A Sister's Love Part 11

"'Klaus,' I said, going up to him, 'it seems to me a dangerous experiment for Sturmer to return here.'

"'Why, aunt?' he asked; 'Anna Maria certainly does not love him; and he?

Bah! If he were not sure of his heart, he would not come; he simply declares himself cured!'

"'Are you so sure that Anna Maria does not love him?'

"He looked at me, as if to read in my face whether or no I had lost my senses. 'I don't understand that, aunt,' he replied, shaking his head.

'If she loves him she would have married him; there was nothing in the world to hinder. For Heaven's sake, aunt, don't see any ghosts. I am so inexpressibly glad to have a man again in the neighborhood with whom one can talk about something besides the harvest and the weather.'

"Yes, yes! He was right, of course. I did not know myself at that moment how the thought had really come to me.

"And Klaus rode into the field again, and I sat waiting for Susanna; round about, the deepest silence, only a couple of flies buzzing about on the window-panes; an hour slipped away, and yet another. Why, why, the hands of the clock were pointing all at once at half-past six; I had had a nap, as ailing old maids have a right to do occasionally. The sinking sun was now peeping, deep golden, through the trees; one such impertinent ray had waked me. Had Susanna been here? I rose and went to my room, and then across to Susanna's: it was impossible that she should still be sleeping.

"No, the room was empty. The sun flooded it for a moment with a crimson light, and made it seem almost cosey; or was it the bunches of flowers all about on the tables and stands? Even the 'Mischief-maker' had a garland of corn-flowers hung over the frame, and a sunbeam falling obliquely on her full lips lit them up with a crimson light. No trace of Susanna; her black gauze fichu lay on the floor in the middle of the room; on the sofa, half-hidden in the cus.h.i.+ons, was a note. I drew it out--old maids are allowed to be curious--and my eyes fell on a bold handwriting which, to my surprise, read as follows:

"'Three o'clock this afternoon, in the Dambitz pines!'

"How every possibility whirled through my head then! Klaus had seen aright! But who, for Heaven's sake, had written this? With whom had Susanna a meeting there! I thought and thought, and all manner of strange ideas arose in my mind, and Susanna did not come; she had never stayed away so long before. The supper-bell rang, and we three sat alone again at the table, for the first time in a long while, and worried about the girl. All the servants were questioned, and two lads sent along the Dambitz road.

"I did not know if I ought to speak of the letter. I should have liked to speak first to Susanna alone; so I decided to wait and not cause any further disturbance. Anna Maria was noticeably indifferent, and thought Susanna would certainly come soon, she had probably gone to sleep in the wood. But she must have felt an inward anxiety, for her hands trembled and her face was flushed with excitement.

"Klaus rose without having tasted anything. After a little we heard again the sound of horse's hoofs on the pavement of the court; he was riding out then to search for the missing one. Anna Maria mechanically gave her orders for next day, and I walked alone through the dusky paths in the garden. It was an unusually warm August evening; the moon was rising in the east, the steel-blue sky above was cloudless, and from the wood there came a light, refres.h.i.+ng breath of air. From the court came the sound of men and maids singing, as they made merry after the hot day's work. Ah! how many, many such evenings had I known here, and this one brought back to me a precious memory of my youth, with all its pleasure and all its suffering. Every tree, every bush I had known from my earliest youth. Everything which life had brought to me was a.s.sociated with this little spot of ground. That feeling is known only to one who can say to himself, 'Here on this spot you were born, here will you live, and here will you die,' and it is a sweet feeling! So I sat down in perfect content on a bench at the end of the garden, and in my dim retreat rejoiced in all the beauty about me, yet at the same time worrying about Susanna. Then I suddenly heard some one talking not far from me:

"'And then don't look so sorrowful to-morrow, do you hear, Susy? And in any case wear the white dress to church to-morrow; I have my reasons for wis.h.i.+ng it. And to-morrow afternoon I will come; it has been long enough, I can certainly come to visit you for once. And don't let out anything, darling. What will you answer if they ask you where you have been so long?'

"'Nothing at all!' answered Susanna's voice defiantly. 'I do not like to tell a lie, I shall not do it; but I shall not come to Dambitz again, it is too far away for me.'

"'Very fine!' was the reply; and I now recognized the voice of the old actress. 'I have walked about with you in my arms all night long many a time, no step was too much for me; and you will not go an hour's distance away for my sake? I think of nothing but you and your future; I devise plans and take pains to make your lot happy; I take up my abode in a wretched peasant's house with a s.h.i.+ngle roof, and everlasting smell of the stable only to be near you; I sew my eyes and fingers sore--and you--?' And she broke out in violent sobbing, which, however, it seemed to me, made no impression upon Susanna, for she remained still as a mouse.

"'Go, Susy, be good,' the old woman began again. 'I have just given you the pretty little dress to-day; look at it by and by and see how carefully it is embroidered.' And now her voice sank to a whisper, and immediately after Susanna's little figure ran quickly from the thicket and pa.s.sed close by me; she carried a white parcel in her hand, and her round hat on her arm. I could distinctly see her flas.h.i.+ng eyes and red cheeks. I rose quickly, I _must_ speak before any one else saw her.

'Susanna!' I tried to call, but the name remained on my lips; for in the path along which she flew stood, as if charmed thither, the tall figure of a man, and Klaus's deep voice sounded in my ears:

"'Susanna! Thank G.o.d!'

"Had I heard aright? They were only three simple words, words which perhaps every one would say to a person who had been missed and anxiously sought. But here a perfect torrent of pa.s.sion and anxiety gushed forth, as hot and stifling as the summer night in which the words were spoken.

"I sat down again and leaned my swimming head on my hand. 'My G.o.d, Klaus, Klaus!' I stammered. 'What is to come of this? This child! Their circ.u.mstances compare so unfavorably, he cannot possibly want to marry her; what, then, draws him to her? What conflicts must arise if he really thinks of it! G.o.d preserve him from such a pa.s.sion! It is surely impossible; it cannot, must not be! Oh, Susanna, that you had never come to this house!'

"And round about me whispered the night-wind in the trees; the full moon had risen golden, and bathed field and wood with a bluish light. And Susanna is so young, and Susanna is so fair! Was it, then, strange if Klaus loved her? What cared love and pa.s.sion for all the considerations which I had just brought up. And their--Oh, G.o.d! what would Anna Maria say?

"And I rose, quite depressed, to go to my room and collect my thoughts.

Klaus must have taken Susanna into the house long ago. Now Anna Maria would ask where she had been. And she would not answer, as often before, and Anna Maria would speak harsh words and Klaus walk restlessly about the room! Nothing of all this. As I went slowly along the path I caught sight of a dark figure on the stone bench under the linden. 'Anna Maria?' I asked myself. 'Is she waiting here for Susanna?' She looked fixedly out toward the dark country, and the moon made her face look whiter than ever.

"'Anna Maria!' I called, 'Susanna has come back!' She sprang up suddenly, hastily drawing her lace veil over her forehead; but I saw, as I came nearer, that tears were s.h.i.+ning in her eyes.

"'Have you been anxious?' I asked, and put my arm in hers, to support myself, as we walked on.

"'Anxious?' she repeated questioningly. 'Yes--no,' she replied absently.

'Ah, you said Susanna has come? I knew perfectly well that she would, aunt, she is so fond of roving about; that comes from the vagabond blood of her mother, no doubt.'

"'Anna Maria!' I exclaimed, startled.

"'Certainly, Aunt Rose,' she repeated, 'it is in her, it ferments in her little head and s.h.i.+nes from her eyes. So often I have noticed when she is standing by me or sitting opposite me, busied with some work, how her looks wander away, in eager impatience; how only the consciousness 'I must obey' compels her to stay still by me. Then she naturally makes use of every opportunity to rush out, to lie down under some tree and forget time and the present. Happy being, thus const.i.tuted, through whose veins runs no slow, pedantic, duty-bound blood!'

"We were standing just at the bottom of the terrace, and I involuntarily seized hold of the railing to steady myself. Was it Anna Maria who spoke such words! Was not the whole world turned upside down then? And I saw in the moonlight that her lips quivered and tears shone in her eyes. Had Anna Maria something to regret in her life? And, like a flash of lightning, Edwin Sturmer's handsome face came before my mind's eye.

"'Anna Maria,' I whispered, 'what did you say? Who--?' But I got no further, for the sound of a woman's voice fell on our ears; so full, so sweet and ringing the tones floated out on the summer night, so strangely were time and tune suited to the words, that we lingered there breathless. Anna Maria looked up toward the open window in the upper story. 'Susanna!' she said softly.

'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain.

Ah, that I only could wander again!'

sounded down below.

"But what was the matter with Anna Maria? She fairly flew back into the garden. I stood still and waited; the singing above had ceased. 'Anna Maria!' I called. No answer. What an evening this was, to be sure! Anna Maria, who took the most serious view of the world, who hated nothing more than sentimentality and moonlight reveries, was running about in the garden, moved to tears by a little song! They were all incomprehensible to me to-day--Klaus, Susanna, and Anna Maria, but especially the latter. How could I talk to her about Susanna to-day? I had to keep my discovery to myself; the best thing I could do would be to go up myself to Susanna and ask her, for we should hardly a.s.semble about the round table in the sitting-room this evening, and Anna Maria would hardly be in the mood to read aloud the evening prayers as usual.

And Klaus? No, I would not see him at all; better to-morrow by daylight, when he would be his old self again, when his voice would have lost its sultry summer-night cadence, it was to be hoped. No more to-day, I had had enough. I should not be able to sleep, as it was.

"And so I went, like a ghost, up the moonlit steps, and stole along the corridor to Susanna's door, and knocked softly. No answer. I lifted the latch and went in. The room was lighted only by the moon, and the heavy odor of flowers came toward me; a pale ray shone just over the white pillows of the bed and fell on Susanna's face. She was fast asleep; her neck and arms glistened like marble. Should I wake her? She would surely stifle in this air. I stole past her, opened a window, and set the bunches of flowers out on the balcony. The room looked topsy-turvy, but on the sofa was spread out with evident care the toilet for to-morrow--the white dress, little shoes and stockings, even hat and hymn-book for church.

"I closed the window again softly and stole out of the girl's room. Let her sleep; in this enchanted moonlight it would be impossible to say anything reasonable, I thought. Indeed, I reproached myself afterward for not having waked her from her dreams, in order to have brought all my old maid's prose to bear against all this flower-scented poetry. But what would it have availed? For G.o.d Almighty holds in his hands the threads of human destiny. It had to be thus."

CHAPTER VIII.

"The next morning broke as prosaic and calm as I could desire. The sun shone with obtrusive clearness into the most remote corner, and mercilessly set out everything in a dazzling light. From below, out-of-doors, I heard the sound of Anna Maria's voice, and caught something about 'string-beans for the servants' kitchen.' Klaus whistled out of the window, and immediately after I heard a dialogue concerning Waldemann (the _Teckel_), who was just limping across the court, having jammed his foot in the stable-door, according to the coachman's account.

Klaus's voice, thank G.o.d, had not a suspicion of that weak intonation of last evening. Relieved, and smiling at my fears of yesterday, I got ready for church. If we can only get well over the first meeting with Sturmer, it may be quite a pleasant Sunday, I reasoned; I was wis.h.i.+ng some visitor would come, that we might not be so much by ourselves.

"When our church-bell began to ring we three of the family were standing down-stairs in the sitting-room waiting for Susanna. Anna Maria looked weary and unnerved, and an old sort of expression lay about her mouth; she moved quickly and was plainly out of humor at Susanna's want of punctuality. The festal earnestness that usually pervaded her whole being in going to church was lacking to-day. 'Rieke!' she called to the housemaid, 'go to Fraulein Mattoni and ask if she will be ready soon; we are waiting for her.' The girl came back with the answer that the young lady had not quite finished her toilet, and begged the others to go on.

"'I will wait for her,' said Klaus quickly, right out of his kind, chivalrous heart, but it brought to my mind the voice of last evening.

"'You will let your old aunt limp to church alone, for the first time?'

I asked jokingly.

"'Ah, _pardon_!' he replied at once. 'Old my aunt certainly is not yet; on that ground I might leave you; but I--may I beg the honor?' he asked, offering me his arm.

"Anna Maria walked ahead; there was something majestic in her walk, and as she stepped from the garden through the gate of the church-yard, and, walking between the rows of graves, recognized the peasants with an inclination of her fair head, kindly stroking the flaxen heads of the children, and here and there saying a friendly word to an old man or woman, all eyes followed her with reverence and admiration, while Klaus received more trusting looks, and even cheers. When in our pew in the church, she bent her head low and prayed long, and then cast a shy look toward the opposite gallery, the place of the Dambitz gentry; Dambitz had always been in the parish of Butze, and many a happy time have the Sturmers sat on that side and the Hegewitzes on this, and listened to the simple discourse of the clergyman and bowed the head in devout humility. Those were the good old times, when the n.o.bility led the way before the people, with the motto: 'Fear G.o.d and honor the king!'

"All at once a thrill went through Anna Maria's body, but her face looked coldly over to the Sturmer gallery; she bent her head slightly and returned a greeting. There he was standing bodily, my old favorite, and I almost nodded my head off at him and made secret signs with my handkerchief. His dark eyes sent a happy greeting across to me--Edwin Sturmer was really there.

"The clear voice with which Anna Maria joined in the singing drew my looks to her again. She sang quietly with the congregation, but a crimson flush of deep agitation lay on her face; it was evidently excessively painful to her to see him again.

"What the sermon was about on that day I cannot tell, for before the clergyman ascended the pulpit something occurred which nearly put an end to the devotions of all the small congregation and obliged me to leave the church.

"I had fixed my eyes steadily on Sturmer, as if I could not look my fill at the man's handsome curly head; and the good G.o.d surely forgave me, for I was as fond of Edwin as if he were my own child. All at once, during the singing, I saw him start and look intently across to me; and, following the direction of his gaze, I observed--Susanna. She had on a white muslin dress, her neck and arms lightly covered by the misty material; she held her hat in her hand, her black hair cl.u.s.tered in rich curls about her small head; a white rose was placed carelessly in her hair, and a bunch of the same flowers rose and fell on her bosom, and as white as they was her sweet face as she raised it again after a short prayer.