Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

CHAPTER XX

HELÈNE’S life in the home of the Schreibers begun so happily continued as happily for many weeks. She communicated with no one in Weimar because she wished to forget, so far as she could, the wretched time she had passed there. She had not told the Princess where she was going and, in her haste, she had forgotten to inform Donald McCormick. It was better so, she thought, at any rate for the winter. She would be happier alone with these humble and kind people.

The people of Altenberg knew her as Miss Barton. Frau Schreiber had taken care to explain to them that Helène was the daughter of a lady in whose service she had been; and was staying with them for the winter, for a rest.

Life, in a little place like Altenberg, especially to one accustomed to the atmosphere of a refined home and the association with people of culture, is at best a more or less dull round of daily duties. One must be born in such a place to accept contentedly its simple offerings of friendly intercourse and common interests. For a time, the novelty of its picturesque streets, its quaintly pretty houses, its museum and historical landmarks, satisfied Helène’s appetite for variety. She enjoyed the “sights” as a tourist who might be visiting the place. But familiarity, if it did not breed contempt, did certainly destroy the novelty, and what once was enjoyed as variety now palled because of the monotony. The variety itself had become a sameness. Even the different neighbors of the Schreibers took on a ridiculous seeming of likeness to each other; and Anna herself, good and kind as she undoubtedly was, became like the rest. Good people are seldom interesting, and kindness alone does not always mean that their thoughts are in sympathy with our own.

So that pretty Altenberg and its simple folk began in time to pall on Helène. Anna noticed the change, and put it down to the absence of congenial society. She determined to supply the want. The well-meant remedy but aggravated the disease. The good woman took every opportunity to be with Helène, and it was not long before the girl was almost afraid to see her approaching on her kindly mission bent.

As often as the weather permitted, Helène would go for long walks. She could the better “think things over,” as Anna would say, when alone in the open air. She realized that wise as the step had been she had taken in coming to Altenberg, it was just as wise now that she should leave it as soon as the winter was over. She must not be a burden on anyone. She must go away and find something to do—some occupation by which she could earn, at least, a living. For she had made up her mind that she would use no more of that money Mr. Tyler had placed to her credit in the bank. She was not at all satisfied that it was her father’s money. The six thousand marks she had drawn out on leaving Weimar she would keep. She had calculated, at least to her own satisfaction, that this was about the sum which her father might have possessed. By what process of reasoning she arrived at that conclusion only a knowledge of Helène’s honest and unworldly nature could explain. But the conviction was fixed and with it also the determination to provide for her own future by the work of her own hands.

The days grew longer; the cool airs began to whisper the promise of spring. With the approach of the season Helène’s spirits returned. Her body, too, threw off the lassitude which the winter’s confinement had brought on. Her cheeks showed a little of their old-time rose-color; her eyes grew bright. Youth was reasserting itself at nature’s silent call.

One afternoon late in February, on her return from a visit to an ancient church, she was surprised to see Herr Kauffner approaching her dressed in holiday attire. She knew him as a prosperous tanner, and a friend of the Schreibers, and although he was a member of the town council it was not usual for him to be walking out on a week day dressed in his Sunday clothes. Her surprise was not lessened when, on doffing his hat, he stopped and begged permission to accompany her home. There was an impressive formality about the request which made her feel very uncomfortable, but she could scarcely refuse.

Herr Kauffner was a heavily built man with a temperament that scorned circumlocution. He wasted little time and less words in coming to his point.