Old Fritz and the New Era Part 37

"Oh, you wretch, I will pay you--I will scratch your eyes out, you miserable creature!"

"Trude, be quiet," commanded Ebenstreit; "the general orders to give up the key--do it!"

"Yes, do it at once," shrieked Frau von Werrig, "or I will dismiss you from my service."

"That you will not have to do, as I shall go myself. I will not give up the key."

"The door is old, and with a good push one could open it," said Leberecht.

"Come, my son, let us see," said the mother.

They hastened up to the room, while the general scolded, furiously that he must sit still. Leberecht and Trude cast furious, menacing glances at each other.

Suddenly a loud crash was heard.

"They have broken open the door!" cried the general.

"I said that it was old and frail--what do you say now, beautiful Trude?"

The old woman wiped with her hand the drops of perspiration from her forehead, caused by her anguish. "You are a bad fellow, and G.o.d will punish you for your treason, that you have tormented a n.o.ble, unhappy girl. I saw that you were an eavesdropper, and you know all."

"She is gone!" shrieked the mother, rus.h.i.+ng into the room.

"The room is empty," cried Ebenstreit. "Marie is not there. Tell us, Leberecht, what you know about it."

"I will, if we can agree about the pay--the old woman bothers me, and beg the young gentleman to go into the next room with me."

"O Almighty G.o.d, have compa.s.sion upon my poor little Marie," murmured Trude, kneeling, and covering her face.

Ebenstreit in the mean time withdrew to the other room, followed by the servant.

"Speak!" commanded his master, "and tell me what you have to say."

Leberecht shrugged his shoulders. "We are two men who have urgent business with each other. I am not at present a servant and you the master. I am a man who has an important secret to sell, and you are the man who would buy it."

"What strange, unheard-of language is this?" said Ebenstreit, astonished.

"The language of a man who cannot only deprive the rich banker Ebenstreit of a lovely wife, but of his t.i.tle also. You said yourself, sir, this morning, that it was only valid if you succeeded in marrying the daughter of General von Leuthen. No none knows where you can find your bride but me."

"And Trude," said Ebenstreit, quickly.

"You know she will not betray Fraulein, and you have not even tried to make her."

"You are mistaken; Trude is as easily bought as any one."

"You say that because she has taken five hundred thalers from you. She has not helped you, and it is useless to ask for your money, as she has not got it."

"How so? Has she given it away?"

"You provided the money for your bride to run away and marry elsewhere, as Trude gave it to them."

Ebenstreit stamped his foot with rage, striding backward and forward in furious excitement, while Leberecht watched him, sardonically smiling.

"Let us come to an end with this business," said Ebenstreit, stopping before his servant. "You know where Fraulein can be found, and you wish to sell the secret--tell me your price."

"Three thousand thalers, and a clerks.h.i.+p in your bank, which you intend to continue under another name."

"You are beside yourself. I am not so foolish as to grant such senseless demands."

"Every hour that you wait I demand a thousand thalers more, and if you stop to reflect long your betrothed and your t.i.tle both are lost."

"You are a miserable scamp!" cried Ebenstreit, enraged; "I will inform the police. There are means enough to force you to give the information."

"I do not believe it. Trude will not tell you, and I should like to know what can force me if I will not. The king has done away with torture, and I have informed you how to make me speak. Three thousand thalers and a clerks.h.i.+p in your office. Take care! it is almost eleven o'clock--at midnight I shall demand four thousand."

CHAPTER XXVI. UNDER THE STARRY HEAVENS.

It was a beautiful, clear, moonlight night. The world reposed in silence. Mankind with their cares and sorrows, their joys and hopes, had gone to rest. Over town and village, over highway and forest had flitted the sweet, consoling angel--Sleep. The sad were soothed, the heavy-laden were lightened of their burdens, to the despairing were brought golden dreams, to the weary rest. Sighing and sorrowful, he turned from those with a sad face whose conscience banished repose, and, ah! their number was legion. To the wakeful and blissful he smilingly glanced, breathing a prayer and a blessing; but these were few and far between--for happiness is a rare guest, and tarries with mortals but fitfully. As he glided past the joyful couple who, with watchful love and grateful hearts, sat in the carriage rolling over the silent, deserted highway, two tears fell from his eyes, and his starry wings were wider outspread to rush more quickly past.

"Look, my dear Marie, two stars just fell from heaven. They are a greeting to you, loved one, and they would say they guide us on our way."

"Oh, Philip, it is a sign of ill-luck! Falling stars betoken misfortune!"

She clung closer to his side, and laid her head upon his shoulder.

He pressed her more lovingly to his heart. "Do not fear, dear Marie; separation only could cause us unhappiness--we have long borne it, and now it is forever past. You have given yourself to me for my own, and I am yours, heart and soul; we speed on through the night to the morning of the bright, sunny future, never more to be parted."

"Never!" she fervently murmured. "Oh, may G.o.d hear our prayer. Never, never to part! Yet, while the word falls from my lips, a shudder creeps through my soul."

"Wherefore this despair, dearest? Reflect, no one will be apprised of our flight till early morning, and then they will not know whither we have fled. Meanwhile we rush on to Hamburg, where a packet-s.h.i.+p sails every Wednesday for England; arriving there, we will first go to Suffolk, to my old friend the vicar of Tunningham. I was his guest many weeks last year, and he often related to me the privilege which had been conferred on the parish church for a long time to perform valid marriages for those to whose union there were obstacles interposed elsewhere. He will bless the union of our love, and will accord me the lawful right to call you my own before G.o.d and man. We will not return at once to Germany. I have many connections and literary friends in London, who will a.s.sist me to worthy occupation. Besides, I closed an agreement some weeks since with the publisher Nicolai in Berlin for a new work. I will write it in London; it will be none the less favored coming from a distance."

"My flowers and paintings will also be as well received in as in Berlin," added Marie, smilingly.

"No, Marie, you shall not work. I shall have the precious care of providing for you, which will be my pride and happiness. Oh, my beloved, what a crowning bliss to possess a sweet, dear wife, who is only rich in imperishable treasures, and poor in external riches! What delight to toil for her, and feel that there lives in my intellect the power to grant her every wish, and to compensate her in the slightest degree the boundless wealth of her affection! To a loving mind there is no prouder, happier feeling than to be the only source of support to the wife of his love--to know that she looks to him for the fulfilment of her slightest wish in life. I thank my Maker that you are poor, Marie, and that I am permitted to toil for you. How else could I reward you for all you have sacrificed for me?"

"You cannot suppose, dear Philip, that the riches of my obtrusive lover would have been any attraction to me. Money could never compensate for the loss of your love. You are my life, and from you alone can I receive happiness or unhappiness. At your side I am rich and joyous, though we may outwardly need; without you I should be poor with superfluity. I am proud that we in spirit have freed ourselves from those fict.i.tious externals with which the foolish burden themselves. Oh, my beloved Philip, my whole soul is exultant that we are never more to part--no, not even in eternity, for I believe that love is an undying sentiment, and the soul can never be darkened by death which is beaming with affection."

"You are right, Marie, love is the immortality of the soul; through it man is regenerated and soars to the regions of eternal light. When I recall how desolate and gloomy was my life, how joyless the days dragged on before I loved you, I almost menaced Heaven that it created me to wander alone through this desert. The brightest sun's rays now gild my future, and it seems as if we were alone in paradise, and that the creation entire glorified my happiness, and all the voices of Nature shouted a greeting to you, dearest. Oh, Marie, if I lived a thousand years, my heart would retain its youthful love and adoration for you, who have saved me from myself, have freed my soul from the constraining fetters of a sad, joyless existence. Repose your head upon my heart, and may it rest there many happy years, and receive in this hour my oath to love, esteem, and honor you as my most precious treasure! You shall be wife, child, sister, and friend. My soul shall be frank and open to you; for you I will strive and toil, and will cherish and foster the happiness received from you as my most treasured gift. Give me your hand, Marie."

She laid it within his own strong, manly hand, gently pressing it.

The large full moon, high above them, lighted up these n.o.ble faces, making the eyes, which were bent upon each other, more radiant. Swiftly the carriage rolled on, the night-breeze fanning their cheeks and waving back their raven curls.

Moritz raised their clasped hands, and gazed at the starry heaven.

"We lift them up unto Thee, O G.o.d. Thou hast heard my oath, O Eternal Spirit, who dwellest among the stars; receive it, and bless the woman I love!"