“I WONDER what that young man’s name was. Did he mention it, Helen?”
said the major, pausing in his march up and down the room, as if the
question was suggested by the sight of the little baskets, which the
girls had kept.
“No, uncle; but you can easily ask Hoffman,” replied Helen.
“By the way, Karl, who was the Polish gentleman who came on with us?”
asked the major a moment afterward, as the courier came in with
newspapers.
“Casimer Teblinski, sir.”
“A baron?” asked Amy, who was decidedly a young lady of one idea just
then.
“No, mademoiselle, but of a noble family, as the ‘ski’ denotes, for that
is to Polish and Russian names what ‘von’ is to German and ‘de’ to
French.”
“I was rather interested in him. Where did you pick him up, Hoffman?”
said the major.
“In Paris, where he was with fellow-exiles.”
“He is what he seems, is he?—no impostor, or anything of that sort? One
is often deceived, you know.”
“On my honor, sir, he is a gentleman, and as brave as he is accomplished
and excellent.”
“Will he die?” asked Amy, pathetically.
“With care he would recover, I think; but there is no one to nurse him,
so the poor lad must take his chance and trust in heaven for help.”
“How sad! I wish we were going his way, so that we might do something
for him—at least give him the society of his friend.”
Helen glanced at Hoffman, feeling that if he were not already engaged by
them, he would devote himself to the invalid without any thought of
payment.
“Perhaps we are. You want to see the Lake of Geneva, Chillon, and that
neighborhood. Why not go now, instead of later?”
“Will you, uncle? That’s capital! We need say nothing, but go on and
help the poor boy, if we can.”
Helen spoke like a matron of forty, and looked as full of maternal
kindness as if the Pole were not out of his teens.
The courier bowed, the major laughed behind his paper, and Amy gave a
sentimental sigh to the memory of the baron, in whom her interest was
failing.
They only caught a glimpse of the Pole that evening at the Kursaal, but
next morning they met, and he was invited to join their party for a
little expedition.
The major was in fine spirits, and Helen assumed her maternal air toward
both invalids, for the sound of that hollow cough always brought a
shadow over her face, recalling the brother she had lost.
Amy was particularly merry and charming, and kept the whole party
laughing at her comical efforts to learn Polish and teach English as
they drove up the mountainside to the old Schloss.
“I’m not equal to mounting all those steps for a view I’ve seen a dozen
times; but pray take care of the child, Nell, or she’ll get lost again,
as at Heidelberg,” said the major, when they had roamed about the lower
part of the place; for a cool seat in the courtyard and a glass of beer
were more tempting than turrets and prospects to the stout gentleman.
“She shall not be lost; I am her body-guard. It is steep—permit that I
lead you, mademoiselle;” Casimer offered his hand to Amy, and they began
their winding way. As she took the hand, the girl blushed and half
smiled, remembering the vaults and the baron.
“I like this better,” she said to herself, as they climbed step by step,
often pausing to rest in the embrasures of the loopholes, where the sun
glanced in, the balmy wind blew, and vines peeped from without, making a
pretty picture of the girl, as she sat with rosy color on her usually
pale cheeks, brown curls fluttering about her forehead, laughing lips,
and bright eyes full of pleasant changes. Leaning opposite in the narrow
stairway, Casimer had time to study the little tableau in many lights,
and in spite of the dark glasses, to convey warm glances of admiration,
of which, however, the young coquette seemed utterly unconscious.
Helen came leisurely after, and Hoffman followed with a telescope,
wishing, as he went, that his countrywomen possessed such dainty feet as
those going on before him, for which masculine iniquity he will be
pardoned by all who have seen the foot of a German Fraulein.
It was worth the long ascent, that wide-spread landscape basking in the
August glow.
Sitting on a fallen block of stone, while Casimer held a sun-umbrella
over her, Amy had raptures at her ease; while Helen sketched and asked
questions of Hoffman, who stood beside her, watching her progress with
interest. Once when, after repeated efforts to catch a curious effect of
light and shade, she uttered an impatient little exclamation, Karl made
a gesture as if to take the pencil and show her, but seemed to recollect
himself and drew back with a hasty, “Pardon, mademoiselle.” Helen
glanced up and saw the expression of his face, which plainly betrayed
that for a moment the gentleman had forgotten he was a courier. She was
glad of it, for it was a daily trial to her to order this man about; and
following the womanly impulse, she smiled and offered the pencil, saying
simply,—
“I felt sure you understood it; please show me.”
He did so, and a few masterly strokes gave the sketch what it needed. As
he bent near her to do this, Helen stole a glance at the grave, dark
face, and suddenly a disturbed look dawned in the eyes fixed on the
glossy black locks pushed off the courier’s forehead, for he had removed
his hat when she spoke to him. He seemed to feel that something was
amiss, shot a quick glance at her, returned the pencil and rose erect,
with an almost defiant air, yet something of shame in his eye, as his
lips moved as if to speak impetuously. But not a word did he utter, for
Helen touched her forehead significantly, and said in a low tone,—
“I am an artist; let me recommend Vandyke brown, which is _not_ affected
by heat.”
Hoffman looked over his shoulder at the other pair, but Amy was making
an ivy wreath for her hat, and the Pole pulling sprays for the absorbing
work. Speaking rapidly, Karl said, with a peculiar blending of
merriment, humility, and anxiety in his tone,—
“Mademoiselle, you are quick to discover my disguise; will you also be
kind in concealing? I have enemies as well as friends, whom I desire to
escape; I would earn my bread unknown; Monsieur le Major keeps my
foolish secret; may I hope for equal goodness from yourself?”
“You may, I do not forget that I owe my life to you, nor that you are a
gentleman. Trust me, I never will betray you.”
“Thanks, thanks! there will come a time when I may confess the truth and
be myself, but not yet,” and his regretful tone was emphasized by an
impatient gesture, as if concealment was irksome.
“Nell, come down to lunch; uncle is signalling as if he’d gone mad. No,
monsieur, it is quite impossible; you cannot reach the harebells without
risking too much; come away and forget that I wanted them.”
Amy led the way, and all went down more quietly than they came up,
especially Helen and Hoffman. An excellent lunch waited on one of the
tables in front of the old gateway, and having done justice to it, the
major made himself comfortable with a cigar, bidding the girls keep
near, for they must be off in half an hour. Hoffman went to see to the
horses, Casimer strolled away with him, and the young ladies went to
gather wild flowers at the foot of the tower.
“Not a harebell here; isn’t it provoking, when they grow in tufts up
there, where one can’t reach them. Mercy, what’s that? Run, Nell, the
old wall is coming down!”
Both had been grubbing in a damp nook, where ferns and mosses grew
luxuriantly; the fall of a bit of stone and a rending sound above made
them fly back to the path and look up.
Amy covered her eyes, and Helen grew pale, for part way down the
crumbling tower, clinging like a bird to the thick ivy stems, hung
Casimer, coolly gathering harebells from the clefts of the wall.
“Hush; don’t cry out or speak; it may startle him. Crazy boy! Let us see
what he will do,” whispered Helen.
“He can’t go back, the vines are so torn and weak; and how will he get
down the lower wall? for you see the ivy grows up from that ledge, and
there is nothing below. How could he do it? I was only joking when I
lamented that there were no knights now, ready to leap into a lion’s den
for a lady’s glove,” returned Amy, half angry.
In breathless silence they watched the climber till his cap was full of
flowers, and taking it between his teeth, he rapidly swung down to the
wide ledge, from which there appeared to be no way of escape but a
reckless leap of many feet on to the turf below.
The girls stood in the shadow of an old gateway, unperceived, and waited
anxiously what should follow.
Lightly folding and fastening the cap together, he dropped it down, and,
leaning forward, tried to catch the top of a young birch rustling close
by the wall. Twice he missed it; the first time he frowned, but the
second he uttered an emphatic, “Deuce take it!”