"It is most vexatious," repeated Elsa.
A pot on the fire threatened to boil over; she moved it on one side, not without blackening her hands with soot. The wind, which roared down the chimney, drove the smoke in her face. The ill-fitting window rattled; the child in the next room cried more pitifully.
"Poor woman," sighed Elsa; "there is something terrible in being poor. I wonder whether he is poor? he does not seem rich. How does a merchant captain like that live when he is not at sea? Perhaps after all he is married, as the Count is unmarried; or does he love some one in a distant country, of whom he thinks while he paces the deck so restlessly? I must find that out before we part; I shall find an opportunity. And then I shall ask him to congratulate her from me, and to tell her that she will have a husband of whom she may be proud, of whom any girl might be proud. I mean a girl in his own station. For instance I--absurd! one does not marry for a pair of honest eyes, particularly when disinheritance would be the result of such a mesalliance! It is a curious arrangement, but Schmidt is not a pretty name: Frau Schmidt!"
She laughed, and then suddenly her heart softened strangely, and tears came into her eyes. She felt for her handkerchief, and found something hard in her pocket. It was the little compass which he had given to her in the boat, when she was sitting by him and wanted to know the direction in which he was steering. She opened the case and looked inside. On the cover was prettily inlaid in gold letters the name, Reinhold Schmidt; and the needle trembled and pointed away from her, and always quivered in the same direction towards the name, however often she turned and twisted the case in her hands.
"As if it were seeking Reinhold Schmidt!" said Elsa; "how faithful it is! And I would be faithful if I once loved, and would stand by my husband, and cherish and tend the children--and in six years' time look as faded and pale and worn, as the poor woman here, who must certainly have been a very pretty girl. Thank heaven that I am not in love!"
She shut the case, slipped it back into her pocket, and looking into the little room where all was now still, said: "The water boils, but remain there, dear Frau Pölitz. I will take it in to the gentlemen;" and to herself she said: "He must be back now."
Reinhold had left the room and the house, to look after the steamer, about which he was still anxious.
The storm had broken sooner and more violently than he had expected. If the ship had not got afloat beforehand, much harm, perhaps the worst might be feared. He reproached himself for not having remained on board, where his presence at this moment might be so urgently needed. It was true that it was only by agreeing to go himself that they had overcome the obstinacy of the General, who would certainly otherwise have remained, and his daughter with him. But what did he owe them? For the matter of that he did not owe anything to the ship--certainly not: and the obstinate old Captain had bluntly and flatly rejected his advice. But yet--it is the soldier's duty to go to the front when the cannon are thundering; he knew that from the war; he had himself often done it with his breathless panting comrades, all inspired with but one idea: Shall we arrive in time? And now before him the thunder rolled nearer and nearer, as he hastily climbed the hill; but what good could he do now?
Thank God! the ship was out of danger! There--a couple of miles farther to the south--easily visible to the quick eyes in spite of night, and rain, and distance--glimmered a spark of light. And now the spark vanished; it could only be behind Wissow Head, where, on the best anchorage-ground, the steamer might peacefully weather out the storm. Thank God.
He had foreseen and foretold it; and yet it seemed to him as a special favour from heaven. And after that he could humbly submit to the pain of having seen that beautiful girl for the last time. Yes, for the last time. At the moment when they reached the safe shelter to which he had promised to guide them, his services ended. Whatever happened now was nothing to him; that was the General's affair. If they chose to move to the castle, for him there would be always a place at the farmhouse. He had only now to return once more, and say, "Farewell!--farewell!"