“Good-night,” said Madame Rosenberg, dryly, without making the slightest effort to detain her.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE IRON WORKS.
In a few days, Hildegarde, the children, and Hamilton were established at the Iron Works; her recollections proved tolerably correct, the noise of the hammers was almost incessant, not even ceasing during the night, and as the house adjoined the Iron Works, it shook at times until the windows rattled. Hamilton did not much notice the white curtains, but from pure sympathy with Hildegarde, he regretted the smuts which fell, flake-like, in the garden, and seemed destined to rob the coming flowers of half their beauty. Old Mr. Eisenmann was not a little proud of his garden, and great was his satisfaction when he found Hildegarde willing to assist him in cultivating it. The plants which most interested Hamilton were the numerous cactuses which filled all the windows in front of the house, and whose brilliant flowers already made every passer-by stop to gaze at them. Nothing could equal the old man’s delight on such occasions; if the weather were warm enough, he generally opened the window and related how he had managed his plants during the winter, in order to make them blow so early, and it had been Hamilton’s unaffected admiration of these cactuses, as he had walked up to the house, which had formed the commencement of their acquaintance.
During the fortnight which preceded Madame Rosenberg’s arrival, Hamilton enjoyed the most unrestrained intercourse with Hildegarde; he watched her making the coffee in the morning, sat beside her at the open window looking into the garden, and accompanied her in her walks with her brothers in the oak wood; here there was a small chapel in which she daily prayed, while Hamilton, leaning against the entrance, stared absently at the votive offerings hung around, or endeavoured to decipher the old German prayers, and texts of Scripture, with which their inhuman illustrations were pasted on the walls. The two boys generally scampered about, but joined them when they sat down on one of the numerous benches under the trees. Hamilton usually held a book in his hand, out of which he sometimes read a few lines, especially when any obtrusive wanderers made their appearance, though on week-days, pilgrims to the little chapel, who afterwards came to beg a few kreutzers, were the only interrupters of their studies, meditations, or conversation, as the case may have been.
“I wish,” he said, as they loitered through the fields on their way home, the evening before Madame Rosenberg’s arrival, “I wish I were certain of spending the next six months as I have done the last fortnight. I cannot tell you how I have enjoyed myself. Much as I like your step-mother, and notwithstanding all her kindness and indulgence to me, I dread her coming more than I can express. Everything will be changed, and any change must diminish my happiness.”
“You have nothing to apprehend but a removal of the furniture in your room,” replied Hildegarde, with a quiet smile; “but I cannot expect any longer to eat the bread of idleness; I must learn to cook, and wash, and iron!”
“You will never be able to endure such work,” exclaimed Hamilton.
“I shall try it for a few months at all events, and as long as you are here,” she added, frankly, “I think I can bear it, as your society and friendship will be an indemnity for most annoyances.”
Hamilton’s expressions of gratitude she interrupted by continuing, “After all, what shall I do more than girls in my rank of life must always do? Even Crescenz, since her marriage, has learned to iron. Did you not see her ironing Major Stultz’s shirts when we went to take leave of her?”