The Children of the World Part 59

"Heinrich," replied another voice, which thrilled the heart of the listener at the window, "it would be better for us to go back and I'll spend the night with you at the hotel. It's so late--so unexpected--I know her--she won't close her eyes all night--and I--I am so utterly exhausted--"

"Edwin!" cried a joyous voice from the only lighted window in the dark street. The pedestrian involuntarily paused and grasped his friend's arm with a convulsive pressure. "She's awake," he said hastily in an undertone, "she has heard us, so it can't be helped! Not a word this evening, do you hear? Poor darling, it will come soon enough; is that you, Leah?" he now exclaimed, suddenly quickening his pace. "There, child, now you see what you've done with your promised surprise. I wanted to be generous, too, and as I could think of nothing else, decided that the best surprise would be myself. Good Evening, dearest!"

and he took both hands, which she extended to him through the window, and pressed them in his cold trembling fingers; "I thank G.o.d for being here, where I belong! I have the honor of presenting to you an old acquaintance, Herr Heinrich Mohr, the father of his son, of whom I've already written to you. I couldn't induce him to satisfy himself with an improvised couch on the green sofa. He thinks he can find a bed at the Star, on which he can more comfortably stretch his six feet of length. Is all well, dearest? but come, open the door for us. We must at least have a gla.s.s of wine together--"

He had released her hands, but she did not move from the window. These shallow jesting words had fallen on her soul like a frost and had paralysed her. She did not speak; she addressed no word of welcome to the old friend, asked no question as to how her beloved husband had fared. This, then, was the meeting for which she had waited with such ardent longing.

"Don't be afraid, Frau Leah, that I shall make use of this thoughtless invitation and trouble you this, evening," said Mohr laughing. "Old friends are the most inconvenient articles in the world, when married people meet after a separation. To-morrow I'll take the liberty of knocking at your door to give you my wife's message and a photograph of the little Mohr, but now I shall wish you a good night's rest. No, my dear fellow, I need no guide. I looked carefully at your 'Star' as we pa.s.sed by, and shall find it again in spite of my small share of astronomical knowledge. Good night, Frau Doctorin."

He raised his hat, pressed Edwin's hand, and walked back toward the main street.

Edwin still stood under the window.

"It seems like a dream to be at home again," said he. "This whole day, while we were marching like two lunatics, merely to get here, I have been constantly thinking of our old home, and how delightful it would be to clasp your hand again, and now I'm standing here, and the old stones are still firm, and I--but you're so silent; the surprise was too sudden; well, I hope yours--"

"I'll open the door for you," she said, making a mighty effort to repress her tears. "Oh! Edwin, is it really you?"

She left the window and took up the little lamp from the table; but suddenly replaced it again. Why should she let him read her feelings in her face? So she went through the dark entry, opened the door, and felt herself clasped in his arms; but pa.s.sionate as was his embrace, she noticed that he did not seek to press his lips against hers, but rested his forehead on her shoulder, repeating her name over and over again.

"I'm with you once more, my dearest, we have each other again. It seems as if we'd been parted for years--Leah, my faithful darling--"

"Come into the room," she murmured. "You're exhausted, and your forehead is wet with perspiration. Why did you hurry so recklessly?"

"Yes, yea, scold me, dear Wisdom. It's hard to keep within bounds. But I'm here again, all is well now. What's the matter?" he continued, as he entered the room and saw how his pale face, now fully revealed by the lamp-light, startled her. "I'm perfectly well--that is, I have suffered a few days from a nervous attack, similar to my old ones, but the famous household medicine--so-called because it can only be used out of the house--air and exercise,--has done wonders. And now--I'm as delighted as a child to see the green sofa again,--all our furniture; it can hardly be called princely, we must admit, but it's pretty, very pretty; and my dear little wife--I'll wager you have painted a whole table service while I was away, and the famous surprise is that the roses on your cheeks have been transplanted to the china. Well, I repeat again as I see--"

While uttering these hasty words he had sunk down on the sofa and closed his eyes, evidently in the greatest exhaustion. A strange smile, that cut her to the heart, rested on his lips. When he again looked up, she was kneeling beside him, clasping his hands and gazing with an expression of the most loving anxiety into his face, to seek for some consoling glance that would explain all this as only the consequences of over fatigue.

"Dear wife," said he, "if you could give me a mouthful to eat, or no, only a sip of the Spanish wine mamma sent us--and then--then we'll go to rest."

She instantly started up and hurried out of the room, soon returning bringing with her wine, bread and cold meat. Edwin nodded smilingly.

"Little housewife!" he exclaimed, drawing her down beside him on the sofa. But he only touched her forehead with his lips, and did not appear to notice the gla.s.s of wine she poured out for him. "I'm so happy, so happy!" he repeated again and again. "I drink to peace and rest and--love!"

He tried to draw her toward him, but with a feeling of secret horror she gently repelled him. "Edwin," said she, "what has happened? You can't deceive me for I knew it at the first word you uttered, though you strove to conceal it; you've experienced something that has greatly excited, agitated, or saddened you. Won't you tell me about it? We've always told each other everything."

"Yes, indeed, dearest," he said with a weary nod, while he gently patted her on the cheek. "You're my strong-hearted little girl, my trusty comrade, my dear left hand, that always knows what the right hand is doing. But it's late, my eyes are closing with sleep and there will be plenty of time to-morrow--to-morrow, and the day after, and during our whole lives. What have I experienced? Nothing dangerous.

We've pa.s.sed through a storm, the thunderbolt struck close beside us, and we have been drenched to the skin, that's all. The warmth here will soon dry us again. Come, dearest. What says old Catullus?

"Oh! how pleasant it is from all care to part!

Heavily all burdens fall away from the heart, As weary of life's toils we return to our home, Reposing there restfully, no more to roam."

"Do you want to sit up any longer, child?"

While repeating the verse, he had risen from the sofa with evident effort and approached the door of the bed room. There, leaning against it, he looked back at her. "Good Heavens, you're weeping!" he exclaimed, suddenly shaking off all fatigue. "What in the world is the matter?"

"Oh! Edwin," she said, gently repelling his pa.s.sionate embrace, "forgive me, it's wrong. I ought not to be so childish. But my feelings overpowered me. Sleep! How can I think of sleeping, when I see you return so changed, with a burden on your heart which, for the first time, I'm not allowed to share! And yet this is wrong, you're so tired and ought above all to find rest here, and not a weeping wife.

To-morrow--will you not? to-morrow, when you've slept--"

"No, not to-morrow!" he murmured bending over her and stroking her hair caressingly with both hands. "This very day, dearest, though it should cost us all sleep. This was the object for which I longed, the reason I could not wait, and walked without ceasing ten miles in six hours. And now I am here, I'm so cowardly that I want to sneak off to bed, instead of first confessing everything to my brave other self and begging absolution! Come, let me sit down beside you again; and be comforted, you see it has not cost me my life, I am here, holding your dear hands, and I feel more deeply than ever before, that we two are one, and that no power of Heaven or h.e.l.l can separate us."

He now sat down beside her and began to quietly relate everything that had occurred, from the time he finished his letter to her and Marquard entered his room, till he met Mohr in the forest, where after the long superhuman strain of all the powers of his soul and senses, he had lost consciousness for a moment. Nothing was concealed or palliated. It was evidently a relief to recall to mind all his tortures, his weaknesses, and his honest struggle, now that he knew himself to be safe, where the friends who had followed at his heels could not pursue him into the sacred abode of his peace. The longer he spoke, the calmer became his voice, the clearer his glance. "It is over," he concluded, pressing her hand to his cheek. "I hope you'll praise me, dearest, for having done so well. To be sure, I've not the strong nerves essential to rude courage, and when I do anything heroic, feel long afterwards by the miserable trembling of my heart, what the exertion of moral courage has cost me. But be calm, child, this was the last attack. It will haunt me for a time; if you had seen her--even without being affected as I was by the old fate that binds me to this mysterious creature--you could not have helped feeling the deepest compa.s.sion. What a life is before her with nothing but the vague hope of some change that may release her and give her some reason for loving existence! My beloved reason, that helps me over unsolved questions, that sits incarnate beside me, and that all my future care--"

"You've not yet shown me her letter," she interrupted in an expressionless tone. They were the first words she had spoken for half an hour.

"The letter, child? Why do you wish to read it? It's as incoherent a collection of sentences as was ever scrawled by a poor tortured soul. I a.s.sure you I've not read it a second time myself."

"If I'm to know her thoroughly, to feel any real compa.s.sion for her, I must read it, Edwin. Give it to me. You see I am calm. I have told myself often enough, that this must come some day. It's a misfortune, like any other, only far more sad than every day sorrow. But with honest purpose, and--time--"

"Oh! child," he exclaimed, drawing her tenderly toward him, "have patience with me, leave it to time, do not doubt my honest purpose. I was sure of it--one hour with you, and the enchantment would be powerless, the magic spell shamed by your dear presence. I thank you for having insisted upon knowing everything to-day. Now for the first time I can hope to sleep. The last two nights, in spite of Heinrich's company and all the fatigues of traveling, I could not obtain anything worthy of the name of repose. I had dreams which I should pity a condemned man for having. Now if I can hold your hand--"

"Please go first," she said without looking at him. "I'll come directly---as soon as I've read the letter."

"You might wait until to-morrow--"

"This very day! Do me this favor; then to-morrow all will be over."

He took out his pocket book and looked for the fatal letter. "There it is," said he. "I scarcely know myself what she really wrote, except that it excited and grieved me inexpressibly. Oh! if we could find some way to help her endure life! Think of the matter, my beloved Wisdom.

I've racked my brains in vain. Perhaps you will have some advice to offer."

She nodded, apparently with the most perfect composure, and while he remained in the room held the letter in her hand, without opening it.

But he had scarcely entered the adjoining room with the little lamp he had just lighted, when with trembling hands and cheeks suffused by a sudden flush, she opened the envelope and with restless eyes devoured the lines.

When the maid-servant entered the room early the next morning, she was startled to find her mistress lying asleep on the green sofa, with the lamp, whose oil had now burned out, on the table beside her. Her astonishment increased, when she looked through the half open door of the chamber and saw her master, whose late return she had not heard, quietly sleeping in his bed. The noise she made in her attempt to leave the room again, roused the young wife; she glanced around in her bewilderment and evidently could not remember how she happened to be on this unusual couch. The fatal letter still lay on the table before her, and she suddenly recollected all. She motioned to the servant to keep quiet, and crept on tip-toe to the threshold of the adjoining room, where she paused and listened to Edwin's regular breathing. The next instant she had removed her clothes, noiselessly lain down beside him, and gazing at the twilight with wide open eyes, awaited the unclosing of his.

CHAPTER III.

It was Sunday. The bells that rang at nine o'clock to summon the people to church, roused the sleeper. It was a long time before he remembered how he happened to be in his own bed, and that he was again at home. A quiet, dreamy mood still haunted him, in which he said little, but gazed into vacancy with a smile and then looked around, as if in quest of something. He wanted Leah with him continually, sought her in the kitchen in order with all sorts of jesting words, to bring her back to the sitting room, and then walked up and down the spotless floor with his arm thrown fondly around her, now and then leaning his head on hers and asking various questions, without paying any special attention to the answers she gave. He even spoke of the surprise she had in store for him. "It is nothing," she replied gently, releasing herself from his embrace. Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears; she felt an unconquerable repugnance to telling him her secret, and yet a sense of bitter grief that she could not force her lips to reveal what had hitherto been a source of so much joy. She saw that he was only half with her, or rather that he was striving with all the powers of his soul to return to her again, and yet could not do so entirely. Should she communicate what at any previous time would have caused him such deep happiness, perhaps now only to be thanked with an absent smile?

All the pride of the woman and mother rebelled against the possibility.

When Mohr at last arrived, he found them at breakfast. He sat down, begged permission to make a cigarette, and soon gave the conversation a freer tone. The first thing he did, was to take out the promised picture of the little Mohr and hand it to Leah.

"I don't doubt for a moment," said he, "that Edwin has described me to you as a fool of a father. Friends are great in caricaturing, but I really have the honor and pleasure of being just that. Besides, I saw that only politeness restrained him from laughing in my face when I described the boy's talents and virtues. Well, _qui vivra verra_.

Meantime hear what my wife writes about the way he takes my absence.

I've just received this letter; it contains the kindest remembrances to you as well."

He then read the letter, which contained a detailed account of the various clever, artless expressions of the little household idol. Edwin listened with silent nods, Leah on the contrary entered into the subject with eager admiration, which seemed to greatly delight their old friend.

"Dear friend," said he, "you have a wonderful knowledge of human nature, far more than this scornful skeptic. If he knows what's for his advantage, he'll allow you to prepare certain chapters of his great psychological work. I'll beg you for a sheet of paper, pen, and ink. I want to write a letter to my son, that we may continue to be in communication with each other."

He actually did so, standing at Edwin's desk and talking with his friends in his usual quaint manner. When Leah had gone out, he asked hastily: "Does she know all?"

"All."

"And how did she take it?"

"As you see. She's an angel--no, something better--a strong, upright, good, n.o.ble human being. Do you know, Heinz, I can't shake off the thought that she deserved a better fate than to have for a husband a lunatic, who is so pitifully defenceless against certain witches'

arts."