A Noble Name Part 42

After this departure, that is, now that the routine of the day was no longer disturbed by Helena's caprices, Johanna's life was duly and methodically arranged. For a while Lisbeth rebelled a little against the stupid work which took up so much of her sister's time, and to which also all the other inmates of 'Terrace-Cottage' seemed devoted. The father, a kind old man, who could tell the most delightful stories, and who every evening accompanied with his violin his daughter's performance upon the piano, taught in the public school. The two oldest daughters gave music-lessons, the third helped her mother about the house, and the three 'little ones' went off to school every day, with heavy satchels and a most important air. In a short time Lisbeth grew weary of her idleness, and as soon as the physician, who continued to look after her now and then, gave his consent, she, to her intense delight, accompanied her beloved Sanna to school.

Dr. Wolf was not satisfied with Johanna's mode of life. "Remember what Goethe says about the man 'who devotes himself to solitude,'" he said.

"The author must not be alone; the full stream of being must bring him refreshment and invigoration. And it is well also, for material reasons, that he should be known personally."

Johanna did not agree with him. More than aught else, she a.s.sured him, she needed repose. She had much to overcome and to a.n.a.lyze in herself before she could attempt to create a position for herself. She did not confess to him how crushed she was by her experience with Batti and Dr.

Stein. She dreaded the sight of a strange face. Her intercourse with Dr.

Wolf and the inmates of the house sufficed her, and when she was tired of work, a walk in the quiet fields, or a rest on the terrace in the shade of the lindens, restored her courage. Even the simple musical performances in the evenings refreshed her more and more. The old teacher's exquisite taste supplied his want of _technique_. Many a brilliant performance in her father's house had failed to give Johanna such an insight into Haydn and Mozart as she now gained from this reverent, child-like nature. Or was it that she had become more impressionable? Her greatest gain, however, was in the constant companionship of her little sister, in the consciousness that, for a while at least, the child was physically, morally, and mentally breathing a healthy atmosphere. Now for the first time Lisbeth learned to laugh and play without thinking of the impression she was producing.

She often spoke of her pretty mamma, but as of some image of a fairy-tale, which had no place in every-day life.

And one day--Helena had already written twice from Brussels in raptures with the charming city--there came a letter from Batti with terrible news. He and Helena had driven out with a new pair of young horses; the fiery animals had run away. Helena, needlessly terrified, had jumped out of the carriage, and in so doing had received injuries from which she had died in a few hours. "If I die, Johanna must take care of Lisbeth," she had repeatedly declared; and although Batti pa.s.sionately longed for his step-daughter, he thought it his duty to fulfil his wife's last wishes. Perhaps when Lisbeth was perfectly well Johanna might take pity upon his desolate existence and bring the child to him for a while. For the present, he went on to say, the sight of her would be more than he could bear. And he could not stay in Brussels. He should probably go immediately to St. Petersburg, or to Paris, or to London. It was all the same to him now, only he must flee from the place where he had had so terrible an experience. But wherever he might be, he should labour for Lisbeth. The hope of providing brilliantly for her future was now the only tie that bound him to life and that could console him for his lost happiness.

He hoped that Johanna would aid him in making the child happy. She must fulfil her every wish, and surround the lovely little creature with all the splendour in which Helena had so delighted.

At this moment Lisbeth, who had been playing with the 'little ones,'

came running merrily into the room. "Hanna dear, what is the matter?"

she cried, when she saw the tears in her sister's eyes.

Johanna clasped her in her arms. "Come, my darling," she whispered, holding her in a close embrace. "Now you have no one except your sister; now you are all my own."

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHANGES AT DoNNINGHAUSEN.

In Donninghausen they were looking for Johann Leopold's return. He had not informed his relatives of the precise day upon which it would take place, for he wished to avoid all demonstrations of welcome. Hence, when he arrived by an afternoon train at Thalrode, no carriage had been sent to meet him, and the innkeeper, who was wont to supply a conveyance upon such occasions, begged him, with many excuses, to wait half an hour, since, because of the harvesting, all the horses were in the fields.

Johann Leopold ordered a gla.s.s of beer to be brought to him in the summer-house, and after dismissing the garrulous host, he sat in the shady nook, contemplating his native mountains with a delight of which he had not supposed himself capable.

In outward appearance he was scarcely changed. His pale face was slightly tanned, his form a shade less bent, his movements only a little more elastic than before his travels. And within? He was not yet entirely free from the mental depression caused by the disease which he had inherited, but it did not weigh upon him so heavily. The attacks of the malady had for a year been very slight, and for months there had not even been any recurrence of them. Heaven might, perhaps, yet smile upon him. And if, as his grandfather's last letter declared, Magelone was looking forward with longing to his return, if she could really love him, and would wait until with a clear conscience he could call her his own! With a sigh he pa.s.sed his hand over his forehead and eyes. But to-day these fair pictures of the future would not, as usual, be banished; they beckoned to him enticingly upon his return to his home.

And he had struggled so long against soul and sense, and he was so weary of the conflict.

Approaching footsteps roused him from his revery.

"Good-day, Squire! Are you back again?" called a hoa.r.s.e voice, and Red Jakob held out his hand to his young master.

Johann Leopold shook it as he had done since they were boys together.

"Well, Jakob," he said, "you look all right again. I hope you and Christine are getting along well in your nest in the forest."

"Thanks, Squire, as well as possible," Jakob replied; and as, without more ado, he took a seat opposite Johann Leopold, he added, "I'm right glad to see you here. With the best will in the world I've done a deal of mischief, and my only hope is that you, Squire, will settle it all again."

"I certainly will if I can," Johann Leopold replied. "In a day or two I'll come and see you, and we'll discuss the matter."

"No, Squire; you must listen now," Jakob interposed. "If you get up there"--he pointed toward Donninghausen--"and they all tell their stories, you'll never be able to understand. But I tell you, and I'll swear to it, that the gracious Fruleen was not to blame, and was----that it was a sin and a shame to send her off like a dog with the mange----"

"Jakob, are you speaking of my cousin?" Johann Leopold interrupted him.

"Recollect yourself, and don't talk nonsense. She went voluntarily to her relatives after she had voluntarily broken her engagement."

"Indeed? All for her own pleasure?" said Jakob, with a malicious grin.

"Of course that's what the two say who are to blame for it all. To her relatives, you say? She has gone to the circus-riders. You can read it there with your own eyes." He laid a little leather wallet on the table, and with his sound hand took from it a cutting from a newspaper, which he handed to Johann Leopold. "Christine almost cried her eyes out over it," he went on, "and I promised her that I would tell you, that you may bring the gracious Fruleen back again, and turn out those who deserve it."

Johann Leopold ran through Dr. Stein's newspaper notice. "Nonsense!" he said, knitting his brows. "There are just as many lies printed as uttered. But what do you mean by the two who are to blame? What business is the affair of yours? You are and always were an insolent fellow----"

"Squire!" shouted Red Jakob, and an evil light shone in his deep-set eyes; but, after a pause, he continued, more gently: "I do deserve a scolding this time, although not for what you think. It fretted me to see the gracious Fruleen so deceived. I saw them both in the forest--Squire Otto and Frau von Magelone--who was at Klausenburg on a visit. They grew bolder and bolder, and more and more loving, and meanwhile the wedding-day was coming nearer and nearer. At last I could not look on any longer, and I just brought the gracious Fruleen upon them unexpectedly, when they were clasped in each other's arms, forgetting all the world beside."

"Go on!" said Johann Leopold, who sat pale and rigid, his head leaning on his hand.

Red Jakob shrugged his shoulders: "There's not much more to tell. The gracious Fruleen was like a marble statue. She said not one word, but her eyes looked like a dying deer's. I called Christine to talk to her, but it was no use! I was afraid she'd do herself a mischief. Of course I don't know what happened at the castle; but the gracious Fruleen has gone, and Squire Otto is snug and warm in Tannhagen, and as for the gracious Frau von Magelone----"

"That's enough, Jakob!" Johann Leopold interrupted him, rising as he spoke. "Depend upon it that all that should be done shall be done. There comes the carriage. You can get up beside the driver, and he'll take you as far as the Klausenburg cross-roads."

"Thanks, Squire, I have something to do in Thalrode." The host came running to help the Herr into the carriage. Johann Leopold sank back wearily in a corner of the vehicle.

"He's no better," said Jakob, as he stood looking after his master.

"And no friendlier," muttered the innkeeper. "A stiff-necked, haughty set they all are at Donninghausen."

Red Jakob laughed derisively to himself. "You ought to call it proud and stately!" he cried. "That kind is measured by another scale and rule from what they apply to us."

And proud and stately it certainly looked when the carriage bearing home the heir drove into the court-yard, and the servants came hurrying from all directions. Leo circled about the conveyance barking joyously, and old Christian with tears of joy opened the carriage-door, while the Freiherr in all his dignity appeared at the top of the castle steps.

"G.o.d bless you, my dear boy!" he cried in sonorous tones as he embraced his grandson, and his eager glance scanned the face and figure of the young man, who did his best to bear himself bravely.

"My dear grandfather, how glad I am to see you so unchanged!" he said cordially, and then he embraced Aunt Thekla, who advanced from the background, where stood Magelone with blushing face, sparkling eyes, and a sweet smile upon her lips. And with this same sweet, treacherous smile, as Johann Leopold called it to himself, she held out both hands to him, and in a tender whisper, such as he had never heard from her before, breathed, "Thank G.o.d for your safe and happy return!"

For a moment he was tempted, in spite of all he had heard, to s.n.a.t.c.h her to his heart; but he controlled himself, and only kissed her hand.

Magelone changed colour. She had expected a warmer greeting. The next moment, however, her face was as bright as before; Johann Leopold did not yet know her sentiments with regard to him and his farewell letter.

He should learn them as soon as possible; perhaps she might even find a time to explain them to him to-day.

If he would only be a little more like a lover! Instead of following Magelone into the garden when the Freiherr retired after dinner, he joined Aunt Thekla on the terrace.

For a while he freely answered all her questions. At length he said, "Aunt Thekla, I have some information to ask of you. Red Jakob, whom I encountered by chance in Thalrode to-day, told me some strange things, the nature of which I hardly need explain to you."

Aunt Thekla made no reply, but her face betrayed her dismay.

"You wrote me," Johann Leopold went on, after a pause, "that you had agreed never to speak of Johanna. I am sorry to grieve you, but I should be sorry to do any one injustice: therefore pray tell me, did Otto give Johanna cause for jealousy? I do not ask for any details; I ask but a simple yes or no."

"He knows everything," the old lady said to herself, and, incapable of a direct denial of the truth, she answered, "Yes, unfortunately!"

Johann Leopold's head sank upon his breast. "And my grandfather was told nothing of this?" he asked.

"No; my brother thinks that Otto and Johanna quarrelled on account of her paternal relatives; that Otto required her to choose between ourselves and those people----"

"And Otto allowed my grandfather to remain in this error?" cried Johann Leopold.

His aunt laid her hand on his arm in terror. "You will not explain it to him? Oh, I beg you, I entreat you, not to do so! You can do no good.

Johanna cannot live among us again. And my brother, with his sense of honour,--his devotion to duty----Oh, I pray you spare him!" And she burst into tears.