For Sceptre and Crown Volume II Part 68

He seated himself and gently drew the young girl into a chair beside him.

What did they say? So little and yet so much, their speech was so old and yet so new, one more variation on the eternal melody of love, that rings in the human heart from the cradle to the grave, and whose endearing tones pa.s.s with the soul into the great harmony of Eternity.

Madame von Wendenstein led old Lohmeier into her son's sick room, and there they remained together for half an hour, and the result of their conversation was, that he consented to his daughter's betrothal to Fritz, upon condition that old Deyke's approval was gained; and that he might learn to know his future daughter-in-law, Madame von Wendenstein invited Margaret to go home with her. She undertook to introduce her lover's father to her, and to instruct her in the house-keeping arrangements of her own country. Old Lohmeier accepted the invitation with much pride, for his veneration for this lady who had pa.s.sed many weeks in his house, was immense. He informed the young people with great dignity and importance, "that he had talked the matter over with his much honoured friend Madame von Wendenstein," and they both felt extremely happy, though Margaret was rather alarmed at the prospect of meeting with the stern old Bauermeister, of whom Fritz always spoke in terms of the greatest respect.

Thus their departure drew near. Some time before, Madame von Wendenstein had endeavoured to propose some remuneration for all the trouble and expense her son's illness had occasioned, but it had been so decidedly refused by the old brewer, and he had appeared so hurt at the proposal, that she had never again renewed it. On the day of her departure she gave Margaret a beautiful cross of rubies and diamonds, on a string of large pearls.

"I have wept many tears here," she said gently. "Let the pearls remind you of this, my child; but the sacred love we adore in the Cross, the sign of the Holy Pa.s.sion and of our redemption, has dried my tears, and raised and comforted my heart. Let the cross remind you of this; and if you, too, shed tears of grief, look at this cross, with firm faith and loving resignation."

Tears were in Margaret's eyes as she received the cross; and old Lohmeier took Madame von Wendenstein's fine white hand in his own with emotion, and pressed his lips upon it. He carefully locked up the pearl necklace and the cross in an old oaken chest, in which he kept the simple but ma.s.sive ornaments of his late wife; they were all to be Margaret's when she married, and entered the large old farmhouse as its mistress.

And then they set out, accompanied by a thousand good wishes from old Lohmeier, who promised, when all was arranged, to think of retiring from his business, and of spending the last years of his life quietly near his daughter's new home.

Thus in the spot where so b.l.o.o.d.y a battle had raged between Hanover and Prussia, Christian compa.s.sion had caused two young hearts to reap a harvest of love from the seeds of hatred. Thus was the will of the Eternal accomplished, who turns evil into good; and where demons have led men into strife and hatred, His unwearied care removes their gloomy traces by that bright child of heaven--Reconciliation.

Their return to Blechow was grave and sad. The president silently strained to his breast the son restored to him from the gates of death; silently, too, he kissed the brow of his wife. The days that followed were calm and melancholy.

The president worked hard with Auditor von Bergfeld, that he might leave everything in the most perfect order for his successor. Madame von Wendenstein went quietly about the house, occupied in the melancholy task of displacing the treasures collected during more than twenty years of house-keeping, and the remembrances they awakened were known only to her eye and her heart. All those treasures had to be packed in huge coffers, and conveyed to the new house. And the enormous oaken chests looked so sad, with their opened doors and their empty trays, and throughout the house sighed the gloomy spirit of departure and separation, the spirit that moves through human life like a messenger of death, touching the heart with a shrinking foreboding of the last great farewell of eternity. Every farewell breaks a flower from the wreath adorning the spring-time of our lives, until the last blooms are buried beneath the wintry snows of death. But every blossom leaves a fruit behind, whose seed is in itself; and these will bear purer, fairer flowers, and spring up into imperishable beauty beneath the life-breath of eternal spring.

Fritz Deyke had a long conversation with his father, who looked very black at first, when he heard what his son had to say. He loved his son, he had unbounded confidence in him, and he knew he would make no unworthy choice; but to have a town young lady for his daughter-in-law, to have a Prussian mistress in Hanoverian Wendland was not at all to his mind. But he said nothing, and, at his son's request, he went to the castle to see Madame von Wendenstein.

The old lady he had always regarded as a model of womanly perfection, and she told him of all the attention and kindness her son had received in old Lohmeier's house, taking care to describe the excellent burgher position held by Margaret's father. Then she kindly and warmly urged him not to visit the misfortunes of the times upon innocent heads; and he held out his hand to her, and said,--

"It shall be as my son wishes. He is good and true: the wife he brings to my house shall be welcome, and my blessing shall rest upon her."

Then Madame von Wendenstein opened the door into the next room, and Margaret, blushing deeply, and trembling from agitation, entered; but her eyes were bright and candid. She was dressed in the costume of the rich peasant women of Wendland. She went up quickly to the old man, and kissed his hand, and a warm tear fell upon the hand hardened with toil.

A gentle smile pa.s.sed over the stern, furrowed face of the old peasant; his eyes looked milder than they had done for many a day, as he gazed down upon the young girl's strong, yet slender form. He stroked her glossy hair, and said, in a low voice,--

"G.o.d bless you, my daughter!"

Then everything was said, and everything was settled. Old Deyke was a man of few words; but his words were like a rock--you might have built a house upon them when they were spoken.

He took Margaret to his farm, and as she walked at his side, and told him artlessly how amazed she had been at the wonderful treasures of the old castle, and as she let a word fall showing every now and then, how much she knew about housekeeping, his face grew brighter and brighter.

But when she sent the maidservants out of the kitchen, and lighted the fire, and cooked the dinner herself with skilful hands; when she laid the cloth, arranging everything so quickly and prettily, whilst Fritz watched her with delighted eyes; when at last she brought the old man's pipe, and lighted it for him, and then looked up at him with loving, imploring eyes, he looked at her through tears: the image of his dead wife rose before him, and he held out his hand to his son, saying,--

"I thank you for bringing me such a daughter."

The young people knelt down before him, and he said, in a low half choking voice:

"G.o.d bless and keep you, my dear, dear children!"

The lieutenant was very quiet and thoughtful. His wound was quite healed, his nerves were grown strong again, and the wonderful reparatory powers of youth sent his blood through his veins as quickly as before. He seldom saw Helena: when she came up from the Vicarage she was surrounded by the others, and he could only exchange a few words with her. The old merry confidence between the two friends from childhood would not return; there was something new and strange between them, which closed their lips when it sought expression in words.

One afternoon, when the president was hard at work with Auditor von Bergfeld, and Madame von Wendenstein, her daughters and Margaret were busy in the melancholy occupation of dismantling the house, the lieutenant walked slowly and thoughtfully towards the pastor's.

The roses had withered in the pretty little garden, and the autumnal asters raised their many-coloured heads, overtopped by the tall and brilliant sunflowers.

Helena sat at the open window, and often raised her eyes from her work to look dreamily over the cornfields; her father and the candidate had gone out to make some visits in the village; she was alone with her thoughts.

Suddenly she trembled slightly, a blush spread hastily over her delicate face, she let her work fall into her lap; Lieutenant von Wendenstein had entered the garden, and was approaching the house.

A moment later he knocked at the door of the sitting-room; she made an effort to cry "Come in," and he entered.

He looked delighted when he saw that Helena was alone.

He came to her quickly and took her hand.

"My father is out," she said, with downcast eyes and trembling voice, "will you take a chair?"

The lieutenant remained standing before her, and looked at her long and affectionately. Then he raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss upon it.

Blushing deeply, she tried to draw her hand away; he held it with gentle force.

"I am so very glad to find you alone," he said; "I have wanted so long to ask you something I am not quite sure about."

She raised her eyes to his with surprise and enquiry, she wished to speak, but she found no words.

"Helena," he said, in a low voice, "when I was wounded and ill in Langensalza, without strength enough to think clearly, dizzy with fever, a sweet image was always before me,--I saw a consoling angel looking at me so kindly, so lovingly,--I held her helping hand in mine, I pressed it to my lips, and from the depths of my heart I said, 'dear Helena.'"

She withdrew her hand quickly, and seated herself on the chair near the window; pale and trembling, her eyes sought the ground.

He went up to her and continued in urgent terms:

"Tell me,--for sometimes a gloomy veil comes over my memory,--tell me, this image that never leaves my heart, that follows me everywhere--was it real?"

She gave no answer, but sat still and motionless.

"Helena," he said imploringly, "I saw eyes that told me such good and loving things in a mute language,--those eyes are near me night and day. Helena, look at me once more, that I may see whether the image in my heart was the dream of fever, or the truth."

He sank on his knees before her, and seized her hand as it hung beside her, looking up at her with an earnest loving gaze.

Then she slowly raised her eyes, and in her eyes lay her answer; those eyes again spoke the mute language that found an echo in his heart.

Again he pressed her hand to his lips, and again she permitted it with a loving smile, and in a soft voice, happy and triumphant, he whispered, "Dear, dear Helena!"

They sat for a long time in silence; he was never weary of gazing on the beloved features which in the days of his deadly peril were graven so deeply in his soul.

Then he sprang up, bent over her and held her in his arms.

The door opened, the pastor and candidate entered.

The old gentleman looked much surprised at this unexpected scene, an evil flash of hatred darted from the candidate's sharp eyes, but he quickly fixed them on the ground and an oily smile played around his mouth.

Helena bent down her head in charming confusion. The lieutenant hastened to the pastor and seized his hand energetically.

"Dear sir," he said, in a decided voice, "my dear playmate, Helena, watched over my life, and saved it when it hung on the feeblest thread,--I have implored her to watch over it henceforth,--for ever,--and--she will." He looked at the young girl with eyes full of happiness and continued, "Will you unite our hands before the altar of our dear old church, where we made our vows at our confirmation?"

And he looked the old clergyman honestly in the face.