"'I suppose,' said the maiden softly, the bright blood mounting to her cheeks, 'you will not intrust him to me'—she hesitated—'even if I promise to watch over him day and night?'
"Susanna stopped sobbing. 'But why not, then?' she cried. 'He is Klaus's child, and you are so fond of him!'
"Anna Maria turned and went out of the room, and Susanna sprang up and followed her. After a while they came back, and for the first time there was a smile on the lips of each. Susanna would fly away out of the desolate, snowed-in house of mourning, and Anna Maria had one more care. She might fondle and care for the child of her only brother to her heart's content; the child to whom she had only ventured timidly, in order not to excite Susanna's jealousy, should now belong to her alone for a long time.
"And Susanna went away with chests and trunks, and with Isa. She was overcome with pain at the parting from her child; at the last moment she wanted to tear off hat and cloak again and stay here. However, she got into the carriage. That she would not be here at Christmas did not disturb her; it would be no festival this year, she thought, it would only make her sadder. The doctor had really advised her going south.
"And so we were alone in the solitary house—Anna Maria, the child, and I. The child's cradle stood in her room; she would lie for hours before it, and could not look her fill at the round, childish face. She could still weep, weep bitterly, for Klaus; but her grief had grown gentler, much gentler.
"On a stormy evening, a few days after Susanna's departure, Stürmer came to speak with Anna Maria. He had not been here for more than a week.
"Brockelmann showed him at once to Anna Maria's room; we had not heard him come, and she was right on her knees before the cradle, talking to the child, so simply and affectionately, so sweetly and naturally, about the Christ-child and the Christmas-man. All the great, overflowing love of which the girl was capable, an infinite tenderness and gentleness, sounded in the tone of her voice. But Anna Maria had no heart—how often had the man said that, who was now standing still at the door and looking at her as in a dream.
"She sprang up in confusion as she caught sight of him; the old proud, impenetrable expression returned to her face at once.
"'It is so lonely over there,' he said apologetically, 'and then I had to bring you the mortgage from the mill; the old crow has begged so hard, Fräulein Anna Maria, I think we will leave it to him, or, if you prefer, I will take it too.'
"She shook her head. 'Oh, never,' she said calmly; 'the money must stay at the mill; Klaus promised it to the man.'