_The Search for the Missing Girl._--_The Lover's Judgment._--_Henry
Schulte's Grief._--_The Genial Farmer becomes the Grasping Miser._
Half an hour later, Henry Schulte, who had been delayed beyond his
wont in the village, came walking briskly along the road that led to
the abode of Emerence. His heart was gay, and a blithe, merry song
rose to his lips as he journeyed along. All unconscious of the dark
deed that had been committed, he stood upon the rustic bridge, where
he had expected to meet his betrothed, and gazed at the beauty of the
landscape that was spread before him. No sound came from that
gurgling stream, to tell the impatient lover of the fate of her he
loved, and little did he dream, as he stood there in quiet
contemplation of the glorious night, that directly beneath his feet,
with her calm, dead face upturned towards him, could be seen,
through the transparent waters, the lifeless body of the fair maiden,
whose head had nestled on his bosom and whose loving lips had made
him happy with their kisses of love.
Ah, nevermore for thee will the bright moon shine in its translucent
splendor, and never again will you know the happiness and the peace
of this beautiful evening, as you waited on that bridge for her who
nevermore would come to your call again.
After waiting a short time, and not hearing the footsteps of his
affianced, Henry resumed his journey and soon arrived at the
residence of the wealthy brewer, whose hospitable doors flew open at
his knock, and the mother of Emerence stood in the low, broad
passage-way.
"Where is Emerence?" quickly inquired the mother of the girl, in
surprise, at seeing him alone.
"Emerence! Is she not at home?" exclaimed Henry, equally surprised.
"No," replied the mother. "She went out about an hour ago, to meet
you on the way."
Henry immediately became alarmed. He had not seen her, and it seemed
incredible that she could have gone to visit any friends on the
evening when she expected him, and certainly not without informing
her parents of the fact.
"I will go at once in search of her," he said, as he turned away from
the house, and hurriedly retraced his steps towards the village, with
a terrible fear for her safety pressing upon his heart.
He inquired at every house where her friends resided, but everywhere
was met with a wondering negative. No one appeared to have seen her,
or to know anything of her whereabouts, and at length, wearied with
his fruitless inquiries, and rendered almost desperate at his want of
success, he went to the village tavern, and requested the aid of his
comrades in searching for the missing girl, for whose safety and
happiness he would willingly have laid down his life.
In a moment all was bustle and excitement; torches were procured and
the party started upon their mission, resolved to discover some clue
of the missing lady before the dawning of another day. Henry was in
advance, and under his direction every part of the road which led
from the residence of the brewer to the village, and the adjacent
woods, were carefully examined, but all with no success. No trace
could be discovered, and the superstitious villagers began to regard
the disappearance as a supernatural mystery.
Utterly fatigued with their bootless investigation, and saddened by
the thought that some harm must have come to the innocent maiden,
they reluctantly left the house of the brewer and turned their
footsteps towards the village, determined to continue their search in
the morning. To Henry the suspense was agonizing. He seemed almost
crazed at the uncertainty which shrouded the fate of the girl he
loved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to discover some solution of
the awful mystery.
As the silent party were crossing the bridge, they stopped for a
temporary rest before proceeding further on their way, and indulged
in subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defied
their efforts to solve.
Suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of their
number, who, on looking casually over the railing into the stream
beneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon,
the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. With an
agonizing cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few moments
clasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to the
shore.
It was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met their
frightened gaze were none other than those of the village
beauty--Emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the
assembly as they looked upon her.
At first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, but
upon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the head
being discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burst
almost simultaneously from the lips of all:
"_Nat Toner!_"
After the first cry which escaped him, Henry Schulte never spoke
again during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothed
the wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staring
eyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, and
hope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair form
and bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and with
faltering steps.
It had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the author
of this crime. Before they had spoken, his own mind had discovered
the murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, and
when, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, and
the body of the fair young Emerence had been placed in the ground,
Henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the mission
he had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his right
to go.
At the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that he
was scarcely recognized. The happy light was gone forever from his
eyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story of
long suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled.
No one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave no
explanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in the
forests on the mountains, near Werne, discovered the lifeless body of
Nat Toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through the
low, white forehead, the villagers felt that Henry's search had not
been in vain, or his revenge incomplete.
To this day no one can tell, whether, suffering the pangs of remorse,
the miserable man had put an end to his own life, or whether the
wound in the low, white forehead was planted there by the man whom he
had so dreadfully wronged.
No inquiries were made, however, and as time passed on, the history
of Nat Toner passed out of the conversations of the simple
village-folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by some
romantic and unfortunate event abroad, was never mentioned.
To Henry Schulte the record of that sad night was always present, and
was never effaced from his memory. The change that was wrought in him
was apparent to all. He no longer mingled with the villagers in their
merry-makings, but isolated himself entirely from their meetings and
their pleasures.
A few years afterwards his parents died, and his elder brother
assuming the control of the farm and estates of his father, Henry
removed to the farm where we now find him, and to the lowly cottage
which he had occupied to the time of which we write. He became a
settled misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to be the
acquirement of wealth, and whose once genial and generous nature had
now become warped into the selfishness and avarice of the miser.
So he had lived, a social hermit, until in 1845 he had become a
prematurely old man, with whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose love
for gold had become the passion of his life, and whose only
companions were a hired man and the old violin with which, in his
younger days, he was wont to make merry music at the festivals in the
village, but which now was tuned to mournful harmonies "cadenced by
his grief."