"Snares surround us; I know that the enemy lies in wait. Cowardly spy, I laugh at thee! Have no fear, my dearest, I can rescue thee. One bold deed will give freedom to our love. To-morrow afternoon, at two o'clock, when the DRAGON sleeps, who guards my TREASURE, I will expect thy signal with the handkerchief, I shall be strewing manure, behind the water-ditch, three whistles on the handle of my stick will give thee warning, and though hell itself bursts forth, I have sworn it. Ever
"Thine."
When the Frau Pastorin read this she was quite off her balance. "That! That! Oh, the miserable scamp! 'Dragon Sleeps!' The rascal means me by that! But wait! I will give you a signal, and if hell doesn't burst forth, something shall crack about your ears, let me only get hold of you!"
The next day, before two o'clock, the Frau Pastorin rose from her sofa, and went into the garden. The house-door had creaked, and her Pastor heard the gate-latch also rattle, so he got up and looked out of the window, to see what his wife was doing in the garden, at this unusual hour, for her nap generally lasted until three o'clock. He saw her go behind a bush, and she stood there and waved her handkerchief in the air. "She is beckoning to Habermann, perhaps," said he, and lay down again. She was, however, merely giving a friendly signal to her nephew, till she might get a little nearer to his ears.
But he did not come, nor did she hear the three whistles. Greatly disappointed, she went back to the house, and when it was time for coffee, and her Pastor asked her whom she had been beckoning to in the garden, she was so much embarrassed, that, I regret to confess, she fibbed, although she was a pastor's wife, and said she had been so oppressed by the heat, she was merely waving her handkerchief to get a little fresh air.
On the third day, she found another letter.
Address: "To my own, destined for me by Fate."
Superscription: "Sun of my darkened Soul!!"
"Dost thou know what hell-torments are? I suffered them yesterday afternoon, at two o'clock, when I was strewing manure. The air was free, the enemy was in the clover-field, and thy handkerchief fluttered like one of my white pigeons in the perfumed air. I was just upon the point of giving the pre-arranged signal of three whistles, when that old horned beast of a Bräsig came up to me, and stood talking a whole hour, about the manure. When he was gone, I rushed down to the water-ditch, but, vinegar!
"The time had seemed long to thee, and thou wert gone! But now, listen! This evening, punctually at half past eight, when I have eaten my sour milk, I will be at the place of rendezvous; to-day is Saturday, the Pastor is writing his sermon, and the dragon is cleaning house; the opportunity is favorable, and the underbrush will conceal us there. (Schiller.) Wait but a little, thou too shalt rest, (Goethe) in the arms of thy DEVOTED ONE, who would sell all that is dear to him, to buy with it something dear to thee.