On the Heights Part 73

The hunter from Zell was there also, and Walpurga saw, at a glance, that her husband was caught in a net of flatterers. She soon got out of the room. The host and his wife showed her and Hansei through all the rooms and the cellars. Walpurga found it all very good, but kept saying that they would have to build and arrange everything anew.

"You're spoiled," said the innkeeper. "Here in the country, things are different from what they are in your palace. You seem to forget that one needn't drive a nail into this house for the next fifty years."

Walpurga would not permit herself to be drawn into any discussion of the subject. On the way home, she remarked to her husband, that it would be well to have the house examined by some one who knew all about building matters, for neither of them understood anything about it, and to make anything out of the innkeeper, was like drawing blood from a stone.

Hansei was vexed that the bargain had not been concluded on the spot.

He felt as if he could not remain in the old house another hour.

Walpurga, on the other hand, wished to stave off the matter for a while. Besides that, as Hansei was obliged to admit, she suggested many points that required careful consideration.

That afternoon, Walpurga reckoned up all that belonged to her. It was a handsome amount. There was almost enough to pay for the inn, with the fields, meadows and woods belonging to it. One or two prosperous years would enable them to clear off the mortgage which they might be obliged to leave remaining on the property.

CHAPTER IV.

It was evening. The grandmother was in the room and, in a tremulous voice, was singing her granddaughter to sleep. She, too, was singing the song:

"Oh, blissful is the tender tie That binds me, love, to thee."

Walpurga and Hansei were the only ones at the table, and he could scarcely eat the potatoes as fast as she pared them. She would always put the best and finest before him. "Just think of it, Hansei," said she, looking so happy while she spoke; "the best things in the world--sleep, sunlight, water, eggs, boiled potatoes and salt--are all the same in the palace and in the cottage. The king and the queen can't have them better than we, and the very best of all is the same everywhere. And do you know what it is?"

"Yes; a good kiss. It wouldn't be any better from the queen's lips than from yours; and there I'm like the king, too, especially when I'm as nicely shaved as today," he added, taking his wife's hand and pa.s.sing it over his smooth chin.

"You're right; but I didn't mean to say it that way. Love's the same, too. It can't be different up there from what it is here."

"I don't know what's come over you," said Hansei. "I never thought you were such a witch, so clever and so wide-awake. It provokes me that people should be so familiar with you, and treat you as if you were still the same old Walpurga."

"You ought to be glad that I'm still the same, or else I shouldn't be your wife."

Hansei stopped chewing the potato that was in his mouth and stared at his wife in surprise. At last he hurriedly bolted down the potato and said: "Now that joke don't please me at all. It's wrong to joke about such things." Both were silent.

In the next room sat the mother singing:

"My heart doth bear a burden, And thou hast placed it there";

And the song seemed to touch them both.

"I've got something to tell you," said Hansei, at last. "It's been my habit, for the last year, to go up to the Chamois after supper, and especially on Sat.u.r.day evenings. Sometimes I've taken a drop, and sometimes not; and as this is Sat.u.r.day and as they'll all be there, I think I'd better go up once more, just for your sake."

"For my sake?"

"Yes, for fear the people might say: 'Now he's got to duck under, for his gracious wife has come home.'"

"Why do you always worry about what the people say? Suppose they were to say: 'What sort of a man is this? His wife was gone for a year, and on the second night after her return, he runs off to the inn'?"

Hansei, unable to parry this thrust, stared at her in surprise. At last he said: "I think I'll go, after all. You won't think hard of it, will you?"

"Go, if you like," replied Walpurga, and Hansei hurried off. Walpurga looked after him, while her eyes filled with tears. "Is this what I've so longed for?" thought she to herself. "Was it for this that I thought the minutes would never end, and felt as if I must chase the hours away?"

Her mother came in and, gently closing the door, said: "She sleeps sweetly."

The ruddy glow of the rosy setting sun illumined Walpurga's countenance, in which, it was plainly to be seen, a great change had taken place since that sun rose.

The child again began to cry. The grandmother went in to it, and Walpurga stealthily hurried in the direction of the lake. It was night.

The waves were softly beating on the sh.o.r.e; the reed-sparrow was still chattering, and the water-hens kept up their twittering. Far up on the mountain, bright fires were burning; for it was Sat.u.r.day night, and the mountain la.s.ses were looking out for their swains. And now the moon rose over the summit of the Chamois hill and shone upon the lake.

Walpurga, as if lost in reverie, stood there for some time, gazing into the lake. Then she turned toward home, but, instead of going into the room, quietly stole into the cellar. With almost superhuman strength, she moved the stone cabbage-tub from its place, dug a hole in the ground, placed the money that Irma had given her in it, and shoved the cabbage-tub back into its place again.

She was washing her hands at the pump, when she noticed that her mother was lighting the lamp in the room. She went in, staring at the light.

"Why do you stare at the light so?" asked her mother.

"Well, mother, I'm not used to a single light any more; in the palace, there are ever so many."

"But the people there have only one pair of eyes," replied the mother.

"No, my child; that's not why you look so troubled. Tell me honestly, what's the matter?"

Walpurga frankly confessed that it almost broke her heart to think that her husband couldn't stay at home on the second evening after her return, but must go to the inn.

"Give me your hand," said the mother. "Yes, I've been thinking about your hands. I've noticed that you wash them whenever you've touched anything. That's very nice, but it won't do here. Your hand's become soft and tender this last year, while mine's as hard as leather; and you'll soon have to harden your hands too. For G.o.d's sake, don't make your husband skittish, and don't give him an ugly word. Take my word for it, he couldn't help going up there to-night, and it's Sat.u.r.day night besides. It was just as if six horses were dragging him. He's got used to it, and habits are strong things that can't be changed at will.

He's not bad; I'm sure of that. Let him have his own way, just as he's used to, and he'll soon be all right again."

Walpurga made no answer. She busied herself paring potatoes for her mother, who went on to say:

"The things that are G.o.d's gifts we have just as good as they have them in the palace."

"There! we've saved one poor soul," replied Walpurga with a smile, "I said the very same words to Hansei, a little while ago."

When they had finished paring the potatoes for the next day, the mother said:

"I'll tell you what. Let's close the front door, and sit on the little seat your father was so fond of, in the gra.s.sy garden back of the house. There we can talk to each other without being disturbed, and, as the lights are out, we'll have no visitors. Nor do we want any, for we're enough by ourselves."

"Oh G.o.d! if only my husband felt so, too."

"Let him alone at the inn. Thank G.o.d that we're alone together. Don't act like a deposed queen; it only makes it so much the harder for you."

Mother and daughter went out through the back door that led to the little garden, where they seated themselves on a bench which stood against the wall and opposite the stable window, and left the back door ajar so that they might hear the child if it should cry. They heard nothing, however, except the noise, made by the cows while feeding. The moon was high, and the shimmering surface of the lake reflected its rays. Now and then, the _yodel_ of some distant mountaineer, the barking of a dog, or the soft splash of an oar, were the only sounds that broke the silence.

"If the first two weeks were only over," said Walpurga, "I'd be better used to it."

"Don't wish for time to pa.s.s. It comes and goes of itself."

"Yes, mother; tell me everything I'm to do, I don't care to have my own will now."

"That won't do, either. Those who can walk alone must fall alone."

"I'll try to do my best."

"Very well. Tell me one thing: how is it in the palace about now?"