"Late in the afternoon one dull rainy day we were sitting in the
garden-parlor, Anna Maria with her sewing, Klaus reading the newspaper
and smoking, when Stuermer came in to talk over some matters with Klaus.
Then conversation about horses ended in a political discussion, in which
Anna Maria took part with a certain degree of liveliness, and Klaus
joined warmly, drawing strong whiffs from his pipe. Stuermer, who had
never taken a pipe in his mouth, now and then drove back the clouds with
his silk handkerchief in sport, and I amused myself with listening to
the ready answers which came from Anna Maria's young lips.
"The demeanor of brother and sister toward each other was singular. Anna
Maria waited upon her brother with almost humble tenderness, while he
seemed distrustful, and then again secretly touched by the
self-sacrificing spirit of the nurse who devoted herself to Susanna. He
especially avoided looking at her, or speaking to her directly.
"'How is Fraeulein Mattoni getting on?' broke in Stuermer in the midst of
a well-turned sentence of Klaus's about the recent attempts to make
beet-root sugar.
"'Well!' replied Anna Maria; 'she is reading an old family history which
I hunted up the other day, and enjoying your delicious apricots. Thank
you for them, Stuermer; they give Susanna great pleasure.'
"Then the conversation turned upon the lately deceased Duke of Weimar,
Charles Augustus, and from him to his celebrated friend, Goethe, of whom
Stuermer affirmed that he was intending to marry again after the death of
his wife. Anna Maria rejected the idea incredulously; she could not
believe that he, at his great age, would be so foolish. She was a sworn
enemy to Goethe. Her plain, straightforward mind had been disagreeably
affected by Werther; such an overflow of feeling could but seem strange
to her. Goethe's numerous love-affairs set him out in a light which
brought the ideal conception of him down to the atmosphere of common
mortals. That genius draws different boundaries, that a fiery spirit
like his was not to be measured by the common standard, did not occur to
her, and so she now indignantly shook her head.
"'A fable!' I, too, cried, smiling.
"'Not at all,' rejoined Stuermer; 'I have it from Von N----, who is
correctly informed, depend upon it!'
"'My!' said Klaus, 'he must have become an old icicle by this time,
scarcely able to go among people any more.'
"'A man who has created a Gretchen ossify?' threw in Stuermer. 'Never!'
"'And a Werther?' said I, in joke.
"'Werther is insupportable!' declared Anna Maria, 'bombastic, overdrawn!
A man who behaves like Werther is in my eyes no man at all, but a
weakling!'
"Stuermer's dark eyes looked quietly over at her. 'Your opinion, Fraeulein
von Hegewitz, is surely a rare one among women. A woman usually
discovers from her standpoint, and naturally, that with a lost love the
value of life is gone, and why should not this be the case with a man
as well? Of course, in a man's occupation, in the demands which his life
makes of him, there are a thousand aids offered to enable him more
quickly to recover from such a pain. But to regard it purely
objectively, that demands such a cool manner of contemplation that I am
fain to believe that those who thus judge do not know what loving really
means.'
"At these last words Anna Maria had grown as white as the linen on which
she was sewing. She dropped her head, as if conscious of guilt, and her
trembling hand could scarcely guide the needle. A painful pause ensued;
Klaus cast a compassionate glance at Stuermer; it was the first time that
he had given expression to the pain of his bitter disappointment in her
hearing and ours.
"'Heavens, what a storm!' I cried, as a perfect flood of water was
hurled against the windows; even the despised subject of water satisfied
me to break the awkward silence.
"'Indeed,' said Stuermer, rising, 'it is bad; I must make haste to get
under shelter while it is yet daylight.' He took leave with a haste that
left me to imagine he wished to be alone with his bitter feelings.
"'Adieu, dear Edwin,' said I, tenderly, pressing his hand. Neither
brother nor sister gave him the customary invitation to spend the
evening here. Anna Maria had risen and laid her hand on Klaus's
shoulder, who was now standing beside her. She was still very pale, and
said her 'Good-night, Stuermer!' with a wearily maintained steadiness.
"As soon as the gentlemen had left the room, she went to the door and
opened it impetuously; breathing hard, she stood in the door-way, and
the storm blew back her skirts, and the rain-drops beat in her face and
lay like pearls on her fair locks. Once or twice it seemed to me as if
her bosom heaved with suppressed sobs, so that, in alarm, I turned my
head to look around the curtain, but to no purpose, for as Klaus
reentered the room she turned back too, and an almost transfigured
expression lay on her face.
"She went up to him and took his arm.
"'Dear brother,' I heard her say, and again there was a quiver in her
voice; she leaned her head against his breast. 'Dear Klaus!' she
repeated.
"'Anna Maria?' he asked, taking hold of her hand.
"'Klaus, let what has lately passed between us be forgotten! Forgive me
for having so violently opposed you; it was very wrong of me----'
"'No, no, my old lass; I was more violent than was necessary,' he
replied hastily, drawing her to him; 'we were both in fault.'
"'Yes, Klaus; you see I was not honest; I ought to have spoken at once,
but I was not sure enough of it. I did not wish to make you uneasy.'
"'By what?' said Klaus hastily.
"Anna Maria hesitated, but held her brother's arm more firmly. I cleared
my throat as a warning from my corner by the window, but Anna Maria paid
no attention to it; she acted from quick, firm resolution in all that
she did, and when occasion came she bravely met the difficulty, which
she thought easy enough to overcome.
"'By telling you of a fact which makes Susanna's remaining in this house
questionable,' she said, quietly, but decidedly.
"'The old song again, Anna Maria?' he said. 'Your vehemence did not
suffice; do you think to catch me this way?'
"'No, Klaus, in Heaven's name, no!' she replied. 'Something different
drives me to you now; I did not mean to speak of Susanna to you again; I
wished in this hour only one word from you as of old, a single kind
word; that it happened thus was the course of the conversation. Forgive
me!'
"'You have judged Susanna very severely, Anna Maria,' Klaus began, after
a pause, 'and now you have nursed her devotedly and made up for it a
hundred times; and yet the same sentiments?--now, when she is ill, and
may perhaps remain sickly?'
"'I have expected too much of Susanna's constitution, Klaus, and day and
night I have prayed that God might restore her to health. I have desired
only her good, believe me. But my opinion of Susanna's character I
cannot alter.'
"They were not standing close together now, but opposite one another.
'But beneath all the show and glitter which I despise there beats a
quick, warm human heart, Klaus. Susanna is no longer the child you think
to see in her. Susanna has--Susanna is--Susanna _loves_ you, Klaus!'
"The twilight had gradually deepened. I could no longer see Klaus's face
distinctly, but only heard a quick, violent breathing. He did not
answer, he stood motionless. 'Foolish child!' thought I, looking at Anna
Maria.
"'You do not believe me, Klaus?' she asked, as he remained silent. 'But
it is so; I am not mistaken! Susanna talked of you incessantly in her
delirium; I know it from a hundred little indications. Such an affection
increases daily and hourly--is the girl to become unhappy? Perhaps she
does not know it yet herself, but the awakening must surely come.'
"Again no answer. Klaus sat down in the nearest chair, and looked before
him, motionless. The servants' supper-bell was now ringing outside, a
fresh shower of rain came pelting against the sandstone pavement of the
terrace, and there was a spectral light in the great, dim room. I
imagined phantoms were rising out of every nook and corner, and the
great flowered portiere moved slightly, as if some one were standing
behind it, listening.
"'You are right,' said Klaus, at length, in a lifeless tone; 'what is to
become of her? The wife of a Hegewitz--that is impossible; so you think,
do you not, Anna Maria?'
"'Yes,' she replied, simply.
"'Yes,' he repeated, springing up and pacing the room with long steps.
'And whither would you banish the girl?' he asked, stopping before his
sister.
"'Not _banish_, Klaus; that sounds so different from what I intend,' she
said, frankly. 'Take her to a _pension_ in a southern district, perhaps
in Switzerland, and so give her an opportunity to thoroughly heal her
sick heart.'
"'That sounds reasonable and well-considered,' he returned, bitterly.
'Meanwhile, Susanna is not yet restored to health.' And after a pause he
added: 'I have put off for a long time a necessary journey; I shall go
to-morrow to O----, in Silesia; I shall be acting to your mind so, shall
I not?'
"Anna Maria started. 'To O----, do you say?'
"'Yes,' he replied, very red; 'I have been a little negligent, and
affairs are in such a bad condition there a meeting of creditors is
unavoidable. Platen has repeatedly urged me to come myself, in order to
check the thing; you know my mortgage is the largest, but----'
"'And you have not gone, Klaus?' said Anna Maria reproachfully. 'Why?'
"'I shall start to-morrow morning,' he answered, shortly.
"She evidently did not understand him aright, but she went up to him and
put her arms around his neck. 'Do not let a misunderstanding arise
between us again, Klaus. Shall I act contrary to my conviction?'
"'No, no!' he replied in a hollow tone; 'I thank you.' But he did not
draw her to him, he freed himself from her arms and left the room. Anna
Maria stood motionless for a moment looking after him. Then she shook
her head energetically, as if to ward off intrusive thoughts, and taking
up her basket of keys went out too.
"Half an hour later we were sitting at the supper-table. Anna Maria had
brought Klaus from his room; he looked disturbed and let his soup grow
cold, and crumbled his bread between his fingers in a distracted manner.
"'Have you been to Susanna's room?' I asked Anna Maria.
"She nodded. 'I was in a hurry, but stopped at her door up-stairs, and
called to ask what I should send her for supper. But I got no answer;
she was probably asleep, so I closed the door softly and came away.'
"'And what do you intend to tell her as a pretext for her removal?' I
asked further.
"'Her health is a sufficiently cogent reason, aunt,' replied Anna Maria.
"I was silent and so were the others; we finished the meal in silence,
and then sat silent about the table in the sitting-room, without a
suspicion of what was happening meanwhile. Each was occupied with his
own thoughts, and without the monotonous rain still fell splashing on
the roof and poured from the animals' heads on the gutters upon the
pavement of the court. There was an incessant drizzle and splash, and
the storm, coming over the heath, swept together the rain-drops, and
drove them pelting against the well-protected windows.
"All at once Brockelmann entered the room; frightened and startled her
eyes sped about. 'Is not Fraeulein Mattoni here?' she asked excitedly.
"'Susanna?' we all three cried with one voice, and Klaus sprang up.
"'She is not in her room! Merciful Heaven, where can she be!' she
continued. 'Before supper she got up and dressed herself, laughing and
tittering; she meant to go down-stairs to surprise the family. I
scolded, but what good did it do? Oh, she must be hiding somewhere!' The
old woman's voice was choked with anxiety; Anna Maria had hurried out of
the room, and her flying steps reechoed from the corridor, fear lending
her wings. Brockelmann took a candle from the table and began to search
the adjoining garden-parlor, and Klaus stood, pale as a corpse, as if
rooted to the spot.
"'She must be here!' said I.
"He did not hear. His whole attention was concentrated upon Anna Maria,
who was just crossing the threshold, and looked at her brother's serious
face with eyes that seemed twice their usual size.
"'She is gone, Klaus,' she said, tremulously; 'I know not whither--why?'
"He stepped past her without a word.
"'Klaus!' Anna Maria called after him, 'take me with you!' But she
received no answer. 'She heard it, my God, she heard what I said to
him,' she whispered. 'Aunt, I beg you, go with him, do not let him go
alone!' She hastened away and came back with shawls and wraps. I could
hear from the court the hasty preparations for departure--indeed, how I
got to the carriage, where Klaus was already sitting on the box, I do
not know to this day.
"It was a half-covered chaise in which we rolled out on the dark
highway; the rain beat against the leather hood, and the wind assaulted
us with undiminished strength; Klaus's coat-collar flapped in the light
of the carriage lamps, whose unsteady light was reflected in the water
of the one great puddle into which the whole road was transformed. Klaus
drove frantically; to this day I do not understand how we came, safe and
sound, in the pitch-dark night, before the Dambitz blacksmith's shop.
The little house lay there without a light. When Klaus pounded on the
door with his whip-handle the watch-dog gave the alarm, upon which a
man's voice soon asked what we wanted, and if anything had happened to
the carriage. It happened sometimes, doubtless, that the man was called
from his sleep because of an accident.
"'Is your lodger at home?' asked Klaus, in place of an answer.
"'Since this noon, your honor!' was the polite answer. The man knew the
master of the Hegewitz manor from his inquiry, for it was known all over
the village that the Buetze people had the foster-child of the old
actress with them.
"'Is she alone?'
"'Ah! has your honor come on account of the young mam'selle?' cried the
man. 'She came here an hour ago, wet as a rat, and is lying in bed
up-stairs there. I will open the door at once.'
"Klaus helped me out of the carriage. 'Will you go up to her?' he
asked, and pressed my hand so hard that I nearly screamed.
"'Certainly, certainly, my lad!' I made haste to say; 'we will soon have
the fugitive back at Buetze.' But sooner said than done. The blacksmith's
wife, who had also appeared on the scene, carefully lighted the way up
the creaking, dangerous flight of stairs, which I was scarcely able to
climb with my lame foot, and there, in the low, whitewashed back room of
the forge, stood Isabella Pfannenschmidt before me, like a roused
lioness. She stood with outstretched arms before the bed, which was in
an alcove-like recess, and was half covered with fantastic hangings of
yellow chintz. With theatrical pathos she called to me: 'What do you
want? You have no more right to this child!'
"Without further ado I pushed her aside and looked at the bed; from a
chaos of blue and red feather-beds emerged Susanna's brown head.
"She turned her face to the wall without looking at me, and remained
thus, motionless.
"'Susanna, was that right?' I asked.
"No answer.
"'Why did you run away so suddenly, my child? Do you know that you may
have made yourself ill and miserable for life by this recklessness?'
"Silence again, but the breathing grew heavy and loud.
"'You are an obstinate, naughty child!' I continued. You frighten the
people who love you half to death, and sin against yourself in an
unheard-of manner!'
"The old actress meanwhile stood with folded arms, and an indescribable
smile played about her mouth.
"'Are you well enough to get up and drive home with me, Susanna?' I
asked.
"'No!' cried the old woman. 'Why should she go to you again? Sooner or
later they will be sure to show her the door!'
"'Susanna, Klaus is below; he has been anxious about you; and Anna Maria
is impatiently waiting at home. Be reasonable, be good; you owe us an
explanation.'
"But in place of an answer a violent fit of coughing followed; she
suddenly began to toss about and clutch at the air, and her eyes looked
over at me, large and fixed, strangely unconscious. The old actress fell
on the bed with a piercing cry, and wound her arms about the girl. 'Oh,
Lord, she is dying!'
"Had Klaus heard this cry? I know not; I only know that all at once he
was in the room, and pushed the old woman away from the bed, and that
that moment decided the fate of two human beings. All that had been
fermenting in him for weeks, the stream of his passion which had been
wearily held back by cold reason, was set free by the sight of the girl
lying thus unconscious. No more restraint was possible; he threw his
arms about her, he kissed the little weak hands, the dark hair; he
called her his bride, his wife, his beloved; never again, never, should
she go from his heart, who was dearer to him than all the world! In dumb
horror I heard these impetuous words rush on my ears. Thank God,
Isabella Pfannenschmidt had left the room; she had evidently rushed out
for a restorative, for tea or water.
"I laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you mad, Klaus? Do you
not see that she is sicker than ever?' Susanna now lay in his arms,
really swooning; her head had fallen on his shoulder, and the small
face, like that of a slumbering child, showed a slight smile on the
lips.
"'Aunt,' said the tall, fair man, without getting up, tears shining in
his honest blue eyes, 'she shall not die; I should reproach myself with
it forever!' He pressed his lips to her forehead again and went out,
without looking about him; he sat on the stairs there a long time.
Susanna opened her eyes at last, under our efforts. She then let dry
clothes be put on her without resistance, but there was no sign, no
look, to betray to me whether she had heard Klaus's wild whisperings of
love. But she did not for a moment object to accompanying me to Buetze,
and energetically chid the old woman's lamentation. Warmly wrapped, I
led her over the threshold of the low room; she wavered for a moment, as
she saw Klaus on the stairs by the light of the oil-lamp. Then he raised
her in his arms, and in the smoking, unsteady light of the lamp, which
was being put out by the draught, I saw how he went down the steps with
her, how two slender arms were put around his neck, sure and fast. With
tottering knees I followed them, to take Susanna Mattoni to Buetze again.
"And the way home! Never has a drive seemed so endless to me. I sat
silent beside the girl; I was angry with her, bitterly angry for being
loved by Klaus. The pride of a pure and ancient stock arose in my heart
in its full strength, and if ever I hated Susanna Mattoni it was on that
night, in the dark carriage. Then I felt her lightly touch my clothes,
slip to the floor beside me, and embrace my knees and lay her head on my
lap. 'I was going away, Fraeulein Rosamond,' she whispered; 'why did you
come after me?'
"They were only a few simple words, but such a persuasive truth lay in
them that my anger vanished almost instantly. A feeling of deep sympathy
pulled at my heart, and sent a flood of tears to my eyes.
"What avail the arduously established limits of human law and order,
even though uprightly preserved for centuries long, against the storm of
a first passion? A single instant--the proud structure lies in ruins,
and the crimson banner of love waves victoriously over all
considerations, over all reflections.
"I felt Susanna's hot lips on my hand; they burned me like glowing iron.
I did not draw away my hand, but left it to her, without pressure,
without a sign that I understood her. Before my eyes hovered the image
of Anna Maria. 'Oh, Anna Maria, I could not prevent its happening thus!'
"And now the carriage rolled under our gateway, rattled over the paved
court, and stopped before the steps. I saw Klaus swing himself down from
the box, and saw Anna Maria, in the light of the lantern, standing in
the vaulted door-way. Klaus opened the carriage-door; Susanna first
raised herself up now, and he carried her like a child up the steps,
past Anna Maria, into the house. They had forgotten me; the lame old
aunt clambered out of the carriage with Brockelmann's help, and on
entering the sitting-room I found Anna Maria and Susanna alone--Susanna,
with a feverish glow on her cheeks, in Klaus's arm-chair, Anna Maria
standing before her with a cup of hot tea.
"Not a question, not a reproach passed her lips; she silently offered
the warming drink, and Susanna silently refused it. 'You must go to bed,
Susanna,' she then said. The girl rose and took a step or two, but
tottered, and held on to her chair. 'Put your arms around my neck,
Susanna!' Anna Maria cried, and in a moment had raised her in her strong
arms, and went toward the door as if she were carrying a feather.
Brockelmann followed; I heard her muttering away to herself, 'That caps
the climax!'
"Utterly exhausted, I sank into my chair. What was to be done now? God
grant that Klaus and Anna Maria might not see each other again this
evening, only this evening!
"Half an hour had passed when I heard Anna Maria's step in the hall; the
door was wide open, and I could distinctly see her tall figure approach,
in the faint light of the hall-lamp. She stopped at Klaus's door and
knocked. I leaned forward to listen; all was still. 'Klaus!' I heard her
say. No answer. Again I thought I detected a suppressed sob in her
voice. 'Klaus!' she repeated once more, imploringly, pressing on the
latch. She waited a minute or two, then turned away and went up-stairs
again.
"'He is angry with her,' I murmured, half aloud, 'and she wants to
conciliate him. My God, turn everything to good!' I put out the lights
in the sitting-room and went over to Klaus's door and listened. Regular
and heavy came the sound of his steps; he was there, then! 'Klaus!' I
called, with an energy which frightened myself. The steps came nearer at
once, the key was turned, and he opened the door directly.
"'Come in, aunt,' he bade me. I looked at him in alarm, he looked so
pale, so exhausted. His hand seized mine. 'It is well that you are
looking after me, aunt; something has come over me, I know not how.'
"'And now, Klaus?' I asked, letting him lead me to the sofa, which had
descended from my father and still stood on the same spot as of old,
under a collection of about fifty deers' antlers, all of which had been
taken on the Buetze hunting-grounds, and had decorated that wall as far
back as I could remember.
"He had stopped in front of me. 'And now?' he repeated, passing his hand
over his forehead. 'It is a strange question, _au fond_, aunt--Susanna
will be my wife. I can give you no other answer.'
"It was out! I had long known that it must come, and yet it fell on me
like a blow.
"'Klaus,' I began. But he interrupted me impatiently and indignantly.
"'I know all you would say, aunt; I have said it to myself a hundred
times! I know as well as you that Susanna belongs to the common class,
that her mother came from doubtful antecedents. I know that Susanna is a
trifling, spoiled child, who seems little suited to my seriousness. I
know that I am old in comparison to her; and I know, above all, that
Anna Maria will never regard her as a sister. Nevertheless, aunt, my
resolve stands firm, for I love Susanna Mattoni, love her with all her
childish faults, which are hardly to be called faults. I love her in her
charming, trifling maidenhood; it will make me happy to be able to
educate and guide her further, and the love that Anna Maria denies her I
will try to make up to her.'
"I was silent, there was nothing more to be said.
"'You do not look happy, aunt,' he said, bitterly. 'Listen: this
afternoon I was thinking of flight; but when Anna Maria said, "Susanna
loves you!" it almost crushed me. Amid all the happiness which this
revelation opened to me, yet much that has been sacred and not to be
trifled with forcibly appealed to me. But when I beheld Susanna, like a
dying person, in that poor room, all at once it was clear to me that
everything in the world is powerless against a true, deep passion, and
then----'
"'And Anna Maria, Klaus?'
"'I cannot talk with her any more this evening, aunt,' he replied; 'wait
till I am quieter; there is time enough. I grow violent if I think that
it was her words that drove Susanna out in the stormy night. God grant
that it may do her no harm!'
"'Yet do not misunderstand the fact, Klaus, that Anna Maria wished
Susanna's best good,' I besought him, tears streaming from my eyes.
'Think how she loves you, how her very existence depends upon you. I
shall wish from my heart, Klaus, that what you have chosen may be the
right thing; but do not expect that Anna Maria will, without a struggle,
see you take a step which may perhaps bring you heavy burdens and little
happiness.'
"Klaus did not answer. He stood before his writing-desk and looked at
Anna Maria's portrait, which she had given him at Christmas three years
before; it was painted at the time that she refused Stuermer. The clear
blue eyes looked over at Klaus from the proud, grave face, which had the
slightest expression of pain about the mouth, as if she were again
speaking the words she had said to him at that time: 'I will stay with
you, Klaus; I cannot go away from you!'
"'I do not wish to proceed violently, aunt,' he began, after a long
pause; 'I am no young blusterer who would take a fortress by storm.
Susanna, too, requires rest; she ought not to be disturbed and excited
any more now. Believe me, I love Anna Maria very dearly, but I cannot
give up a happiness a second time for her sake; then she was a child,
and toward the child I had obligations; to-day she is a maiden, who
sooner or later will be a wife.'
"'No, no, Klaus," I cried.
"'Very well, not so, then. She is different from others I admit; at any
rate, hers is a nature that is sufficient to itself. She is, and
remains, in my heart and in my home, my only and beloved sister, who
will ever hold the first place, next to--Susanna. But with that she must
be satisfied, and in return I demand love, and above all, consideration
for her who will be my wife. But, as I said before, I cannot possibly
speak quietly with Anna Maria about it now. I will let it wait over,
with my absence, perhaps three weeks, perhaps longer, and we shall all
have time to become more calm--I, too, Aunt Rosamond. I thought of
writing to Anna Maria about this affair, calmly and lovingly, and almost
believe it is the best thing to do.'
"'And when shall you start, Klaus?'
"'Frederick is packing my trunk now; the bailiff is coming at four
o'clock for a necessary conference; at five the carriage will be at the
door.'
"'And does Anna Maria know?'
"'No--I would like--to go without saying good-by.'
"'You will make her angry, Klaus; it is not right.' I sobbed.
"'Let time pass, aunt, that the breach may not grow wider; you know her
and you know me. There have been discussions between us of late which
have left a thorn in my heart. I do not want to be violent toward her
again.'
"'And Susanna?'
"'Susanna knows enough,' he replied, simply; 'you will be so kind as to
explain to her that I had to go on a necessary journey, and hope next to
see her well and sound again.'
"'Will she not interpret it falsely, after that vehement storm of love
to-night?'
"He blushed to the roots of his curly hair.
"'No, aunt,' he said, 'it would be untimely were I to make her any
assurances. Susanna knows now that I love her, and I think she returns
my love; of what use are further words?'
"Honest old Klaus! I can still see you standing before me, in the
agitation which so well became you, and so truly brought out your fine,
brave character.
"'Farewell, then, Klaus,' said I, placing my hand in his, and he drew it
to his lips and looked at my tearful eyes. 'Hold your dear hands over my
little Susanna,' he asked tenderly; 'I will thank you for every kind
word you say to her. And should she be in danger, should she grow worse
again, write me. I will leave a few lines for Anna Maria.'
"'God be with you, Klaus; may all be well!'
"He accompanied me through the dim hall as far as the stairs. A short
whirr from the old clock, and two hollow strokes were heard. Two o'clock
already! I waved my hand again, and went up-stairs, with how heavy a
heart God only knows!
"I stopped at Susanna's door and softly lifted the latch. By the
uncertain light of the night-lamp I saw Anna Maria in the arm-chair
beside the bed; her head rested against the green cushion of the high
back, her hands were folded over her New Testament in her lap, and she
was sleeping quietly and soundly. I glided softly in and looked at
Susanna; she lay awake, her eyes wide open. As she caught sight of me
she dropped her long lashes, pretending deep sleep, but raised them
again, blinking, as I withdrew. Was it any wonder that she did not sleep
and that her cheeks glowed like crimson roses?
"My sleep was restless that night, full of confused, troubled dreams.
Toward morning I woke with a start; I thought I heard the rumbling of a
coach. 'Klaus,' I cried, and a feeling of anxiety came over me. I rose
and glided to the window; a thick, white autumnal mist hung over the
trees and roofs of the barns; it was perfectly still all about, but the
door of the carriage-house stood open and a boy was slowly sauntering
into the stable; the gates were opened wide, showing a bit of the
lonely, poplar-shaded highway.
"I stole away and sought my bed again; so far everything was certainly
quiet and orderly. I had been sleeping soundly again, when suddenly
opening my eyes, I perceived Brockelmann by my bed.
"'Fraeulein,' she said, unsteadily, 'the master has gone off early this
morning!'
"'He will come back, Brockelmann,' I said, consolingly. 'Does Anna Maria
know yet?'
"'To be sure!' replied the old woman; 'and she was not a little
frightened when Frederick brought her the letter which the master left
for her. But you know, Fraeulein, she always judges according to the
saying, "What God does and what my brother does is well!"' With that the
old woman went.
"I believe I sat at the window for two hours after that in _deshabille_,
thinking over yesterday's experience; Klaus had gone, and when he
returned Susanna would be his wife--that was ever the sum of my
reflections.
"When I came down-stairs I found Anna Maria engaged in business
transactions with the bailiff and forester. How clearly she made her
arrangements! The men had not a word to reply. Offers had been made for
the grain; the harvest was richer than ever before, and the price of
grain low. Anna Maria did not wish to close the bargain yet; in Eastern
Prussia the grain had turned out wretchedly. 'Let us wait for the
potato-crop,' I heard her say. 'If that turns out as badly as seems
probable now, we shall need more bread, for our people must not suffer
want.'
"She proceeded with calmness and caution. Oh, yes. Klaus was right; his
house was in good care. As she followed me afterward into the
garden-parlor she pressed my hand.
"'Klaus's departure seems like a flight,' she said; 'but it must be all
right.'
"Not a word of yesterday's occurrences! Nor in the future either.
Susanna observed the same silence. When I went to her bed to inform her
that Klaus was gone on a journey, a bright flush of alarm tinged her
pale face for an instant, but she was silent.
"For some time yet she had to keep her bed; then her childish step was
heard again about the house, her slender figure nestled again in the
deep easy-chair in the garden-parlor, and she went about the park as of
old, idling away the days, and gradually signs of returning health
appeared in her cheeks.
"She evidently missed Klaus; it was most plainly to be seen in her
dress. She seemed astonishingly negligent; at a slight word of blame
from me, the question, 'For whom?' rose quickly to her lips, but she did
not speak it, and turned away her blushing face. Isabella Pfannenschmidt
came to the house a few days after Klaus's departure, while Susanna was
still in bed. I entered the room soon after her, and found the old woman
by the bed, a vexed expression on her face. My ear just caught the
words: 'Yes, now, there we have it: the egg will always be wiser than
the hen!'
"She was embarrassed at my entrance, but remained fierce and surly. I
purposely did not leave them alone, and toward evening she took her
leave, with a thousand fond words to Susanna, and a cold courtesy to me.
'All will yet be well, my sweet little dear; only wait!' she whispered
before she went."