The Song Of Songs Part 12

He nodded dejectedly.

"Yes, life's hard, very hard."

"You must get enough sleep, and go walking. Walking a great deal is the very best."

"Do _you_ go walking?"

Lilly taken aback considered a moment. Since she had been in that hole among the books, she had not seen a field of snow or a green tree.

"Oh, I!" she threw out, shrugging her shoulders. "What have I got to do with it?" Then, inwardly rejoicing at her own boldness, she added: "How would it be if we were to take a walk together?"

Now it was his turn to be taken aback.

"There are such a lot of obstacles," he observed, thoughtfully shaking his mane. "The thing would be misinterpreted. There are considerations, especially so far as you are concerned--certainly, especially for you."

Lilly had read of young cavaliers whose solicitude for their lady's good name exceeded their very pa.s.sion for her, and she looked up at him in grat.i.tude and admiration.

"Don't bother about me! I'll manage. I'll just shirk early ma.s.s."

Though she felt a tiny p.r.i.c.k at her heart because of her blasphemous words, she knew that for the sake of such a walk she would betray G.o.d, betray St. Joseph himself, without the least hesitation.

"But I've got to get through with the examinations first," he explained.

The matter was settled and the plan sealed with mutual promises.

Accompanied by Lilly's good wishes and warnings, he took leave, but not before carefully scanning street, porch, and hall.

From now on Lilly's life was one glow of hope and dreamy antic.i.p.ation.

She would lie awake half the night, picturing to herself how she would wander over the golden meadows with him in the light of dawn, her hand pressed against her throbbing heart, her arm now and then slightly grazing his elbow. Each time she thought of this she felt a little shock, which quivered down to the very tips of her toes.

She read nothing but hot, pa.s.sionate books, in which there was much of "intoxication," "transport," and the "giddiness of endless kisses." But she did not dream of kisses in connection with herself. Whenever she found herself drifting in that direction, she checked herself in dismay--so exalted was he above every earthly desire.

Now she knew what reasons justified her in promising St. Joseph a silver heart.

One Sunday morning she told St. Joseph the whole story--about Fritz Redlich's examinations, his high ideals, and her solicitude for him. The only thing she refrained from mentioning was the walk they had planned; which she had to omit on account of the shirked ma.s.s.

She had saved about sixty marks, which she carried in a leather pocket next to her body. The silver heart would cost twelve marks at the very most. Plenty of money remained for buying a gift for her friend. She wavered long between a gold-embroidered college portfolio and gold-embroidered slippers, and finally decided on a revolver in a case, naturally a.s.suming that in the wild struggle for existence he would be exposed to many dangers, from which only reckless daring and instant decision could rescue him. A revolver and case cost twenty-five marks, gold thread for embroidering the monogram, five marks. Thus everything was arranged in the best possible manner.

When she saw him step on the porch the morning of examination day, white as the glove with which he waved farewell to his parents--he seemed to have forgotten her--she felt as if she should have to run after him and press the weapon of deliverance into his hand without further delay. But she reflected that in all likelihood the examiners would not show themselves susceptible to that sort of eloquence.

At the last moment, as he stepped from the porch to the pavement, a timid glance of his fell upon her, and she was happy.

At one o'clock there was some stir on the street.

They were bringing him home. He looked weary and completely crushed, but the others whooped and huzzaed.

The old sergeant out of service ran to meet him in torn slippers, and violently wiped his green-grey bristly beard on his son's face. From the kitchen came the spicy smell of cooking sausages.

Lilly ran rejoicing up and down the aisles of the library, and thought with a sort of superior satisfaction:

"St. Joseph's fine! _Isn't_ he fine!"

The very next morning she ordered the silver heart, and blushingly asked to have a monogram of L. C. and F. R. engraved on it.

When she returned she found an envelope addressed to her among the order slips in the letter-box. Inside was a soiled menu card from a restaurant, on which was written: "Sunday 5 a.m. on the porch."

The first grey of dawn entered the library through the lunettes in the shutters.

Lilly sprang out of bed and threw the windows open.

The street resembled a great bowl of milk, so heavily the white mist of early autumn weighed upon the ground. The cold damp drizzle did her hot limbs good. She spread her arms and washed herself in the icy air as in a bath.

Her light summer dress, which she herself had washed and ironed the evening before, hung like a bluish drift on the white wall. She smartened herself as never before. This festal day should find her worthily adorned.

With the paltry remnants of her savings she had bought a large yellow shepherdess hat tying under the chin, so doing away with the need for a collar. And openwork silk gloves suddenly came to light, having been discovered at the bottom of the trunk, where they had long lain forgotten.

She would carry the heavy revolver in her work-bag. Before slipping it in, she kissed it several times, and said:

"Watch over him faithfully, destroy his enemies, and lead him on to victory."

It was a genuine consecration of arms.

At five o'clock sharp the door opposite creaked on its hinges. She glided into the hall. On the porch they shook hands.

His eyes were bleared, yet he looked rather enterprising. There was even something of the beau in his get-up. He wore his hat tilted a bit to one side, and in his left hand swung a light bamboo cane tipped by the head of a sea gull in silver.

Lilly stammered congratulations.

He thanked somewhat condescendingly, as if so insignificant a matter were not worth all that to-do.

"We loaf about dreadfully now," he went on. "I can't say I get a great deal of sport out of it, but a fellow has to know something of the follies of human life, too."

When they pa.s.sed St. Anne's, a thought suddenly flashed into Lilly's mind, which filled her with bliss. If they were to go into the church for a moment, the sin of silence would be removed from her soul, and St.

Joseph could even bestow his blessing on the day.

Timidly she gave voice to her wish--and found herself in a pretty mess.

"I am a free-thinker," he said, "I would never go counter to my convictions. Nevertheless, it is an enlightened man's duty to be tolerant, and if you want to go in, I will wait outside."

No, she no longer wanted to, and she was terribly ashamed. Of course, he could not know what close connection existed between St. Joseph and his good fortune. Otherwise he would not have been so ungrateful.

They walked in silence through the deserted streets of the suburbs. The fog lifted a little. Lilly chilled through and through shivered at each step. Perhaps excitement was the cause. On the whole, however, she felt much calmer than she had expected to. Everything was so altogether, altogether different. A little disenchantment had occurred, she did not know how.

She cast a yearning gaze down the street, at the end of which dark trees showed their heads.