A Sister's Love Part 17

"'Yes,' she replied, simply.

"'Yes,' he repeated, springing up and pacing the room with long steps.

'And whither would you banish the girl?' he asked, stopping before his sister.

"'Not _banish_, Klaus; that sounds so different from what I intend,' she said, frankly. 'Take her to a _pension_ in a southern district, perhaps in Switzerland, and so give her an opportunity to thoroughly heal her sick heart.'

"'That sounds reasonable and well-considered,' he returned, bitterly.

'Meanwhile, Susanna is not yet restored to health.' And after a pause he added: 'I have put off for a long time a necessary journey; I shall go to-morrow to O----, in Silesia; I shall be acting to your mind so, shall I not?'

"Anna Maria started. 'To O----, do you say?'

"'Yes,' he replied, very red; 'I have been a little negligent, and affairs are in such a bad condition there a meeting of creditors is unavoidable. Platen has repeatedly urged me to come myself, in order to check the thing; you know my mortgage is the largest, but----'

"'And you have not gone, Klaus?' said Anna Maria reproachfully. 'Why?'

"'I shall start to-morrow morning,' he answered, shortly.

"She evidently did not understand him aright, but she went up to him and put her arms around his neck. 'Do not let a misunderstanding arise between us again, Klaus. Shall I act contrary to my conviction?'

"'No, no!' he replied in a hollow tone; 'I thank you.' But he did not draw her to him, he freed himself from her arms and left the room. Anna Maria stood motionless for a moment looking after him. Then she shook her head energetically, as if to ward off intrusive thoughts, and taking up her basket of keys went out too.

"Half an hour later we were sitting at the supper-table. Anna Maria had brought Klaus from his room; he looked disturbed and let his soup grow cold, and crumbled his bread between his fingers in a distracted manner.

"'Have you been to Susanna's room?' I asked Anna Maria.

"She nodded. 'I was in a hurry, but stopped at her door up-stairs, and called to ask what I should send her for supper. But I got no answer; she was probably asleep, so I closed the door softly and came away.'

"'And what do you intend to tell her as a pretext for her removal?' I asked further.

"'Her health is a sufficiently cogent reason, aunt,' replied Anna Maria.

"I was silent and so were the others; we finished the meal in silence, and then sat silent about the table in the sitting-room, without a suspicion of what was happening meanwhile. Each was occupied with his own thoughts, and without the monotonous rain still fell splas.h.i.+ng on the roof and poured from the animals' heads on the gutters upon the pavement of the court. There was an incessant drizzle and splash, and the storm, coming over the heath, swept together the rain-drops, and drove them pelting against the well-protected windows.

"All at once Brockelmann entered the room; frightened and startled her eyes sped about. 'Is not Fraulein Mattoni here?' she asked excitedly.

"'Susanna?' we all three cried with one voice, and Klaus sprang up.

"'She is not in her room! Merciful Heaven, where can she be!' she continued. 'Before supper she got up and dressed herself, laughing and t.i.ttering; she meant to go down-stairs to surprise the family. I scolded, but what good did it do? Oh, she must be hiding somewhere!' The old woman's voice was choked with anxiety; Anna Maria had hurried out of the room, and her flying steps reechoed from the corridor, fear lending her wings. Brockelmann took a candle from the table and began to search the adjoining garden-parlor, and Klaus stood, pale as a corpse, as if rooted to the spot.

"'She must be here!' said I.

"He did not hear. His whole attention was concentrated upon Anna Maria, who was just crossing the threshold, and looked at her brother's serious face with eyes that seemed twice their usual size.

"'She is gone, Klaus,' she said, tremulously; 'I know not whither--why?'

"He stepped past her without a word.

"'Klaus!' Anna Maria called after him, 'take me with you!' But she received no answer. 'She heard it, my G.o.d, she heard what I said to him,' she whispered. 'Aunt, I beg you, go with him, do not let him go alone!' She hastened away and came back with shawls and wraps. I could hear from the court the hasty preparations for departure--indeed, how I got to the carriage, where Klaus was already sitting on the box, I do not know to this day.

"It was a half-covered chaise in which we rolled out on the dark highway; the rain beat against the leather hood, and the wind a.s.saulted us with undiminished strength; Klaus's coat-collar flapped in the light of the carriage lamps, whose unsteady light was reflected in the water of the one great puddle into which the whole road was transformed. Klaus drove frantically; to this day I do not understand how we came, safe and sound, in the pitch-dark night, before the Dambitz blacksmith's shop.

The little house lay there without a light. When Klaus pounded on the door with his whip-handle the watch-dog gave the alarm, upon which a man's voice soon asked what we wanted, and if anything had happened to the carriage. It happened sometimes, doubtless, that the man was called from his sleep because of an accident.

"'Is your lodger at home?' asked Klaus, in place of an answer.

"'Since this noon, your honor!' was the polite answer. The man knew the master of the Hegewitz manor from his inquiry, for it was known all over the village that the Butze people had the foster-child of the old actress with them.

"'Is she alone?'

"'Ah! has your honor come on account of the young mam'selle?' cried the man. 'She came here an hour ago, wet as a rat, and is lying in bed up-stairs there. I will open the door at once.'

"Klaus helped me out of the carriage. 'Will you go up to her?' he asked, and pressed my hand so hard that I nearly screamed.

"'Certainly, certainly, my lad!' I made haste to say; 'we will soon have the fugitive back at Butze.' But sooner said than done. The blacksmith's wife, who had also appeared on the scene, carefully lighted the way up the creaking, dangerous flight of stairs, which I was scarcely able to climb with my lame foot, and there, in the low, whitewashed back room of the forge, stood Isabella Pfannenschmidt before me, like a roused lioness. She stood with outstretched arms before the bed, which was in an alcove-like recess, and was half covered with fantastic hangings of yellow chintz. With theatrical pathos she called to me: 'What do you want? You have no more right to this child!'

"Without further ado I pushed her aside and looked at the bed; from a chaos of blue and red feather-beds emerged Susanna's brown head.

"She turned her face to the wall without looking at me, and remained thus, motionless.

"'Susanna, was that right?' I asked.

"No answer.

"'Why did you run away so suddenly, my child? Do you know that you may have made yourself ill and miserable for life by this recklessness?'

"Silence again, but the breathing grew heavy and loud.

"'You are an obstinate, naughty child!' I continued. You frighten the people who love you half to death, and sin against yourself in an unheard-of manner!'

"The old actress meanwhile stood with folded arms, and an indescribable smile played about her mouth.

"'Are you well enough to get up and drive home with me, Susanna?' I asked.

"'No!' cried the old woman. 'Why should she go to you again? Sooner or later they will be sure to show her the door!'

"'Susanna, Klaus is below; he has been anxious about you; and Anna Maria is impatiently waiting at home. Be reasonable, be good; you owe us an explanation.'

"But in place of an answer a violent fit of coughing followed; she suddenly began to toss about and clutch at the air, and her eyes looked over at me, large and fixed, strangely unconscious. The old actress fell on the bed with a piercing cry, and wound her arms about the girl. 'Oh, Lord, she is dying!'

"Had Klaus heard this cry? I know not; I only know that all at once he was in the room, and pushed the old woman away from the bed, and that that moment decided the fate of two human beings. All that had been fermenting in him for weeks, the stream of his pa.s.sion which had been wearily held back by cold reason, was set free by the sight of the girl lying thus unconscious. No more restraint was possible; he threw his arms about her, he kissed the little weak hands, the dark hair; he called her his bride, his wife, his beloved; never again, never, should she go from his heart, who was dearer to him than all the world! In dumb horror I heard these impetuous words rush on my ears. Thank G.o.d, Isabella Pfannenschmidt had left the room; she had evidently rushed out for a restorative, for tea or water.

"I laid a heavy hand on the man's shoulder. 'Are you mad, Klaus? Do you not see that she is sicker than ever?' Susanna now lay in his arms, really swooning; her head had fallen on his shoulder, and the small face, like that of a slumbering child, showed a slight smile on the lips.

"'Aunt,' said the tall, fair man, without getting up, tears s.h.i.+ning in his honest blue eyes, 'she shall not die; I should reproach myself with it forever!' He pressed his lips to her forehead again and went out, without looking about him; he sat on the stairs there a long time.

Susanna opened her eyes at last, under our efforts. She then let dry clothes be put on her without resistance, but there was no sign, no look, to betray to me whether she had heard Klaus's wild whisperings of love. But she did not for a moment object to accompanying me to Butze, and energetically chid the old woman's lamentation. Warmly wrapped, I led her over the threshold of the low room; she wavered for a moment, as she saw Klaus on the stairs by the light of the oil-lamp. Then he raised her in his arms, and in the smoking, unsteady light of the lamp, which was being put out by the draught, I saw how he went down the steps with her, how two slender arms were put around his neck, sure and fast. With tottering knees I followed them, to take Susanna Mattoni to Butze again.

"And the way home! Never has a drive seemed so endless to me. I sat silent beside the girl; I was angry with her, bitterly angry for being loved by Klaus. The pride of a pure and ancient stock arose in my heart in its full strength, and if ever I hated Susanna Mattoni it was on that night, in the dark carriage. Then I felt her lightly touch my clothes, slip to the floor beside me, and embrace my knees and lay her head on my lap. 'I was going away, Fraulein Rosamond,' she whispered; 'why did you come after me?'

"They were only a few simple words, but such a persuasive truth lay in them that my anger vanished almost instantly. A feeling of deep sympathy pulled at my heart, and sent a flood of tears to my eyes.