Debit and Credit Part 95

In the early morning light the ravens and jackdaws fluttered over the snowy roof; their black wings hovered a while above the tower; then, with loud cries, they broke away to the wood, to announce to their feathered race that the castle walls contained a bride and a corpse. The pale lady from a foreign land has died in the night, and the blind man who is lying in his daughter's arms has but one consolation, that of knowing that he shall soon follow her to her endless rest. And the ill-omened birds scream out to the winds that the old Slavonic curse has fallen on the castle, and the doom has lighted on the foreign settlers too.

But little cares the man who now holds sway within the castle walls whether a raven croak or a lark sing, and if a curse lie on his property, he will laughingly blow it away. His life will be a ceaseless and successful conflict with the dark influences around, and from the Slavonic castle will come out a band of n.o.ble boys, and a new German race, strong and enduring in mind and body, will overspread the land--a race of colonists and conquerors.

In a few cordial lines Fink announced to his friend his own betrothal and the death of the baroness. A sealed note to Sabine was inclosed in the envelope.

It was evening when the postman brought the letter to Anton's room. Long did he sit pondering its contents; at length he took up the note to Sabine, and hurried to the front part of the house.

He found the merchant in his study, and gave him the letter.

The merchant immediately called in Sabine. "Fink is betrothed; here is his announcement."

Sabine clasped her hands in delight, and was hurrying off to Anton, but she stopped with a blush, took her note to the lamp, and opened it.

There could not have been much in it, for she read it in an instant, and, though she tried hard to look grave, could not suppress a smile. At another time Anton would have watched her mood with pa.s.sionate interest; to-day he scarcely heeded it.

"You will spend the evening with us, dear Wohlfart?" said the merchant.

Anton replied, "I was going to ask you to spare me a few moments. I have something to say to you." He looked uneasily at Sabine.

"Let her hear it. Remain, Sabine," said the merchant to his sister, who was just going to slip away; "you are good friends; Mr. Wohlfart will not object to your presence. Speak, my friend; what can I do for you?"

Anton bit his lips and looked again at the beloved form that leaned with downcast eyes against the door. "May I inquire, Mr. Schroter," he at length began, "whether you have found the situation for which you kindly promised to look out?"

Sabine moved uneasily, and the merchant looked up in amazement. "I believe I shall soon have something to offer you; but is there any great hurry about it, dear Wohlfart?"

"There is," replied Anton, gravely. "I have not a day to lose. My relations to the Rothsattel family are now entirely closed, and the fearful events with which I have been connected during the last weeks have affected my health. I yearn for repose. Regular employment in some foreign city, where nothing will remind me of the past, is, however, positively essential to me."

Again Sabine moved, but a look from her brother kept her back.

"And could you not find that repose which I too wish for you here with us?" inquired the merchant.

"No," replied Anton, in a faint voice; "I beg you not to be offended if I leave you to-day."

"Leave us!" cried the merchant. "I see no reason for such haste. You can recruit here; the ladies must take better care of you than hitherto.

Wohlfart complains of you, Sabine. He looks pale and worn. You and our cousin must not allow that."

Sabine did not answer a word.

"I must go, Mr. Schroter," said Anton, decidedly. "To-morrow I set out."

"And will you not at least tell your friends the reason of so hasty a departure?" said the merchant, gravely.

"You know the reason. I have done with my past. Hitherto I have ill provided for my future; for I am about to seek and win, in some subordinate situation, the confidence and good opinion of strangers. I have become, too, very poor in friends. I must separate for years from all I love. I have some cause to feel alone, and since I must needs begin life again, it is best to do so as soon as possible, for every day that I spend here is fruitless, and only makes my strength less, the necessary parting harder." He spoke in deep emotion, his voice trembling, but he did not lose his self-control. Then going up to Sabine, he took her hand. "In this last hour I tell you, in the presence of your brother, what it can not offend you to hear, for you have known it long. Parting from you pains me more than I can say. Farewell!" And now he fairly broke down, and turned to the window.

After a pause the merchant said, "Your sudden departure, dear Wohlfart, will be inconvenient to my sister as well as to me. Sabine was anxious to request such a service from you as a merchant's sister is likely to require. I, too, wish very much that you should not refuse her. Sabine begs that you will look over some papers for her. It will be no great task."

Anton turned, and made a deprecating gesture.

"Before you decide, listen to a fact that you have probably not known before," continued the merchant. "Ever since my father's death, Sabine has secretly been my partner, and her advice and opinion has decided matters in our counting-house oftener than you think. She, too, has been your princ.i.p.al, dear Wohlfart." He made a sign to his sister, and left the room.

Anton looked in amazement at the princ.i.p.al in white muslin, with black braided hair. For years, then, he had served and obeyed the youthful figure which now blus.h.i.+ngly approached him.

"Yes, Wohlfart," said Sabine, timidly, "I, too, have had a small hold upon your life. And how proud I was of it! Even those Christmas-boxes you used to receive, I knew of them; and it was my sugar and coffee that the little Anton drank. When your worthy father came to us and asked for a situation for you, it was I who persuaded my brother to take you; for Traugott asked me about it, he himself objecting, and thinking you were too old. But I begged for you, and from that time my brother always called you my apprentice. It was I who promised your father to take care of you here. I was but an inexperienced child myself, and the confidence of a stranger enchanted me. Your father, good old gentleman, would not wear, while with us, the velvet cap that peeped out of his pocket, till I drew it out and put it on his white curls; and then I wondered whether my apprentice would have such beautiful curls too. And when you came, and all were pleased with you, and my brother p.r.o.nounced you the best of all his clerks, I was as proud of you as your good father could have been."

Anton leaned on the desk, and hid his face with his hands.

"And that day when Fink insulted you, and again after that boating excursion, I was angry with him, not only for his presumption, but because he had taken my true apprentice into danger; and because I always felt that you belonged a little to me, I begged my brother to take you with him on that dangerous journey. It was for me, too, Wohlfart, that you toiled in that foreign land; and when you stood by the loaded wagons, amid fire and clash of arms that fearful night, they were my goods that you were saving; and so, my friend, I come to you now in the character of a merchant, and pray you to do me a service. You shall look over an account for me."

"I will," said Anton, turning away, "but not at this moment."

Sabine went to a book-case, and laid out two books, with gilt leaves and green morocco binding, on the desk. Then taking Anton by the hand, she said, in a trembling voice, "Please come and look at my Debit and Credit." She opened the first volume. Beneath all manner of skillful flourishes stood the words, "With G.o.d--Private Ledger of T. O. Schroter."

Anton started back. "It is the private book of the firm," cried he.

"This is a mistake."

"It is no mistake," said Sabine. "I want you to look over it."

"Impossible!" cried Anton. "Neither you nor your brother can seriously wish this. G.o.d forbid that any one should venture to do so but the heads of the concern. So long as a firm lasts, these pages are for no human eyes but those of its head, and after that of the next heir. He who reads this book knows what no stranger should--nay, as far as this book goes, the most intimate friend is a stranger. Neither as merchant nor as upright man can I comply with your wish."

Sabine held his hand fast. "But do look at it, Wohlfart; look at least at its t.i.tle." She pointed out its cover. "Here you have T. O. Schroter."

Then turning over the pages, "There are few empty columns here; the book ends with the last year." Then opening the second volume, she said, "This book is empty, but here we find another firm; look at least at its t.i.tle."

Anton read, "With G.o.d--Private Ledger of T. O. Schroter and Company."

Sabine pressed his hand, and said gently, and as with entreaty, "And you are to be the new partner, my friend."

Anton stood motionless; but his heart beat wildly, and his face flushed up brightly. Sabine still held his hand. He saw her face near his, and, light as a breath, her lips touched his. He flung his arms around her, and the two happy lovers were clasped in speechless embrace.

The door opened, and the merchant appeared. "Hold fast the runaway!"

cried he. "Yes, Anton, I have wished this for years. Since that time when you knelt by my bed and bound up my wound in a foreign land, I have cherished the hope of uniting you forever to our life. When you left us, I was angry at seeing my hope baffled. Now then, enthusiast, we have you safe--safe in our private book and in our arms." He drew the lovers to him.

"You have chosen a poor partner," cried Anton, on his new brother's breast.

"Not so, my brother. Sabine has shown herself a judicious merchant.

Neither wealth nor position have any value for the individual or the community without the healthy energy which keeps the dead metal in life-producing action. You bring into the business the courage of youth and the wisdom of experience. Welcome to our house and to our hearts!"

Radiant with joy, Sabine held both the hands of her betrothed: "I have been hardly able to bear seeing you so silent and so sad. Every day when you rose from the dinner-table I used to feel that I must fly after you, and tell you before that you belonged to us. You blind one, you never found out what was pa.s.sing within me, and Lenore's betrothed has known it all!"

"He!" exclaimed Anton. "I never spoke of you to him."

"Look here!" cried Sabine, taking Fink's note from her pocket. There was nothing in it but the words, "Hearty friends.h.i.+p, best wishes, Mrs.

Sister-in-law."

Again Anton caught his beloved in his arms.

Deck thyself out, old house! rejoice, discreet cousin! dance, ye friendly house-sprites on the shadowy floor! The poetic dreams that the boy Anton nursed in his early home, beneath the prayers for blessings of his worthy parents, were honorable dreams, and here is their fulfillment. That which allured and unsettled, and diverted him from his life-purpose, he has with manly heart overcome.