Her husband's sisters had often written to her before, such letters as women write to while away their time.--Frida unfolded the letter, but--oh!--this was no commonplace chatty note such as she was accustomed to receive,--Albertine wrote:
"Dear Sister,
"I don't know whether I am doing right. Bertha advises me to write to you, and Fidelia has twice torn the paper from under my pen, for she thinks it will make our dear brother Alick unhappy if I do. But however that may be, I can't help it. Sheer necessity forces me to write. We have already written to Alick twice, but he has never answered our letters. I have no doubt that he has to travel about a good deal in these bad times, and that besides that, he must have much to occupy his attention at home--for we hear rumours of things going on about you, of the probable truth of which we have only too many proofs here in Schwerin--and so I think that I cannot be doing wrong in writing to you. You will answer me soon, won't you?--You know that Alick has taken the small capital our father left us as a mortgage on Pümpelhagen, and that he has promised to give us 5 per cent on the money instead of the 4½ per cent we had formerly received. It was not necessary for him to have done that, for we could live within our income before. But he promised to send us the money punctually every quarter, and we have not received a penny in the last nine months. Dear Frida, you may be sure that we should never have complained if we had not been in very great need. Our brother-in-law Breitenburg was here lately; he had never heard of our having lent Alick the money, and as soon as he found it out, he--you know how rough he is--swore at Alick, and told us we were three geese to have given him the money. He asked to see our bond, and when we could not show it to him, for Alick has always forgotten to send it to us, he said outright, that our money was gone beyond recall, as it was well known that Alick had ruined himself with his bad farming, and that Pümpelhagen would have to be sold to pay his debts.--We know how to treat our brother in-law's talk, for he has always disliked our dear Alick; and as for selling Pümpelhagen, I don't believe it. It has been in our family for centuries! The Grand Duke would never allow it!--We told him that and a great deal more. Fidelia, especially, gave him a piece of her mind very energetically. So he took up his hat and stick, and said in his rude way: 'Your brother Alick has always been a fool, and now he has capped all his former misdeeds by behaving like a scoundrel.' Fidelia rose and showed him the door at once.--It was a dreadful scene, and I should not have told you about it, if I did not feel rather frightened lest Alick and Breitenburg should meet, and act like those two brothers-in-law, Dannenberg and Malzahn, who in order to avenge their injured sense of honour shot each other dead across a pocket-handkerchief. Please warn Alick to avoid any meeting with him, and if it is possible ask him to send us the interest on our money.--We think of going to see you in autumn, and are looking forward like children to the pleasure of seeing you, and of revisiting the home where we played as children, dreamt our day-dreams as young women, and where, alas, we saw our dear father die. Yes, Frida; Bertha, Fidelia and I rejoice at the thought of seeing Pümpelhagen again, for we live in the past, our present is so dull and empty of interest. Only now and then, and at very long intervals do we see the face of some old friend of our dear father, who comes to tell us what is going on in the world, and Bertha and I think there is something very pathetic in the way our little Fidelia throws down her work on such occasions, and listens eagerly to the news our old friend brings us.--She is especially interested in all that concerns the court.--Good-bye for the present, dear Frida. Forgive me for having troubled you with this letter, and give Alick the enclosed note. I have entreated him earnestly to help us, but have spared him all the disagreeables of our position as much as I could.--We shall meet in August.
"Yours affectionately,
"Albertine von Rambow."
"Schwerin, June 11th, 1848."
Frida began the letter, but did not read to the end. When she got to the place where Albertine has repeated Breitenburg's words: "Your brother Alick has always been a fool and now he has capped all his former misdeeds by behaving like a scoundrel," she threw the letter on the floor, started up from her chair wringing her hands, and began to walk rapidly up and down the room. "It's true," she moaned, "quite true!" Her little girl was sleeping calmly near her. She threw herself into the chair again, picked up the letter, and once more read the dreadful words. As she did so the terrible picture her imagination had before drawn of her child's future faded before the actual horror that confronted her. The new picture she saw was burnt into her brain. She saw in it the faces of the three sisters, and underneath it was written in letters of fire: "Swindled! Swindled by their own brother!" Beyond them she saw her husband, but his features were blurred and indistinct so that she could hardly trace them, and underneath this figure the single word "scoundrel" was written. Horrible, most horrible!--She had lost her all!--And it was a double loss!--She had only herself to trust to now on earth, for she had lost him she had loved as her own soul. That was the terrible part of her grief! Oh for help to wash away the brand of dishonour from the forehead she had so often kissed lovingly. But how? Who would help her? Alas, the people whose names occurred to her were all far away and she could go to none of them in her distress. She wrung her hand in agony. It seemed as though she were being more and more hemmed in every moment. Pomuchelskopp's name flashed into her mind, and Slus'uhr's and David's. She sprang to her feet and moved her hands about as if to waive off once more the ghosts of the past. She could think of very few names now, when suddenly in the midst of her anguish she remembered a kind, womanly old face, Mrs. Nüssler's face, and it looked as it had done when it bent over her child to kiss it.
Mrs. von Rambow immediately exclaimed aloud: "That woman has a heart, a large heart that can feel the sorrows of others!" Out of doors the thunder was still rolling, the lightning flashing and the rain coming down in torrents. Mrs. von Rambow snatched up a warm shawl and rushed out into the rain. "For God's sake, ma'am, tell me what's the matter," cried Caroline Kegel, "see how it's raining and how dark it is!"--"Leave me alone!"--"Nay, I won't do that," said the maid going after her. "A kind heart, a kind heart!" murmured the poor thing as she hastened on, the rain beating ever more violently in her face. She still held the shawl in her hand without knowing it, and her feet slipped often in the deep cut limestone road without her knowing it; her whole soul was bent on getting on quickly. "If you must go, Madam, we'll go together," said Caroline, taking the shawl out of her hand and wrapping it round her head and shoulders, then throwing her strong arm round her waist, she asked: "Where do you want to go?"--"To Mrs. Nüssler's," answered her mistress, and then murmured: "a kind heart." A kind heart was beating close to her own and yet she never thought of it; nothing separates two human beings so much as the words: "Command and obedience." She had always been kind to her dependents, and had met her servant's good feeling towards her half way; but at this moment she did not think of Caroline Kegel, her heart was filled with the thought of how Alick was to be saved from shame and dishonour, and Mrs. Nüssler's honest face drew her on through the rain and darkness as the only star of hope that shone on her path. "To Rexow, to Rexow!"
"Goodness gracious me, Joseph!" said Mrs. Nüssler, going to the window, "what a storm it is!"--"Yes, mother, but what can anyone do?"--"Oh dear!" said Mrs. Nüssler, reseating herself. "I hope that no one's out on the high road to-night. I feel very anxious." Mrs. Nüssler went on knitting, Joseph went on smoking, and the parlour was as quiet and cosy as heart could wish. Suddenly Bolster, who was lying under Joseph's chair, gave a short sharp bark which was dog language for: "what's that?" As he got no answer he lay still, but next moment he started up and crept to the door on his stiff old legs. When he got there, he began to snarl after the manner of his kind. "Bolster!" cried Mrs. Nüssler. "What's the matter with the old dog?--What is it Bolster?"--"Mother," said Joseph, who knew Bolster as well as Bolster knew him, "somebody's coming." At the same moment the door opened and a pale woman staggered into the room supported by a strong country girl, who placed her on the sofa. "Good God!" cried Mrs. Nüssler jumping up and taking her visitor by both hands, "what's the matter? What is it? Oh dear, how wet you are."--"Yes, indeed she is," answered Caroline. "Good gracious Joseph, why don't you get up from your chair? Go and fetch Mina. Tell her to come here at once, and tell Dolly she must make some camomile tea." Joseph hastened from the room, and Mrs. Nüssler taking off Mrs. von Rambow's shawl, dried the rain off her face and beautiful hair with her pocket-handkerchief. Mina ran into the parlour and was about to ask a number of questions, but her mother stopped her by saying: "Mina, this isn't the time to trouble Mrs. von Rambow with questions, go and bring one of your dresses and some of your underclothing to my bedroom." But as soon as Mina had run away to do as she desired, she herself asked: "What's the matter, Caroline Kegel?"--"I don't know, but she certainly got a letter this evening." As soon as Mina said that she was ready Mrs. Nüssler and Caroline helped Mrs. von Rambow into the bedroom and undressed her, laid her on the top of the bed and gave her the hot tea Dolly had prepared. She soon recovered her full consciousness and remembered why she had come, for it was only the sense of her utter loneliness that had overcome her and had made her feel so faint and weak, and now that she saw the kind motherly face bending over her, she felt strong and brave once more. She sat up in bed, looked at Mrs. Nüssler trustfully, and said: "You once told me that you would help me if ever I was in need."--"And I will do so," said Mrs. Nüssler with tears in her eyes, and stroking her visitor's hands softly, "tell me what it is."--"It's a dreadful state of things," cried Frida, "our labourers are discontented, we're in debt, deeply in debt, and our creditors want to sell the estate ...."--"Good gracious!" interrupted Mrs. Nüssler, "surely it's early days to talk of that!"--"I can't see my way at all," continued Mrs. von Rambow, "but it was for something else I came to you, and I can't, I dar'n't tell you what it is."--"Don't tell me, Madam. But what you have already told me is not a case in which a woman's advice is worth anything, we must consult some man, and if you like, we can drive over to Rahnstädt and speak to my brother Charles."--"Ah, if I could! But how could I ever expect the man, whom I ...."--"That's a mistake on your part, Madam, and shows that you don't know my brother. Joseph," she called putting her head out at the door of her room, "tell Christian to get the carriage ready and to make haste, and do you make haste also. Mina, quick, bring me your new Sunday hat and cloak, we are going out." Everything was done as she desired, and as soon as they were seated in the carriage, Mrs. Nüssler said to Christian: "You know that I don't like going too fast, Christian, but you can't drive too quickly to-day; we must be in Rahnstädt in half an hour. If we don't make haste they'll all be in bed," she added, addressing Mrs. von Rambow.
Anna had just gone home after spending the evening at Mrs. Behrens' house; Hawermann and Bräsig had said good-night, and Bräsig had just opened the window, and looking out at the weather had said: "What a sweet smell the air always has after a storm, it's quite full of atmosphere!" when a carriage drove up to the door, and the light from Mrs. Behrens' bedroom streamed into it. "Bless me, Charles," cried Bräsig, "there's your dear sister and Mina, and every one ought to be making ready to go to bed just now."--"There must be something wrong," said Hawermann taking his candle and leaving the room. "Why have you come so late, Dorothea," asked Hawermann, meeting his sister on the stairs, "Mina ...." then interrupting himself, "and you too, Madam, at this hour?"--"Quick, Charles," said Mrs. Nüssler, "Mrs. von Rambow wants to speak to you alone, so make haste before anyone comes." Hawermann opened the door of Mrs. Behrens' best parlour and showed Mrs. von Rambow in; as he followed her and closed the door he heard the beginning of what Bräsig said to Mrs. Nüssler. "As sure as your nose is in the middle of your face, tell me what's brought you here? Excuse me for having come down in my shirt sleeves, but you see Charles is a thoughtless fellow and he took away the candle so that I couldn't find my coat in the dark. But where is he, and where's Mina?" Mrs. Nüssler did not need to answer the question, for at this moment Louisa came out of Mrs. Behrens' ordinary sitting-room with a candle. "Why, you here. Aunt?" she said. "Come back with me to the parlour, Louie; and you Bräsig, go and put on your coat again and then you can join us." This was done, and Mrs. Behrens came too. All was silent and still in the passage, and anyone who had chosen to listen at the keyhole of the best parlour might have heard Mrs. von Rambow telling Hawermann her story. She began shyly and tearfully, but gained courage as she went on, and felt her hope and confidence in the old bailiff grow stronger every moment. Anyone who had chosen to listen at the door of Mrs. Behrens' sitting-room, which was to the left of the passage, might have heard the horrible fibs that Mrs. Nüssler was telling, for it had suddenly occurred to the good woman that she could not do better than allow everyone to imagine that Mrs. von Rambow was Mina until she had had time to tell all her tale to Hawermann, and that she might not be troubled with questions. So she said that Mina was suffering from dreadful toothache, and that she knew her brother Charles had a wonderful remedy for it which could only be used with effect between twelve and one at night, and in complete silence. Mrs. Behrens said she was sure it could be no Christian work if that was the way of it, and Bräsig remarked: "I never knew that Charles had any knowledge of medicine or doctoring."