The bailiff found Fidelia in the sick-room trying to amuse her father by telling him this or that little incident in her lively girlish way.--Alas, poor thing, she little knew that her father would soon be beyond the reach of her voice. The squire desired her to leave him alone with Hawermann, and as soon as she was gone, he looked at the bailiff sorrowfully, and said: "Hawermann, dear Hawermann, when our greatest joys cease to affect us, it shows that the end is at hand."--Hawermann looked at him earnestly and could not hide from himself that the worst would soon come, for he had often seen death before, so he bent his eyes sadly on the ground, and asked: "Wasn't the doctor here to-day?"--"Ah, Hawermann, the doctor. What good can he do? I'd rather have Mr. Behrens with me now.--But first of all I want to speak to you on business of importance. Sit down there beside me."--When the bailiff was seated the Squire went on quickly and brokenly as if he felt that his time was as short as his breath. "My will is in Schwerin. I have thought of everything, but--when my illness came on so suddenly--and my wife's death too--I am afraid that my affairs are not in such good order as they ought to be."--After a few minutes rest he went on. "My son will have the estate, and my two married daughters have received their share, but the three unmarried ones--poor children!--I have been able to do very little for them. Alick must help them--and alas, he will have enough to do to provide for himself. He writes that he wishes to remain in the army for a few years longer--it would be quite right for him to do so, if he would only live economically--he could then save some of his farming profits--to pay his debts.--But the Jew, Hawermann, the Jew! Will he wait do you think? Did you speak?"--"No, Sir; but Moses will wait; I am quite sure that he will wait. And even if he does not, a great deal of money can be raised on the estate, far more than would have been possible a few years ago."--"Yes, yes. Land has increased in value very much. But still--Alick knows nothing about farming--I have made Frank send him numbers of agricultural books--he ought to study them--they would be of great service to him, would they not, Hawermann?"--"Ah," said Hawermann to himself, "my old master would never have trusted to mere book knowledge when he was well, he was far too practical and wise to have done such a thing; but there is no use troubling him now if the thought comforts him." So the bailiff only said that he thought so too.--"And, dear old friend, you will remain with him," entreated the Squire, "give me your hand, and promise that you will remain with him."--"Yes," said Hawermann, his eyes full of tears, "I will not leave Pümpelhagen as long as I can be of use to you or yours."--"I knew it," said his master, sinking back upon his pillow exhausted; "but--Fidelia must write--I must see him again--see him with you."--His strength was going fast, and his breathing had become heavy and gasping.
Hawermann rose softly and rang the bell, and when Daniel Sadenwater came, he drew him into the ante-room: "Sadenwater, our master is much worse, I don't think it can last long now, you had better call the young ladies and their cousin; but don't say anything too certainly."--A sad look came over the old servant's calm face, stirring it as the evening breeze passing over the quiet waters of a lake. He looked in at the half open door of the sick-room sorrowfully, and murmured as though he wished to excuse himself to himself: "Oh God! And I have served him for thirty years ...." And then he turned and went away.
Frank and the young ladies came in.--The poor girls had no idea how quickly the stone was rolling down hill now, they had always felt so certain that their father would get better, that the doctor would cure him, or if it were beyond his power, that God would do so. They had hitherto taken it in turn to watch by their father, and why were they all sent for at once, and here were Frank, Hawermann and Daniel too?--"Oh God! what is ..... what is .....?" asked Fidelia turning anxiously to the old bailiff.--Hawermann took her hand and pressed it: "Your father," he could not have said "the Squire" at such a moment, "is much worse; he is very ill, and wishes to see your brother .... Mr. von Rambow; if you will write him a line and tell him, the coachman can post the letter on his way to fetch the doctor. Your brother may be here in three days time."--"It can hardly last three hours," said Sadenwater who joined Hawermann in the ante-room.
The three daughters sat or stood round their father's bed weeping silently, for they saw that they would soon lose him who had been their comfort and support all their lives, and their heart beats quicker and quicker as they tried to think of something that would keep him a little longer amongst them, while his heart beat more faintly and slowly every minute.
Frank sat in the ante-room and listened to every sound, and now and then joined his cousins in the sick-room for a few minutes. He had never before seen a human life ebbing away, and his thoughts turned to his own father, whom he had always pictured to himself as resembling his uncle, and he felt as if he were losing his father for the second time. He sorrowed for his cousin Alick who was absent, and who could not possibly arrive in time.--Hawermann stood by the open window and looked out into the night. It was just such a sweet calm night as that one long ago when his heart was full of grief. His wife had passed away then--and now his friend was going. Who would be the next?--Would it be his turn, or ...? Only God could answer that question, for all things are in His hands.--And Daniel Sadenwater sat by the stove with a basket on his knee containing the silver forks and spoons he had burnished every evening for thirty years. On a chair beside him were a piece of chamois-leather and a blue checked pocket-handkerchief, and he alternately rubbed up the silver with the one, and dried his eyes with the other; but when he came to the fork which had his master's name upon it, and which he had cleaned every evening for thirty years there was such a mist before his eyes that he could not see whether it was bright or dull, so he put the basket down by his side, and sat staring at the fork while the tears ran down his cheeks and his heart was full of the unspoken question: "Who will use it now?"
During all this time of restless sorrow, the pendulum of the old clock on the wall kept up its measured beat as though time were sitting by the bed rocking her tired child gently and surely to sleep--his last sleep. At length it came, and the Squire's eyes were for ever closed, the dark curtain separating here from hereafter had fallen softly, and on this side of it the three daughters wept aloud for him who was gone from amongst them, and wrung their hands as they mourned the sorrow that had come. Fidelia threw herself on her father's body with a passionate burst of crying that ended in a fit of hysterics, and Frank, full of compassion, took her in his arms and carried her out of the room. The two elder sisters followed, their hearts filled with a new sorrow, fear for their darling. Hawermann on being left alone with Daniel Sadenwater, quietly closed his master's eyes, and then went away with a heavy heart, while Daniel, still holding the fork in his hand, seated himself at the foot of the bed, and turned his calm face on his master's which was even calmer than his own.
CHAPTER IX.
Three days later Alick arrived, too late to see his father, but not too late to pay him the last honours. The postilion blew the usual cheery blast on his horn as they drove into the court-yard, and three pale women dressed in black at once appeared in the doorway of the manor-house.--What is our grief to the rest of the world?--The young Squire soon got to understand his real situation, for the full weight of all the disagreeables of his position, whether caused by his own fault or not fell upon him at once: the visitation of God, his own ignorance and folly, the poverty of his sisters and his powerlessness to help them, and the memory of his father's love and kindness which had never failed in good or evil days. These things all weighed upon him. It was his nature to feel a sort of nervous irritation when things went ill with him, even when matters were not so grave as they now were. He sighed and bemoaned himself, and asked again and again why this or that was the case, and when he heard from Frank that his father's last words had been spoken in private to Hawermann, he called the old bailiff aside and questioned him as to what had passed between them. Hawermann told him the whole truth, making him understand that his father's last trouble had been uneasiness about his future, and whether he would be able by good management of his estate to keep himself and his sisters.
Yes, of course he would do that! He swore to himself that he would do it when a short time afterwards he was alone in the garden; he would double his profits, he would live quietly, would do without society, and would not join in the extravagant amusements of his brother officers. He could do that easily, quite easily, but he could not leave the army as Hawermann proposed, and go somewhere to learn farming thoroughly; no, that was impossible, he was too old for that, and then too it would be derogatory to his position as an officer, and besides that, it was unnecessary. When he came to live at home he would soon get into the way of it all, and meanwhile he would live economically, would pay his debts, and would study the agricultural works his old father had had so much at heart.
Thus it is that people deceive themselves, often even at the gravest and most important time in their lives.