Yet she continued to live on in the unassuming manner previously described, and, as she enjoyed perfect health, she compared, in her droll way, her own condition with that of the little dismantled steamer that lay anchored in the calm inland lake, resting comfortably from every storm.
But one more tempest burst over her, which threatened to shake even her steadfast nature.
We had been permitted for three years to call her ours. Spring had come again, but no March snow-flakes were fluttering through the air as in the time when she arrived; the sun was shining brightly, and, as the song says, the weather tempted one to walk. Still, though it was Saturday afternoon and school had therefore been dismissed, I was obliged to leave her earlier than usual, as I had taken charge of the lessons in German for a sick colleague, and had a whole pile of exercise-books to correct by Monday.
I was sitting at my work again early Sunday morning, when a hurried message, brought by one of the seven almshouse dames, startled me. I must come at once to the Canoness--as her train preferred to call her.
I could not learn what had happened from the messenger. It was not her day, and she had not seen Frau Luise.
When I entered, I was no little surprised to find her in bed for the first time since I had known her. She tried to smile in order to soothe me, but it was only like a fleeting sunbeam which instantly vanished behind clouds of gloom.
"My life is not threatened, dear friend," said she; "nay, I am not even really ill--only so exhausted by mental emotion that, when I tried to rise, I fell back again. Sit down and listen."
She then related the horrible story. On the afternoon of the previous day, as, lured by the beautiful sunshine, she continued her walk alone as far as the lake, a wretched figure had suddenly confronted her, just at the spot where a group of willows cast a dense shade. It was a man with long, gray locks and a haggard, sunken face, holding his hat in his hand with the gesture of a mendicant. Lost in thought, she had not at first noticed him particularly, but felt in her pocket to throw alms into his hat. Suddenly the beggar seized her hand, and, covering it with passionate kisses, exclaimed: "Do you no longer know me, Luise?"
The sudden fright fairly made her heart stop beating. She could not move a limb, but, wrenching her hand from his grasp, stood staring at him, as though the specter must dissolve into mist before her eyes.