O Thou, My Austria! Part 32

"Oh, what a double-dyed fool I was!" a voice within him cries out. "How could I be so vexed with her sc.r.a.p of childish worldly wisdom, instead of simply laughing at her for it, teasing her a little about it, and then, after I had set her straight, forgiving her, oh, how tenderly!"

"Zdena is not quite herself. I do not know what ails her," said the major, stroking the girl's thin cheek.

"You have long been a hypochondriac on your own account; now you are trying it for other people," says Zdena, rising and going to the window, where she busies herself with some embroidery. "I have a little headache," she adds.

"Earthly Enjoyment motif," Frau Rosamunda calls out, enthusiastically, in a raised voice.

The major bursts into Homeric laughter, in which Zdena, whose overstrained nerves dispose her for tears as well as laughter, joins.

Harry alone does not laugh: his head is too full of other matters.

"Is Zdena also going to Bayreuth?" he asks.

"No," the major replies; "the finances are not equal to that."

"'Tis a pity," Harry remarks: "a little change of air might do her good."

"So it seems to me," the major a.s.sents, "and I was about to propose a plan. By the way, when do you take your departure?"

"Are you going away?" asks Frau Rosamunda, rising from the piano, aglow with enthusiasm and artistic zeal, to join the trio. Wenkendorf also rises and takes a seat near the rest.

"He is going away," the major replies.

"Yes," a.s.sents Harry.

"But what does your betrothed say?"

"I have already put that question to him," said the major.

"One of my comrades has suddenly been taken ill," Harry stammers, frowning; "and so--of course it is very unpleasant just now----"

"Very, very," murmurs the major, with a hypocritical show of sympathy.

"When do you start?"

"Oh, the day after to-morrow."

"That suits me remarkably well," the major remarks. "There will be a vacant room at Komaritz, and Zdena might go over for a couple of days."

Wenkendorf frowns disapprovingly. "It is a great pity that you are not going with us to Bayreuth," he says, turning to the young girl.

"That would be a fine way to cure the headache," the major observes.

"I would rather stay at home with you, uncle dear," Zdena a.s.sures him.

"That will not do. Friday evening my wife starts for Bayreuth; Sat.u.r.day I expect the painters; the entire house will be turned upside-down, and I have no use for you. Therefore, since there is room for you at Komaritz----"

"There is always room at Komaritz for Zdena," Harry eagerly declares.

"Yes,--particularly after you have gone. It is decided; she is going. I shall take her over on Sat.u.r.day afternoon," the major announces. "You can tell Heda."

"And who will go to Bayreuth with my aunt?" asks Harry.

"Her musical cousin Roderich. By the way, Wenkendorf, you will come back to Zirkow from Bayreuth?"

"Of course I shall escort Rosamunda upon her return."

"We shall be glad to welcome you for the hunting. I take it for granted you will give us a long visit then?"

"That will depend upon circ.u.mstances," says Wenkendorf, with a significant glance towards Zdena, which does not escape Harry.

Meanwhile, the August twilight has set in. Krupitschka brings the lamps. Harry rises.

"Will you not stay for supper?" asks Frau Rosa.

"No, thank you; I have a deal to do."

"No wonder, before leaving," says the wily major, not making the slightest effort to detain the young fellow. "You are looking for your sabre?--there it is. Ah, what a heavy thing! When I reflect upon how many years I dragged such a rattling tool about with me!"

Harry has gone. The major has accompanied him to the court-yard, and he now returns to the room, chuckling, and rubbing his hands, as if at some successful trick.

"What an idea! So sudden a journey!--and a betrothed man!" Frau Rosa remarks, thoughtfully.

"If I were his betrothed I would hurry and have the monogram embroidered on my outfit," drawls the major. "Let me come there, if you please." These last words are addressed to Wenkendorf, who is about to close the piano. The major takes his place at it, bangs away at his triumphal march with immense energy and a tolerably harmonious ba.s.s, then claps down the cover of the much-tortured instrument, locks it, and puts the key in his pocket. "There, that's enough for to-day!" he declares.

CHAPTER XX.

KOMARITZ AGAIN.

The major carried out his plan. On Sat.u.r.day the painter made solemn entry into Zirkow with his train of workmen, their ladders, paint-pots, and brushes, to turn the orderly household upside-down,--whereupon Baron Paul drove Zdena to Komaritz, in the same drag in which the child of six had first been driven thither by him.

More than a dozen years had pa.s.sed since that afternoon, and yet every detail of the drive was vividly present in the young girl's mind. Much had changed since then; the drag had grown far shabbier, and the fiery chestnuts had been tamed and lamed by time, but the road was just as bad, and the country around as lovely and home-like. From time to time Zdena raised her head to gaze where the stream ran cool and gray on the other side of the walnut-trees that bordered the road, or at the brown ruin of the castle, the jagged tower of which was steadily rising in the blue atmosphere against the distant horizon. And then she would pull her straw hat lower over her eyes and look only at the backs of the horses. Why did her uncle keep glancing at her with such a sly smile? He could not divine the strange mixture of joy and unrest that was filling her soul. No one must know it. Poor Zdena! All night long she had been tormented by the thought that she had yielded too readily, had acceded too willingly to her uncle's proposal to take her to Komaritz during the bustle made by the painters, and she had soothed her scruples by saying to herself, "He will not be there." And, yet, the nearer they came to Komaritz the more persistent was the joyous suggestion within her, "What if he were not yet gone!"

Click-clack! The ancient St. John, whose bead is lying at his feet precisely as it was lying so many years ago, stands gray and tall among the lindens in the pasture near the village; they have reached Komaritz. Click-clack!--the horses make an ambitious effort to end their journey with credit. The same ox, recently butchered, hangs before the butcher-shop on an old walnut; the same odour of wagon-grease and singed hoofs comes from the smithy, and before it the smith is examining the foot of the same horse, while a dozen village children stand around gazing. The same dear old Komaritz!

"If only he might be there!"

With a sudden jolt the drag rolls through the picturesque, ruinous archway of the court-yard. The chestnuts are reined in, the major's sly smile broadens expressively, and Zdena's young pulses throb with breathless delight.

Yes, he is there! standing in the door-way of the old house, an embarra.s.sed smile on his thin, tanned face as he offers his hand to Zdena to help her down from her high seat.

"What a surprise! You here?" exclaims the old dragoon, with poorly-feigned astonishment, in which there is a slight tinge of ridicule. "I thought you would be miles away by this time. It is a good thing that you were able to postpone your departure for a few days. No, I can't stop; I must drive home again immediately. Adieu, children!"

Baron Paul turns his tired steeds, and, gaily waving his hand in token of farewell, vanishes beneath the archway.

There they stand, she and he, alone in front of the house. The old walnuts, lifting their stately crests into the blue skies along one side of the court-yard, whisper all sorts of pleasant things to them, but they have no words for each other.