MINE ENEMY'S HIDING-PLACE
Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.
—The Bible.
My vanquished foe had hardly disappeared down the mountain when I recovered sufficiently from my dazed state to recall the witch, who I feared had escaped me while I was engaged in desperate conflict with the red man. No man who hath not gone through such adventures can understand what a weakness and loneliness came upon me way up there in that wild spot, with no foe to fight or witch to pursue; for surely idleness afflicts one with many foolish fears and vain imaginings.
I crawled stiffly, now that I had cooled off somewhat, to the top of the rock and looked carefully in every direction, straining my ears for any sound of her; but I saw and heard nothing. I fairly groaned in my childish despair. It seemed to me I must find out this night the haunt of this sorceress. And then, as I jumped down from the great stone so heedlessly I almost fell, something leaped out of the dark shadow of the rock with such suddenness I shrank back trembling like a leaf; but as I saw, despite my shattered wits, the form of the witch fleeing still higher up the mountains, I rushed after her with such a vengeful whoop as startled even myself; but with all my violent efforts she gained steadily on me, for that she knew the way, dodging in and out among the trees and bushes with the greatest ease, while I stumbled and fell repeatedly bruising and tearing my hands and knees almost beyond endurance.
Yet how truly it hath been said that often victory cometh when we are ready to give up; for as I was passing a cluster of tall, gloomy looking pines only a few paces from me, I saw a white-clad figure which as I advanced cautiously toward it, suddenly rushed forward and ere I could hinder threw itself into mine arms with a cry that was nigh to weeping, "Brother Jabez!" As I recovered from my amazement and stepped back into the moonlight I could hardly believe my senses, not knowing at first whether it were another trick of the witch; for she who lay so quietly in my protection was none other than our Sister Genoveva!
But she was not senseless as I first supposed; for in a moment or two she stood up by herself, though trembling, and said with a great gladness, "The Lord be praised thou didst overcome thine adversary." Then with a vanity I trust King David never had, I boasted to my sister, "Didst see me fight the red man?"
"Yea, and when thou didst throw him so mightily I feared thou hadst killed him; for I knew thee not until I saw thee leave the rock in such hot haste after this poor creature."
"Where hath she gone?" I asked eagerly. "I have vowed not to rest until I track her to her vile retreat, though she take me to the gates of the lost." And then our sister smiled so brightly I was hurt that she should feel thus at such a time, as she said, "Wouldst like to see her vile retreat, as thou callest it?"
"For that and for thee I am here."
Still smiling she said more softly, and it seemed to me almost teasingly, "Art strong enough to stand a great surprise?"
To which I replied boastfully, "After such a night of surprises can I endure anything."
With that she took me lightly by the arm and led me into the shadow of those dark pines and when in the very midst of them, I saw what appeared to me like one of the cone-shaped houses of poles covered with skins the red men are wont to live in, only this one was larger than any I had ever seen before and so hidden by the enfolding branches of the pines that one might have passed it within a few feet even in daylight without knowing there were human habitation nigh.
"See," said Sister Genoveva, "this is the vile retreat of her whom thou callest the witch. 'Tis substantial, I assure thee; 'twill not vanish into the air."
And then, as she stepped down and lifted aside a flap that gave entrance to the structure, the moonlight shining through the opening fell full upon the form of some one lying within, seemingly asleep, just beyond the glowing embers of a bright fire that spread a soothing warmth throughout the rude dwelling. As I hung back, not knowing but that I was under some spell of the witch and that all this enchantment would be my undoing, Sister Genoveva assured me of herself by pushing me forward gently, saying, "'Tis not she whom thou hast frightened away by thy unseemly screeching," and as I still hung back for—I say it to my great shame—I feared perhaps the witch had changed herself into the form of our sister to lure me to my destruction, our sister said to me mockingly, "Surely a fighting man like thee is not afraid!" With that I stepped forward with a brave showing, for the man that can endure being called coward by woman is beyond recall.
But then as my feet sank into the soft floor—for it seemed thickly strewn with the skins of wild animals—the prostrate form moved uneasily and murmured weakly, "Genoveva," and before she could hold me back I flung myself down beside my boy, calling to him like one crazy with joy, "Sonnlein! God be praised for his mercy!" forgetting the witch and Sister Genoveva, knowing only that in his wonderful way he had brought me back to my own again.
Best of all he knew me and though I feared the shock of my sudden coming might increase his illness he soon drove away my fears by saying, with such simple faith, and the tenderness illness often brings even to men, as made me more wickedly vain than ever, "I knew thou wouldst come."
Much had we to say to each other after all our grievous trials, for Sonnlein would talk against all the admonishing from Sister Genoveva, and once when she insisted more firmly than before that he cease talking and go to sleep he retorted softly, slyly winking at me—though I detest winking—"Surely thou art not going to scold me ere we are married?"
"Married!" I burst forth, "much time hast had to make love if thou hast been sick since thou left us, and I doubt not thou hast been nigh to death."
But he merely smiled more wickedly than before as he said, "When a man is too old or too sick to make love 'tis time for him to die, and I feel not like dying, I assure thee."
So long as he had such nonsense in him I knew he was not in any critical illness. Indeed, Genoveva declared he was gaining so rapidly she knew not what to do, for that he was all the time promising she must be his wife so soon as he were well.
But finally, for with our Kloster discipline still upon us even in all these wild surroundings, in that we came slowly to what we most cared to hear, I prevailed upon our sister's modesty—for she would not have it that she had endured anything unusual—to tell me about her capture and long stay from us; but she insisted in making so light of all she had suffered and endured in body and mind that her story was over much too soon, though Sonnlein fell most ungallantly asleep ere she was half-way through, greatly tempting me to waken him with the reminder that he was the one who acted as though he and Genoveva were already married; but no doubt his illness was adequate apology; for truly no man worthy the name, so it seemeth to my inexperience, could even wish to sleep while his lady love were talking to him; though I have heard it stoutly averred that after marriage a great change cometh over the man so that he goeth to sleep whenever he feeleth like it even though his Liebchen be talking to him; but this I never could believe.
But it is not seemly that I, a monk, should attempt instruction in love and marriage, and therefore shall I turn to our sister's tale of her capture; and very discreetly she said nothing about Sonnlein's meeting her under the chestnut tree; nor did I think it wise to refer to the matter for fear—though I never doubted her word—the temptation for falsehood would be too great; for it hath ever seemed to me a most dreadful thing that the fair sisters, whom the Lord hath created so like unto the angels, should ever be guilty of untruth.
But here I am preaching again, as usual, so that it seemeth I shall never get to our sister's story. Yet now shall I proceed to it without further deviation. And thus it was: She was sitting under the tree but a short time after Brother Alburtus had passed her when suddenly some one from behind grasped her roughly by the arm and as she turned about, in her first thought believing it had been some jesting one stealing upon her, she looked up and saw bending over her threateningly the tall form of a red man, with an evil-looking old woman directly back of him. As our sister was about to cry for help he made such menacing motions and gestures that she knew it would be foolish to make resistance; but instead she went with them as they led the way down Mount Sinai through the meadows, and along the creek, crossing it where Sonnlein and I had seen the footprints.
At first their course was to the southwest from the Kloster, and in this direction they had gone for some miles, and though in the darkness that soon came upon them they went slowly through the thick woods, the captors not seeming inclined to be harsh to our sister, yet so oft did she stumble and the swinging branches strike and sting her face that she was compelled to stop for rest.
But now, though our sister understood not their speech, the red man and the old woman seemed to be disputing, the former wanting, our sister made out, to go back to the mountains, for thus he would point while the witch would shake her head and beckon to the southwest; but at last she consented to the red man's persuasion, for suddenly they changed almost directly about, so that for a moment our sister had the cheering hope they were going to take her back to the Kloster.
This hope, however, lasted not long, for instead of returning to the Kloster her captors soon turned toward the mountains. Beyond the spiteful glances the witch would cast at our sister there seemed no inclination to injure her; but though the way through the valley had been rough it was as naught to the unbroken path up the steep hillside in the darkness of the night, for they had no light, only that the red man went ahead as freely as though it were midday, with our sister next to him, and back of her the witch, to prevent escape.
At last they came to the great rock, from whose top a view could be had down over the valley of the Cocalico. The red man having ascended the high stone looked long and carefully in the direction of the Kloster. All at once he called the witch to him and pointed out something of great interest to both, causing Genoveva to climb upon the rock and look in the direction he was pointing. She saw now and then a light moving down from what she guessed to be Mount Sinai toward the Cocalico in the direction she and her captors had taken, and she doubted not that some one was coming to her rescue.
But though her hope was again revived it was but for a brief season, for heavy clouds had gathered after nightfall, and even while yet on the rock a few scattering drops of rain fell, so that her captors after a few moments more of careful examination of the valley proceeded up the hill and led her to this hiding-place. Hardly had they reached its shelter when the rain came down, and she knew as it came faster and faster none of us would be able to find their trail.
In this lonely spot she had been all these months with no other companion than this strange woman, who seldom spoke to our sister, but would often sit muttering to herself. Sometimes she would leave her hiding-place, and be gone for days and even weeks at a time, and had it not been that the red man, who seemed to have a shelter somewhere nigh, had supplied Sister Genoveva with the flesh of wild animals and other food she would have starved; for when the witch was absent our sister had thought to make her escape, but every time before she had gone far the red man would suddenly appear, and without saying a word lead her back to the hut.
Nor could she learn from him the reason of her capture and who the witch was, as he—according to the silent nature of Indians—would say nothing more than that the witch was friend to his tribe, "Conestogas," had often taken care of them in sickness, and was regarded by his people as having wonderful powers.
Thus day after day and night after night she lived here during all the cold of winter, though snugly enough housed within the shelter of these pines, that sometimes with all her hope and faith, it seemed she must go mad; but she never failed, no matter whether rain or snow or biting cold, to rise at the midnight hour and seek peace and comfort in praise and prayer. Often she heard the clear tones of the Kloster bell, even at this far-off height, if the wind were not in the contrary direction, and saw the cheering lights that shone out from Mount Sinai and from the wide scattered settlers' huts throughout the valley, so that she felt not utterly alone in the world.
Then she came to that which she knew I most cared to hear, and that was how Sonnlein had come to her. And the manner of this has always seemed to me little less than miraculous, for it is beyond me to explain it otherwise. All that night that Sonnlein was with Brother Benno and me in the chapter house, our sister—the witch at that time being in her hiding-place—could find no rest. It seemed impossible for her to fall asleep. She held her usual midnight devotions from the rock looking down toward the Kloster, so that she might feel she were praying with us, and though this gave her some peace, yet when she returned again to the hut and lay down to sleep she found no rest; but toward the morning she finally fell asleep, but only to have it filled with a strange dream; for it seemed to her she saw Sonnlein lying on a hard couch in one of our Kammers, worn and wasted and suffering from some great illness, and then suddenly he arose from his couch and rushed from his cell and out of Zion down over the hill toward the Cocalico, calling her name, once, twice, a number of times, whereat she struggled to go to him but could not! She awoke with a great start only to hear a heavy storm roaring all about her; but though she knew she was awake she still saw, or imagined she saw, Sonnlein rush through the creek and into the woods on the other side, as though he were coming directly to her.
At first she tried to shake the matter from her mind as merely a dream, but she could not do so. Something even against her own persuading seemed to tell her that Sonnlein was seeking her, that she must go to meet him, and ere she knew what she was about she found herself outside the hut, rushing in all the storm down the mountain as fast as she could, the witch closely following.
Our sister could not tell how long or how far they had gone in this wild, headlong manner, but they were not far from the foot of the mountain, when suddenly at no great distance above them, seemingly the very way they had come, she heard a faint cry, "Genoveva!"
Not knowing whether she were bewitched or really gone mad from all these months of loneliness, she stood like one dazed; but then again, and even a third time, she heard her name as though the one calling were going farther up the mountain. The witch too heard the cry and together they hastened up the hill, but hearing no longer the calls; and in this wise they came back again to the great rock, and there, so that she could hardly believe her own eyes, it now being broad daylight, lay the figure of a man face downward as though he had fallen that way, who as they turned him about she saw was Sonnlein.
Here I interrupted our sister most foolishly by asking, "What didst do—kiss him?" To which unmanly question she made no reply, only that I feel sure had it not been so dark in the hut, the moon having gone down, I should have seen exceedingly rich blushings on the face of our dear sister.
But she and the witch, the latter seeming to have the strength of a man (and in truth Genoveva was no weakling) carried Sonnlein into the hut, where he lay for weeks with a raging fever, and though she and the witch watched over him and nursed him, our sister despaired of his ever coming to himself again. Had it not been that the witch possessed wonderful knowledge of the herbs she gathered in the woods and made into physic for Sonnlein, our sister felt he surely would have died. But for some reason the witch became greatly devoted to Sonnlein, nursing him as tenderly as though she were his own mother, sometimes seeming jealous of our sister, so that until this night the witch had not left the hut since they had found Sonnlein lying on the rock; but gradually under the witch's care he had come to himself again, and was now quite strong and in his own mind, only that he was continually pestering our sister that she must marry him.
To this I made question, "But being a Rose of Saron thou wouldst not marry him?"
And to which she replied softly, "So have I oft told him, but he sayeth he careth naught what I say, that he will marry me whether I have him or not, and thou hast so spoiled him all his life by letting him have his own will I fear I can do naught but let him have it in this."
I merely made reply, "May thy reward be great for sacrificing thyself so willingly to the result of my over-indulgence!" whereat she laughed so merrily, 'twas like music, for though quick to feel the soft sting in my retort she was too great-hearted a woman to be hurt at what she knew was only meant in jest.