"Rest as long as you choose when we have reached the open fields,—but not here, if you would not have me die of terror," Flora said, authoritatively. She walked close by Kitty's side, her head held high with her usual haughty air, nevertheless keenly scanning each bush on either side of the path, ready to take to flight at the first suspicious noise. Where was the courage to which Henriette had ironically alluded? Where the self-reliance, the masculine energy, she had herself so vaunted? In this terrible hour Kitty could not but reflect that where a woman ceases to think, to feel, and to struggle like a woman, her life is a farce, and a farce only.
[CHAPTER XI.]
At last they emerged upon the sunny open fields. Kitty leaned for a moment against the trunk of a huge oak-tree, while Flora walked on a few paces to be entirely free of the "horrible" forest. The danger was past: there were men ploughing within calling distance, the steeples of the city were in view, and directly in front lay the road leading to the gates of the park of Villa Baumgarten.
But Kitty's eyes were fixed upon an object which Flora did not see,—the low roof, with the tall chimneys and gilded weathercock, that lay so peacefully amid its surrounding fruit-trees. She could see distinctly the picket-fence of the garden,—it was much nearer at hand than the park gates,—and thither, after a brief rest, she silently directed her steps.
"Where are you going?" cried Flora, who was already on her way to the park.
"To Doctor Bruck's house," replied the young girl, walking quietly forward without pausing. "It is the nearest place where we can find a bed where Henriette can be laid, and all necessary assistance. Perhaps the doctor himself is at home."
Flora frowned and hesitated; but whether she fancied herself still followed by the revengeful woman with the long, bony fingers, or whether she, in the present state of her toilette and without a hat, feared to encounter pedestrians on the road to the park, she silently followed Kitty's lead.
Thus they crossed the fields. The task that Kitty had undertaken was laborious indeed. The unfrequented field was full of holes and very stony; at every false step she made, her blood fairly curdled with terror lest Henriette might have a recurrence of the last fearful attack. Then, too, the sun, hot as upon a day in August, beat down upon her unprotected head; now and then the world seemed to swim in a strange, lurid light around her, and she was in imminent danger of sinking down with exhaustion. But at such moments she riveted her gaze upon the doctor's house; it came nearer and nearer,—a lovely picture of rural peace and refreshing repose. She could now clearly see the order and care that reigned behind the picket-fence, and in the midst of her terror and fatigue she was aware of a sensation of pleasure. A man in shirt-sleeves was constructing an arbour, an arbour for the dean's widow: the old lady could not forget the vine-wreathed arbour in the parsonage garden of long ago. Again she would be able to enjoy a seat in the open air. How the simple pleasure would delight her!
She herself now descended the stone steps of the front door in her white cap and apron, bringing to the laborer some afternoon refreshment. She stayed for a moment, apparently talking to the man about his work; it did not occur to either of them to look abroad over the fields. Kitty was just considering whether she should not call to them for help, when the doctor himself came out of the house.
"Bruck!" Flora called across the field, with all the clear, silvery strength of her voice.