Читать книгу Gold Elsie - E. Marlitt - Страница 3

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CHAPTER I.

It had been snowing all day long,—so steadily that the roofs and window-sills were covered deep with spotless white cushions. And now the early twilight fell, bringing with it a wild gust of wind that raged among the falling snow-flakes like some bird of prey among a flock of peaceful doves.

Although the weather was such that the comfort-loving inhabitants of any small town would hardly have sent their dogs out of doors, not to mention venturing their own worthy persons, yet there was little difference to be seen in the size of the crowd that usually frequents the streets of the large Capital, B——, between the hours of six and seven in the evening. The gas lamps were an excellent substitute for those heavenly lights which would not make their appearance. Carriages were whirling around corners in such tempestuous haste that many a pedestrian rescued life and limb only by a sudden leap aside, while curses both loud and deep were hurled after the coachmen enveloped in their comfortable furs, and the elegant coaches which contained behind their glass doors charmingly dressed women, whose lovely flower-crowned heads, as they peeped from among masses of muslin and tulle, certainly had no suspicion of the fire and brimstone called down upon them. In the warm atmosphere, behind the huge shop windows, elaborately curled and frizzed wax heads, surrounded by blond and black scalps, stared out upon the passers-by. Smiling shopmen displayed their fascinating merchandise, and withered old flower-sellers stood among their fresh-blooming bouquets, which exhaled beauty and fragrance beneath the light of the lamps that shed a brilliant glare upon the slippery pavement and upon the flood of human life streaming by, revealing the pinched, blue features and the desperately uncomfortable movements of all, old and young.

But stay,—not of all! A female figure has just entered one of the principal streets from a narrow by-way. A small threadbare cloak closely envelopes her slender form, and a worn old muff is pressed against her breast, confining the ends of a black lace veil, behind which two girlish eyes are glowing with the sunlight of early youth. They look out joyously into the whistling snow-storm, rest lovingly upon the half-open rosebuds and dark purple violets behind the glass panes of the shop windows, and only veil their light beneath their long dark lashes when sharp hail-stones mingle with the driving snow-flakes.

Whoever has listened while childish fingers, or sometimes fingers no longer childish, confidently begin upon the piano a well-known melody, which goes bravely on for a few bars, then is arrested by a frightful discord followed by a wild grasping after every key on the instrument except the correct ones, while the patient teacher sits by, ceasing to attempt to evoke order out of chaos by the usual steady marking of the time, wearily waiting until the panting melody is seized again and carried on with lightning rapidity through several easy bars as over some level plain,—whoever has thus had his ears stretched upon the rack, can understand the delight with which this young girl, who has just given two music lessons in a large school, offers her hot cheek to the wind as to an energetic comrade, whose mighty roar can breathe wondrous melodies through the pipes of an organ or over the strings of an Æolian harp.

Thus she passes lightly and swiftly through the storm and crowd; and I do not for an instant doubt that if I should present her now upon this slippery pavement to the gentle reader as Fräulein Elizabeth Ferber, she would with a lovely smile make him as graceful a courtesy as though they both stood in a ball-room. But this introduction cannot take place,—and we really do not need it, for I forthwith intend to relate to the reader my heroine's antecedents.

Baron Wolf von Gnadewitz was the last scion of a famous house whose remote ancestry could be traced back into the dubious twilight which even preceded that golden age when the travelling merchant, journeying through some sequestered pass, was forced to surrender his costly stuffs and wares to a knightly banner and shining steel-clad troup of retainers as often as to the buff-coated highway adventurer. From those illustrious times there had been handed down, in the crest of the Gnadewitzes a wheel, upon which one of these same noble ancestors had breathed out his knightly soul in consequence of having spilt rather too much ignoble trading-blood in one of the above-mentioned assaults upon his merchant prey.

Baron von Gnadewitz, the last of his race, was chamberlain in the service of the Prince Royal of X——, and possessor of various orders and large estates, as well as of those peculiarities of character and disposition which were, in his estimation, befitting the high-born, and which he was accustomed to designate as "distinguished," because all common men, bound by work-a-day moral considerations, and compelled by the stern necessities of life, lose all taste for the inimitable grace and elegance of vice.

Baron Wolf von Gnadewitz was as fond of pomp and show as his grandfather, who had forsaken the old castle Gnadeck upon a mountain in Thuringia, the cradle of his line, and had built him in the valley below a perfect fairy palace in the Italian style. The grandson allowed the old castle to fall into decay, while he enlarged and improved the modern mansion considerably. Yes, it seemed as though he entertained not the smallest doubt but that his latest descendant would be found occupying this favourite palace at the day of judgment, for the old castle was quite dismantled in order that the vast chambers of the new abode might be thoroughly furnished. But he reckoned without his host. Wolf von Gnadewitz had a son, 'tis true,—a son who, at twenty years of age, was so complete and thorough a Gnadewitz that the illustrious image of his ancestor who had perished upon the wheel paled before him. This promising youth one day, upon the occasion of the great autumn hunt in the forest, struck one of his whippers-in a fearful blow upon the head with the loaded handle of his hunting-whip—a fearful blow, but a perfectly just punishment, as every one of the guests invited to the hunt declared, for the man had stepped upon the paw of a favourite hound so clumsily as to render the animal entirely useless for a whole day. And thus it happened that, a short time afterward, Hans von Gnadewitz was to be found not only upon the boughs of the genealogical tree in the hall of the new castle, but suspended by a rope around his neck to a bough of one of the actual trees in the forest. The beaten whipper-in expiated the deed upon the scaffold, but that could not bring the last of the Gnadewitzes to life again, for he was dead,—irrevocably dead, the physicians said; and the long tale of robber-knights, wild excesses, hunting orgies, and horse-racing came to an end.

After this terrible catastrophe, Wolf von Gnadewitz left the castle in the valley, and indeed that part of the country, and dwelt upon one of his many estates in Silesia. He took into his house to nurse him a young female relative, the last survivor of one of the collateral branches of his house. This young relative proved to be a girl of angelic beauty, at sight of whom the old baron entirely forgot the object for which he had invited her beneath his roof, and at last determined to clothe his sixty years in a wedding-garment. To his exceeding indignation, however, he now learned that there might come a time, even to a Gnadewitz, when he could no longer be regarded as a desirable parti, and he fell into a violent rage when his young relative confessed that, in utter forgetfulness of her lofty lineage, she had given her heart to a bourgeois officer, the son of one of his foresters.

The young man possessed no worldly gear, only his sword and a remarkably fine manly person; but he was rich in mind, accomplished, amiable in disposition, and of stainless character. When Wolf von Gnadewitz, in consequence of Marie's confession, turned her from his doors, young Ferber carried her home with delight as his wife, and for the first ten years of their married life would not have exchanged his lot with that of any king on earth. Still less would he have made such an exchange in the eleventh year, for that was the eventful 1848; but with it came fierce struggles for him, and an entire alteration in his circumstances. He was obliged to decide between two duties. One had been inculcated while he was in his cradle by his father, and ran thus: "Love your neighbour, and especially your German brother, as yourself;" the other, which he had in later years imposed upon himself, commanded him to draw the sword in his master's interest. In this strife the teachings of his childhood conquered entirely. Ferber refused to draw the sword upon his brethren; but his refusal cost him his commission, and with it all assured means of subsistence. He retired from the army, and soon afterward, in consequence of a severe cold, was stretched upon a sick-bed, which he left only after years of disheartening weakness. He then moved with his family to B——, where he obtained quite a lucrative situation as bookkeeper in an extensive mercantile establishment. It was high time, for his wife's small property had been lost shortly before by the failure of a bank, and the remittances of money which came to the distressed family from time to time from Ferber's elder and only brother, a forester in Thuringia, were all that kept them from extreme poverty.

Unluckily this good fortune was of short duration. Ferber's chief was a pietist of the most severe description, and spared no one in his zeal for proselytism. His efforts to convert Ferber to his own narrow dogmas were met by such quiet but decided resistance, that the pious spirit of the saintly Herr Hagen was seized with holy horror. Remorse at the thought of affording protection and subsistence to such an avowed free-thinker, gave him no peace by night or by day, until he had freed himself from such a burden of guilt, by a note of dismissal, which banished the tainted sheep from his fold.

About the same time Wolf von Gnadewitz went home to his ancestors, and as during his earthly career he had strictly conformed to the Gnadewitz custom of leaving no insult, fancied or otherwise: unavenged, no worthier conclusion to his life could be found than the will which he drew up with his own hands shortly before he descended into the narrow chamber of lead which was to contain for all futurity his noble bones.

This manly document, which constituted sole heir to his large estates a distant relative of his wife's, concluded with the following codicil:

"In consideration of the undeniable claim which she has upon my property, I bequeath to Anna Marie Ferber, born von Gnadewitz, the castle of Gnadeck in the mountains in Thuringia. Anna Marie Ferber will understand my benevolent intention in her behalf in leaving to her a mansion crowded with memories of the noble race to which she once belonged. In full remembrance and consideration of the good fortune and many blessings which have always hovered above this ancient pile, I hold it entirely superfluous to increase my legacy further. But if Anna Marie Ferber, blind to the value of my gift, should wish to sell or exchange it in any way, her right to it must be abdicated in favour of the orphan asylum of L——."

And thus, with the utterance of a biting satire, Wolf von Gnadewitz betook himself to his funeral bed of state. Ferber and his wife had indeed never seen the old castle, but it was notoriously a crumbling heap of ruins, which the hand of improvement had not touched for fifty years, and which, when the modern abode in the valley was completed, had been stripped of furniture, tapestries, and, in the case of the main building, even of the metallic roofing.

Since that time the ponderous oaken door of the principal entrance had remained closed, and the dusty, rusty bolts and bars had never once been withdrawn. The huge forest trees which were growing before it spread abroad their mighty branches, and drooped them among the thick brushwood at their feet, so that the deserted castle lay behind the green impenetrable wall like a coffined mummy.

The lucky heir, who was greatly annoyed by seeing so large a part of his woodland possessions in stranger hands, would gladly have purchased the old castle at a high price, but the cunning clause at the conclusion of the codicil forbade any such transaction.

Frau Ferber laid the copy of the will which had been sent her, and upon which there dropped from her eyes a few tears of regret, upon her husband's desk, and then took up her work,—some delicate embroidery,—with redoubled, almost feverish industry. In spite of his exertions Ferber had been unable to procure another situation, and was now doing his best to maintain his family by translating, a labour but poorly paid, and even by copying law papers, while his wife eked out their scanty means by the proceeds of her needle, which she plied night and day.

But dark as were the heavens above the struggling pair, one star rose quietly among the black clouds and seemed not unlikely to indemnify them by its radiance for all the storms with which fickle fortune had overwhelmed them. A presentiment of this gentle light which was to beam upon his gloomy path possessed Ferber when he stood for the first time beside the cradle of his first-born, a daughter, and gazed into the lovely eyes which smiled upon him from the baby face. All Frau Ferber's friends had been unanimously of opinion that the little girl was a charming creature, a wonderfully gifted child; indeed, they had declared it did not look in the least like an ordinary baby, did not appear to belong to the class of miserable little wretches, who, red as lobsters, seem determined to scream their way through the world; but,—here they had broken off; and it was intimated that were it not for fear of the sneers of their liege lords, and the utterly prosaic tendencies of the nineteenth century, they should certainly suspect that some benevolent fairy had been at work in this case.

They contended as to who should be so far favoured as to hold the little creature at the baptismal font, and should show the deepest tenderness for the little god-daughter, declaring that the day of her baptism could never be effaced from their remembrance; but this demand upon their memories was altogether too great, for when Ferber fell into difficulties, selfishness passed its finger over the recorded day, and no trace of it remained in their minds.

This change, which little Elizabeth experienced in the ninth year of her existence, disturbed her not at all. Her probable fairy protectress had, in addition to other rich gifts, endowed her in her cradle with an invincible joyousness of temperament and great force of will; so she took from her mother's hand her scanty evening meal as gratefully and gaily as she had once received the inexhaustible delicacies presented to her by admiring god-parents; and when on Christmas-eve the room was adorned only by a poor little Christmas-tree hung with a few apples and gilded nuts, the child did not seem to remember the time when friends had crowded around to deck its boughs with all imaginable toys.

Ferber educated his daughter himself. She never attended a school of any kind, an omission in her training which cannot, unfortunately, in the present age, be regarded as anything but an advantage, when we see how many young girls leave school with far more knowledge upon some subjects than is at all desirable or pleasing to the anxious mother, who strives at home to preserve unsoiled her child's purity of mind and heart, and often does not dream how her tender care is made of no avail by the taint which one impure nature in the school will communicate, and which may perhaps colour an entire after-life.

Elizabeth's pliant mind was finely developed beneath the control of her gifted parents. Thoroughly to understand the study which occupied her, and to appropriate its results in such a manner as to make them inalienably her own were duties which she most conscientiously fulfilled. But she gave herself to the study of music with an ardor that inspires a human being only when engaged in a pursuit felt to be especially his own. She soon far outstripped her mother, who was her instructress, and as when a child she would often leave her playthings if she saw a cloud upon her father's brow, to sit on his knee and divert him with some tale of wonder, thus, as a girl, she would charm away the demon of gloom from her father's mind by strange and delicious melodies which lay like pearls in the depths of her soul, until she brought them to light for the first time for his relief and enjoyment. And this was not the only blessing springing from her rare talent for music. The exquisite touch upon the piano, in the garret in which the family lived, attracted the attention of several of the more aristocratic inhabitants of the house, and Elizabeth soon had two or three pupils in music, and had lately been employed in a large school as teacher of the piano, thus sensibly increasing the means of subsistence of the family.

Here let us resume the thread of our story, and we shall not shrink, I hope, from the trouble that we must take in following our heroine through the wet streets upon this stormy evening to her home and her parents.

CHAPTER II.

Even during the long walk through the streets, alternately straight and crooked, gloomy and bright, Elizabeth enjoyed in imagination the delicious sensation of comfort that the sight of the cosey room at home always caused her. There sat her father at his writing-table with its little study-lamp, ready to raise his pale face with a smile when Elizabeth entered. He would take his pen, which had been travelling so busily over the paper for hours, in his left hand, and with his right draw his daughter down beside him to kiss her forehead. Her mother, who, with her work-basket at her feet, usually sat close beside her husband that she might share the light of his study-lamp, would welcome her with tender loving eyes, and point to Elizabeth's slippers, which her care had placed by the stove to warm. Upon the stove apples would be roasting with a cheering hiss, and in the warm corner beside it was the sofa-table, where the tea-kettle would be singing merrily above its spirit-lamp, whose weak, blue light illumined the regiment of tin soldiers, which her only brother, Ernst, a child six years of age, was busily drilling.

Elizabeth mounted to the fourth story before she reached the dark, narrow passage which led to her father's rooms. Here she hastily took off her bonnet and placed upon her lovely fair hair a boy's cap, trimmed with fur, which she drew from under her cloak. Then she entered the room, where little Ernst ran toward her with a shout of joy.

But this evening the light shone from the sofa-table in the usually dark corner by the stove, while the writing-table was left neglected in the gloom. Her father sat upon the sofa, with his arm around her mother's waist; there was a joyous light upon the countenances of both, and, although her mother had evidently been weeping, Elizabeth instantly perceived that her tears had been tears of joy. She stood still upon the threshold of the door in great astonishment, and must have presented a most comical appearance with the child's cap surmounting her amazed countenance, for both father and mother laughed aloud. Elizabeth gaily joined in their laughter, and placed the fur cap upon her little brother's dark curls.

"There, my darling," she said, tenderly taking his rosy face between her hands and kissing it, "that is yours; and there is still something left to help on your housekeeping, mother dear," she continued, with a happy smile, as she handed her mother four shining thalers. "They gave me my first five thalers of salary at school to-day."

"But, Elsbeth," said her mother, with the tears in her eyes, as she drew her down to kiss her, "Ernst's last year's cap is still quite respectable, and you needed a pair of warm winter gloves much more."

"I, mother? just feel my hands; although I have been in the street for an hour almost, they are as warm as if I had been holding them before the fire. No; new gloves would be a most superfluous luxury. Our boy is growing taller and stouter, and his cap has not kept pace with him; so I consider the cap a necessary expense."

"Ah, you good sister!" cried the child with delight; "even the little baron on the first story has not such a charming cap as this. How fine it will look when I go hunting, hey, papa?"

"Hunting!" laughed Elizabeth; "are you going to shoot the unfortunate sparrows in the Thiergarten?"

"Oh, what a miserable guesser you are, Madam Elsie!" the boy rejoined, gleefully. "In the Thiergarten, indeed!" he added, more seriously; "that would be pretty sport. No, in the forest,—the real forest,—where the deer and hares are so thick that you don't even have to take aim when you want to shoot them."

"I should like to hear what your uncle would say to this view of the noble chase," said his father with a smile, taking up a letter from the table and handing it to Elizabeth.

"Read this, my child," said he; "it is from your 'forester uncle,' as you call him, in Thuringia."

Elizabeth glanced over the first few lines, and then read aloud:

"The prince, who sometimes prefers a dish of bacon and sauerkraut at my table to the best efforts of his French cook in the castle of L——, passed several hours with me at my lodge yesterday. He was very condescending, and informed me that he purposed employing an assistant forester, or rather forester's clerk, for he saw that my duties were too onerous. I seized upon my opportunity,—the game was within shot, and if I missed I had nothing to lose but a couple of charges fired into the air; now was my time.

"So I told him how the jade, fortune, had played the very devil with you for this many a year, and how, in spite of your fine talents and acquirements, poverty had knocked at your door. My old master knew well what I was driving at, for I spoke, as I always do, in good German. Thus far in my life every one has understood what I had to say. It is only the fops and fools of his court who fawn around him, who would persuade him that good, honest German is too coarse for royal ears, and that he must always be addressed in French. Well, my old master said that he would like to offer you this situation as forester's clerk, because he thought that with regard to myself,—and here he said a couple of things that you need not hear, but which delighted me,—old fellow as I am,—quite as much as when in old times, upon examination-day, the schoolmaster used to say, 'Carl, you have done yourself credit to-day.' Well, his highness has commissioned me to write to you, and he will arrange matters. Three hundred and fifty thalers salary, and your fuel. Now think it over; it is not so poor an offer, and the green forest is a thousand times pleasanter than your confounded attics, where the neighbours' cats are forever squalling, and where your eyes are blinded by the smoke of a million chimneys.

"You must not think that I am one of those wheedling, parasitical fellows who use their master's favour to benefit all their own kith and kin. No; I can tell you that if you were not what you are, that is, if you were not really talented and well educated, I would bite my tongue out before I would recommend you to my master; and, on the other side, I should always try to secure in his service such an honest, capable fellow as yourself. No offence; you know I always like a plain statement of a plain case.

"But there is another matter to be considered. You ought to live with me, and it could be very easily arranged if you were a bachelor, whom four walls would content, with a chest for his solitary wardrobe. But, unfortunately, there is no possible room in my lonely old rat's-hole of a forest-lodge for an entire family. It is in rather a tumble-down condition, and has needed a doctor for some time, but I suppose the authorities will do nothing for it until the old balconies come crumbling about my ears. The nearest village is half a league, and the nearest town a league from the lodge; you cannot possibly walk these distances every day, in the miserable weather that we have here sometimes.

"Now old Sabina, my housekeeper, who was born in the nearest village, has made a wild suggestion which I herewith impart to you. Old castle Gnadeck, the deceased Baron Gnadewitz's brilliant legacy to you, is, as I have told you, situated at about a rifle's shot distance from the lodge. Well, Sabina says that when she was a strong hearty girl,—which, by the way, must have been something beyond a quarter of a century ago,—she was a chambermaid in the Gnadewitz household. Then the new castle was not entirely furnished, and did not suffice to contain the crowd of guests yearly invited to the great hunt. And so part of the building connecting the two principal wings of the old castle was somewhat repaired and furnished. Sabina had to make and air the beds and attend to the rooms, to her great terror, and no wonder,—her old brain is perfectly crammed with all sorts of witch and ghost stories,—for the rest she is a most respectable person, and rules my household with a steady rein.

"She maintains most firmly that this part of the castle cannot be in a crumbling condition, for it was then in an excellent state of preservation, and would, she is sure, afford a capital shelter for you and yours. May be she is right; but are your children bold enough to brave the ghostly inhabitants that are said to haunt those old walls?

"You know how vexed I was about your worthless legacy, and that I have never once been able, since the death of the sainted Wolf von Gnadewitz, to induce myself to visit the old ruin. But after hearing Sabina's tale yesterday afternoon, I made one of my men climb a tree which stood upon the only spot which could give you a glimpse into the robber's nest, and he declared that everything had fallen into decay there. And this morning I have been to the authorities in the town, but they would not give me the keys of the castle without special permission from your wife, and made, besides, as much fuss about it as if the treasures of Golconda lay hid in the mouldy old rooms. None of those who placed the seals upon the doors could tell me what sort of a place it was, for they never entered it, under the impression that the ceiling might fall and dash out their prudent brains, but contented themselves with placing a dozen official seals as large as your hand upon the principal entrance door. I should very much like to investigate matters with you, so pray decide quickly and start with your family as soon as possible."

Here Elizabeth dropped the letter and looked with sparkling eyes at her father.

"Well, how have you decided, father dear?" she asked hastily.

"Ah," he replied gravely, "it is quite a hard task to tell you our resolution, for I see by your face that you would not for the world exchange this gay populous city for the loneliness and quiet of the Thuringian forest. Still, you must know that my application to the Prince of L—— for the place in question lies sealed in that envelope. However, it is only reasonable that your wishes should be consulted in some degree, and we can be induced to leave you here in case——"

"Ah, no; if Elizabeth will not go I would rather stay here, too," interrupted the little boy, clinging anxiously to his sister.

"Never fear, my darling," she said to him with a laugh; "I shall find a place in the carriage, and if I could not, you know I am as bold as a soldier, and can run like a hare. My longing for the greenwood, which has been the fairy-land of my imagination ever since I was a very little child, shall be my compass, and I shall get along bravely. What will papa do when, some evening, a weary way-worn traveller, with ragged shoes and empty pockets, prays for admission at the gate of the old castle?"

"Ah, then, indeed, we must admit you," said her father, smiling, "if we would not draw down upon our crumbling roof the hostility of all good spirits who protect courage and innocence. But you will have to pass by the old castle if you wish to find us, and knock at some modest peasant hut in the valley, for the ruined old pile will scarcely afford us an asylum."

"I am afraid not, indeed," said his wife. "We shall work our way laboriously through wild hedges and thick underbrush, like the unfortunate suitors of the Sleeping Beauty, to find at last——"

"Poetry itself!" cried Elizabeth. "Why, the first delicious bloom will be brushed from our woodland life if we cannot live in the old castle! Certainly there must be four sound walls and a whole roof in some one of its old towers, and with heads to plan and strong willing hands to execute, the rest can be very easily arranged. We will stop up cracks with moss, nail boards over doorways that have lost their doors, and paper our four walls ourselves; we can cover the worm-eaten floors with homemade straw mats; declare war to the death upon the gray-coated, four-footed little thieves who would invade our larder, and soon banish all cobwebs by a good broom skilfully wielded."

With glowing looks, quite carried away by her dreams of the future home in the fresh green forest, she went to the piano and opened it. It was an old, worn-out instrument, whose hoarse, weak tones harmonized perfectly with its shabby exterior; but, nevertheless, beneath Elizabeth's fingers Mendelssohn's song, "Through the dark green Forest," rang deliciously through the little room.

Her parents sat quietly listening. Little Ernst dropped asleep. Without, the howling of the storm was lulled, but the snow was driving noiselessly past the uncurtained window in huge flakes. The opposite chimneys, no longer smoking, had put on thick white night-caps, and looked stiffly and coldly, like peevish old age, into the little attic room, which enclosed, in the midst of the snow-storm, a perfect spring of joy and gaiety within its four walls.

CHAPTER III.

Whitsuntide! A word that will thrill with its magic the human soul as long as trees burst into leaf, larks soar trilling aloft, and clear spring skies laugh above us. A word which can awaken an echo of spring in hearts encrusted with selfishness and greed of gain, chilled by the snows of age, or deadened by grief and care.

Whitsuntide is at hand. A gentle breeze flutters over the Thuringian mountains, and brushes from their brows the last remains of the snow which whirls mistily into the air and leaves its old abiding-place in the guise of luminous spring clouds. Freed from their wintry garments, the mountains deck their rugged brows with wreaths of young strawberry vines and bilberries. In the valley below, the rippling trout-stream is flowing forth from the dark forest directly across the flower-strewn meadow.

The lonely saw-mill is clacking merrily, while its low thatched roof shines white with the fallen blossoms of the sheltering fruit trees.

Before the windows of the scattered huts of the wood-cutters and of the villagers many an accomplished bullfinch was singing in his little cage the airs which were the fruits of a course of instruction in high art, daring the winter in the hot, close room of his master. And his brothers in the forest were trilling wilder but far sweeter lays, for their little throats inhaled the clear air of freedom.

Where, a few weeks before, the melted snow had foamed down from the mountain tops in a bed created by its own torrent, beautiful moss was now weaving a soft carpet, that would soon quite conceal the scarred breast of the mountain, while here and there, through the thick green the silver thread of some little stream glittered in the sunlight.

Upon the highway running through a charming valley of the Thuringian forest the Ferbers were travelling, in a well-packed carriage, toward their new home. It was very early in the morning; the bell from a distant church-tower had just tolled the hour of three, wherefore only the shabby old sign-post by the roadside and a herd of stately stags were permitted the sight of a happy face that looked upon this lovely forest for the first time.

Elizabeth leaned far out of the window of the dark carriage, and inhaled deep draughts of the invigorating air, which she maintained had already cleared away from her eyes and lungs all the dust of the city. Ferber sat opposite, sunk in thought. He too was refreshed by the beauty and tender grace of the forest; but he was more deeply moved by the delight in the eyes of his child, who was so susceptible to the charms of nature and so unspeakably grateful for the change in their circumstances. How busy her hands had been since the Royal answer to Ferber's application for the new office had been received! There had been much to do. She had shared faithfully in all the cares which their departure from the city brought upon her parents. It is true the prince had sent his new official a considerable sum of money for travelling expenses, and the forester uncle, too, had shown his usual generosity; but with the greatest economy it did not suffice, and therefore Elizabeth had employed every hour which she usually had for recreation in sewing for a large ready-made linen establishment,—occupying herself thus with her needle for many a night, after her unsuspecting parents were sleeping soundly.

There had been one bitter experience amid all the busy hurry, which had cost the young girl many tears. She had seen her dear piano borne off upon the shoulders of two strong men to its new possessor. It had to be sold for a few thalers, because it was old and frail,—too frail to be transported to the new home. Ah, it had been so true a friend to the family! Its thin, quavering voice had sounded in Elizabeth's ears tender and dear as the voice of her mother. And now, probably, unfeeling children would thrum upon its venerable keys, and tease the old instrument to speak more strongly, until it should be mute forever. But this sorrow was past, and lay behind her, with much beside which she had sacrificed and endured silently; and as she sat looking out into the morning twilight, with eyes sparkling with delight,—eyes that seemed to read behind the misty veil of the dawn all kinds of brilliant prophecies for the future,—who could have discerned in that figure, glowing with the elasticity of youth, one trace of the fatigue of the last busy weeks?

For another half hour the travellers drove along the smooth, level highway, and then turned aside into the thick forest by a well-kept carriage-road. The sun was just rising in the eastern sky, and shot his rays upon the earth in splendid amazement at the diamonds with which she had adorned herself during his absence. In the night a heavy shower had come up, much rain had fallen, and the large drops were still hanging upon twig and leaf, falling pattering upon the roof of the carriage whenever the postillion touched one of the overarching boughs with his whip. What a glorious forest! From the thick underbrush at their feet the trees reared their colossal trunks, and above, their boughs intertwined in a fraternal embrace as though determined to defend their peaceful, quiet home from light and air as from two deadly enemies. Only here and there a slender, green-tinted sunbeam would slip from bough to bough down upon the feathery grass and the little strawberry-blossoms, sprinkled everywhere like snow-flakes, even laying their little white heads impertinently upon the road.

After a short drive the wood grew less dense, and soon the retired Lodge appeared in the midst of a meadow in the heart of the forest. The postillion sounded his horn. A tremendous barking of dogs was heard; and with a loud whirr a large flock of doves soared, terrified, into the air from the pointed gable of the house.

A man in a hunting uniform was standing at the open door,—a gigantic figure, with a huge beard that almost covered his breast. He shaded his eyes with his hands as he looked keenly at the approaching carriage, but suddenly running down the steps, he tore open the door, and threw his arms around Ferber, as the latter sprang out. For one instant the brothers stood in a close embrace; then the forester gently released the slender figure of the younger, and, holding him by the shoulder at arm's length, gazed searchingly into his pale worn countenance.

"Poor Adolph!" he said at last, and his deep voice trembled with emotion. "Has fate brought you to this? But wait awhile, we will have you sound and well again; it is not too late. A thousand welcomes to you! And now let us stick together until the last great trumpet call, when we shall not be asked whether we will stay together or not."

He tried to master his emotion, and helped his sister-in-law and little Ernst, whom he embraced and kissed, to descend from the carriage.

"Well," said he, "you must have been knocked up at an early hour, I must say, and that's hardly the thing for women."

"What can you be thinking of, uncle?" cried Elizabeth. "We are no slug-a-beds, and know exactly how the sun looks when he says good morning to the world."

"Halloa!" cried the forester with a laugh of surprise. "Who is that quarrelling with me in the corner of the carriage? Come out instantly, little one."

"I, little? Well, sir, you will be finely surprised when I do get out and you see what a tall, stately maiden I am!"

With these words Elizabeth sprang down from the high carriage and stood on tiptoe, drawing herself up to her full height beside him. But although her slender, graceful figure was something above middle size, she seemed at this moment like a pretty king-bird measuring itself with an eagle.

"Look," she said, in a rather disappointed tone, "I am nearly up to your shoulder, and that is more than tall enough for a respectable girl."

Her uncle, holding himself as erect as possible, looked down upon her with a roguish smile of great self-satisfaction for a moment, then suddenly picked her up in his arms as though she had been a feather, and amid the laughter of the others carried her into the house, calling in a voice of thunder—

"Sabina, Sabina, come here, and I will show you how the wrens look in B——."

He put his terrified burden down in the hall as gently and carefully as though he were handling some brittle plaything, took her head tenderly between his large hands, kissed her forehead again and again, and said, "That such a queen of Liliput, such a moonshine elf, should dream of being as large as her tall uncle! But, forest fairy as you are, you know all about the sun, for your head is covered with its beams."

As she was carried into the house upon her uncle's arm the girl's hat had fallen from her head, revealing a mass of fair hair, the golden colour of which was all the more remarkable as her delicately pencilled eyebrows and long lashes were coal black.

In the mean while an old woman entered from a side door, and at the head of the first flight of stairs several boyish faces appeared, which, however, vanished as soon as they found themselves perceived by the forester. "Oh, you need not run away," he cried, laughing. "I have seen you peeping. They are my assistants," he turned to his brother; "the fellows are as curious as sparrows, and to-day I really cannot blame them," and he glanced archly at Elizabeth, who, standing aside, was binding her loosened braids around her head. Then he took the old woman by the hand and presented her, with an air of comical solemnity: "Fräulein Sabina Holzin, Minister of the Interior to the Forest Lodge, High Constable in all stable and farm affairs, and to every one therein concerned, and, lastly, absolute monarch in the kitchen department. While she is putting the dinner on the table do just as she tells you, and all will go well with you; but, if she begins with her stock of old proverbs and ghost stories, get out of her way as quickly as possible, for there is no end to them. And now,"—he turned to the smiling old woman, who was a miracle of ugliness, and who yet prepossessed all in her favour by her honest eyes, by an expression of roguery and fun that lighted up her face, and especially by the spotless cleanliness of her attire,—"now bring us as quickly as you can whatever pantry and cellar will afford: I know you baked our Whitsuntide cakes earlier than usual, that our travellers might have something to refresh them after their fatigue."

With these words he opened the door opposite to the one from the kitchen through which the old woman disappeared, and showed his guests into a large apartment with bow-windows. But Elizabeth lingered behind, looking through the door which led into the court-yard, for, between the white picket fences which shut in the feathered tribes on each side of the enclosure, she saw gay beds of flowers, while three or four late-blossoming apple trees stretched their rosy bloom-laden branches over one corner of the space. The garden was large, climbing a short distance up the mountain side by terraces, and even enclosing within its realm a beautiful group of old beeches, outlying members of the forest. While Elizabeth, entranced, stood thus in the hall, the door of a side wing of the house opened and a young girl stepped out into the court-yard. She was strikingly beautiful, although her figure was rather diminutive, a defect for which nature had seemed to wish to indemnify her by gifting her with a pair of large eyes that glowed like dazzling black suns. Her abundant dark hair was arranged evidently with an eye to coquettish effect, and several charmingly curled locks had escaped just above the pale forehead. Her dress, too, although of simple material, betrayed in its arrangement the greatest care, and the observer could not but suspect that the skirt was so artistically looped not merely that the hem might be kept from the dust, but also with an eye to the neat little boot which it revealed, and which certainly was not made to be hidden beneath the heavy woollen stuff of the dress.

She had in her hand a bowl full of grain, and threw a handful upon the stones at her feet. A great noise ensued; the doves fluttered down from the roof, the fowls left their roosts and nests with loud cacklings, and the watch-dog felt it his duty to assist in the universal clamour by barking loudly.

Elizabeth was astonished. It is true, her uncle had been married, but he never had any children, as she knew; who then was this young girl, of whom no mention had been made in his letter? She descended the steps that led to the court-yard, and approached the stranger: "Do you live at the Lodge?" she asked, kindly.

The black eyes were riveted searchingly upon her for one moment, with a look of unmistakable surprise, then an expression of annoyance flitted across her delicate lips, which closed more tightly than before; the eyelids fell over the glittering eyes, and she turned silently away, as though entirely unconscious of the presence or address of any one, and continued feeding the fowls with the grain.

Just then Sabina passed through the hall with the coffee-tray. She beckoned confidentially to Elizabeth, who stood amazed, and, when she drew near, bade her follow her into the house, saying: "Come, child, you can do nothing with her."

In the sitting-room, Elizabeth found all as comfortable and happy as if they had lived together for years. Her mother was sitting in a large arm-chair, which the forester had pushed near a window that commanded a lovely view down one of the vistas of the forest. A large striped cat had sprung confidingly into her lap, where it was purring with satisfaction beneath the small hand that was gently stroking it. And for little Ernst, the four walls of the room were a perfect museum of all imaginable curiosities. He had climbed into one chair after another, and was then standing in speechless admiration before a glass case containing a gorgeous collection of butterflies. The two men were seated, side by side, upon the lounge, in deep consultation concerning the future abode of the family, and, as Elizabeth entered, she heard her uncle say, "Well, if the old ruin on the mountain cannot afford you shelter, you must stay here with me. I can move my writing-table and all my other matters out of your way for awhile, and then I will besiege the authorities in the town until they consent to add another story to the right wing of my old house."

Elizabeth took off her travelling cloak, and assisted old Sabina to set the table. The first shadow had fallen upon the enjoyment that had filled her soul. Never before had any advance of hers been met with unkindness. That she owed this exemption from the ill humour of others to her beauty, the charm of her manner, and the childlike purity of her nature, which exercised an unconscious influence upon all around her, had never occurred to her. She had taken it for granted that she should experience only kindness from all, since she was conscious of meaning well by all the world. Her disappointment at the repulse was all the greater, because the sight of a young girl of about her own age had caused her such surprise and joy; and the beautiful face of the stranger had interested her deeply. The studied arrangement of the girl's dress had not struck her, as she herself had never yet known the desire of heightening her attractions by the aids of the toilet. Her father and mother had always assured her that no time spent in the cultivation of mind and heart was lost, and that if they were what they should be, her exterior could never be unattractive, whatever might be the form with which nature had endowed her.

The thoughtful expression of Elizabeth's face did not escape her mother's notice. She called her to her, and her daughter began an account of the meeting; but at the first words the forester turned towards her. A deep wrinkle appeared between his bushy eyebrows, and made his face dark and gloomy.

"Indeed," he said, "have you seen her already? Well, then, let me tell you who and what she is. I took her into my house some years ago, that she might assist Sabina in her housekeeping. She is a distant relative of my deceased wife, and has no parents, brothers nor sisters. I wished to do good, but I have provided myself with a perpetual scourge,—although I do not deserve it. She had not been here a month before I discovered that she had not a single healthy thought in her entire composition; she is a mass of exaggerated ideas and inconceivable arrogance. I had half a mind to send her back to the place she came from, but Sabina, who has still less cause than I to love her, entreated me not to do it. Why, I cannot tell, for the girl gave her a great deal of trouble, and was insolent. I did all I could to tame her haughty spirit by giving her regular duties to perform, and for awhile matters went on pretty well. But about a year ago a certain Baroness Lessen came to live over at Lindhof,—that is the name of the former Gnadewitz property, which the heir-at-law sold to a Herr von Walde. The possessor himself, who has neither wife nor child, is a kind of antiquary, travels a great deal, and leaves his only sister under the charge of the aforesaid baroness, more's the pity, for she turns everything upside down. Years ago, when I used to hear great piety spoken of, all my veneration was excited, and I wished at least to take my cap off; but now, when I hear of such things, I clench my fist and pull my hat down over my eyes, for the world has greatly changed. The Baroness Lessen belongs to those pious souls who grow cruel, hard, and narrow-minded out of what they call pure fear of the Lord; who persecute a fellow-creature who does not cast his eyes down hypocritically, but lifts them to heaven where God dwells, as persistently as a hound hunts down game. This is the herd to which my excellent niece belongs; there could not be a better soil for all the weeds that her brain generates, and all sorts of annoyances are the consequence. She made acquaintance with a lady's-maid over there, and spent all her leisure time with her. At first I was content enough, until all at once she began with her plans,—for our conversion, as she calls it. Sabina was a miserable sinner, because she would not leave off work, at least ten times a day, to pray; the poor old thing, who never misses church every Sunday at Lindhof, even through wind and rain, and often with rheumatism racking her old bones, and who has lived a faithful, laborious life, infinitely more religious than sixty years of idleness spent upon her knees. And then my fine moralist attacked me; but there she found her match, and contented herself with a single effort. Then I forbade all intercourse with Lindhof; but my prohibition was of little use, for whenever my back is turned she takes occasion to slip over there. Of course, there can be no question of any gratitude towards me; I have no bond of union with her as her guardian, and that makes my task of guiding and guarding her doubly difficult. God only knows what insane idea has taken possession of her now, but for two months she has been perfectly dumb, not only here at home, but everywhere. For that space of time not a single word has passed her lips. Neither sternness nor gentle entreaty produces the slightest effect upon her. She attends to her duties just as she used to do, eats and drinks like every one else, and is not one whit less vain or wise in her own conceit. But because she grew pale, and did not look very well, I consulted a physician, who had formerly known her, with regard to her health. He assured me that her physical health was excellent, and advised that she should be treated with gentle firmness, as the minds of several of her family had previously been somewhat affected. He said, too, that she would grow tired of her entire silence, and would begin talking some fine day like a magpie. I am content to wait; but in the mean time it is a sore trial to me. All my life I have longed to have happy faces around me, and would rather eat bread and salt with cheerful people than the costliest dainties with morose companions. Come, my Fair one with the golden locks," he concluded, stroking Elizabeth's head with his huge hand, "push your mother's arm-chair up to the table, tie a napkin round the neck of that little rogue who is staring his eyes out at my case of rifles, and let us breakfast together, for you all need repose, and must rest your weary limbs after your long journey. After dinner we must begin to think of Castle Gnadeck; but first strengthen your eyes with a little sleep, lest they should be dazzled by the splendour which will flash upon them up there."

After breakfast, while her father and mother were asleep and little Ernst was dreaming in a large bed of the wonders of the forest-lodge, Elizabeth unpacked in the upper room, which her uncle had resigned to her, all that was necessary for the coming night. She would not for the world have gone to sleep. She went repeatedly to the window and looked across to the wooded mountain which arose behind the lodge. There, above the tops of the trees, she could see a black streak, which stood out distinctly against the clear blue sky. That was, as old Sabina said, an ancient iron flag-staff upon the roof of Castle Gnadeck, from which in times long gone by the proud banner of the Gnadewitzes had flouted the air. Was there behind those trees the asylum for which she longed, where her parents might rest their feet, weary with long wandering upon foreign soil?

And then her eyes sought the court-yard below, but the dumb girl did not appear again. She had not come to breakfast, and seemed to wish to avoid all intercourse with the guests at the lodge. For this Elizabeth was very sorry. Although her uncle's account had not been promising, a youthful spirit is not quick to resign its illusions, and would rather be undeceived by the bursting of its gay bubble than admonished by the experience of age. The beautiful girl, who could so determinedly conceal her secret behind closed lips, became doubly interesting to her, and she exhausted herself in conjectures as to the cause of this silence.