Eden, accompanied Eric. At

the castle, the three separated, and each was taken into a room by

himself. Presently the Major came to Roland, and took away all the

money and jewelry he had about him. Shortly after, men appeared who

bandaged the eyes of each of the candidates. They were then conducted

through long passages, up stairs and down, until they seemed to emerge

into the open air. At last, they were told to stop, and sternly

reproved for venturing to intrude here; but they remained firm.

Roland was comforted by the sound of Weidmann's voice, although it

seemed to come from a great distance. The latter said that their being

led blindfold by friends who saw, signified that they must learn to

trust those who were pledged to afford them guidance and protection in

life. Voices now called out, that it was time to removed the bandages.

"No," cried a powerful voice: "Roland, I cannot admit you."

Roland did not know this voice. What did it mean? What was required of

him?

"Back, back! you stand on the brink of an abyss!" was shouted on all

sides.

Roland's knees shook. The first voice continued,--