A Sister's Love Part 28

"But my foot stopped again; a horseman was coming along by the hedge, and, in spite of the gray twilight, I recognized Sturmer; he waved his hat in greeting over toward the arbor, and there some one beckoned--I very nearly had palpitation of the heart from joyful fear--with a white cloth, and this little signal waved in the misty evening air till he disappeared behind the trees on the other side of the bridge.

"'Anna Maria! Is it possible?' said I, half-aloud, as I walked on--that it sounded like a cry of exultation I could not help. Ah, all must be well yet, and surely all would be well! I hurried up the steps to write a few words to Klaus. 'Anna Maria and Edwin were nearer than he had hoped'--how pleased he would be! But I did not accomplish that to-day.

Brockelmann came to meet me in the entrance-hall, and in spite of my happy agitation, I had to listen to a long story, for which she even urged me to come into her neat little room. A married niece of hers, living in the village, had had a quarrel with her husband yesterday, in the course of which he had emphatically tried to prove conclusively the 'I am to be your master!' with a heavy stick. The good Brockelmann was beside herself at the 'wicked fellow,' and would not let me go till I had solemnly promised to take the tyrant to task. 'Anna Maria understands it even better, perhaps,' she added, 'but I don't know what is the matter with her now. I think I might tell her a story ten times over, and at the end she would look at me and ask: "What are you saying, Brockelmann?" I wish I could just get at the bottom of it!'

"'Well,' I said, smiling, 'I will see to it; send the rude old fellow up to me to-morrow.' She followed me into the hall, and clattered down-stairs in her slippers, scolding away, and in a very bad humor, because Rieke had not yet lighted the hall-lamps.

"In my room still glimmered the last ray of daylight, and in this uncertain light I saw a figure rising from the arm-chair by the stove.

'Anna Maria, is it you?' I asked, recognizing her.

"She came slowly over to me. 'Yes, aunt, I have something to deliver to you. Sturmer has been here; he wanted to speak to you; about what, I don't know.' She spoke hesitatingly and softly. 'Then he asked me to hand you this note, which he wrote hastily.'

"She pressed a note into my hand. 'Here, aunt, read.' I sat down in the low chair by the stove, and held the sheet in the flickering light of the flames, but the letters danced indistinctly before my eyes. 'We must have a light,' said I; 'or read it aloud to me, Anna Maria, it takes so long for Brockelmann to bring a lamp.'

"Anna Maria knelt down beside me, and took the letter. 'Ought I to know, too, what it contains?' she asked.

"'Oh, of course I allow it, only read!' And Anna Maria began:

"'MY DEAR, ESTEEMED AUNT ROSAMOND:--Unfortunately I did not find you at home. Please expect me to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock. I have something to discuss with you, and want your advice in a matter upon the issue of which the peace and happiness of my heart will depend. Say nothing yet to Anna Maria!

"'In haste and impatience,

"'Your most devoted

"'EDWIN STuRMER.'

"Anna Maria did not read it just as it stands here; it came out in broken sentences; then the sheet fluttered to the floor, she buried her fair head in my lap, and threw her arms impetuously about me. 'Aunt, ah, aunt!' she groaned.

"I took her head between my two hands, and kissed her forehead; tears flowed from my eyes. 'Anna Maria! ah, at last, at last!' I sobbed; 'now everything may yet be well.'

"She did not answer; she rose and began to walk up and down the room, her arms crossed below her breast, her head bent. I could not distinguish her features in the deep twilight, but I knew that she was deeply affected. 'Aunt,' she said at last, coming up to me, 'what answer shall you make to Sturmer?'

"'That I will receive him, Anna Maria.'

"'No'--she hesitated--'I mean to-morrow, to his question--'she said, slowly.

"'What you will, Anna Maria. Shall I say yes?'

"Slipping to the floor, she threw her arms around my neck. 'Yes!' she said, softly, and burst into tears. The pain borne quietly for years gushed with them from her soul; I stroked her smooth head caressingly, and let her weep. How long we sat thus I know not. Then the girl rose and kissed my hand. 'I will go down,' she whispered.

"'Yes, Anna Maria,' I bade, 'you ought to rest a little or your head will burn. Let Brockelmann make you a cup of tea; you have surely caught cold in your head out in the wet garden.'

"She had her hand already on the door-latch, and now turned about again.

'I have not been in the garden, aunt,' she said; 'I have been waiting here up-stairs for you, certainly for half an hour, since he went away.'

She nodded to me once more, then she went out, and left me standing in unutterable bewilderment.

"Anna Maria not in the garden? Who in the world could have stood there and beckoned to him? An oppressive fear overwhelmed me, and almost instinctively I went across to Susanna's room; my first look fell upon her, sitting on the floor before the fire-place; the bright light illuminated her face with a rosy glow, and made her eyes seem more radiant than ever. Her hands were clasped about her knees, and she was looking dreamily at the flickering flames. Isa was bustling about at the back of the room; she came nearer as she caught sight of me.

"'Susanna,' I asked, 'were you in the garden a little while ago?'

"She started up and looked at me with frightened eyes. 'No!' answered Isabella in her place. 'Susy has not left the room all the afternoon.

What should she be doing out of doors in this weather?'

"'I do not know--but I surely thought I saw you, Susanna?'

"She turned her head and looked in her lap. 'I was not down there,' she said, hesitatingly.

"I went away; my old eyes were failing then. Close by the door my foot caught in something soft. I stooped down; it was the lace veil that Susanna used to wear over her head, heavy and wet with rain. Without a word I laid it on the nearest chair. Why did Susanna tell a lie? Why was she frightened?

"And all at once an ugly, shocking thought darted like lightning through my brain, that made me almost numb with fear. But no, surely it was not possible, it was madness; how could one imagine such a thing? I scolded myself. With trembling hand I lit a candle and went to my writing-desk; to this day I cannot account for my answer to Sturmer being as it was, and not different. I wrote under the influence of an inexplicable anxiety. Strangely enough the letter sounded:

"'MY DEAR EDWIN:--I shall be glad to see you here to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock, and can also tell you an important piece of news, which will please you. What do you say to this, that Klaus, our old Klaus, is engaged; and that the bride-elect is no other than Susanna Mattoni? Very likely you have guessed it easily?

"'They have been engaged for some time, but it has been kept a secret for the mean time; but an old chatterbox like me may surely make an exception in your case.

"'Affectionate greetings from your old friend,

"'ROSAMOND VON HEGEWITZ.'

"In the greatest haste I folded the note, rang, and gave it into the immediate charge of the coachman. I was seized with a nervous trembling as I heard him ride out of the yard. I sent down word to Anna Maria that I should not come to supper; I was rather fatigued.

"About eight o'clock I heard Susanna's light step in the hall; she was coming from supper, and trilling a love-song. Then the door of her room closed, and all was still.

"It was long past midnight when I stole out to the hall window to see if Anna Maria had gone to bed. She was still awake; in the candle-light which fell from her windows over the flower-beds of the garden a shadow was moving to and fro, incessantly, restlessly. In the anxiety of my heart I folded my hands: 'Lord G.o.d, send her no storm in this new spring-time,' I whispered; 'let her be happy, make me ashamed of my care and anxiety. Let my fear be an error. Ah! give her the happiness she deserves!'

"The next day broke gray and dark, not at all like a day of good fortune. Anna Maria stood at the open window in the sitting-room, breathing in the warm air, which was unusually sultry for a November day. She had a stunted white rose in her hand. 'See, aunt,' she said, holding the flower up to me, 'I found it early this morning on the rose-bush on mother's grave; how could it have bloomed now? We have had such cold weather lately, it is almost a miracle, like a greeting for the day.' And she took a gla.s.s and carefully put the awkward little rose in fresh water, and carried it to her room.

"In the mail-bag which came at noon there was, beside a letter for Susanna from Klaus, also one for Anna Maria from him concerning arrangements for the longer absence of the master of the house. 'Since I do not know how long I shall be away with Susanna,' he wrote, 'and since I probably shall not find time in the short stop at home to talk this over quietly with you, I have written down for you about how I think this and that will be best arranged.' Various arrangements of a domestic nature now followed. 'If any alteration seems necessary to you,' he continued, 'do as you please; I know it will be right. The furnishing of Susanna's rooms can be attended to during our absence. I should be very grateful to you if you would sometimes have an eye upon the work, that the nest for my little wife may be as comfortable as possible. In her last letter she told me a great deal about Sturmer's furnishings, and I have taken care to get something similar, at least, for her, as far as it in any degree agrees with my own sober taste; the terrace is to be re-paved, too. Now for the chief matter, my dear Anna Maria: on the right hand, in the secret drawer of my writing-desk, lie the papers which are necessary for the banns. Take them out and carry them to Pastor Grune; Susanna's baptismal certificate and marriage license, which I had sent on from Berlin, will already be in his hands, as I am sending them off with this letter. Remember me to the old man, and say to him that he must not let us fall too roughly from the pulpit next Sunday.'

"Anna Maria had given me the letter, and gone with her key-basket into her brother's room. 'How will it be,' I whispered, looking over the long columns of these domestic arrangements, 'when he has _her_ no longer? He has been fearfully spoiled by her.' As I read about the banns, my old aunt's head began to whirl like a mill-wheel with what had happened yesterday--what was to come to-day. How would it result?

"I limped over to Anna Maria; she was standing before her brother's open desk, the papers in her hand. 'Aunt Rosamond,' said she, 'I wish this day were over, for see, when I think of Klaus I almost lose my courage!'

And she laid the yellow papers on the flat shelf of the wardrobe-shaped desk, and folded her hands over them. 'It will seem almost wrong to me that I should think of my own happiness when he--is not going to be happy. Aunt, ah, aunt!' she sobbed out, 'I cannot help it; I love him none the less on that account, believe me! But I have not the strength to thrust from me a second time something which--' She did not finish; she colored deeply, took up the papers again with trembling hands, and closed the desk. 'I don't know what I do to-day,' she whispered, 'and I don't know what I say. I wish it were night, I am so anxious!'

"'You need not speak out, Anna Maria,' said I, seizing her hands. 'I have long known that you gave Sturmer up at that time only because you would not forsake Klaus.'

"She took a step back, and gave me a frightened look. 'No, no; it is not so!' she cried, 'it was my duty; he had lost so much for my sake!'

"'Anna Maria, I do not understand you,' I rejoined.

"'His bride! I know it,' she nodded. 'Because I was in the way, she forsook my poor, dear Klaus. How he must have suffered!'

"'How you came to know of that affair, my child, is a riddle to me,' I returned; 'but tell me, was that the reason that you--'

"'Oh, hush, aunt!' she cried, 'I know nothing any longer, it all lies behind me like a dark, oppressive dream. I could not tell you now what I thought and felt at the time, for it is not clear even to me. Some time I will tell you everything, but not now, not to-day. But you must promise me one thing,' she continued, beseechingly, looking at me through her tears; 'you must always keep an eye on Klaus; you must read from his face if he is in trouble, if he is unhappy, and then you must tell me. Ah! aunt, I cannot really believe that he will be happy with her! Dear Aunt Rosa, why must it be _she_? Why not some one else who would be more worthy of him?'

"'Do not worry about it, Anna Maria,' I begged her; 'all is in G.o.d's hands.'

"'You are right, Aunt Rosa,' she replied, a crimson flush spreading over her face. 'I will not let this trouble me to-day; I will rejoice, will be happy. Ah! aunt, I do not know, indeed, what that really is; I am such a stupid, dull being. Listen, last evening I could have opened my arms and embraced the whole world from happiness. I could not sleep, I walked about my room restlessly, and read his letter a hundred times; as long as my eye rested upon it I was calm, and when I had folded it up doubts came to me, such anxious, evil doubts, such as, "What if you have made a mistake? What if he has something to say to Aunt Rosamond which does not concern you at all?" And then it seemed to me as if I were sinking into a deep, black abyss, and there was nothing that I could hold on to, aunt. Oh! it was frightful, so empty, so cold, so dead! Dear Aunt Rosamond, do laugh me out of these foolish thoughts, scold me for a stupid girl; tell me how faint-hearted I am, that a doubt of Edwin's love should come to me! He does love me, Aunt Rosamond, does he not? One can never forget it when one has once loved a person with his whole heart. I know it; yes, Aunt Rosamond, I am a foolish, childish creature; do laugh me right out of it, please, please!'