CHAPTER IX.
[HELENA].
The sun shone cheerfully one afternoon upon the quiet Pfarrhaus at Blechow. The roses bloomed gaily in the box-edged beds of the well-cultivated garden, where the masses of luxuriant white blossom were beginning to turn to fruit.
The doors of the large entrance-hall stood wide open, and its floor was covered with sand, scattered over with short fir branches.
In the principal dwelling-room of the Pfarrhaus, where the simple arrangements proved the excellent taste which prevailed, and where the snowy window-curtains bore witness to the cleanliness and order of the household, there sat, around the coffee-table covered with a cloth of dazzling whiteness, the Pastor Berger, his daughter, and the candidate, Behrmann.
Helena Berger was busily preparing the brown beverage of the Levant, the fragrant aroma of which filled the room, in a pretty white china apparatus; and no lady, in a drawing-room of the highest fashion, could have performed all the complicated little arrangements with greater natural grace.
Pastor Berger sat opposite to her, in his large, comfortable arm-chair, dressed as usual in clerical black, which according to the good old custom he never laid aside for less professional clothes, even in his own home. The only indulgence he allowed himself was the small black velvet cap which he wore on his head, considering it the sign of household comfort.
The young candidate sat between them; he too was dressed in black, with a white neck-tie, but the cut of his clothes was different, and although the colouring was the same, the general effect of his dress was quite unlike his uncle's.
The pastor leant back comfortably in the depths of his arm-chair, his hands folded one over the other, whilst he spoke, as was frequently the case since his last visit to Hanover, of his interview with the king.
"There is," he said in a voice of emotion, "something glorious about the Lord's Anointed. He can give happiness with a word, and how willing is our own king to do so! He does not regard his subjects simply in the light of tax-payers; to him they are fellow-creatures, with feelings and with beating hearts, and wherever his royal heart meets with a fellow man, he is ready with human sympathy to join in his sorrow or his joy. How different it is in a Republic!" he continued; "there the law reigns, the dead letter, a cold majority, a chance. And in a great monarchy the sovereign stands on an unapproachable, solitary height; but here, in our beautiful, fertile, quiet Hanover, we know our king (though he from his eminence can take in everything with his clear gaze,) feels for us each individually, with his human heart."
Helena had finished preparing the coffee, and she brought her father his large cup, with the inscription, "dem lieben Vater," traced in wreaths of roses.
The old gentleman took a small sip, and his countenance assumed an expression of great satisfaction at the result of his daughter's skill.
"I must beg for a little water in my cup," said the candidate in a quiet persuasive voice, "I cannot take strong coffee."
"Just like the present generation! how fond they are of water!" cried the pastor testily: "coffee must be strong if it is to rejoice your heart and to do you good. Water is certainly a good gift of God, but it has its proper place; now they pour it even into noble wine; and this is why we hear so many watery words. I hope, my dear Hermann, your sermon next Sunday will not be diluted with water, for our peasants here are accustomed to the strong unembellished Word, which, as our great Reformer said, 'should resound to the alarm of the hypocrite, and the joy of the righteous.'"
Helena had in the meantime prepared her father's large meerschaum pipe, cutting up the rolled tobacco with which she filled it on a metal plate, and bringing it to him with a lighted match.
"Of course you do not dream of smoking the time-honoured pipe?" said the pastor to his nephew, looking with great content at his own well-coloured bowl, the companion of several years, and watching the first clouds of smoke as they rose in the air, "but there are some excellent cigars, which the president brought from Hamburg."
"Thank you," said the candidate, declining, "I do not smoke at all."
"Not at all?" cried the astonished pastor; "really that surpasses the water! Well," he continued rather severely, "every time has its own customs, and I don't think they improve. Have you yet received your appointment as adjunct?" he asked.
"No," replied the candidate, "they promised to send it after me as soon as possible. I did not wish to wait for it, as I was desirous of at once entering on the scene of my future labours, and also of being admitted without delay into the family of my beloved relations."
His eyes sought the pastor's daughter, who had seated herself at a little table in the window, where she occupied herself with some white needlework.
"I did not think that the gentlemen of the Consistorial Council were particularly pleased at his majesty's cabinet decree, appointing me adjunct here, with a view to my ultimately succeeding to the pastor's office."
"I can well believe it," returned his uncle; "authorities like to rule without feeling a higher power, especially when those below must hear of the interference. It disturbs the nimbus. Can they make any objection to your qualification?" he enquired.
"Not the least," replied the candidate. "That were hardly possible," he continued with a satisfied smile, "my testimonials are of the highest order."
"Well then, these gentlemen had better calm themselves, and not begrudge to his majesty the right of making a faithful old servant happy, since no injustice is done, and no one is passed over. Would to God that these heavy times were safely gone, and the storm-cloud of war dispersed; how much blood it will cost, if the strife once begins!"
Helena let her work fall into her lap, and sat gazing through the open window, across the blooming roses, at the smiling landscape beyond.
A hasty step approached the house, and a knock was heard at the sitting-room door. "Come in," cried the pastor, and a young, poorly-dressed girl entered.
"Well, Margaret, what brings you here?" asked the pastor in a friendly voice.
"Oh! Herr Pastor," sobbed the little girl, whilst large tears ran down her cheeks, "father is so very ill, and he says he is afraid he shall die, and he wants so much to see you, Herr Pastor, to get a little comfort, and oh, dear! what will become of us if he does die?"--loud sobs stifled the poor child's voice.
The pastor stood up and laid his pipe down in his armchair.
"What is the matter with your father?" he asked.
"He got very hot, working, yesterday," replied the child, interrupted by her tears, "and then he took cold, and it brought back his cough last night so bad; and he is so ill, and he says he shall die!"
"Take comfort, my child," said the pastor, "it will not be so bad as that. I will come and see what must be done." And opening a large oaken chest, he took from it a case containing several small bottles, stuck it in his pocket, and seized his clerical hat.
"One had need to be something of a doctor, here in the country," he said to his nephew, "that the right means may be used, until further help can be procured, when it is really necessary. I believe I have saved a good many lives with my little medicine chest," he added, with a happy smile.
"Poor papa!" said Helena, "your fresh pipe?"
"Do you not think the poor sick man will be more refreshed when he sees me, than I should be by a few puffs of tobacco?" said her father gravely.
"But, my dear uncle, can I not undertake this for you?" asked the candidate. "I am so anxious to make myself acquainted at once with the duties of my sacred office."
"No, my dear nephew," replied the pastor; "let us do all things in order. You are not even appointed here yet; and then you must learn to know your people before you can undertake these visits; the sight of a stranger only excites a sick person. Wait quietly here--I will return shortly." And he left the house with the child, who ceased crying when she found the pastor was going to see her father.
The candidate walked to the window; his eyes first rested on Helena, who sat bending over the work she had again taken up, then they strayed through the window, beyond the rose beds, to the wood-crowned horizon.
"It is really pretty here," he said, "and in summer it is pleasant to reside here."
"Oh yes, it is lovely," interrupted the young girl, in that tone of complete conviction and natural enthusiasm with which young hearts regard the place where they have passed a happy childhood, feeling certain that it must be the most charming and delightful spot in the world; "you will think it still more beautiful when you know all the glorious country around us, and all our pretty, quiet walks, even the monotonous fir woods have their charm, and their language"--and her eyes sought the dark green forests enclosing the sunny landscape as in a frame.
A slight smile, half compassionate, half ironical, played round the lips of the candidate.
"I really wonder," he said, "how my uncle, with his well-stored mind, so plainly appearing in his conversation, and still extolled by the friends of his youth, should have been able to exist here all these years, so far removed from all intellectual life, and from all intercourse with the progress of the world. He is considered one of the first pastors in the country, his duties, it is well known, have been performed in an exemplary manner, and with his reputation for learning, and the influence he possesses, he might long ago have held a seat in the Consistory. To such a man, this would have been the starting-point for a great, an important career! I cannot imagine how he has endured life among these peasants!"
Helena looked with her great eyes at her cousin in amazement. His words struck an element quite unknown to her life.
"How little you know my father," she said; "he loves his beautiful quiet home, and the peaceful, happy scene of his work, far better than dignities with their restraints and cares."
"But the higher and the more influential the position," said the candidate, "the greater the scope for work, and the richer the blessing that zealous labour may obtain."
"It may be so," returned the young girl, "but the fruit is not so plainly seen, intercourse with the people is so much less intimate, and my father has often told me that his highest pleasure is to pour comfort and peace into a troubled soul, and his highest pride to bring back an erring heart to God. But you intend to remain here yourself, cousin," she added with a smile, "and to bury yourself in this solitude?"
"I have to commence my career," he replied, "I must work to rise, and youth is the time for toil; but as the aim of my life, I shall certainly place a much higher object before me." His eye scanned the far distance as if he were looking for some aim, very different to anything which the quiet landscape around had to show.
"And you, Helena," he asked after a moment's pause, "have you never felt the need of a higher intellectual life, the longing for a more extensive world?"
"No," she replied simply; "such a world would only depress and alarm me. When we were lately in Hanover it seemed as if all my blood rushed back to my heart, I could scarcely understand what was said to me, and I felt so dreadfully lonely. Here I know everything around me, the people and the country; here life feels so rich and so warm, but in a large town it felt cold and narrow. I should be very unhappy if my father were going away from here; but there is no idea of such a thing," she said in a tone of certainty.
The candidate sighed slightly as he gazed straight before him.
"But in winter," he said, "when you cannot be out of doors, and when nature has no charms, you must be very dull and lonely."
"Oh, no!" she cried cheerfully, "never. We are never dull here, you cannot think how pleasantly we pass the long winter evenings. My father reads to me, and tells me about so many things, and I play and sing to him. He is so happy after his day's work."
Again the candidate sighed.
"Besides," she continued, "we are not quite without society. There is the family of our president von Wendenstein at the castle, and we make up quite a large party. We are not so much out of the world as you imagine. Last winter we very often danced at the castle."
"Danced!" exclaimed the candidate, as he folded his hands over his breast.
"Yes," said Helena; "the company staying at Lüchow often came over, and we had quite as much fun as they could have had in Hanover."
"But my uncle, did he not object to your participating in such extremely worldly amusements?" asked the candidate.
"Not in the least," she replied; "why should he?"
The candidate seemed to have an answer ready, but to repress it; and, after a short pause, he said in a gentle tone of superiority,--
"The opinion becomes more and more confirmed in all well-regulated circles, that such amusements are quite inadmissible in a clergyman's family."
"Indeed! what an excellent thing it is that we are quite out of the way of those well-regulated circles," said Helena coldly, for she felt displeased at her father's judgment being condemned, and her own amusements disapproved.
The candidate was silent.
"Of what does the family at the castle consist?" he asked after a pause; "I must go there and be introduced as soon as possible."
"Besides Herr von Wendenstein, his wife and daughters, there is the Auditor von Bergfeld," replied Helena.
"Has he been here long?" asked the candidate quickly, casting a searching look at his cousin.
"A year," she replied, with perfect indifference, "and he will soon leave, for a young auditor is always employed here."
"But Herr von Wendenstein has sons?" he asked.
"They are no longer at home," she replied; "one has a government appointment in Hanover, the other is an officer at Lüchow. Here comes my father!" she exclaimed, and pointed out a pathway leading from the high road, at the farther end of which the pastor had just appeared.
"I will make him a fresh cup of coffee. But good heavens!" she exclaimed, whilst a deep blush spread all over her face.
The candidate followed the direction of her eyes, and saw a horseman trotting quickly along the high road in the blue uniform of a dragoon. He must have called out to the pastor, for he stood still; he then turned round and walked back to the road, and held out his hand to the officer, who had reined in his horse.
After a short conversation, the officer rode on, waving his hand to Helena, whom he had seen at the window. She returned his greeting by bending her head.
"Who is that?" asked the candidate.
"Lieutenant von Wendenstein," she replied, and left the window to light the spirit-lamp upon the table, and to prepare afresh the coffee, which her father had before been prevented from drinking.
The candidate watched all her movements with a scrutinizing look.
After a few minutes the pastor entered the room.
"Thank God," he said, "it was nothing dangerous. A severe cold, with a good deal of fever; but it is a peculiarity amongst the people here, who, from their simple lives and strong constitutions, know little of sickness, that they believe every illness must prove fatal."
He exchanged his hat for his little cap, and seated himself in his arm-chair, his face wearing an unusually grave expression.
"The lieutenant has just returned," he said.
"I saw him just now," remarked Helena, as she handed her father a fresh cup of coffee. "What brings him at so unusual a time--generally he comes only on Sundays?"
"Things look very bad," said the pastor. "War appears inevitable, and for the present no more leave will be given; the lieutenant therefore has ridden over this afternoon to bid them good-bye at home. He begged that we would walk over there soon--he will leave early, as he must return to-night."
Helena's hand trembled as she again prepared her father's pipe.
"My heart aches," he continued, "for our good friend von Wendenstein and his gentle, loving wife. This fearful war may rob them of their son in the very flower of his youth."
He took his pipe dreamily from his daughter's hand, whilst, bending over him, she offered him a light. She then hastened to the door.
"Where are you going, my child?"
"Before we walk to the castle," she replied, with an unusual vibration in her voice, "I must see about several things in the house." Without looking round, she left the room.
The candidate gazed after her rather inquisitively; he then seated himself by the pastor, and said, after folding his hands together,--
"My dear uncle, from the moment of entering your house, where I hope, God willing, to be your faithful companion in your holy office, I wish to take up my position on a foundation of truth; this should be the rule of conduct for all, but especially for one who takes upon him the life of a clergyman."
The pastor smoked his pipe, looking as if he scarcely understood what this was to lead to.
"My mother has often told me how much she desired that I should be united to you even more closely than by our present bond of relationship, and how she hoped my coming here might be the guidance of heaven, pointing out to me your daughter Helena as my true and Christian wife."
The pastor smoked on in silence, but his expression showed that this idea was neither new nor disagreeable to him.
"Often she has said," continued the candidate, "'How much I should rejoice if I could see you the support of my brother's old age, and if he could feel that in you he had a protector for his daughter when it should please God to call him to Himself.' Certainly," he continued, his eyes studying the expression of his uncle's face, "certainly the outward cares of life will not be hers."
"No," cried the old gentleman cheerfully, as he blew an enormous cloud from his pipe, "no, thank God! as far as that goes, I can depart in peace when my Master in heaven calls me. The small fortune I inherited from my uncle has greatly increased, for I have scarcely ever needed to spend more than the half of my income as pastor, and unless God should take away what He has given, when He calls me home my daughter need have no trouble as far as money is concerned."
"But," continued the candidate, an almost imperceptible smile of satisfaction playing around his thin lips, "'but she will still need a protecting arm, and if you could afford her this, perhaps in the very home where she has passed her childhood, how happy it would make me.' This is what my mother has often said to me."
"Yes, yes, my good sister," said the pastor, with an affectionate smile,--"fate separated us completely, not perhaps as things are now, for the borders of Brunswick may be reached in a day, but in our calling travelling is difficult!--her true heart has always kept its affection for me."
The candidate proceeded:
"My mother's wish pleased me much, but I set it aside as an open question, for according to my ideas a marriage should only take place from mutual inclination, arising from sympathy between two hearts, and therefore it was needful we should know one another. But since I have been here, and during the few days I passed in your society in Hanover, my mother's wish has become my own. I find in Helena all those qualities which I hold most necessary to enable her to fulfil the duties of the Christian wife of a clergyman, and to render the life of her husband happy, and therefore (that everything may be clear and true between us) I ask you, my dear uncle, if you will permit me to endeavour to gain your daughter's affections, and if after a more intimate acquaintance I should succeed, whether you will be willing to trust her to me for life?"
The old gentleman took the pipe from his mouth, and held out his hand to his nephew.
"You have acted well and honestly," he said, "in speaking to me thus, uprightly and honourably, and I will answer you in the same upright and honourable manner. What your mother," he continued, "thought and said, passed also through my mind, and I own that when I obtained your nomination here, I thought it would make me happy if you became mutually attached; then when I felt my strength failing me I could resign, and still see my dear daughter ruling the loved home where she grew up, and which her gentle, affectionate mother first made so dear to me."
The old man was silent for a few moments, and tears stood in his eyes. The candidate's features expressed extreme satisfaction.
"With my whole heart, my dear nephew," resumed the pastor, "I give you leave to woo my Helena, and if you obtain her love I will joyfully give my blessing to your union, both as a father and as a priest. But do not be hasty--give her time--she is of a timid disposition, and shrinks in alarm from everything that is new. Learn really to know one another; you will have plenty of time."
The candidate pressed his uncle's hand.
"I thank you most heartily," he said, "for your permission, rest assured I will not try to take her heart by storm; no sudden blazing fire beseems a Christian marriage, our hearts should feel a pure and quiet flame."
At this moment Helena returned; she wore a light-coloured dress, and a straw hat, ornamented with some small flowers. There was a rosy tint upon her cheeks, and her eyes shone with enthusiasm, but as if through a veil of tears, yet her lips smiled.
She looked extremely beautiful; she nodded affectionately to her father as she entered the room, but she cast down her eyes when she saw the look with which the candidate surveyed her whole appearance.
"I am ready, papa," she said.
"Quite right my child; then we can go."
He stood up, and laid aside his cap.
"You must accompany us," he said to his nephew; "I will introduce you to our president."
"Should I not first call at the castle?" asked the candidate.
"You will do so now with me," replied the pastor; "we are not formal people here,--I answer for it you will always be welcomed by our friends."
The candidate put on his glossy, well-brushed black hat, and they all three left the parsonage.
In the old castle at Blechow, the president's family was assembled in the large garden drawing-room. Madame von Wendenstein sat on the large sofa, in her snow-white point-lace cap and flowing dark silk dress, and her daughter was preparing the tea-table at an earlier hour than usual.
The lieutenant had drawn a low arm-chair close to his mother, and was endeavouring to amuse her with lively conversation, and she sometimes replied to his remarks with a melancholy smile, though she could not prevent the tears from falling upon her white hands, as she mechanically continued her needle-work.
The president walked up and down the room in silence, pausing sometimes at the open door to gaze beyond the terrace at the landscape bathed in the warm light of the summer evening.
"Don't damp the boy's spirits," he said, standing before his wife, and speaking in a voice of forced harshness; "a soldier should always set out willingly and joyfully to a war, when a war comes, for that is his business, and he ought to rejoice at the opportunity of following his calling, and doing his duty in earnest. Besides which, nothing is yet certain," he added, partly to console his wife, partly to allay his own anxiety; "though they must be ready for anything that may occur, the tempest may still pass over."
"I will not certainly take from him his cheerful pleasure in doing his duty," said Madame von Wendenstein in a gentle voice, "but I cannot help being sad in this dark and heavy hour. We shall sit here at home alone with our thoughts and our cares, whilst he will hurry about in the open air, with the constant variety of change. He will soon recover his spirits. Is your linen all in order?" she said, turning to her son, as if she wished to diminish her sorrow by material cares for the child who was soon to encounter such dangers.
"My linen is in the most excellent order, mother," replied the lieutenant cheerfully. "But if we really march, I shall not be able to take much with me,--our baggage must be small. Where is the pastor?" he exclaimed? "he promised me to spend the last few hours here. Apropos," he added, "have they visitors at the parsonage? I saw a gentleman in the dress of a clergyman, standing by Helena at the window."
"It is the nephew who is appointed adjunct here," said the president, "and to whom the pastor will in time resign. I am very glad that the king graciously granted our good Berger's request, especially as I believe the Consistory would not have appointed him. Perhaps, too, he may be a parti for our pretty Helena."
The lieutenant cast a quick glance at his father, and then stood up and looked silently out over the terrace.
A whispering was heard in the ante-room, and an old servant entered, and said, "Fritz Deyke wishes to speak to the lieutenant."
The young man turned round quickly, and called out, "Come in! come in! my good Fritz. What brings you here, my lad?" asked he kindly, as he walked towards the door, where young Deyke stood in a stiff attitude, holding his cap in his hand.
"I beg your pardon, sir," he said, "but I want to ask you a favour."
"Out with it then!" cried the lieutenant gaily, "it is granted beforehand."
"I hear in the village," said the young peasant, "that war is about to break out, and that the king himself will take the field. Then I must go too; and I came to beg you, sir, as you have known me from a child, to take me with you as a servant, that we might go to the wars together."
"Stop, my dear fellow," cried the officer, "we have not got so far as that, we are not to march yet, perhaps not at all; at present there is no increase of troops, for the army remains on the strength it has in time of peace, so with the best will in the world I cannot take you. But," he continued, "if it really begins, I promise to take you, not as my servant, I have already a very quiet, respectable man; and," he added laughingly, "my old friend Deyke's son is in too good a position to be a servant."
"Not to be your servant, sir," said Fritz, with such pride in his voice that it was evident he thought himself quite above being servant to anyone else.
"Be easy about it," said the lieutenant, "you shall certainly come with me; at the right time I will take care to get you into my troop, then we shall always be able to talk of when we were in the dragoons together."
"You promise it, and that I shall keep near you?" asked the young peasant.
"I promise," said the lieutenant, "my hand upon it!"
He gave his hand to his former playmate with great heartiness; the latter seized it and shook it warmly, saying,--
"Then God grant, sir, we may not be parted long!"
Whilst the young peasant took leave of the officer, the servant had silently opened the door, and the pastor, accompanied by his daughter and his nephew, had entered.
The pastor introduced the candidate to Herr von Wendenstein, who shook hands with him and led him to his wife, by whom he was welcomed with a few friendly words.
Helena laid aside her hat and assisted Miss von Wendenstein in the final arrangements of the tea-table. The lieutenant joined the young ladies.
"Now, Miss Helena," he said, "I am quite in earnest, you really must give me your good wishes, for, perhaps, I shall soon have need of them. Will you not," he cried warmly, as he looked into her eyes, "will you not sometimes think of me, if we actually march, and send your good wishes after me?"
She looked at him for a moment, and then cast down her eyes, as she said in a voice that trembled slightly,--
"Certainly, I will think of you, and I will pray to God to take care of you."
He looked at her with emotion: the words were so simple, and so natural, and yet they touched for the first time something in his heart, which seemed to tell him that if he really did march as he so greatly desired to this merry war, he must leave much that he loved behind him.
"I remember very well," he said, after a moment's silence, "the dark cloud we saw the evening before my father's birthday, and how it was driven farther and farther from the light of the moon. I think of it now, that I shall not be here for a long while, perhaps, indeed, this is the last time I shall ever be at home. You see, Miss Helena," he continued, lightly and jestingly, as if he wished to conceal his feelings, "I learn from you--I have got on,--I remember your beautiful thoughts; another step, and I may have ideas of my own."
She answered neither his earnest words nor his jest, but looked up at him in silence.
"Tea is ready, dear mamma," said Miss von Wendenstein, as she gave a last scrutinizing glance at the large round table, which, contrary to custom, was brought into the drawing-room, and bore an improvised supper.
Madame von Wendenstein rose, and approached the table with the pastor, her husband and the candidate followed.
"You will sit by me, will you not?" half whispered the lieutenant to Helena, "for the sake of old times."
She did not reply, but silently took the chair next to him.
The candidate gave the young people a glance of disapproval, as he seated himself beside the young lady of the house.
The cheerful spirits that usually prevailed in the old castle at Blechow were to-day quite wanting. The conversation was forced. No one said what he thought, and no one thought what he said. The jokes, which the president sometimes attempted with an effort, fell flat, like spent rockets; and many quiet tears fell into Madame von Wendenstein's plate. The lieutenant drew out his watch.
"Time is up," he said, "will you excuse me, mother? John, my horse."
They all rose.
"Yet one request," said the lieutenant, "sing me one song before I leave, Miss Helena. You know how much I like to hear you sing, and to-day I must carry away the happiest recollection of my dear home."
A slight shiver seemed to run through the young girl's slender frame. She made a movement with her hand as if to refuse.
"I beg it," he said in a low voice.
The president opened the piano, and Helena soon sat before it, led thither by Miss von Wendenstein. The lieutenant leaned against the door opening into the garden, through which there still came the clear twilight that lasts so far into the nights of June.
Helena placed her hands upon the notes and gazed straight before her.
Then she struck a few chords, and as if compelled by some unknown impulse she began to sing Mendelssohn's beautiful melody,
"Es ist bestimmt in Gottes Rath,
Dass man vom Liebsten, was man hat,
Muss scheiden."
Her lovely pure voice had great richness of tone, and filled the room as with a magnetic stream. The lieutenant stepped outside into the shadow of the evening twilight, and Madame von Wendenstein rested her head in her hands, whilst her sobs became audible.
The voice of the singer grew richer and more expressive, though her face showed only blank indifference, and as she reached the conclusion a firm conviction, a holy faith rang through her song:
"Wenn Menschen auseinander gehn,
So sagen sie: Auf Wiedersehn!"
There was a deep silence as she ended, so great was the impression made by the song.
The lieutenant came back from the terrace, looking very grave. He gave one long affectionate look at the young girl, who had risen from her seat and was standing near the piano, her eyes cast down, and with the same calm expressionless look on her face; then he went up to his mother and kissed her hand.
The old lady stood up, took his head between her hands, and pressed a warm kiss upon his brow. She whispered softly, "God protect you, my son;" then she gently thrust him from her, as if she wished the sorrow of leave-taking to be ended.
The president pressed his son's hand, and said:
"Go, if God wills it so, and let your acts be worthy of your position and your name! Now no more adieux," cried the old gentleman, looking with concern at his wife, who had sunk back on the sofa, and covered her face with her handkerchief. "To horse! we will accompany you outside."
And he went out through the door of the entrance hall which had been opened by a servant. The pastor and the candidate followed him.
The lieutenant turned back for a moment, and embraced his sister, then he approached Helena:
"I thank you from my heart for your song," he said, and took her hand; then half as if the last words still ran in his mind, half as if speaking to her, he added:
"Wenn Menschen auseinander gehn,
So sagen sie: Auf Wiedersehn!"
"Auf Wiedersehn!" he repeated, raising her hand to his lips and imprinting upon it a kiss.
He then hastened after his father.
A bright red colour flew into the young girl's cheeks, and her expression grew animated and her eyes very bright, as they followed him to the door. Then she sank down on the chair before the piano, and a hot tear fell into her lap, unseen by Madame von Wendenstein, whose face was still hidden in her handkerchief, unseen by her daughter, who held her mother in a gentle embrace, and stroked her soft grey hair.
Fritz Deyke stood outside; he had not been able to deny himself the pleasure of leading round the lieutenant's horse; Roland pawed the ground impatiently.
The lieutenant took an affectionate leave of his father and the pastor, and gave his hand to the candidate, who received it with a bow. Had it not been for the darkness, the deadly hatred of the look he cast upon the young officer must have been observed.
Then the young man sprang lightly into the saddle.
"God grant, sir, I may soon come too!" Fritz Deyke cried after him, as, putting his horse to a gallop, he disappeared into the gathering night.