One only continued with them honestly and faithfully—one only never forgot how well, how kindly he had been taken by the hand by this family, when he himself stood alone and friendless. This was Charles, the former glazier's apprentice, and richly did he requite all the benefits he had received, especially during the past summer, when Pastor Hehrmann, himself, was confined to his bed for weeks, by fever. Oh, how often, how ardently had they longed for Werner to come back—that he might keep his word, and seek them again in their now disconsolate solitude! Alas! the mother had already begun to doubt, and had said—
"You'll see, my child; he has acted like the rest of them; he has gone off, far, far away, and no longer thinks of those, formerly his so dear friends, whom he has left behind."
"Or, perhaps, lies ill and helpless himself among strangers," worthy Hehrmann would then usually interrupt her, for still he never could make up his mind to think ill of any one, unless, as, alas! had latterly often been the case, he was compelled to do so, against his will. Bertha would on such occasions stealthily press her father's hand, and wipe a tear from her eye, for still she did not doubt her lover's word; but the idea that he might be ill and suffering, might stand in need of her help, that alone it was which pained her, and which, however much she might strive against it, oppressed her with melancholy.
Louisa, too, who had, by this time, grown up to full, blooming womanhood, had latterly become strikingly sad and melancholy, and had even, when the conversation turned upon Werner and his friends, several times left the room, and afterwards returned, with eyes dimmed and red with crying.
Such was the posture of affairs at the "Hoffnung," or "Hope," as they had (with so little presentiment of the result) named the town, which, indeed, was destined to remain a hope, merely. But Werner and Helldorf now sat down beside Hehrmann, who in this one year seemed to have added ten to his age, and spoke to him of courage and comfort.
"You cannot stay here any longer," said Helldorf, at last. "Wolfgang, too, has particularly commissioned us to bring you away, at all events. We have capital land, in Missouri, and although not adequately furnished, still have such conveniences as a farmer in the woods needs. A farm lies ready for you: you can begin to work, and till it, at once; cattle there are also; so that with what yet remains here——"
"Oh, my good Mr. Helldorf!" said Hehrmann, shrugging his shoulders, "it would certainly be difficult to begin with what remains here. Not a single head remains—not even a single horse, to perform the most needful work. The people have left me nothing, and what cows and pigs we had, were all eaten half-a-year ago. I would gladly have bought a cow again, in order to have milk for my family, at least—but, in the first place, I could not spare time to leave the farm so long, and then I doubted whether the price might not be beyond my means. Our ready money has, perhaps through our own fault, very much dwindled down."
"Hem!" said Helldorf, reflectively, not wishing to let it be seen how much all that he heard pained him; "hem—then matters are indeed come to extremity. But, my dear Mr. Hehrmann, don't let that trouble you; you have purchased experience dearly, it is true, but yet, perhaps, not too dearly; you are all still healthy, you know; consider how it fared with poor Wolfgang. No; from henceforward, I trust a better life is in store for you. You will come with us—won't you?"
"Gladly, to a healthier climate," replied he. "I have done all that God or man can require of me, and now I owe it to my family to lead them hence; in order to do so, I certainly stand much in need of your help, but, if I keep my health, be assured that you will not have obliged one who will be ungrateful."
"Enough, enough!" said Helldorf, smiling; "who knows how soon we may not hold you to your word."