The Undying Past Part 46

"What do you think I did? I threw a jug of water at Daisy's head, and gave Kathi such a black eye that she was obliged to wear bandages for three days. So bad can you be when people behave badly to you."

"And what became of the pair?" he asked.

"Kathi was expelled soon after, but Daisy was allowed to stay on because her mamma had subscribed to the new school buildings. But it did her no good. Not any decent girl would speak to her again. What I have lived through. Think of it! Then I came here to Halewitz. Ah, and how I love it! though I have my troubles, even here." She paused and gave him a shy entreating glance, as if she would say, "I know who has only to speak one word to free me from them."

He laughed and stretched himself; and then thought with embarra.s.sment of the other woman who had come into his house to disturb its peace.

"We all have our troubles, my dear," he said.

"You, too?" she asked, lifting her eyes to him in alarm.

"More than enough, my child."

"Yes, yes, I know," she sighed. "Grandmamma is always talking about it."

"About what?"

"About your having more debts than you have hairs on your head, and that you often don't know on Sat.u.r.days where to get money to pay the wages."

"Our dear respected grandmamma is an old chatterbox."

"But if s true, isn't it?"

"Yes, the devil can't deny it."

She was silent and seemed to be considering deeply. Then she inquired, crinkling her forehead--

"For about how much longer can you hold on?"

"Hold on--what do you mean?"

"How long, I mean, before you come a cropper, as the saying is?"

"Ah, now it is evident you were educated at Hamburg," he said, trying to joke.

But she would not be evaded. "Could you hold on, do you think, another four years and four months?"

"Why do you insist on the fours?" he laughed.

She drew down the corners of her mouth. "Now you are making fun of me,"

she said, "and it is really rather sad.... I am _so_ rich, and have, so far, too much money."

"Ah I you would like to lend me some?"

"I _can't_, that's the worst of it," she answered; "all through the stupid trusteeship. It is too provoking;" and she scuffled her feet impatiently.

"How much would you be prepared to give me?" he asked, for the subject amused him.

"All."

A stab of melancholy happiness shot through him; that feeling which he had not been able to recapture before. Now he was obliged to suppress it and goad himself into keeping to the comic side of the question.

With a hurried laugh, he cried--

"Hullo, little one, no one can call you stingy."

An anxious look was cast at him, which asked plainly, "Don't you understand me?" Then she crouched down and drew herself shivering away from him, while the tears rolled down her cheeks, over her parted lips and clenched teeth.

"If this isn't love," he thought, "my name is not Sellenthin." A wild jocund impulse within him bid him s.n.a.t.c.h her in his arms, shout the house awake, shout to the whole world, "Here, see this child, this woman-child is--my wife." He knew that it would have been his salvation, but he did not do it. He did not do it because the fist of his giant care was on his throat almost throttling him, so that the breath was dammed up in his broad chest, and his mighty limbs shackled under the oppressive weight.

"Thank you, dear child, thank you," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "You meant it well, and I shall never forget it of you."

He bent down and kissed the gleaming forehead held up to him so candidly.

"There is still time," cried the wild voice again....

"And now go to bed," he said. "It is getting very late."

She rose silently, and without wishing him "good night," walked away over the glistening gravel path and the darkling lawn to the garden gate.

It seemed to him that she reeled. He would have rushed after her, but he was as one paralysed. Because he was no longer certain of his honour, he feared to lose his sense of shame.

XXI

September was drawing to its close. Despite the disquieting turn that events had taken, Leo Sellenthin continued to live a fresh, healthy, and active life, without its ever occurring to him to doubt the indestructibility of his high spirit or the intrepidity of his adherence to his own doctrine of right. Not once had he felt the "tragic touch;" only a certain feeling of discomfort had taken up its abode within him. He was like a man who wears an ill-fitting coat, and doesn't know whether it is too wide or too narrow. The nave self-a.s.surance which had sat like an ornament on him hitherto was gone; he studied and examined himself, found flaws in his nature, and rejoiced in his good points.

Lively, whimsical sallies which once had rippled forth from him carelessly, seemed to him now something wonderful and striking; he enjoyed them while he gave them utterance, and was pleased when they caused laughter. In sharp contrast to this mood were his surly, taciturn fits, when those around did well to keep out of his way.

But sooner or later his original nature broke through the clouds again, if it was only to scoff cynically at the past. He wanted to be healthy and jolly, and he succeeded.

One afternoon, when Leo was in the act of starting to ride over to Uhlenfelde, there arrived in the courtyard, puffing and blowing, the hanging cheeks of his yellowish-brown face covered with sweat, the worthy old pastor Brenckenberg.

He and his son had walked over together, but the latter had considered it advisable to disappear in the direction of the bailiff's quarters, not being sure of his reception at the castle.

A spirit of devilry awoke in Leo at the sight of the old bigot, to whose philippics he had as yet had no opportunity of retaliating, being thus delivered into his hand.

The pastor's visits to his patron and quondam pupil had never been frequent; they had been limited, for the most part, to pastoral calls, when deputations had to be received or clerical matters discussed, but had generally ended by taking the form of solemn drinking bouts; for Leo, whose cellars were stocked with fine wines, delighted to pour his best into the old man's gla.s.s, whose connoisseurship failed only from want of practice. That was an accepted and invariable custom, dating from his father's hilarious times; and even the oldest amongst the retainers could not remember a day when their pastor had left the precincts of Halewitz sober.

"Hullo, old fellow!" called Leo, stretching out his hand to him. "How is it we haven't met all this time? Uneasy conscience, eh?"

"A man of G.o.d has never an uneasy conscience," replied the pastor, with a grin--"unless he has been drinking water;" and he mopped his shiny face and bacon neck with a red-cotton pocket-handkerchief.

"Wait," thought Leo; "you shall not get off to-day;" and he motioned to the groom to unsaddle the mare again.

As they walked up side by side to the portico, the parson whose corpulent figure swayed from side to side, appeared of more ma.s.sive and powerful build than his old pupil, although the latter towered half a head over him.