A Sister's Love Part 19

Susanna observed the same silence. When I went to her bed to inform her that Klaus was gone on a journey, a bright flush of alarm tinged her pale face for an instant, but she was silent.

"For some time yet she had to keep her bed; then her childish step was heard again about the house, her slender figure nestled again in the deep easy-chair in the garden-parlor, and she went about the park as of old, idling away the days, and gradually signs of returning health appeared in her cheeks.

"She evidently missed Klaus; it was most plainly to be seen in her dress. She seemed astonis.h.i.+ngly negligent; at a slight word of blame from me, the question, 'For whom?' rose quickly to her lips, but she did not speak it, and turned away her blus.h.i.+ng face. Isabella Pfannenschmidt came to the house a few days after Klaus's departure, while Susanna was still in bed. I entered the room soon after her, and found the old woman by the bed, a vexed expression on her face. My ear just caught the words: 'Yes, now, there we have it: the egg will always be wiser than the hen!'

"She was embarra.s.sed at my entrance, but remained fierce and surly. I purposely did not leave them alone, and toward evening she took her leave, with a thousand fond words to Susanna, and a cold courtesy to me.

'All will yet be well, my sweet little dear; only wait!' she whispered before she went."

CHAPTER XI.

"Life went on quietly in the house without a master. Anna Maria was busy until late in the evening; she possessed an endless capacity for work.

'I can bear Klaus's absence easier so,' she said, when I urged her to give herself some rest. 'I miss him infinitely, aunt!' Sturmer came occasionally to inquire for the ladies. Once he arrived at the same time with Anna Maria; she, like him, was on horseback; they had probably met on the highway, for Anna Maria came from the fields, the bailiff behind her. I was standing at the window with Susanna. 'What a splendid couple!' said I, involuntarily, and indeed I thought I had scarcely ever seen Anna Maria look so handsome.

"Klaus wrote rarely; those times were not like the present, and one was well satisfied to receive a letter once a fortnight. Anna Maria answered promptly; her accounts must have been sufficiently detailed, for no letter or inquiry in regard to our secret came to me. Anna Maria used to read Klaus's letters, with the exception of the business portions, aloud, after supper. There was a certain homesick sound in the words, calmly and coolly as they were written. But her face beamed at every word which he wrote from the enchanted Silesia in praise of the poor home in the Mark; it stirred her whole heart. Next to her tender affection for her brother, she clung with an idolizing love to her home; no mountain lake could compare with the brown, oak-bound pond in the garden, no high mountain-range with the charm of the heath, with the pine-forests in the cradle of Prussia.

"And the object which doubled all the longing, which made the old manor-house at Butze seem in the eyes of the distant owner like a fairy castle, like a rendezvous of the elves--this object sat playing with her kitten during the reading, and now and then I even had to tap her shoulder as she yawned slightly.

"'Is that only feigned indifference?' I asked myself. Then, again, a sad, weary smile would play about her mouth if Klaus were the subject of conversation. I thought at the time that she was fretting over the long-delayed continuation of that hot declaration of love; that she, with her ardent nature, was tormenting herself to death with doubts. And I could not speak a consoling word to her; Klaus did not wish it. Why should Susanna be spared a

"'Hangen und Bangen In schwebender Pein'?

"One morning a peasant lad came running into the yard, bringing a letter for Susanna; the old mam'selle at the forge had sent him, he said. I met him on the steps, just as I was coming in from the garden, and bade Brockelmann go up to Susanna with the note, which was written on the finest letter-paper. The boy trotted away, and I sat down with Anna Maria in the sitting-room. In a few minutes Susanna's light step was heard in the hall, and she entered the room in haste.

"'I must beg you for a carriage, Fraulein Anna Maria!' she cried, out of breath; 'my old Isa is ill: I must go to her.'

"Anna Maria put down her pen, rather unwillingly, at this disturbance; she had been making out accounts.

"'But, Susanna, how often have I requested you not to walk so fast? You are out of breath again.'

"'Shall we not find out first what is the matter with Isa?' said I, for all at once Klaus's words, 'Hold your hands over this girl!' fell heavily on my soul. Klaus had asked it of me. Klaus was no child; he was a calm, strong-willed man, and he was going to make her his wife, and I knew he would accuse me, bitterly accuse me, if a hair of her head were hurt.

"'It might be a contagious disease, Susanna,' I continued, with all the decision at my command, as her eyes sparkled at my opposition.

"'And what if it were the plague?' she cried, and clinched her little hands, and swung her foot impatiently under the folds of her dress.

"Anna Maria stood up. 'For shame, Susanna! I think you are quite right to wish to take care of Isa; it would be unnatural if you did not have this desire. But you have scarcely recovered, and a long stay in that musty little sick-room would be poison to you; and besides, as Aunt Rosamond says, the disease may be contagious; we must find out about it first.'

"'And meanwhile she may grow worse and die!' cried Susanna pa.s.sionately.

'What if I do take the disease? I must go to her!' And bursting into tears, she threw herself into a chair, and buried her head in the cus.h.i.+ons. Anna Maria went up to her and bent over her.

"'Susanna,' she said, kindly, 'a sensible woman shall go at once to your Isa. And now compose yourself; I have a quiet word to say to you when I come back.'

"'G.o.d knows what that may mean!' I thought, looking at the weeping girl.

'What does she mean to say quietly to her?' I stroked Susanna's hair gently. 'Do not cry, _ma pet.i.te_,' I said, consolingly. 'Everything is in G.o.d's hand. He guides and rules every human life according to his will; trust him, he will bring it right!' I do not know if Susanna understood me; a fresh burst of tears was the reply, and all inconsolable sounded this bitter sobbing.

"Anna Maria came back and sat down opposite Susanna. 'Will you listen to me rationally?' she said, somewhat severely.

"Susanna started up and gave her a defiant look. 'I am listening,' she said.

"Just then I was called away; the pastor's sister, an early friend of mine, had come to pay me a visit. I went, not without anxiously regarding the two girls. What in the world could Anna Maria have in view?

"After two mortal hours Mademoiselle Grune took her leave; she no doubt found me more distraught than is usually permissible; even talking over a wedding festivity which we had attended together in the remote period of our youth, at which Minna Grune came very near becoming engaged, and which ended in a fire, failed to interest me as usual. When I came down-stairs again I found Anna Maria over her housekeeping books; Susanna was not to be seen.

"'Anna Maria,' I asked, more hastily than is my wont, 'what have you been talking about with Susanna?'

"'I wanted to talk with her about her future,' she replied, 'but----'

"'About her future?' I repeated, faintly.

"'Yes, indeed, aunt, for things cannot go on in this way any longer.

Susanna suffers from a dreadful disease--she has _ennui_. In my opinion this doing nothing is enough to make the most healthy people ill.'

"'And what did she say, Anna Maria?'

"'She? she ran away as soon as she heard the one word future! Susanna is a naughty child, and it is high time for Klaus to come back and put her in a pension; she is worse than ever since he went away.'

"I had to smile, and yet tears came suddenly into my eyes, and yielding to an involuntary impulse, I asked: 'Anna Maria, do you really believe that Klaus will send Susanna away.'

"She turned about and gave me a startled look. 'Can you doubt it? He has no doubt gone away for that express purpose. Do you not suppose the justice could have despatched that business?'

"The next day Susanna, pale and low-spirited, drove to Dambitz, to take care of her Isa. She had cried all night long, did not get up in the morning, and kept on crying in her bed, till Anna Maria ordered a carriage for her.

"Isa was said to be suffering from a st.i.tch in the back, quite free from danger, so there was no contagion to be feared. Susanna packed up a host of things, as if she were going to a watering-place. Without ado, Anna Maria took flowers, ribbons, laces, and white dresses out of the trunk, and put in half a dozen strong ap.r.o.ns. 'You will have more use for these,' she explained, gently. I was entirely opposed to this journey; in consideration of my private instructions, I could not approve of it, yet it seemed right to Anna Maria. 'I cannot bear the old woman either,'

she said; 'but if she is ill and wants Susanna, she must go.'

"'How could a man fall in love with this childish little creature?' I thought, as she leaned back in the carriage with a happy smile of satisfaction; the black c.r.a.pe veil floated about her small face, her little feet were propped against the back seat, and she gracefully waved her hand to me again. Oh! mademoiselle had the manners of a d.u.c.h.ess, mademoiselle will already act as Frau von Hegewitz. If Anna Maria dreamed of that!

"A letter from Klaus came that evening. My heart began to beat, as it always did when one came, for each time I thought Klaus would write his sister of his love. I watched Anna Maria closely as she read; she frowned and shook her head.

"'Klaus has had to take possession of the property, in order not to lose everything,' she said. 'He writes that he had expected to be back in a week, but now, alas! he is obliged to stay longer. "The harvest festival should be kept just as if I were there,"' she read on. "You can say a few words to the people in my place. As may easily be imagined, I have my hands full, and there are not a few disagreeable things: in the midst of the harvesting and nothing in order; the people a lazy, Polish element; the bailiff a knave whom I sent off the first day! The situation of the manor is wonderful, as well as the building itself and the great, shady garden; however, I shall be glad when I am free from the business at last. The high hills not far away depress me; they shut out the view too much; how far do you suppose I can see from my window?

Just through the s.p.a.ce between the two barns, over the wall of the court-yard. As soon as I have things in some degree of order here I shall have Beling (the bailiff) come and take the management in my place. I hope you are all getting on well. Is not Aunt Rosamond going to write me at all? Is Susanna well, perfectly well? You did not mention her in your last letter."'

"'Aha!' thought I, as Anna Maria, reflecting, let the letter drop, 'the longing! Oh, you foolish Klaus! And if I were to write him now, "Susanna is in Dambitz," what would he say?'

"'I should like to drive over to-morrow to look after Susanna,' said I, turning to Anna Maria, who was drawing in and out the colored wools on the table-cover she was embroidering for Klaus.

"'I will wager, aunt, she will be back again to-morrow; do you think she will hold out long there in that mean room, with the uncomfortable bed on that neck-breaking sofa? Just wait; she will be here again before we know it.'

"The next day Anna Maria was sitting with her table-cover beside my bed; I had wrapped a rabbit-skin about my arms and shoulders, for the evil rheumatism. Such an attack sometimes chained me to my bed for a week or more, and this time I lay there feeling like a veritable culprit. I kept thinking of Susanna, and this tormented me into a state of nervousness.

And there sat Anna Maria beside me, in her calm way taking one st.i.tch after another. I followed her large yet beautifully formed hand, and the trefoil which grew under it; the lions supporting a s.h.i.+eld were already finished, and the last leaf would be done to-day. 'Fear thy G.o.d, kill thine enemy, trust no friend,' was the strange motto of our family. It doubtless originated in those times when races lived in perpetual feud with one another, each ever ready for combat on the fortress of his fathers.

"'Anna Maria!' I began, at length.

"She started up out of a deep revery. 'Shall I read the paper to you?'

she asked.