A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen

by Claire von Glümer

In outward appearance he was scarcely changed. His pale face was slightly tanned, his form a shade less bent, his movements only a little more elastic than before his travels. And within? He was not yet entirely free from the mental depression caused by the disease which he had inherited, but it did not weigh upon him so heavily. The attacks of the malady had for a year been very slight, and for months there had not even been any recurrence of them. Heaven might, perhaps, yet smile upon him. And if, as his grandfather's last letter declared, Magelone was looking forward with longing to his return, if she could really love him, and would wait until with a clear conscience he could call her his own! With a sigh he passed his hand over his forehead and eyes. But to-day these fair pictures of the future would not, as usual, be banished; they beckoned to him enticingly upon his return to his home. And he had struggled so long against soul and sense, and he was so weary of the conflict.

Approaching footsteps roused him from his revery.

"Good-day, Squire! Are you back again?" called a hoarse voice, and Red Jakob held out his hand to his young master.

Johann Leopold shook it as he had done since they were boys together. "Well, Jakob," he said, "you look all right again. I hope you and Christine are getting along well in your nest in the forest."

"Thanks, Squire, as well as possible," Jakob replied; and as, without more ado, he took a seat opposite Johann Leopold, he added, "I'm right glad to see you here. With the best will in the world I've done a deal of mischief, and my only hope is that you, Squire, will settle it all again."

"I certainly will if I can," Johann Leopold replied. "In a day or two I'll come and see you, and we'll discuss the matter."

"No, Squire; you must listen now," Jakob interposed. "If you get up there"—he pointed toward Dönninghausen—"and they all tell their stories, you'll never be able to understand. But I tell you, and I'll swear to it, that the gracious Fruleen was not to blame, and was——that it was a sin and a shame to send her off like a dog with the mange——"

"Jakob, are you speaking of my cousin?" Johann Leopold interrupted him. "Recollect yourself, and don't talk nonsense. She went voluntarily to her relatives after she had voluntarily broken her engagement."

"Indeed? All for her own pleasure?" said Jakob, with a malicious grin. "Of course that's what the two say who are to blame for it all. To her relatives, you say? She has gone to the circus-riders. You can read it there with your own eyes." He laid a little leather wallet on the table, and with his sound hand took from it a cutting from a newspaper, which he handed to Johann Leopold. "Christine almost cried her eyes out over it," he went on, "and I promised her that I would tell you, that you may bring the gracious Fruleen back again, and turn out those who deserve it."

Johann Leopold ran through Dr. Stein's newspaper notice. "Nonsense!" he said, knitting his brows. "There are just as many lies printed as uttered. But what do you mean by the two who are to blame? What business is the affair of yours? You are and always were an insolent fellow——"