A Sister's Love Part 37

"From out-of-doors came the sound of beating carpets and furniture, and in the hall opposite they were at work with wax and brushes, none too quietly.

"'Then I may send off the note, Klaus?' Susanna was saying. 'Can Frederick ride over now, or shall the coachman take it? Do you think Sturmer is at home by this time? Klaus, do answer, dear Klaus!'

"He made a motion of a.s.sent with his hand, and turned his head away.

"'If you are so tiresome, I sha'n't try on the dress again,' she pouted.

"'But, dear child,' I whispered, 'do you not see that your husband is ill?' I took away the lamp, and laid my hand on his white forehead.

"'Ah, only a little quiet,' he moaned.

"'Come Susanna.' I begged the young wife, gently; 'go over to your room; I think Klaus is in a high fever, and he must have quiet."

"Susanna looked at me incredulously. 'But it will be better to-morrow?'

she asked quickly. 'You will be well again to-morrow, won't you, Klaus?'

"He nodded. 'Yes, yes, my darling; don't worry.'

"'Well, then, I will go away quickly, so that you can sleep. Good-night, Klaus!' she said, taking the silk dress on her arm. And she hastily bent over him and kissed his forehead. Then she disappeared, but her silvery voice floated over here once again: 'Isa, Isa, here; Christian is to go to Dambitz directly, to Herr von Sturmer; he must wait for an answer.'

"Suddenly Klaus gave a deep groan. 'My poor boy.' I lamented over him; 'are you feeling very badly?'

"'I think I am going to be very ill,' he whispered. 'I can't control my thoughts, everything turns round and round. Anna Maria, bring me Anna Maria.'

"Brockelmann was just outside in the hall. 'Call the Fraulein,' I bade her, 'and make them be quiet outside.' Anna Maria came, and went up to the bed. He seized her hand.

"'My old la.s.s,' he said feebly, 'I fear I shall give you a great deal to do.'

"'Do you feel so ill?' she asked anxiously, and bent down to him. He groaned and pointed to his head. 'Don't worry Susanna,' he begged.

"Anna Maria did not answer, but she had grown very pale. Then she set about procuring him some relief. Cold compresses were soon lying on his forehead, a cool lemonade stood on the table by the bed, and outside the tired horses were once more taken from the stable, to go for the doctor.

It had become quiet in the house, quiet in the next room also. Susanna lay in her boudoir, reading; she did not know that the doctor had been sent for, she did not hear how her husband's talking gradually pa.s.sed into delirious ravings, or know how his sister sat by the bed, her fair head pressed against the back, and her eyes fixed on him in unspeakable anxiety.

"When the doctor came, Susanna was sleeping sweetly and soundly; and with noiseless steps Isa carried about the awakened child, that it might not disturb the mother.

"Klaus was ill, very ill. The dreadful fever had attacked him so quickly, so insidiously, and had prostrated him with such force, that a paralyzing fear came over the spirits of us all.

"The servants went about the house whispering, no door was heard to shut, and the bailiff had straw laid down in the court, so that no sound might penetrate the curtained sick-room.

"Susanna would not believe at all that Klaus was seriously ill. She had come merrily into the room, the child in her arms, and had found the doctor at the bedside, and looked in Anna Maria's red eyes. She resisted the truth with all her might. 'But he must not be ill,' she cried, 'just now. Oh, doctor, it is too bad!' But when the confirmation in the wandering looks of the invalid was not to be rejected, she flew to her sofa and wept pitifully. It was not possible to reach her with a word of consolation; she sobbed as I had seen her do but once, and Isa knew not which she ought to quiet first, the screaming child or the weeping mother. But Susanna did not for a moment attempt to make her hands useful at the sick-bed.

"The doctor came again toward evening. The fever was raging with increased power; Klaus talked about his child, called for Susanna, and even in his delirium everything centred in his wife. Sometimes he seized Anna Maria's hand and pressed it to his lips, with a half-intelligible pet name for Susanna; he called her his darling, his wife. And Anna Maria stroked his forehead, and tear after tear rolled down her cheeks.

"'Shall I have her called?' I asked the doctor. The old man shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, since she has not come of her own accord, she spares me a great deal of trouble,' said he; 'I should have had to carry her out. She is still weak, and----'

"I went away to look up Susanna. Isa informed me that she was in the salon.

"'Is she still crying?' I asked.

"The old woman shook her head. 'Baron Sturmer is in there.' I heard Susanna's voice through the portieres. I heard her even laugh. My first impulse was to hurry in, but it suddenly became impossible to me. I only looked at the child, and went away, weary and weakened from watching and anxiety, up to my room.

"A basket of garlands was standing in the corridor, and beside it the package of the unfortunate lanterns. The baptism was to have been to-morrow, but the coachman was already on his way to inform the numerous guests that it was given up, as the master was ill. My G.o.d in heaven, let not the worst come, be pitiful! What would become of Susanna, of his child--ah! and of Anna Maria?

"Then I sat down in my arm-chair and listened to the pattering of the rain, and the wind blowing against the windows; after a little while there came a knock at my door, and Edwin Sturmer entered. He was quite changed from what he used to be; indeed, the news of Klaus's illness might well make him so. Conversation would not flow. I could not help thinking of how I had last seen him, when he took leave of Susanna and me; how she had wept, and how he had written to me afterward. 'There have been great changes here!' said I, in a low tone.

"He did not answer immediately. 'How does Anna Maria get on with--with her sister-in-law?' he asked.

"'Anna Maria?' I was embarra.s.sed. Should I tell him that those two had not learned to understand each other yet?

"'She is here very little,' I said at last; 'she has been living in the convent since Klaus's marriage.'

"He started. 'Still the old quarrel?' he murmured. 'Anna Maria never liked her; I noticed it from the beginning. She is a strange character.

There are moments when one might believe she has a heart; but it is ever deception, ever delusion!'

"'Edwin,' I cried bitterly, 'you think you have a right to affirm that; you are mistaken! Perhaps she has more heart than all of us.'

"'It may be,' he remarked coldly, 'but she never shows it.'

"He too, he too! My poor Anna Maria! If I could have taken him down to the sick-room, if I could have shown him how she knelt beside her brother's bed and buried her weeping face in the pillows, if I could say to him: 'See, that is the secret of all her actions; she has too much heart, too much generosity. She has done everything for the sake of her only brother, who once lost a happiness on her account.' If I only might show him this----

"Slowly the tears ran from my eyes.

"'I did not mean to grieve you, Aunt Rosamond,' said he, tenderly. 'I am in a hateful mood, and ought not to have come over. The empty house has put me out of humor; an old bachelor ought to have no house at all--everywhere great empty rooms, everywhere solitude. One wants to talk to one's self to keep from being afraid. I knew it well, and for that reason put off my return from day to day.' He gave a shrug. 'I shall go away again; that will be the best thing.'

"I now first looked at him attentively. He had altered, he had grown years older. I did not know how to answer, he had spoken so strangely.

After a while he rose. 'I wish for improvement with all my heart. Do not worry; G.o.d cannot wish that he should go now, right from the most complete happiness.'

"G.o.d cannot wish it! So we mortals say when we think it impossible that some one should leave us on whose life a piece of our own life depends.

G.o.d does not wish it--and already the shadow of death is falling deeper and deeper over the beloved face. Such times lie in the past like heavy, black, obscure shadows; that they were fearful we still know, but _how_ we felt we are not able to feel again in its full terror.

"Days had pa.s.sed. Anna Maria had long ceased to weep; she had no tears, for breathless fear. Without a word she performed her sad duties, and listened benumbed to the wandering talk of the invalid--Susanna and the child, and ever again Susanna.

"Then came a day on which the physicians said, 'No hope.' In the morning Klaus had recovered his senses, and Anna Maria came out of the sick-room with such a happy, hopeful look that my heart really rose. She beckoned to me, and I took her place at the sick-bed for a moment.

"He reached out for my hand. 'How is Susanna?' he said softly.

"'Well, dear Klaus; do you wish to see her? Shall she come in?'

"'No, no!' he whispered, 'not come; it may be contagious--but Anna Maria?'

"'She will be here again directly, Klaus,' said I. And, as if she had been called, she came in at the door, and, kneeling by his bed, laid her cheek caressingly on his hand.

"'Anna Maria,' he complained, 'my thoughts are already beginning again--my child, my poor little child----'

"She started up. 'Klaus, do not speak so, dear Klaus!'

"'It is so strange,' he whispered on; 'I don't see Susanna distinctly any longer, but I hear her laughing, always laughing. I shut my ears, and yet I hear her laugh.'

"Anna Maria gave me a sad look. 'I will stay with your child, Klaus,'