"'Oh, Klaus!' I cried, weeping, 'you were too hard; you had no occasion to speak so!' But I stood alone in my tears, for Klaus also left the room, for the first time failing to pay attention to his aunt, and slammed the door behind him.
"Yes, I stood alone and believed myself dreaming! Was this the comfortable old room at Bütze, where formerly peace had dwelt bodily? The candles flickered restlessly on the table, a chilling draught of air came through the open window, and thunder faintly muttered in the distance. No, peace had flown, and injustice, care, and animosity had entered, had pressed their way between two human hearts which till now had been united in true love; and there, up-stairs, lay and slept a fair young fellow-creature, and the picture of the Mischief-maker smiled down on her, as if glad of a successor. Yes, Klaus was right, and Anna Maria was right; how was the difference to be made up? Ah! how quickly is a bitter, crushing word said and heard, but a whole world of tears cannot make it unsaid again."
CHAPTER IX.
"I could not sleep that night; I rose from my bed again and sat down by my window in the gray dawn, and my old heart was fearful for what must come now. I loved both the children so much, and, God knows, I would have given years of my useless life if I could have blotted out the last few months. And I was groping about wholly in the dark, for Anna Maria was reserved and uncommunicative, and Klaus—what would he do? He could not come and say, 'Aunt Rosamond, I love Susanna Mattoni, and I wish to marry her!' I should have had to throw up my hands and laugh! Klaus, the last Hegewitz, and Susanna Mattoni, the child of an obscure actress! And Klaus would have had to laugh with me.
"It was a rainy day, just beginning; wonderfully cool air came through the open windows and the leaves rustled in the wind, and the rain pattered on the roofs; the maids were running across the court with their milk-pails, the poultry was being fed, and Brockelmann talking to the maids, and there went the bailiff in the pasture; everything was as usual and yet so different.
"Then a carriage came rolling into the court-yard. Heavens! that was our own with the brown span. It stopped before the front steps, and Klaus came out of the house and greeted the gentleman getting out. I had leaned far out of the window, but now drew back in alarm—it was the doctor, our old Reuter, and at this early hour! Anna Maria was my first thought. I ran out; but no, there she was, just coming out of Susanna's room. She still wore her blue dress of yesterday, but there were blood-stains here and there on the large white apron.
"'Susanna?' I faltered. She nodded, and gave me her hand. 'Go in, aunt; I wish to speak with Reuter first,' she said softly; 'Susanna is ill.' Almost stunned, I let myself be pushed through the open door. The curtains were drawn, but on the chimney-piece a candle was burning, and threw its dim, flickering light on the girl's face, so that I could see the dark fever-roses which had bloomed upon it during the night. Her eyes were wide open, but she did not know me; she thought I was Isa.
"'Isa, I have sung, too; Isa, don't be angry; it was so beautiful in the moonlight, and it did not hurt me at all.' And she began to sing:
"'Home have I come, my heart burns with pain—
Oh! that I only could wander again!'