Debit and Credit Part 94

You trusted my Karl with the whole management of the farm, and so it was an honor for me to be able to show that I trusted your son."

"It was wrong of him to borrow money from you," said the baron, shaking his head. And this he said, because he had often heard old Sturm's comforting reply, and longed to hear it again.

The giant laid his tool aside, ran his hand through his hair, and tried to look very bold as he began, in a light-hearted tone, "Do you know, sir, that one must make allowance for a young gentleman? Youth will be wild. Many have to borrow money in their young days, particularly when they wear such a beautiful coat, with silver fringe upon it. We were no n.i.g.g.ards either, baron," he continued, deprecatingly, gently tapping the blind man's knee with his tool. "And the young officer was very polite, and I believe that he was somewhat bashful. And when I gave him the money, I could see how sorry he was to want it. I gave it him all the more readily. Then, when I helped him into the drosky, and he leaned out of the carriage, I can a.s.sure you he was much moved, and reached out both of his little hands to clasp my fist, and shake it once more. And while he was sitting there, the light fell on his face--a sweet, kind face it was, something like yours, and still more like the baroness, as far as I have been able to see her."

The blind man, too, stretched out his hands to grasp the porter's fist.

Sturm pushed his bench forward, took the baron's hands in his right one, and stroked them with his left. Both sat silent, side by side.

At last the baron began with broken voice to say, "You were the last who showed kindness to my Eugene. I thank you for it from my inmost heart.

An unfortunate, broken-down man thanks you. So long as I live I shall implore the blessing of the Most High on your head. My son will never support my feeble footsteps in my old age, but Heaven has preserved a good son to you. All the blessings that I wished for my poor Eugene, I now pray to G.o.d may be the portion of your Karl."

Sturm wiped his eyes, and then clasped the baron's hands again. The two fathers sat together in silence, till, with a sigh, the baron rose.

Sturm carefully took his arm, and led him through yard and meadow to the castle terrace; for there is a road now up to the tower--a road with a stone parapet, and the door can be reached by carriages and on foot.

Sturm rings the bell, the baron's valet hurries down, and leads his master up the steps, for Father Sturm still finds a staircase hard work.

Meanwhile a carriage stops in the farm-yard. Karl respectfully hurries from his room, and the new proprietor jumps down.

"Good-day, sergeant," cried Fink; "how goes it in the castle and on the farm? How are the Fraulein and the baroness?"

"All right," reported Karl, "only the baroness is very feeble. We have been expecting you for a week past. The family have been daily asking whether there were any tidings of you."

"I was detained," said Fink; "and perhaps I should not be back now, but that, since this fall of snow, there is no judging of land. I have bought Dobrowitz."

"Zounds!" cried Karl, in delight.

"Capital ground," continued Fink; "five hundred acres of wood, in which the manure lies nearly a foot deep. In the Polish hole close by, which they call a town, the Jews thronged like ants when they heard that henceforth our spurs would jingle daily over their market-place. I say, bailiff, you will be delighted when you see the new property. I have a great mind to send you over there next spring. But what have you there--a letter from Anton? Let's have it." He hastily tore it open. "Is the Fraulein in the castle?"

"Yes, Herr von Fink."

"Very well. A messenger goes this evening to Neudorf;" and with rapid step he hurried into the house.

Lenore sat in her room sewing, with a good deal of cut-out linen round her. She diligently pa.s.sed her needle through the stiff cloth, sometimes stretching the seam on her knee, smoothing it with her thimble, and looking doubtfully to see whether each individual st.i.tch was small and even. Then that rapid footstep was heard in the pa.s.sage, and springing up, she convulsively pressed her work together. But she composed herself by a mighty effort, and sat down again to her task. He knocked at her door. A deep blush spread slowly over her face, and her "Come in" hardly reached her guest's ear. As Fink entered, he glanced with some curiosity around the plainly-furnished room, which had a few chalk drawings by Lenore on the walls, but nothing else except absolutely necessary furniture. Even the little panther-skin sofa was gone.

When Fink bowed before her, she inquired in a tone of indifference, "Have you been detained by any thing unpleasant? We were all uneasy about you."

"A property that I have bought interfered with my return. I come now in all haste to report myself to my mistress, and, at the same time, I bring a packet which Anton has sent for the baroness. If she feels sufficiently well to see me, will you prepare her to do so?"

Lenore took the letter. "I will go immediately to my mother; pray excuse me;" and, slightly bending, she tried to pa.s.s him.

Fink waved her back, and said jokingly, "I find you most housewifely busy with needle and scissors. Who is the happy one for whom you are sewing those wedge-shaped pieces together?"

Lenore blushed again. "Gentlemen must not inquire into the mysteries of feminine work," said she.

"I know, however, that the thimble did not usually stand high in your favor," said Fink, good-humoredly. "Is it necessary, dear lady, that you should ruin your eyes?"

"Yes, Herr von Fink," returned Lenore, firmly, "it is, and it will be necessary."

"Oh ho!" cried Fink, shaking his head, and comfortably leaning against the back of a chair. "Do you suppose, then, that I have not long ago remarked your secret campaigns with needle and scissors, and also your grave face, and the magnificent bearing you a.s.sume toward me, naughty boy that I am? Where is the panther-sofa? Where is the brotherly frankness that I have a right to expect after our understanding? You have kept very imperfectly to our agreement. I see plainly that my good friend is inclined to give me up, and withdraw with the best grace possible; but permit me to remark that this will hardly avail you. You will not get rid of me."

"Be generous, Herr von Fink," cried Lenore, in extreme excitement. "Do not make what I have to do still harder. Yes, I am preparing to part from this place--to part from you."

"You refuse, then, to remain with me?" said Fink, with a frowning brow.

"Very well; I shall return, and implore till I am heard. If you run away, I shall run after you; and if you cut off your beautiful hair and fly to a convent, I'll leap the walls and fetch you out. Have I not wooed you as the adventurer in the fairy tales does the king's daughter?

To win you, proud Lenore, I have turned sand into gra.s.s, and transformed myself into a respectable farmer. Therefore, beloved mistress, be reasonable, and do not torment me by maidenly caprices."

"Oh, respect such caprices," cried Lenore, bursting into tears. "In the solitude of these last weeks I have wrestled hourly with my sorrow. I am a poor girl, whose duty it is to live for her afflicted parent. The dower that I should bring you would be sickness, gloom, and poverty."

"You are mistaken," replied Fink, earnestly. "Our friend has provided for you. He has hunted two rascals into the water, and has paid your father's debts. The baron has a nice little fortune remaining; and I can tell your perverse ladyship you are no bad match after all, if you lay any stress upon that. The letter you hold upsets all your philosophy."

Lenore looked at the envelope and threw the letter away.

"No," cried she, beside herself. "When, shattered by sorrow, I lay upon your breast, you then told me I was to get stronger; and every day I feel that, when I come into contact with you, I have no strength, no opinion, no will of my own. Whatever you say appears to me right, and I forget how I thought before. What you require I must needs do, unresisting as a slave. The woman who goes through life at your side should be your equal in intellect and power, and should feel reliant in her own province; but I am an uncultivated, helpless girl. In my foolish love I let it appear that I could do for your sake what no woman should.

You find nothing in me to respect. You would kiss me and--endure me."

Lenore's hand clenched, and her eyes flashed as she spoke.

"Does it then repent you so much that for my sake you sent a bullet into that villain's shoulder?" said Fink. "What I now see looks less like love than hatred."

"I hate you?" cried the poor girl, hiding her face with her hands.

He took her hands, drew her to him, and pressed a kiss upon her lips.

"Trust me, Lenore."

"Leave me! leave me!" cried Lenore, struggling; but her lips were pressed to his, and her arms twined around him; and, looking into his face with a pa.s.sionate expression of love and fear, she gradually sank down at his feet.

Thoroughly moved, Fink stooped and raised her. "Mine you are, and I hold you fast," cried he. "With rifle and bullet I have bought your stormy heart. In the same breath you tell me sweet things and bitter. What, then, am I such a despot that a n.o.ble-minded woman should fear to come under my yoke? Just as you are, Lenore--resolute, bold, a little pa.s.sionate devil--just so will I have you remain. We have been companions in arms, and so we shall continue to be. The day may return when we shall both raise our guns to our cheeks, and the people about us need natures more disposed to give than to take a blow. Were you not my heart's desire, were you a man, I should like to have you for my life's companion; so, Lenore, you will be to me not only a beloved wife, but a courageous friend, the confidante of all my plans, my best and truest comrade."

Lenore shook her head, but she clung to him firmly. "I ought to be your housewife," sighed she.

Fink caressingly stroked back her hair and kissed her burning brow. "Be content, sweetheart," said he, tenderly, "and make up your mind to it.

We have been together in a fire strong enough to bring love to maturity, and we know each other thoroughly. Between ourselves, we shall have many a storm in our house. I am no easy-going companion, at least for a woman, and you will very soon find that will of yours again, the loss of which you are now lamenting. Be at rest, darling, you shall be as headstrong as of yore; you need not distress yourself on that account; so you may prepare for a few storms, but for hearty love and a merry life as well. I will have you laugh again, Lenore. You will have no need to make my shirts, and, if you don't like account-keeping, why, let it alone; and if you do sometimes give your boys a box on the ear, it will do our brood no harm. I think you will give yourself to me."

Lenore was silent, but she clung closer to his breast. Fink drew her away. "Come to our mother!" cried he.

Both bent over the bed of the invalid. A brightness pa.s.sed over the pale face of the baroness as she laid her hands on Fink's head and gave him her blessing.

"She is still a child," said she. "It remains with you, my son, to make a good woman of her."

She sent her children out of the room. "Go to your father; bring him to me, and leave us alone together."

When the baron sat by the side of his wife, she drew his hand to her lips and whispered, "Let me thank you, Oscar, to-day, for many years of happiness--for all your love."

"Poor wife!" murmured the blind man.

"What you have done and suffered," continued the baroness, "you have done and suffered for me and my son, and we both leave you behind in a joyless world. You were not to have the happiness of transferring an inheritance; you are the last to bear the name of Rothsattel."

The baron groaned.

"But the reputation we leave behind will be spotless as was your whole life till two hours of despair." She placed the bundle of notes of hand in the blind man's grasp; then, having torn each one up, she rang the bell, and told the servant to put them piece by piece into the stove.

The flames leaped up and threw a red light over the room till the last was consumed. The evening closed in, and the baron lay on the sick lady's bed, and hid his face in the pillows, while she held her hands folded over him, and her lips moved in prayer.