A Sister's Love Part 27

"Slowly Susanna came as far as the middle of the room. I made haste to light a candle, but she begged me not to do it; her voice sounded almost breathless. When I heard Klaus's rapid step in the hall, I went into the adjoining room, whereupon Susanna took a few hasty steps after me, as if she would detain me; but I would not have spoiled this quarter of an hour for Klaus by my presence for anything in the world. Why should a third person hear what two people who are to belong to each other forever have to say? And so I drew the door to, and only heard a voice, full of emotion, cry: 'Susanna!'

"I stood at the open window, and looked out on the moonlit court; in the house all was still. Edwin Sturmer had driven away before supper, rightly supposing that we should have a great deal to talk about during Klaus's short stay; the guests from the parsonage, too, had gone home early. Isabella had doubtless called Klaus from Anna Maria's side to Susanna; the people were dancing on gayly under the oaks, by the light of lanterns; the sound of music, and now and then of a bold shout, came over to me, or the beginning of a song from a girl's fresh voice; and the air was mild as on a spring evening.

"'Anna Maria?--what is she doing now?' thought I. And the minutes ran away and became quarter-hours; with a clank, the old clock struck seven.

I sprang up; no, the old aunt did not quite forget the requirements of etiquette. I opened the door and went into my room. I saw the two standing at the window; he had put his arm around her, and was bending low over her.

"'And now, say _one_ word, Susanna; say that you love me as I love you!'

I heard him whisper, hotly and beseechingly.

"The moonlight fell all about her bright, delicate figure, and I could distinctly see her arm begin slowly to slip from his shoulder. The music out of doors had just ceased; for an instant there was a breathless silence, then the deep, sad tones of a young man's voice floated in at the open window:

"'I thought I held thee wondrous dear, Ere I another found; Farewell, I know it first to-day What 'tis to be love-bound,'

came up the sound. Susanna's arm slipped quite down Once more I heard him whisper, more softly than before. 'Yes!' said Susanna, quickly and in a half-stifled tone, and I saw Klaus take her in his arms impetuously and kiss her.

"The following day fairly flew away, I can scarcely toll how, now. There were so many things to be talked about, agreed upon, and arranged.

"Klaus had talked with Isabella about the wedding, and they were agreed that the 22d of November should be the festal day. Isabella came out of his room with a new silk dress on her arm; she did not look wholly enraptured, for he had told her that he was going to hire a comfortable little dwelling in Berlin, and provide for her support; until the wedding she might stay here. Anna Maria had prevailed upon him to do this, and he himself did not consider the old woman exactly a desirable appendix to his wife. She cast an enraged look at Anna Maria as she went out; she knew to whom she owed this arrangement, so little to her mind.

"On Susanna's hand sparkled a brilliant ring. Klaus was constantly at her side. I saw them in the morning wandering up and down the garden-paths, and once, too, heard her charming laugh, but it was shortly broken off. She was quiet, but nevertheless let herself be adored like a queen by her attentive lover.

"How happy he looked, the dear old fellow, and how truly concerned he was about the little maiden to whom he had given his heart! Like an anxious mother, he bundled her up in shawls and rugs when she sat out on the terrace in the warm midday sun. Every sentence which he uttered began: 'Susanna, would you be pleased if it were thus?' and concluded: 'If you are content, of course, my darling!'

"Anna Maria had a great deal to do out of doors. Was it really the case?

Did it pain her to see the two thus? Had a feeling of real jealousy come over her? She left the tiresome business of a _dame d'honneur_ almost entirely to me.

"At evening Klaus had to go away again, and the hour drew quickly near; he grew silent and tender the nearer the moment of separation came.

After supper we sat in the garden-parlor, about the lighted lamp.

Klaus's travelling cloak and rug lay on a chair; Susanna had gone to her room for a moment, and Anna Maria to the kitchen to prepare a gla.s.s of mulled wine for Klaus, for he had grown icy cold. Klaus held a knot of ribbon in his hand, which he had taken from Susanna's hair.

"'Aunt Rosamond,' said he, suddenly, looking over at me, 'Sturmer comes here very often now, doesn't he?'

"'Yes, Klaus, very often.'

"'Does he intend to ride a pair of horses to death to--to play whist with you?' he asked, smiling.

"'I don't know, Klaus,' I replied.

"He came nearer to me. 'If it only might be, aunt,' he said gently; 'do you think that this time Anna Maria would, again----'

"'No, Klaus; if I understand Anna Maria aright, she still loves Sturmer.'

"'Still, aunt? _Now_, you mean to say?'

"I knew not what answer to make.

"'I should be so glad,' he began again, 'if Anna Maria and Edwin----'

"He broke off, for Susanna had entered; she had such a light, floating gait that we did not notice her till she was already standing in the middle of the room. Slowly she came nearer; she was doubtless suffering at the thought of separation, for she looked very pale and scarcely spoke that evening. When Klaus folded her in his arms on his departure she looked up into his true, agitated face, and for an instant, raising herself on tip-toe, she put both arms around his neck, but for his affectionate words she had no reply.

"She remained standing beside me on the front steps, looking after him, as, wrapped in his great cloak, he got into the carriage. Anna Maria went down the steps with him, and put extra rugs and foot-sacks in with her own hands. The brother and sister held out their hands to each other, but Klaus's looks sped past Anna Maria up to the delicate figure standing motionless in the flickering light of the lanterns. Brockelmann looked, suddenly transfixed, at the girl, who only waved her hand lightly. The carriage drove rattling away; once more he leaned his head out; then the carriage rolled through the gateway, out into the night.

"Susanna did not wait till Anna Maria had come up the steps; she ran back into the house as if pursued, and I heard her light step going up-stairs.

"Anna Maria and I went back to the garden-parlor. Neither of us spoke; I laid my knitting-work and gla.s.ses in my work-basket, and Anna Maria stood, reflecting, in the middle of the room. All at once I saw her take a few steps forward and quickly stoop over; when she stood upright again she had grown pale. Her hand held a small, s.h.i.+ning object--Susanna's engagement ring!

"She said not a word, but put the ring on the table and sat down. She waited for Susanna. She _must_ miss the ring, and would hurry down directly, anxiously hunting for it.

"An hour pa.s.sed. Anna Maria had taken up one of Scott's novels; she turned the pages at long intervals. I had taken out my knitting again.

At last she laid aside the book.

"'We will go to bed, Aunt Rosamond,' said she. 'Will you give the ring to Susanna?'

"I took the little pledge of love, wrought in heavy gold. 'It must be too large for her,' said I, in excuse.

"'Yes,' replied Anna Maria, harshly, 'it is not suited to her hand.' And nodding gravely, she left the room before me.

CHAPTER XV.

"It seemed as if the autumn had only delayed commencing its sway in order not to interfere with the Butze harvest festival. Now it broke in all the more violently, with its gusts of rain, its storms, and its hatred toward everything which reminded one of summer. Each little green leaf was tinged with yellow or red, and the garden was gay as a paper of patterns; the purplish-red festoons of the wild grape hung moistly down, and in the morning a heavy white mist lay over the landscape. The storks' nest on the barn roof was empty, whole flocks of wild geese flew away screaming over the village, and inevitably came the thought of the long, monotonous winter which Anna Maria and I were to pa.s.s alone.

"Anna Maria did not give herself up to idle reveries; she took hold of work, even too much work, as the best defence against worry and against a growing sadness. Only in the twilight she would sometimes stand idle, and look away across the court-yard, and listen to the measured sound of the thres.h.i.+ng that came across from the barn. Then she would pa.s.s her hand over her forehead, light a candle, and move up to the table with her work--and work there was in abundance.

"Anna Maria had taken Susanna's outfit in hand without delay. She led the young girl to the huge linen-chests, and, with the pride of a housewife, showed her the piles of snow-white linen, told her which pieces she had spun herself, and spread before her eyes the choicest sets of table linen. Susanna stood beside her, and cast a look rather of astonishment than admiration at these splendors; she did not understand what one could do with such a monstrous pile; it was more than one could use in a hundred years, she thought. Isa, too, seemed to have no appreciation of the important treasures. 'Too coa.r.s.e, too coa.r.s.e, mademoiselle!' was all she said, letting the linen, which three seamstresses were making up into Susanna's underclothing, slip through her fingers. 'That will last forever, and will rub the child's tender skin to pieces.'

"Susanna grew somewhat more interested when dress-patterns arrived from Berlin, by Klaus's order. The small hands turned over the gay little pieces with real satisfaction; she ran from Anna Maria to Isa, and from Isa to me, asking whether we preferred satin or moire antique, brocade or _gros de Tours_. And every evening, punctually at seven o'clock, came Edwin Sturmer, through autumn darkness, rain, and wind.

"I remember how one day he came into the room and inquired after the health of the ladies; how, when he was preparing to leave, Anna Maria said her friendly: 'Will you not stay with us, baron?' And how he then laid aside hat and riding-whip again, ate supper with us, and then sat down at the whist-table--all as usual, and yet so different.

"Susanna was a careless and not a clever player; she threw her cards down at random, never knew what had been played, and had no idea of the real meaning of the game. Anna Maria took this, like every occupation of life, seriously, and examined it thoroughly.

"'But, Susanna, do pay attention; you are playing into your opponent's hand!' she would say during the game; or, 'Please, Susanna, do not look at Aunt Rosamond's cards; you must not do that!" It had a pedantic sound when one looked at that smiling, rosy creature, who held the cards in her little hands with such charming awkwardness, forgot every instant what was the trump, laughed out from pure pleasure when she took a trick, and would be so truly disheartened when she lost. 'Oh, _est il possible_?' she would ask, shaking her head; 'not a trick?'

"Sturmer played this whist with the patience of an angel; he picked up Susanna's fallen cards unweariedly, smiled when she laughed, and when Anna Maria scolded an almost imperceptible wrinkle came between his brows. Occasionally, when he was Anna Maria's partner, she would appear confused and embarra.s.sed, and he distracted; and once or twice they lost the rubber, just as they had done before. 'Unlucky at cards, lucky in love!' said Pastor Grune, who sat behind Anna Maria's chair on such evenings. She blushed suddenly, and her hand, which still held the last card, trembled. Edwin Sturmer, with fine tact, seemed not to hear the allusion, and Susanna was silent and looked at Anna Maria with, all at once, a strange sparkle in her eyes. Of her relation to Klaus no mention had ever been made in the presence of a stranger, according to agreement; she herself had the least thought of betraying herself by a hasty utterance. Once I had asked if Sturmer might not be initiated. But Anna Maria declared that Klaus would not wish it, so I kept still.

"Susanna rarely spoke of her absent lover; but Isa put two letters to him into the mail-bag, regularly, every week, in answer to his frequent, longing epistles. In her room, meanwhile, all manner of presents acc.u.mulated, which Klaus bought for her in Breslau--knick-knacks, ornaments, fans, and such useless things, which I could never think of in connection with Anna Maria. Klaus had never cared for such things before, either, and therefore did not exactly understand choosing them, and many an old, unsalable article may have been put into his hand as the latest novelty for the sake of heavy money. Susanna had a remarkably well-developed sense of beauty, and the charming way of women, of wearing a thing out of devotion because a beloved hand gave it, seemed totally unknown to her. But she exulted aloud when she discovered a little old lace handkerchief which Anna Maria had found, in rummaging in a long-unopened chest; and in the evening, when Sturmer came, she wore it daintily knotted about her neck, and in the delicate yellowish lace placed the last red asters from the garden.

"Anna Maria was more serious and chary of words after every visit from Sturmer; but an unmistakable expression of quiet, inward happiness lay on her proud face. She reminded me daily, more and more, of that Anna Maria who once, on a stormy spring day, came into my room, fell on my neck, and almost--oh, if it had only happened!--confided to me the secret in her young heart. Unspeakably pleasing she appeared, in her quiet happiness, beside that young, childish bride-elect, who was never still, who now laughed more wildly than a kobold, and the next minute wept enough to move a stone to pity. Yes, Susanna Mattoni could laugh and cry like scarce another human being.

"Often I saw Anna Maria standing in the twilight under the old linden; motionless, she looked over yonder, where, in the evening haze, the dark, gabled roofs of Dambitz emerged from the trees of the park. She had fallen into a dreamy state, out of which she would suddenly start, when she was reminded of Klaus by some eccentricity of Susanna's. Then she would look again in warm anxiety at the mercurial little creature, and then run into her solitary room, and not appear again for several hours.

"One day, just three weeks before the appointed wedding-day, I was returning, toward evening, from a visit to my old friend, Mademoiselle Grune, at the parsonage. It was windy and wet and cold, a regular autumn evening, such as I do not like at all. I drew my veil over my face for protection, wrapped my cloak more tightly about me, and took the shortest way across the church-yard and through the garden. The manor-house looked gloomy behind the tall trees; not a window was lighted, but from the great chimney the smoke blew away over the roofs, like long, dark, funeral banners, and wrestled with the wind which dissipated it in all directions.

"I began to think with pleasure of the comfortable sitting-room, of a warm beer-soup, and the regular evening whist-table. Just as I was pa.s.sing a side-path, I saw a dark figure sitting under the linden. 'Anna Maria!' I murmured, 'and in this storm!' For an instant I stood still, with the intention of calling to her, for a fine, drizzling rain was now falling, and I feared she would take cold on this dreary evening. But I gave it up, because I thought, on reflection, she would not probably want to be seen at all, or have an inquisitive look taken at a shyly guarded secret, and I made haste to walk away down the path as quickly as possible, to get away un.o.bserved.