On the Heights Part 76

"It'll soon be a year since we sat on this pile of stones. Do you remember? It must have been somewhat about here," exclaimed Hansei, with joyous voice.

Walpurga gave an evasive answer. She told Hansei that she thought it a stupid piece of business for the innkeeper to make a festival of her return, but that she wouldn't put foot in the Chamois for all his music.

Hansei had not thought so ill of the projected entertainment; on the contrary, he had found pleasure in the idea of sitting in the midst of the crowd, with his wife by his side and all the people frisking about him. That was more than Grubersepp, with all his money, could get. It was not without a struggle, that he, at last, said: "Just as you please; you ought to know best whether it's proper for you."

As soon as the afternoon service was over, crowds, on their way to the Chamois, were seen hurrying through the village in carriages, on horseback, or afoot. The sound of the music could be heard from afar, and the tones of tailor Schneck's ba.s.s viol were heard over all.

"If I could only hide myself from them," said Walpurga.

"That's easily done," said Hansei, triumphantly, "that's all right. Let us go off together, by ourselves."

He went out through the back door and into the back garden and loosened the boat from the spile. While the chain rattled over its side, Walpurga laid her hand on her heart and said:

"You've loosened a chain from my heart."

They got into the boat and pushed oft, and, like an arrow, the slender bark shot out over the smooth water of the lake.

"The pastor meant to come," said Walpurga, when they had gone some distance.

"He can come some other time; he won't run away," thought Hansei.

"We're rowing together, just as we did when we were betrothed."

Walpurga also seized the oars. She and Hansei sat face to face. The four oars rose and fell as if it were a single hand that plied them.

Neither spoke a word; there was nothing to be said. The happy glances they bestowed on each other were full of eloquence, and the equal stroke of the oars told the whole story.

When they reached the middle of the lake, they heard loud music from the sh.o.r.e, and, looking back, saw a great crowd, accompanied by the band, in front of their house.

"Thank G.o.d! We've escaped that," said Hansei.

They rowed on, further and further, and went ash.o.r.e on the opposite bank where, holding each other by the hand, they walked up the hill.

They soon reached a bluff, where they rested for awhile. At last, Hansei said:

"Walpurga, it seems to me that you don't want to be the landlady of the Chamois. Tell me frankly, is it so?"

"No, I don't; but if you're really bent upon it--"

"I want nothing that doesn't suit you."

"Nor do I want anything that displeases you."

"And so we'll let the innkeeper go his own way?"

"Gladly."

"We can wait."

"We can remain as we are, for the present."

"We'll soon find a good chance."

"The money won't grow moldy."

"Nor will you. I've got a bran-new wife. Hurrah! hurrah!"

Their voices joined in merry song, and they felt as if relieved from a self-imposed burden.

"They may make sport of me, as much as they please, as long as we're happy together," said Hansei.

"Hansei, I'll never forget you for that. There's something else coming, too."

"There needn't be anything more. All I ask for is that we may keep what we have."

They sat there for a long while, and at last Walpurga said:

"Oh! how beautiful the world is. If we could only always remain together thus. There's nothing more beautiful than to sit here and look at the lake, through the green leaves and the gray boughs. There are two skies, one above and one below. Hansei, we have two heavens, too, and I almost think that the one on earth is the lovelier of the two."

"Yes, but joy has made me hungry and thirsty; I must have something to eat."

They descended to a quiet, desolate-looking village that lay near by.

Here and there people were seated before their doors, chatting and yawning, to while away the sultry hour of noon. But Walpurga said:

"Oh, Hansei, how beautiful everything is! Just look at that wheelbarrow, and that pile of wood, and that house--I don't know what's the matter with me, but I feel quite dizzy, and as if everything were smiling at me."

"You must have something to eat and drink; you're quite beside yourself."

They found the inn-parlor untenanted except by myriads of flies.

"They've got lots of guests here, but they don't pay anything," said Hansei, and they both laughed with all their might. They were so happy that the merest trifle provoked them to laughter.

After repeated calls the landlady appeared, bringing some sour wine and stale bread; but it was quite palatable, nevertheless.

They left and, when evening came on, rowed about the lake for a long while. The evening dews were already falling, when Hansei, pointing toward a distant bare spot in the forest, said: "That's our meadow."

Walpurga seemed busied with other thoughts. She rested her oars and exclaimed:

"The little house over there is our home, and there's our child. I don't know how it is--" She could not express her feelings, but it seemed as if she must fly away and hover over the sea and the mountains, with all that belonged to her. She gazed earnestly at Hansei, until he at last said:

"Of course it's our little house; and our cows, and our tables, and our chairs, and our beds, are all there. Walpurga, you've become a foolish thing; everything seems strange to you."

"You're right, Hansei. Only have patience with me. I'm just coming home to it all again."

She had, at first, almost felt mortified at Hansei's words. He had taken her expressions so literally, and had not appreciated her high-strung feelings. But she quickly regained her self-control, and realized how changed she had become, and that all this was out of place here.

They returned home, and slipped into the house through the back door.

They found everything quiet and in good order. They did not care for the people outside, or for their merry-making. They were enough to each other.