The Undying Past Part 10

"Confounded mismanagement;" and he rode on.

"He's right," thought Hertha; but she could no longer muster up a feeling of complete triumph.

The breakfast-bell sounded, and, hesitatingly, she turned her steps towards the house.

"Let what may happen," she said to herself, "he won't eat me."

And so she entered the breakfast-room bravely and full of good intentions.

A silent group was gathered there. He sat in the master's place with his head bowed in his hands, his morning paper spread out on the table.

He was not reading it, but gazing before him, lost in thought. Elly, in white nainsook and blue ribbons (like a May Queen, thought Hertha, jealously), had folded her hands in her lap, and wore an indescribably dashed expression. Grandmamma, with sighs, was brewing the coffee; mamma was not there.

Grandmamma came to meet her, took her by the hand, and said--

"Here is Hertha, Leo dear."

There was a slight reproach in her voice as she said this, which didn't please Hertha at all.

He gave her a quick glance, which measured her from head to toe, and his face brightened a little. He got up lazily, and held out his hand.

"I hope that you are happy here, my dear Hertha," he said.

"So I am to be graciously patronized," she thought, with increasing bitterness, as she laid her hand silently in his. She had seldom felt so conscious of being an orphan as at this minute.

"You have a good firm handshake," he went on, smiling; "I believe we shall be friends."

She felt she was blushing, and wished earnestly that she could think of some smart retort, but nothing occurred to her.

"And now let us be jolly, children!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands.

"It's no use wearing one's self out with worrying. Here, you whitewashed one, give me some coffee."

Elly pouted, and Hertha thought, "Ha, ha! she's caught it."

But her turn came next.

"Well, little girl," he went on, leaning back in his chair, "mother tells me wonderful things about you. You do the work of a bailiff."

"Of a housewife, you mean," she replied; and then blushed deeply, for she felt that she had said something silly.

"Oh, indeed," he laughed, and shook his finger at her, "not quite so far as that yet. You are not in such a hurry to become housewives, are you, children?"

Hertha drew herself rigidly erect. Her lips trembled with anger.

"I like work," she said, "and people who scoff at it are those who have forgotten the way to work."

He put down his coffee-cup, which had been halfway to his mouth, in sheer amazement, and stared at her silently for a moment. Then he said--

"Upon my soul! You seem to be a snappish little lady. I must take care in future."

Grandmamma now came to the rescue. Anxiously she took the girl's head between her dear old hands.

"She doesn't mean it," she said, and smoothed her over eyes and mouth, as if she would fain have wiped out the naughty speech.

Hertha was sorry with a feeling of dull regret; but she would rather have bitten her tongue out than let a word of apology pa.s.s her lips.

Conversation did not flow easily again, and Hertha, before she had emptied her second cup of coffee, ran off as if she were a hunted animal. When she reached her room, everything seemed to swim before her in a damp mist.

She went to her gla.s.s and said to herself, "I really didn't mean to be rude."

Elly came after her. She scarcely knew at first what to say as she stood there in her finery, looking so round and pretty with her pink cheeks and innocent blue eyes. At last she said--

"You were simply odious. I could never have been so odious;" and she glanced down lovingly at her ribbon bows.

VI

Leo stayed alone with his mother. The morning sunlight danced on the coffee table's snowy damask, the silver hot-water kettle hummed and hissed, and the smoke from Leo's cigar rose lightly in transparent rings to the ceiling.

"I don't know how it is," said the old lady, sighing and stroking back the wavy grey hair from her forehead, "it may be wrong of me, but I can't be as happy this morning as I ought to be. First it is one thing and then another."

"Never mind, little mother," he said; "it will soon be all right. My goods have certainly been squandered.... No, no, I don't blame you for it. If any one's to blame, I am. What did I keep away so long for?

Ulrich wrote strongly enough. But I was an a.s.s and would not heed.

There's time yet, thank G.o.d! I have not unlearnt the way to work, as that shrewish little girl hinted just now."

"You are unjust to her," the mother said, defending Hertha hotly. "One should not take everything young girls say too literally. You should look into their hearts instead. And this young heart, Leo, I know for a fact, is full of you--you alone and no other."

"How do I come to be so honoured?" he asked with a laugh.

She made an arch grimace and laid her hand caressingly on his.

"You know what her position is? When Johanna's husband died--I don't want to say anything against him--his soul may rest in peace--but----"

"It is all the same to me," Leo interrupted. "But I must say that I should like to get a glimpse of Johanna herself."

His mother appeared distressed and painfully moved. "Wait a little longer," she said hesitatingly; "she will come down soon."

"Now then, out with it!" he commanded. "Directly I ask after her, you evade the question. Ulrich, too, threw out hints, and she herself is avoiding me. The matter must be cleared up instantly."

"She avoids everybody," complained his mother, with tears in her eyes.

"Johanna is quite altered, you would scarcely know her. I should never have thought it possible any nature could have become so gloomy. You know, my dear boy, that I am not irreligious myself. I believe in G.o.d and the Lord Jesus, and that I shall meet your father again in an eternal world. Most firmly do I believe it."

"Yes, mother dear, I know you do," Leo answered, bending his lips over her hand. A child-like joyousness dwelt in her simple heart which kept all doubt miles away.

"But you see," she went on, "Johanna goes to an extreme, which makes one almost anxious. She has had an altar put up by her bed, and a marble crucifix hangs on the wall, as if she were a Catholic. I have found her before it often, fallen asleep in her clothes, when I have gone into her room in the morning. She has given up all society. She doesn't come down when there are guests here, and we ourselves often don't see her all day long. Then she has started a school for infants; old Lange is getting feeble, so it relieves him. She sings and prays with the little ones, and in winter she makes soup for them. And that is the only intercourse she has with any one."