Gottlieb on the Watch.
The heat of the day had been followed by the pleasant coolness of an August evening. The hands of the clock pointed to the hour of ten, and Gottlieb, who had been walking during the entire evening in the neighborhood of the little red cottage, began to think that his uncle Fabian had in all comfort reached his home by another road.
"It is so quiet in the cottage," thought he, "that I think they have all retired."
He glanced stealthily over the lilac hedge towards Magde's window. The entire valley was bathed in moonlight, and the moonbeams glanced directly through the window panes of Magde's apartment, with such vivid brightness that Gottlieb was undecided how to act.
Soon, however, he resolved to convince himself of the true state of affairs, that he might be prepared if his uncle should arrive.
He gradually made an opening in the hedge and having found his way clear before him he advanced to the window which, as the weather was warm, was secured only by a small cord. He glanced through the window, and a beautiful picture met his gaze. In this chamber, the husband and wife's little temple, the moonlight was brilliantly reflected from Ragnar's brightly polished hunting and fishing implements which, neatly arranged, were hung against the walls.
At the opposite side of the room, a much worn sailor's hat, commonly called a tarpaulin, was balanced upon the point of a fishing rod, and beneath this trophy was placed a small side board, the open doors of which disclosed a number of shelves laden with gilt edged drinking vessels of white and blue china; a set of rose colored tea-cups, and several polished silver plated mugs. A few uncommonly excellent specimens of carving in wood, decorated one of the shelves, and another shelf contained several articles of jewelry which Magde had received both before and after she was married. All these little valuables Magde had gathered together, after she had put the children to bed, in the hope that she might find some few articles among them that would save her from disposing of the cow.
But her search, undoubtedly, had proved fruitless, for Magde's ornaments were made almost entirely of bronze.
Seated in a chair with her hand resting upon the cradle, Magde was now sleeping soundly.
She had been called, probably, while she was engaged in assorting her little treasures, to attend to the wants of her infant, and overcome by fatigue had unwillingly submitted to the power of that consoler of human grief, sleep. Her face was turned towards the window, and the moonlight illumined her entire figure, which was rendered more prominent by the fact that the cradle stood in the centre of the room. She was still attired in the garments she had borrowed, and her brown hair, fell in two long braids over her loose white sleeves, from whence they dropped upon the face of the sleeping child, while Magde's elbow was resting upon the little pillow.
"What a picture for a painter!" thought Gottlieb. "Young Lonner is not the most miserable of men, by my faith; but I know one who at some future time will look much prettier in that position!"
The dull sound of a horse's hoofs, aroused him from his reveries.
"Ah, ha," thought he as a smile of triumph played upon his lips, "I was right. We shall now see what is to happen."
Gottlieb returned to his hiding place in the hedge with noiseless rapidity. He had not remained long in his somewhat tiresome position, when the sound of the horse's hoofs ceased, and from the noise which proceeded from the other side of the hedge he concluded that the owner of the horse had dismounted and was securing his animal to a tree.
He soon heard the sound of light footsteps proceeding over the grass, and then he discovered the familiar form of Mr. Fabian approaching the cottage. After the new comer had assured himself that the door was fastened he advanced to the window near which Gottlieb had been standing a moment before. Instead of spending time in useless watchfulness he immediately tapped upon the window; but Magde slept so soundly that the noise did not disturb her.
Mr. Fabian flatted his nose against the window pane and suddenly discovered the picture that Gottlieb had so much admired. Yet it was not an expression of love which passed his lips as he gazed upon her.
"Confound that woman!" he exclaimed, "she drives me mad, and I believe she would look on, if I was parching with thirst in the torments of hell, and not give me a single drop of water."
He again tapped upon the pane so loudly, that a person less fatigued than Magde would have awakened. At this moment Mr. Fabian was struck with fear at his own temerity.
"Only think," thought he, "suppose I should awaken some one else! What if an account of this should come to my wife's ear!"—the thought was terrible, and the guilty husband's knees trembled violently. So much did he respect his "dear Ulgenie," that he felt it even at his present distance from her, and perhaps he would have relinquished all his plans in relation to his beautiful Magde, had he not discovered that the window was fastened only with a small cord.
To break off a small twig from a neighboring bush, and to thrust it through the crevice of the window and remove the cord from the hook, was the work of an instant, and before Gottlieb could fully understand the nature of his uncle's movements he saw him suddenly disappear through the window.
Of course Magde was now awakened by the noise of Mr. Fabian's abrupt entrance, and she quickly sprang from the chair. When she recognized the intruder she was seized with a deathly fear; which was however but of momentary continuance. With flashing eyes, and haughtily curling lips she advanced towards him with a bearing so threatening that Mr. H—— retreated in fear.
"Why do you visit me at this hour?" she inquired.
"I was unable to come earlier. I have been to see the justice and made such arrangements that I think Mr. Lonner can be released as early as to-morrow."
"And to speak these words—undoubtedly well intended—you have crawled through my window."
"Upon my honor it was not my fault. I knocked several times, and not wishing to go home without telling you this good news, which I thought would cause you to sleep better—and observing you had not retired—I seized the only opportunity remaining."
"Well," replied she, "I do not think harm will result from your friendly visit, but as it is out of the order of things that you should remain here, I must request you to leave the room in the manner you entered, and then I can converse with you through the window."
"Cruel Magde!" exclaimed Mr. Fabian entreatingly, and even dared to extend his hand towards her. But Magde repulsed him with a look of scorn and anger.
"Travel no further upon this crooked path, and call me Magde no longer, I bear the name of my husband, and wish to be called by that title alone."
Gottlieb who could observe and overhear all that occurred, or was said in Magde's chamber, could scarcely refrain from laughter as he saw his good uncle retreating before the virtuous woman until he arrived at the window from which he somewhat clumsily descended. Gottlieb was on the point of rushing forward to receive his loved relative in his arms and thus preventing him from injuring his precious limbs, when the sound of Magde's voice prevented him from rendering this important service to his uncle.
"There, that will do," said she, "we can now converse without inconvenience to either of us. I hope Mr. H—— has not hurt himself."
"O, never mind me," replied he, "your heart is too hard to be moved at my sufferings."
"I wish to say a word to you, Mr. H——. Your labor is entirely thrown away upon me. I can pity the folly of a man if his folly is not evil; but—"
"Am I evil? Try me," interrupted Mr. Fabian hastily.
"I will," replied Magde. "If you will bind yourself to release my father I shall ever be grateful for the service."
"And nothing further?"
"Nothing."
"Then, at least give me your hand that I may with it wipe away the tears that scald my eyes. I am a weak, a tender hearted man, and must weep when I am scoffed at. But never mind, give me your hand, a moment."
"It is impossible."
"Give me but your little finger."
In lieu of a reply, Magde endeavored to close the window; but her admirer prevented her from doing so.
"Ah!" exclaimed he furious at his defeat. "You wish to enjoy a boon, and not reward the donor. Then listen, the old man shall remain where he is. If I do not interest myself for him no one else will."
"That remains to be seen. Mr. Gottlieb has returned—"
"Ah! then, he has returned. Well, what can he do?"
"Not much, my dear uncle," exclaimed Gottlieb advancing towards Mr. Fabian, "except to give my dear aunt Ulrica, a full account of the interesting conversation I have accidentally overheard."
"Without replying Mr. Fabian stared a moment in bewildered surprise, at the intruder, and then rushing wildly to his horse, he mounted and urged the animal to a furious speed.
"Well, well," exclaimed Magde, "we can well compare Mr. H—— to a hare. But Mr. Gottlieb, whatever chance brought you here, do not bring sorrow upon him, by speaking to his wife of this adventure."
"Fear not, Mrs. Lonner, I have not been on the watch here to become an informer; but as I heard certain things from Nanna to-day, and as I from the first have suspected my uncle, and as I wished to have him in my power—"
"I understand you Mr. Gottlieb. You are an honest and faithful friend, and we shall never forget—"
"And I, Mrs. Lonner," interrupted Gottlieb, "I shall not forget this valley I assure you, and now good night; in a short time everything will be as it was before."
"Thank you, a thousand times! When Ragnar returns, through God's assistance we will repay you."
Gottlieb's heart bounded with joy, as he proceeded on his road towards Almvik, but the heart of another traveller in the same direction was oppressed with gloomy forebodings. It is almost unnecessary to say that the latter traveller was Mr. Fabian H——. On his arrival at Almvik he entered his wife's chamber trembling with anxiety, lest Gottlieb had been there before him.
"What is the matter with you?" inquired his wife, who had already retired to her bed; "has the horse been balky, or have you met with an accident?"
"Nothing, nothing, darling Ulgenie; but my head has been heavy all the afternoon."
"That is caused by your excessive sleeping," said Mrs. Ulrica.
"Perhaps it is. Hereafter I shall sleep less, and after this, my dear wife, I will follow your advice in everything."
"Then, my dear, you will be a good husband. If I should always find you so, I would not have so many causes for complaint."
"Have you any complaint to make now?" inquired Mr. Fabian, anxiously.
Mr. Fabian was in a state of fearful suspense. The air to him appeared populated with evil spirits.
"I did not speak thus for the purpose of troubling you, dear Fabian, it would not be just for me to choose this moment, when you feel so repentant, to remind you of other moments when you do not seem impressed with the worth of your wife."
"Yes, yes, that would indeed be cruel, for it is true, really true, that—that—"
"What, Fabian, good Fabian?"
"That I never before have so much esteemed and adored you, my dear, dear—" He was unable to proceed.
"Ah! Fabian, that is the true spirit. You at last understand how happy you are."
"Yes, as happy as the condemned sinner," sighed Fabian; but in such a manner that his wife heard the first word only.