"Do not be so anxious, kind Lambert, we are in God's care."
"No, certainly not," replied he.
He had not observed what she had last said, and only recalled her former words. But it affected her painfully when, through misapprehension, she had heard denied that which she believed, with all her heart, as her old father had believed in all need and trouble. "We are in God's care!" That was the text of his last sermon which, already himself dying, he had delivered between decks to his unhappy fellow sufferers. That was his last word as, a few hours later, he breathed out, in their arms, his pure spirit. Did not her pious childhood-faith approve itself to her in a wonderful manner? When all human help seemed impossible, did not a kind man, God-sent, come, and with a strong hand lead her out of the labyrinth, and carefully conduct her over hills and mountains, creeks and rivers, through endless forests and immeasurable prairies? Never, never, by the side of the good and strong one, had there come to her a feeling of anxiety or fear. Now, as she was nearing the end of her pilgrimage, should doubt find sly entrance? "I will protect and help you as a brother does his sister!" Had he promised too much? Why did he walk so self-absorbed, so still and dumb at her side, now that he was so near his own hearth and that of his parents? Did he, perhaps, fear that he would not be kindly received on account of the stranger he was bringing home? Why was the house there before them so still? No barking of dogs. No sign of those who at the next moment might be expected to rush into the arms of the home-comer. The solitary house on the little hillock, gently descending from it on all sides, and standing near the creek which, like a snake through the grass, was quietly winding among the rushes, was perfectly silent. Silent and still were the dark woods which here and there overlooked the valley from the heights along the shore.
As she now reached the house Catherine felt as though her heart would leap forth as she observed that the lower story, built of immense logs, had no windows but narrow slits like the portholes in the walls of a fortress, and that the upper story was surrounded by a low, massive breastwork, and that the shingle roof was quite high. Lambert tied the horse to a heavy ring which was near the door, cast searching glances about the house and surroundings, murmured something that she did not understand, and finally pushed slowly against the heavy door which opened inward.
He disappeared in the house, came out after a few moments and said: "There is nobody here. We are entirely alone. Will you go with me?"
They were the very same words that he had addressed to her on the deck of the emigrant ship, and she again answered him as then:
"I will go with you, Lambert Sternberg." She grasped the hand which he had extended to her and followed him into the forsaken house.
CHAPTER IV
While Lambert had been engaged within there came through the door a bright light, which Catherine now saw was produced by a large pine fagot burning in a corner of the room near a great stone-hearth. The room was half kitchen and store-room, and half living-room--such as the young woman had become acquainted with in many a farm-house where she had rested during her journey. It was fitted up with various utensils hanging on the walls and ceiling, standing in corners and lying on the floor. Near the hearth there were a couple of rough pine chairs, and, against the wall, a large four-cornered table, serving both for a dressing-table and for meals. There still stood on it a couple of earthen dishes on which were the remains of a meal to which a bear's ham, which had not again been hung upon its hook, contributed the principal part. The entire arrangement was planned on the basis of the simplest necessity. There was no trace of an endeavor after grace and beauty, or the merely agreeable. This observation, that the young maiden made with her first glance about the room, fell upon her heart even more heavily than the empty house. The house would fill up when the absent ones returned, but would she be happy in the company of those who lived here, who called it their home?
"I must look after my horse," said Lambert, "and after the rest of the things. You may meanwhile prepare the evening meal--you will probably find something. We will after that consider your sleeping apartment. It looks very bad here, but Conrad knows nothing about order. However, you can have a chamber upstairs. I will sleep below. I shall not go far, and will soon be back. Do not be afraid."