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Ser tº T} Ø py:AGeorg a) *. 4.- *::" *A* r ** *: *w * f º * * i ". º º Jr & r ..:” § M. - }. , 2: ..” - nºw * * w , viº. *, ~ - $. * ºr. gh * * - * * 2:. . . . . . • * ~ * *... * * * . . 3 • p £). The Bail * * > ...~" -> .* ...” w ‘. ~& t The Best Made Pin in the World ! PinS. º THE FINEST QUALITY OF PINs º EVER PRODUCED. $º *lºgºs: ºss LY FOR T }MaurºraADE * , a FI N.E. º •ry sº Aerfect flºads. Arſect/Weed/e/offs. “ Perfect.Spring Temper. PERIT IN EVERY REPICT Hs º º §: Nº == - * * * º N -- * rºº V T2- ſ º U ** **** > *-> -- ~~~~~ & Kºšiº ºf - s d º & º º : * *- -- f : *** * * *** *A* **** ºv * ** *** **** fºsºft &, sº-ºººº, ºssº r’s &#&º šº Zºº''S - SS º- - - § § º - º § - - w § § s s § º - º º www. * - Š § ºSSLASS: Ş. - M > º § ~. s : º $ 5. º Sº, -N- - *- - - º º | || º & § § 1 & R N w . § { S § § M . S | § t 3 * * R s º & º § , , , § § º º § § . § § & 8 *x ~ || 88s “Nº sºlº assº & FN'ſ J. SSUVssiſ sºlºsſºw Nºwsty wV syssºs Nºw! $ v. wºl ºwl & 4 NAS ASN , A. & -2.3.2. z a Z Aº ZZ ...º.º. *...*.*...* ze.º.º. & ZººZº. • *.” Kºś §§§§§§§§§§§§§ ššššš º kº & sº-Tº-Tº-Nº º **S § - RTETS § { } R -- D º § º t t R S - S § R º ſ * § I: § {St I: - § :S § { N is ; ; º M S º W. w N N § U | S º N W N S. º § º R w S n * S º R Nº N N º R º * w w N º § § w E. | Y. †. ,--. --> º & & ſº. ޺rs Nº º - w w NONE ARE GENUIN E UNLESS BEARING THE ABOVE TRADE MARK, THE BAILIFFS MAID By E. MARLITT ºw-4 j. º i ~, -- A. \ ^^^ $2. 3.8-vº. 2) - , f £3PYRIGHT, 1881, BY GEORGE MUNRC. NEW YORK: GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, PUBLISHERS, 1? To 27 VANDEWATER STREET. THE ART OF HOUSEKEEPING, PRICE 10 CENTS, A thoroughly practical book on housekeeping by an experienced and celebrated housekeeper. MRs. SMITH is a capable and distinguished writer upon all subjects connected with the kitchen and household. TABLE OF CONTENTS: Beginning to Keep House—Ordering a Household- Economical Housekeeping—The Kitchen–Kitchen Utensils—The Pantry— The Care of Food—The Dining Room—Entertaining—The Breakfast Table —The Dinner—Dássèrt—The Store Room—The Nursery—The Halls and Stairways—Eastbt, Sitting Room, Bed Rooms—The Garret—“In my Lady's Chamber"—Mºsie Room—Studio—Library—The Lighting of the House— Care of Lamps—Furniture—Screens—Ornaments—Home-made Decora- tions—Spring Cleaning—Carpets—Floors—Summer Changes—Preserving— Heat and Ventilation, etc. GOOD FORM : A BOOK OF EVERY DAY ETIQUETTE. BY MIRS, ARMSTRONG. Price 10 Cents, No one aspiring to the manners of a lady or gentleman can afford to be without a copy of this invaluable book, which is certain to spare its possessor many embarrassments incidental to the novice in forms of etiquette. For sale by all newsdealers, or sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of the price, 10 cents each, by the publishers. Address GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, Munro's Publishing House, P. O. Rox 2781.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, New York. For Children While Cutting Their Teetin USE MRS. WINSLOW's S001HING SYRUP. An Old and Well-Tried Remedy. For Over Fifty Years Mrs. Winslow's Soothing Syrup has been used by MILLIONs of MoTHERs for their CHILDREN while TEETHINet with PEREECT. Success. IT SoothEs the CHILD, SoFTENs the GUMS, ALLAYs all PAIN; CUREs WIND Colic, and is the best remedy for DIARRBGEA... Sold by Druggists in every part of the world. Be sure and ask for Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup, and take no other kind. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS A BOTTLE, THE BAILIFF'S MAID. CHAPTER I. MORE than a year had passed already since old Frau Oberforstmeisterin had died. Now, a year is a long time, when it comes to speaking of the dead, who, you know, are quickly forgotten, and the old lady at Deerwood, to usera familiar phrase, had left no family. Far or near not the tiniest scrap of crape had been bought or worn for her sake. It is altogether likely, then, that her solitary exist- ence would have gone out, like an extinguished taper, with- out leaving a trace behind, had it not been for certain marked eccentricities that had set their stamp upon her whole life. It is no such easy thing for survivors to ob- literate an impress of that sort. The few villagers whose way led them now and then by the mansion house at Deerwood, gazed still steadfastly up at the corner window in the upper story, expecting to see the head of a little woman, with silvered ringlets on fore- head and temples and steel spectacles on the bridge of her nose, turn quickly at the sound of their footsteps and look through the panes of glass. Then a searching glance from above the spectacles had ever been quick to discern, not only the most anxiously concealed hole in the sleeves, or any soiled spot upon the aprons or frocks of the women, but also the quietost look of suffering on the face, after which there had always come down to them a word of sharp censure, or invitation to come up quickly and bring their sorrows with them. But it was the Workmen in the forest, the wood-cutters, x^s . * * 3 : "Z3 s : : 8 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. pitch-boilers, and charcoal-burners who missed her most. The “little woman of the wood” had always come along with such a steady and vigorous step. Her black crape bonnet and large fringed kerchief folded over the shoulders had been as familiar to them as her nimble feet in white stockings, crossed by black shoe-strings, after a fashion of the olden time—as the green satin knitting-bag that bobbed at her elbow, and the cute little white poodle that trotted along at its old mistress’s heels. From that green work-bag were always sticking out great bunches of freshly picked herbs, after which the old lady unweariedly stooped; and besides, this old-fashioned, ample silk bag hid a whole store of surgical instruments, plaster- boxes and vials of physic, from among which were never missing some blocks of coarse soap; for instead of supply- ing warm soup, like other charitable souls, the old woman of the wood had been in the habit of boiling great kettles of soap for the poor. The terror of the dirty, a bold sur- geon, and bather for the sick and wounded, she had waged relentless warfare against the superstitions flourishing in the Thuringian wilds, and upon the slightest suspicion that magical arts were to be resorted to for the cure of wounds and sores, she had set herself to washing the heads of her patients, and reading them a lecture “from the notes,” as they used to say. She had died a natural death from rheumatic fever, that she had brought upon herself by hunting for herbs upon the bleak mountain-tops. Yet, because from the first hour of her falling sick to the last breath that she drew she had been seized by delirium and never recovered her conscious- ness, not a doubt was entertained but that the evil spirits, with whom she had maintained a life-long battle, had over- mastered her at last. She must certainly have seen “some- thing ” in the forest; “she had been done for there.” No will was to be found, hence her admirably managed estate lying among the Thuringian mountains fell to a THE BAILIFF's MAID. 9 relative in Prussia, of whom not a creature had ever heard a syllable, Save that his name was Marcus, and that he was the owner of a considerable machine-factory in the neigh- borhood of Berlin. He seemed to prize slightly his new property: it did not suit him to manage in person, as it seemed, and therefore he had leased the whole thing out in a lump. The farmer dwelt on the ground-floor, while the mice made themselves merry in the upper story of the deserted mansion, “and the spiders were fast closing up the key-holes with their abominable gray webs,” Dame Griebel (the farmer’s better half) used to say, with a contemptuous shrug of her shoul- ders; for admission was vouchsafed neither to herself nor the Sacred broom and dusting-cloth. Grain does not thrive particularly well on the high grounds of the Thuringian forest; meadow-land and potato- patches predominate. Long strips of green often mark where narrow valleys lie between wooded mountains, like cushions of soft velvet; grass, sparkling rivulets, occa- sionally, even, a cool trout-stream, or the smooth, chalky high-road alternate with one another. Deerwood, on the contrary, was a rarely sunny protected corner of the forest, a sort of island where the summer wind could disport itself at pleasure amid waving fields of corn that grew six feet high, and even revel in the broad acres of noble wheat. This pretty estate lay tolerably remote from much-used roads, screened, as it were, by the woods; therefore it might well happen that the stranger, who had been already fol- lowing this forest path for a full hour, should suddenly draw a halt in order to refresh himself with spring water, preparatory to a yet longer walk, as he supposed. The slender jet of water that gushed forth from among the bare roots of a prostrate fir-tree, and trickled down the declivity, was cold as ice, and of delicious flavor. The gen- tleman filled and emptied his silver drinking-cup more than once, and then moved forward. Over his shoulder 10 * THE BAILIFF's MAID. - - - º hung a plaid, and at his side a leather bag—a light travel- ing equipment, in sooth—and yet without it, yon slender man, in his light gray jacket, might have passed for one merely taking a walk for pleasure, so much at his ease did he saunter along, wholly given up to enjoyment of the beauty of the woods, following the windings of the road that had been cut, by main force, through the heavy tim- ber of the dark beech groves. Hitherto he had been a solitary traveler: not a single creature had he met. He saw the squirrels hopping from limb to limb, while the twittering of birds in their nests and the hum of many an insect imparted animation to the scene. A gentle breeze wafted to him the odor of straw- berries, and at intervals, too, the appetizing Smell of roast- ed potatoes; there came to him also the faint sound of the strokes of an ax in the distance, and for the last quarter of an hour his steps had been attended, on the right hand, by the murmur of flowing water, which he did not see. Now, however, the darkness gradually was lifted in that direc- tion, and sunny meadows became visible. A swift brook shot through the midst of these pastures, and far below turned the wheels of a saw-mill. All the charms of a forest idyl were inclosed there in the dark and contracted frame of encircling evergreens. A narrow bridge led across the stream, a primitive structure, through the gaping planks of which might be caught glimpses of the water rushing along below. The stranger accelerated his pace. He stepped upon the bridge, hoping at all events to get a full view of the beau- tiful landscape, but he evidently was not acquainted with the tricks of such carelessly built wooden bridges, for, while the mill held his eyes enchained, suddenly his foot sunk in, and there remained, stuck fast between the pine log forming the outermost edge and the board next it. With a curse upon his lips, and every sign of impatience, he tried to extricate his foot from confinement, but the º THE BAILIFF's MAID. 11 bridge had no railing, and the prisoner did not even have at his disposal a staff, upon which he might have leaned and gained freedom for a more energetic exertion of strength. Quivering with vexation and excitement, he paused and looked around for some assistance that seemed to be very questionable in this lonely valley. t Just at that moment a young woman came around the corner of the saw-mill straight toward the bridge. Upon her head she carried a bundle of grass that she supported with uplifted arms. To all appearance she was a servant- maid, a simple young peasant girl, who was afraid of the stranger on the bridge; for her step, which had been brisk at first, visibly slackened at sight of him. “Halloo! hurry up a bit, my child!” he called out to her, impatiently. Now she stood as though turned to stone. He muttered something between his teeth about bound- less, boorish stupidity, and again made a desperate effort to free himself. In view of these struggles it must have been made plain to the girl that he was not a person to be dreaded, but rather one in need of help. She paused to think no longer, and came forward. “Well, you know now that I am no cannibal,” said he, without looking at her again. “Look here, you must just help me out of this vise. Stand here close beside me, but firm, so that I can put my arm upon your shoulders.” She drew near to him without a word; but as he was about to make use of her for a prop, he noticed that she had stolen out of her bundle a thick bunch of grass and placed it between her shoulder and his arm. Ridiculous! —why, that peasant girl was a prude. He stopped and . drew back his arm. “You do not like to, do you?” asked he, much amused. “No-not at all. But the saw-miller and his boy will not be at home before evening, and the miller’s wife is weak and sick.” 12 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “Is that so? Then I shall indeed be in the case of master fox in the trap if you do not take pity upon me.” He stooped forward in order to peep under the large white handkerchief that she had drawn over her head to keep off the sun, and tied underneath her chin. It spread out like an umbrella, and allowed not one glimpse of fore- head or nose; the lower part of the face was still more effectually concealed by the thick folds of the twisted linen —pretty or ugly was a question that remained undecided. “Yes, my little prude, I can not let you off. You will be obliged to condescend,” added he, finally, with re- strained laughter. “Just fancy yourself a Sister of Char- ity, and do it for the sake of Christian love.” She was silent and rested her left hand firmly upon her hip, in order to give more steadiness to her carriage. She was a tall, slender, and well-formed girl, who stood like a wall while the stranger, pressing his arm upon her shoul- der, with a few violent pulls, tried to relieve his foot from its confinement. A slight groan and half-stifled execration sounded in her ear, when, suddenly set free, he sprung upon the middle of the bridge and stamped repeatedly, in order to convince himself that the ill-used member re- mained uninjured. Meanwhile the maiden went on her way. “Hold! let me have one word with you!” he called after her. “I have no time. The fish is spoiling,” she answered, undeviatingly pursuing her course. Half turning around she pointed to a trout in a net that hung over her right &I’Iſl. “The little fish might be paid for, I suppose?” & & INo. 22 “No?—very well. But how about my thanks?” “Keep them!” “So, ho! you are not for using ceremonies then, my child?” laughed he, returning to his pocket the silk hand- THE BAILIFF's MAID. 13 kerchief with which he had been dusting off the vestiges of pine bark left adhering to his beleaguered foot. In another minute he was at her side. “It seems to me that a right self-willed little head har- bors beneath your ugly kerchief,” said he. “But how, if I am just as self-willed as you, and absolutely refuse to take your help without acknowledgment?” “Then you will do well to return to your place on the bridge.” He laughed aloud, and again his glance sought eagerly to penetrate the shadow of the cloth that enveloped her. The maiden had mother wit; assuredly her face would show just as little “boorish stupidity’ as her speech. Quickly she turned her head away, thus allowing him opportunity for the survey of her figure only. She was wretchedly clad. The sleeves had been cut out of her well-worn dress, and were substituted by those of her under-garment, which fell down below the elbows, long and very white. A faded cot- ton shawl, that was tied behind, made an awkward cover- ing for her figure, which was already marred by the rigid folds of her stiffly starched blue apron. Without doubt she was a servant-girl. Her dress, although defaced and degraded to servile use, was of city cut, and had certainly come out of her mistress’s wardrobe. “Well, I shall at least give you a shake of the hand, in return for this Samaritan-like deed.” Impulsively he ungloved his right hand, which was white and muscular, while upon one finger shone a handsome seal ring. He offered to shake hands. “My hand is hard,” replied she, rejecting his advance, and at the same time fairly burying in the folds of her apron the arm upon which the net was hanging. “Well, well, I might have known it,” said he, with temper. “Thuringian thistles sting when they are touched —I took notice of that just now on the bridge. Are you at service in the mill over there?” :-- - . . . " -si- *- ** 14 THE BAILIFF's MAID. -- She was silent for an instant, and then said: “The saw- miller can not keep a maid. He only rents the mill; it be- longs to the Deerwood estate.” So saying she moved for- ward with arrow-like directness, supporting the bundle of grass upon her head, following the carriage-road with quickened pace, and looking neither to the right nor left of her. She showed in unmistakable manner that she had no disposition to submit to further examination. This boorish inaccessibility seemed to amuse him highly. He was still a young man, who, with his elastic gait, did not allow himself to be distanced by a hair’s-breadth. “So the mill belongs to the estate?” said he, renewing his questions. “Look, look—now I can tell you myself where you live. The path you are taking leads directly to the Deerwood mansion?” “To the farm too.” He stopped short. “Ah! ah! You mean the little farm belonging to the estate, that is still kept unlawful possession of by the ruined bailiff.” Now the head underneath the bundle of grass turned toward him with a swift movement. The lower part of the face was thereby revealed, and the stranger had a mo- mentary glimpse of a pretty little mouth with rosy lips, which now showed anger. “I live with the bailiff,” said she, cutting short his speech. It was plain that this poor creature under the yoke of Servitude could actually threaten. “Heaven defend us!—why, I do believe I have insulted you, now. Have you such a very high regard for your master?” She maintained a silence evidently defiant. He indulged in a stolen Smile. “You seem to be a being apart. But you are in service, and with the bailiff, too! That does signify something! But learn, too, that precisely for that reason I have power over you.” r THE BAILIFF's MAID. 15 $$.” 4 * +, *...” ~4. - ** - *. *…* er $** y “…, * * * †. r. ... ºr ... * .*** ~ Involuntarily the girl shrunk. “Yes, yes—seriously speaking, I can take that bundle of grass away from you, without more ado, and distrain your very shawl, if you do not prove your master’s right of property to the meadow where you have been mowing. He does not pay his rent, and continues to reap profit from land that he has had orders to quit for more than a year. What have you to say to that, eh?” At first, it seemed as though she could not utter a word, but then she said, in low tones: “Then you must be the new master of Deerwood.” “I am he. You see now that you have every reason to treat me handsomely?” “I— You?” Her whole being seemed to revolt against the idea. “Do not get vexed!” laughed he. “I am no bad man; on the contrary— I’ll not take now the hard hand that was so scornfully refused me by the little touch-me-not just now, though it were offered me in ever so friendly a guise—but I would like to see you a little more polite—” “To the foe of the man whom I love?” “Foe? Hem, well, you are quite right, in so far as I am a sworn foe to notorious gamblers and sharpers, and your bailiff is one, who must seek his level.” A sigh heaved the maiden’s bosom, and she stammered, with feeling: “Then you will—with my—” “Take summary measures with your dear master, would you say?” He addressed her in very stern tones, and without any appearance of relenting in his manner. “As a matter of course, I’ll turn him out-of-doors, and that forthwith, without mercy—the spendthrift, the swaggerer—you may depend upon that! In business affairs I have nothing to do with jesting. You know now who stands before you?” “Ah, yes, a rich man, just as he is described in the Bible.” -* 16 * THE BAILIFF's MAft). “Exactly sol A man who absolutely does not come into the kingdom of heaven, just because he is a rich man— poor fellow! Yes, yes, you are right—a tyrant, a blood- sucker, a man who, when the question of money comes in, has a heart of stone, or rather no heart at all, as beseems a man of business. But do not run so, girl!” Her pace had indeed quickened into a regular run, and this time Mr. Marcus did not pursue. He looked after her with fixed attention. And although the girl was disfigured by her ugly, unbecoming dress, she was, nevertheless, like a noble Thuringian fir-tree, an apparition full of life and unconscious grace in the play of her shapely, vigorous young limbs. What a pity for such a figure to be spoiled by the friction of hard work, poverty, and exposure to the sun, until in a short time it will be hard and angular, and she a prematurely aged woman! To be sure, it was still problematical whether the nobility and grace of this beau- tiful form would not be neutralized by a sight of the head, when its covering should be removed. The sweet, sensitive mouth gave no possible assurance that the girl did not have misshapen, common features, and was not freckled and red-haired—but no, a loose plait of glossy dark hair had es- caped from beneath her white kerchief—and so red-haired she was not. CEIAPTER II. THE girl had hardly taken twenty steps, before a stout, little woman in brown circular hat and loose jacket emerged from a sloping forest-path that opened into the high-road. She stepped directly up to the runaway and held her fast by her apron. “Just listen, girl; have you really, then, such heaps and piles of those expensive potatoes, that, at the end of June —I say the end of June—you can be filling with them the mouths of beggar children?” asked she. Her tone was not .* THE BAILIFF's MAID. - 1? that of a scold; the woman spoke very slowly and deliber- ately, but emphatically. It was evident that she was ac- customed to set her neighbors to rights in all good-humor. “Here am I creeping on all fours through every corner of the cellar, to try and scrape together a few fine Salad- potatoes for our table, and there—she pointed back in the direction whence she came—there they are roasting piles of them in the ashes. Is not that enough to vex a body? We pay punctually, to the minute, heavy rent for poor land, and your bailiffs took possession of all the best fields; they live on the fat of the land, and do not concern them- selves about the bill that must be settled some day.” “Let me go, woman!” cried the girl, in a tone almost of command, and without letting go the ends of her apron. “Am I, day-laborer’s wife, to be spoken to in that fash- ion? Have you no manners, girl? If you had only said ‘Mrs Stewardess” or ‘Mrs. Griebel’—but plain ‘woman!’ You are not one whit better than those you live with. You bring me not a single good thing that is not paid for—and only to see the pride and vanity that have their home in your brain! Though to be sure you may be caught bare- foot in the meadow or the field.” She pointed to the white kerchief. “Listen to me, if one must be a servant, it is not fit to be asking whether or not the sun will burn a few freckles the more or less upon one’s skin—it only makes people laugh and say that the hay-basket is not fine enough for you. In our country, folks do not carry fodder home on their heads—that is not our fashion. Dear me, only See,” and so saying, she bent forward—“Oh! splendid trout, is it, that you have in your net? A sight to see, trout! Yes, indeed, they know what is good at the farm.” “This fish is for the sick.” “Ah, yes, it is fetched for the sick, and eaten by the bailiff, the old glutton, hel Look here, girl, if I did not know this, many a time I would send over a partridge or 18 $. THE BAILIFF's MAID. some other titbit, for I have human feelings and feel pity—” “We thank you!” was said, shortly and bitterly, from under shelter of the white kerchief. “We thank you,” mockingly repeated the little body after her. “Stuck up thing that you are! Who do you mean by we ? It is true that the bailiff's people have man- aged their large fortune badly, so that they can hardly call the very clothes they wear their own; but for all that, they are fine people, and have not been, for long, on your level.” *** *. Meanwhile Mr. Marcus had slowly drawn nearer, and stood beside the speaker without her noticing it. With difficulty he controlled his laughter. The droll little woman, as she ironically intoned the words, “we thank you,” had gravely courtesied down to the ground, and her appearance was irresistibly comical. She still held the girl fast; and the looker-on felt as though he must give free- dom. to the imprisoned bird. “Who is it that has angered you so, my little lady?” said he, interrupting her harangue. It is true that the woman started a little at this unex- pected interruption, but nevertheless did not lose her self- possession. She turned her head heavily upon her fat neck, and looked the stranger up and down from out her sharp, bead-like, little blue eyes. “And who are you to address me thus?” said she, dryly. “I am an honest woman, and far from being “my little lady’ to every one who chooses to come slinking along like a rat from a dove-cote.” He suppressed a smile, and said, with provoking equa- nimity: “Protest as much as you choose—it will avail you nothing, “My-little lady’ will have to help me to a cup of coffee this very hour, and this evening fry me a good omelet; “my little lady' will have to provide me with a \ THE BAILIFF's MAID, 19 \ comfortable night's lodging, and be still as a mouse, while ! I make myself at home at Deerwood—” \ “Bless me! I see the joke now! You are Mr. Mar- cus!” she laughed; but not even surprise at the new mas- - ter’s unexpected arrival could shake her tranquillity. “Why did you not tell me that at once? So you have left your old city sand-box at last, and come to see the blessed spot of ground that the good Lord has thrown into your lap. It is high time that you were here, Mr. Marcus —high time! Whole armies of mice are squeaking over our heads, and I expect to see clouds of moths fly out of the Sainted old lady’s yarn stockings and under-jackets, when their nest is broken up at last.” Meanwhile the released maiden sped rapidly away. Mr. Marcus looked after her over Dame Griebel’s head. The highway along which she went already lay in bright sun- light. On the right it was edged by green meadows, and on the opposite side by a sparse thicket. The beech-trees stood in a long row like those of an avenue, here and there casting oblique shadows over the road, which bent to the left in a sharp curve. “Does Deerwood lie in that direction?” asked Mr. Mar- cus, pointing to an insulated clump of trees, behind which the maiden had just vanished. Once more at the turn of the road the profile of her figure had stood out in bold re- lief against the background of the sky, resembling far more a slender, brown Fellah-like girl from the banks of the Nile than a native daughter of the Thuringian forests. “Dear me, what foolish questions you ask!” laughed Dame Griebel. “Why, here you stand in the very middle of Deerwood estate, and have been walking through your own plantation for a full half hour. And there through the trees you have a view of the back buildings of the house. Was it coffee that you spoke of awhile ago, Mr. Mar- cus? Here’s the woman to give you a cup that were hard to beat. Just go straight ahead along that pretty dry path 20 THE BAILIFF's MAID. —you have only to follow your nose! You can not lose your way. Meanwhile, I’ll slip around the back way through the yard into the kitchen. I must see whether the maid has her boiling water on!” | The way that the little dumpling of a body strode through the crackling bushes could hardly be called “slip- ping,” but she made rapid progress withal, and had very Soon vanished from the view of the gentleman, who moved forward in the direction indicated. The mansion was a perfectly tasteless building, being an old house with high-pointed roof, that, on the gable-wall, was well covered and lined with a weather tiling of slate. It presented a uniform surface painted white, having only a single interruption to its barrack-like front in the shape of a balcony that was so closely overgrown with wild ivy that the windows in its three walls were buried in it like embrasures. Down-stairs, the house (lying solitary as it did) had green safety-shutters, but in the upper story hung only white cotton curtains, trimmed with coarse crocheted . borders behind the evidently dusty panes of glass. To the right hand, in the far-reaching wall of inclosure that shut in the whole premises, flanking the house on both sides, was the entrance—a fine, double gate, with bright polished brass knob. To the left, on the contrary, it continued without interruption to the spot where reposed, like a little round nest, a summer-house, embowered in green vines. Cherry and apple-trees stretched their arms over the wall, and behind them towered the tops of both linden and chestnut-trees. The quondam home of “the little old lady of the wood * made a surprisingly pleasing impression. Before the win- dows stretched a lawn, covered with such rich, smooth sod that it looked as if clipped by the shears, and further on, down to the valley glades, ran the arable land, with its sea of waving wheat, its beet and rape fields, with patches of luxuriant-growing flax, fluttering a veil of blue. } THE BAILIFF's MAID. 21 Mr. Marcus had sauntered slowly along after Dame Griebel’s disappearance, and now stood face to face with the “ spot of ground that the good Lord had thrown, as it were, right into his lap.” Everything around him breathed an atmosphere of heavenly peace. The deafening sound of hammering and beating in his factory, the ceaseless noises and restless going to and fro on the streets of Berlin, where he was also fully at home—how far, how infinitely far away, at this moment, lay all this toil and tumult! A couple of turkey-hens noiselessly walked forth from the gate, that had apparently been opened for his recep- tion, in all haste, and suddenly, from out the solitary chimney, ascended to the bright blue sky a mighty volume of smoke. At all events Dame Griebel was raking the coals under the coffee-pot, and heating the ovens and fry- ing-pans in honor of the new master, and for his refection. “Oh, kindly peace! oh, concord sweet!” ejaculated Mr. Marcus to himself; “soothing, still-life!” Good heavens! He turned and looked toward the open window on the ground-floor, whence came the sounds of loud piano-play- ing. Now he shook with laughter. “Is there no escape from the pest of strumming? Does it pursue, even to these Solitudes, him who is sick to death of such nuisances?” He uttered this complaint with comical pathos of manner, and speedily passed through the wall door into the yard. An angry barking of dogs welcomed him. “Sultan! Snap! will you be still! One can hardly hear himself speak!” screamed down Dame Griebel from the house door steps. “Lie down! or I’ll come after you with my switch.” Sultan crept into his kennel, and “God bless your com- ing!” said Dame Griebel, in a metamorphosed tone, com- ing down and holding out both hands to the “new mas- ter.” “This is Mr. Peter Griebel, my good man,” and here- with she thrust her arm into that of her husband, who had & 22 THE BAILIFF's MAID. come with her. “And—do you hear, Mr. Marcus?—that is my Louise who is playing so beautifully. She is playing the march from the ‘ Prophet 'in honor of you. She is the best performer in school, and expects to become a gov- erness. There—now you know all my hens and geese.” CEIAPTER III. THE “new master’’ declined having his coffee served in the “best room,” where “my Louise ’’ still continued her struggles with the sounding hammers of a well-worn piano. He insisted upon being forthwith installed in his own domain, despite Dame Griebel’s protest on account of mice, dust, and cobwebs, and so obstinately mounted the stairs. He had determined that the bolts to the abode of the de- ceased should not be drawn until he could do it himself; and now he tore off the paper strips from the main door, and Mr. Peter Griebel unlocked it. The furniture inside the suite of rooms in the upper story had just as home-like and inviting a look as the exterior of the mansion. Dame Griebel cautiously drew up the window-blinds. She triumphed; the window-panes were white with dust, and on the top of the nearest table, with sardonic smile and unskilled fingers, she drew a few grotesque characters in the layers of dust. But the plank floors were stainless and white as Snow, while a strong perfume of melilot, cloves, and other herbs filled the rooms; to which the air had had continual access through a ventilator in the roof. “Open windows and a little sweeping will set all to rights,” said the new master, cheerfully, unbolting, as he spoke, one half of the middle balcony window. “So, your talk about stopped-up key-holes was all fudge, Hetty!” simpered Mr. Peter Griebel. “Where are the spiders that you have been quarreling over the whole * THE BAILIFF's MAID. 23 winter long? Our old lady was a nice, neat, little woman; she never suffered such vermin about her. Where would the stock come from, Hetty?” “Only look in the library, Peter, before you make so bold with your wisdom! On those tall shelves and behind the book-cases you will see what will make you open your eyes. There is plenty of reading over there, Mr. Marcus; no end to the books! And everything that is in them, that old lady carried in her head. She was doctor and apothe- cary all in one, and a thousand times cleverer than that wretched barber over at Tillroda, who makes the people call him doctor. But just for that he bore a grudge against the resolute woman, who incurred the name of being irreligious by frowning down all silly superstitions wherever she met with them. Well, she is safe in heaven now; we know that it is not for that fellow in Tillroda to say whom our dear Lord shall bid to be with Him or not.” “Yes, the little woman of the wood was good, and no mistake,” said Peter Griebel. “In management she was as much at home as a man. I only had charge of her affairs for the last two years of her life; but, old fellow as I was, I learned more than in ten under my former mas- ter. Look abroad!” said he, pointing to the highly culti- vated lands that lay in view; “all this is mainly her work, for her husband’s share in the business literally amounted to nothing. To be sure, the few acres there behind that pine grove are right well worn out, for they belong to the farm, which has been very poorly tended, by the way. I believe your manager has been writing to them on the sub- ject.” “Yes, indeed. Bailiff Franz has been the tenant of that farm for four years, and yet, in the books of the deceased (patterns of exactness as they are), not a single entry of the receipt of rent has been made in all that time.” “Our old lady just shut her eye to it, because the bailiff’s Wife had been a dear friend of hers from the days of her 24 THE BAILIFF's MAIO. youth,” the little dame made haste to put in by way of ex- planation. “The bailiff's people are over head and ears in debt, and have been swept clean of everything by their creditors. Our old lady, though, took pity on them, and let them have the farm, not, indeed, for nothing (she was too strict a business woman for that), but for a mere song, and even that the old swindler has not pretended to pay.” Here she broke off suddenly and fumbled in her pocket. “Just look here, Peter, what I am always telling you,” cried she, turning to her husband, holding up close before his eyes a small roasted potato, Squeezing it until the per- fume of the precious tuber was appetizingly diffused abroad; “over yonder in the woods I found a crowd of the Tillroda youngsters picking strawberries, when, what should I see in the hot ashes but piles of this God-send, a half peck in a pile.” “And what then, Hetty?” “And what then, man?” mocked she in vexation. “Why, do you think such a thing seemly? Must the beg- gars be treated to the very best that the land supplies? And when I ask, ‘Where did they come from?” the young rascals speak up as bold as brass, and say: “Not from Dame Griebel, but from the bailiff’s maid.” Mr. Marcus, I would not for the world stand in the way of those people over there. So far as I am concerned, they may stay at the farm for all eternity and pay no rent, but they have the best ground for potatoes on the whole plantation.” “Have a care for your conscience, Hetty,” said her hus-- band, holding up a finger of warning. “We have no cause for complaint; the world goes well with us, and I would not have any of my family urge Mr. Marcus to use severity toward those poor people over there. The bailiff is old, and, his wife has been bed-ridden for a year, and if the maid did not understand housekeeping—” “Yes, the maid—that strikes me as the best of all,” said Dame Griebel, with a contemptuous shrug of the THE BAILIFF's MAID, 25 shoulders. “Well, you saw her for yourself, Mr. Marcus, that girl in the cast-off lady’s gown. There she went, car- rying her bundle of grass on her head, as if she came into the world with it tacked to her, but in the beginning— mercy upon us!” “Did she not come from the country hereabout?” asked Mr. Marcus, with interest. “Defend us! To judge from her talk she must have come from ever so far away. You see it was this way: Directly after our old lady’s death, there lay the bailiff’s wife sick on her bed, and the maid-servant ran off because she had never seen one dollar of the wages due her—this was bad, because not a creature was to be found to take her place. I was just talking about stepping over, to give a neighborly lift (although not a dog’s notice had those people ever taken of us), when all of a sudden came a niece of the bailiff. She was a governess in some large city, I once heard our old lady say, and she brought this girl along with her for a help. Now, to be sure, the whole burden of the housekeeping falls upon the maid; for the dainty governess will touch neither kitchen-pan nor broom.” Mr. Marcus uttered an exclamation of horror, and shud- dered. “Well, and what of it?” exclaimed Dame Griebel, whose little twinkling eyes stretched to their utmost capacity when she beheld the young gentleman’s strange demeanor. “Why, you see, my dear Dame Griebel, I have my whims, and suffer from an unconquerable aversion for gov- ernesses;” and as he thus spoke his interesting countenance did indeed wear a humorous look of disgust. “That is to say, you can not bear governesses, is it? You touch me pretty closely by that remark, Mr. Marcus. My Louise is going to be one, too, not indeed like that one at the farm. Such a thing I will never suffer. In her holidays she must help me bravely with my work—no 26 THE BAIRIFF's MAID. trifling for me. She can skewer, stuff, and bake poultry perfectly, and is as much at home in the dairy as I am my- self, and consequently she is as fresh as a rose and sound as a dollar. If I have any say in it she shall never go to a big city; for there girls always get pale cheeks and affected manners, just like Miss Franz over at the farm. I have only seen her once, at church in Tillroda, but that once was enough. She is just such a tall May-pole as her maid, is dreadfully stuck up, and pale and thin in the face, as well as I could see from where my pew was in church—” But now, breaking off abruptly, she made a sudden movement toward the door. “Yes, old chatterbox that I am, to be standing here wasting time, when I hardly know where I am for all the work that is to be done to-day! Peter, dear, you must run and fetch me some doves from the cote, and look up some fresh eggs for me; and while you do that I’ll drip the coffee. When that’s done I’ll sweep up here. TJntil then you’ll have to while away the time as best you can. Mr. Marcus, may be you can amuse yourself looking over the rarities up here.” And with this she took her departure, her “Peter dear” following at her heels, and the new master leaving his sta- tion at the window, while his eyes took a rapid survey of the apartment. The balcony cut the front wall of this large room exactly in the middle, so that its glass door was flanked by one of the windows to the room. In this way a plenty of light streamed in, slightly colored through green-flowered calico curtains, and fully lighting up two figures that looked down from the lofty wall. A flush of inward excitement mounted to the young man’s cheeks, and his brow was furrowed with indignation in presence of the handsome manly form in green hunting suit, that was encircled by a garland of oak leaves now dry and crumbling into dust. Yes, that must be the high warden of the forest—just so looked the man who had re- THE BAILIFF's MAID. 2? nounced his only sister, because she had given her heart to a man from the Order of Mechanics, and married him, too, in spite of her brother’s anger and opposition. This sister, though, had been young Marcus's mother. Yes, in this man he saw pride personified; all his life he had refused to acknowledge any relationship to “the lockSmith, the 'prentice lad,” although the young workman’s shop had in the course of time been transformed into a manufacturing establishment on gigantic scale, and he had won for him- self a name of high respectability. The high warden of .*he forest had always been high-minded, and none but a lady of noble rank had suited him either for a wife; poor she had been and the last of her ancient name; but that her noble origin had been his sole attraction never crossed the young man’s mind again after he had looked upon these two pictures. A depth of passion was discernible in the proud hunter’s physiognomy; a glowing fire in his glance, and the young bride on his right hand, with a bunch of orange-blossoms on her breast, had been beauti- ful as an angel, with so indescribable a charm of expres- sion that one found it impossible to imagine that so spiritual a type of beauty could be perishable, and realize that even now it lay moldering under ground. Mr. Marcus had hardly ever heard this couple mentioned in his father’s house. While a boy he had not even known that he had an uncle and aunt living in Thuringia, so that he had been greatly astonished when, one day, a letter from the widow came to announce to his mother the sudden death of her brother. The announcement was that he had been struck by apoplexy when attending a grand hunting- party given by his prince. The tidings of this death had furnished his parents material for a consultation that lasted several hours. Then had followed a very formal, brief let- ter of condolence on the part of his father to “the lady,” and later a renunciation from his mother of any claim to the property of her deceased and childless brother had been 28 THE BAILIFF's MAID. sent off to her solicitor. After that it seemed as though a curtain had been dropped over the event—it had never. been mentioned again. Since the high-spirited officer had once renounced sister and brother-in-law, the workman on his side had been proud enough to ignore relationship with him even unto death. Well, what had this lovely woman thought of such unnatural estrangement? There was no pride in her coun- tenance, but rather a gracious sweetness. Very likely, low- ing the man of her choice beyond all things else, she had blindly followed whither he led. Perhaps, after his death, she had desired to offer her hand in reconciliation to the slighted sister, and had sought so to do by opening a cor- respondence. Her overture had been sternly rejected. And now, the only son of his sister had become the in- heritor of Deerwood. How, if the deceased, who had the sole right to it, had never made a will, on purpose that it might be put into his hand? He could hardly turn his eyes away from that lovely young face that Smiled at him out of an almost ideal abun- dance of light-brown silken tresses, but he was drawn, too, to wander through the rooms where this isolated pair had lived so many years in retirement. The chambers all led into one another, and their doors stood wide open, so that with one glance he could take a tolerable survey of the whole suite. What a difference between this old-fashioned, worn- looking furniture and the modern luxury of the gorgeous villa, which his dead father had had built not far from his factory! The balcony-room was the most aspiring, with its glass door and cushioned furniture, in green-flowered calico covers, that matched the curtains. Beautiful Saxony porce- lain stood upon the wash-stand and bureau, while the walls were decorated with a large, handsome mirror, in addition to good oil paintings. This must certainly have been the lady’s chamber, and her husband’s room was adjacent. His widow had survived him almost twenty THE BAILIFF's MAID. 29 years, but still his dressing-gown hung on the nail as if its owner had just slipped it off, to change for his uniform. His pipes stood in good order upon the shelf, and his desk had evidently been kept, with painful exactness, in the dis- arranged condition in which he had left it, when he set off for the chase, from which he was never to return. A strange sensation crept over the young man—it seemed to him as though he must hear other steps than his own echoing through this home-like abode. Deserted though it were, the place somehow seemed instinct with the breath of love departed. The sleeping-room was next door. Close to its one bed stood a child’s cradle, covered with a gay counterpane, as if it had been freshly made up after the sweet sleeper had been taken away. From his lawyer’s report, Mr. Marcus knew that an heir had been born to Deerwood, a boy, who had died at a tender age. The heart of that desolate woman, up to its very last beat, must have throbbed with an excess of tenderness and yearn- ing desire; but at the same time she had possessed a strong and healthy mind, that forbade her dreaming away the remnant of her days in empty grief. This was proved by the library, the whole contents of which the old lady was reputed to have mastered. Further testimony was sup- plied by the adjoining herb-room, on the walls of which were ranged huge bundles of health-giving plants, for which the deceased had unweariedly sought in the woods, in order to convert them into medicines and condiments in the little laboratory close by. Returning to the balcony-room, Mr. Marcus opened an upper drawer of an unlocked bureau. Inside lay a pretty folded lace handkerchief, and beside it a large green satin knitting-bag, from whose half-open mouth emerged the stalks of dry plants. These were the very herbs that the departed had gathered that last time on the bleak mount- ain-top where she had caught her death. Close to this vegetable matter lay a surgical case, a vial of some extract, 30 THE BAILIFF's MAID. *** and a well-worn memorandum-book, these constituting the whole contents. - With somewhat tremulous fingers Mr. Marcus opened the clasps of the little book. Here and there lay dried plants between its leaves, labeled in perfectly correct Latin. Re- ceipts, remarks referring to farm management and house- keeping, reflections, and even drafts of letters, alternated with each other, as he turned over its pages. This book had evidently been the constant companion of the high warden’s widow upon her solitary rambles, in, which she had jotted down everything just as it occurred to her—a rare little note-book it was, whence spoke the departed spirit in all its variations of mood plainly and directly, as could hardly have been done in life by the help of eye and WO1C0. | The knitting-bag was reverentially restored to its place, but, with the little book in his hand, Mr. Marcus seated himself in the balcony, behind the old lady’s work-table, in order to examine it again with eager intentness. What should he find out concerning the last thoughts of that strange old lady, ere she had lain herself down to die? A page covered with neat, fine writing—and after it came the last white leaves untouched! He read: “After conscientiously weighing the subject, I have de- termined to make a will: not with regard to the general property of my deceased husband. You know that I have never considered myself as at liberty to dispose of that as I chose, looking upon myself, on the contrary, as only a steward to take care of it while I live. With regard to the farm it is different. That was the first birthday pres- ent ever given me by my betrothed, and from it I drew pin- money and alms during my married life; besides that I have a little laid by, a mortgage upon the Tillroda Hotel. Of this property I can and will dispose, with a clear con- 4. ... *. *** ** THE BAILIFF's MAID. 31 science. It may chance that I die before my unhappy friend at the farm; in that case, if I left no will, she would be given over to the most fearful want. With that gour- mand, the bailiff, it is very true, I would like to have noth- ing at all to do, but neither can I will the farm to his wife, unless I would see this last anchor given up, to supply im- aginary wants; she is too weak where that husband of hers is concerned—a mere leaf driven by the wind. What do you think of my making Agnes Franz my heir? Come to Deerwood within the next few days. “ Nota bene. Do not come without the two lawful wit- nesses!” This sketch of a letter had, at all events, been addressed to the legal adviser of the deceased. Perhaps, on her last botanical excursion, she had first called at the farm, and some occurrence there had led her, on her way, to draw up this outline of a letter to her lawyer—death had prevented her from copying it. Mr. Marcus flapped the book to, and carefully put it in his vest pocket. This was a remarkable discovery, and an unlooked-for revelation, which devolved upon him a com- mission. His face darkened at the disagreeable prospect before him. The sainted lady herself had wanted to have nothing to do with “ that gourmand, the bailiff;” now, for his part, he could say that her heir had just as little disposition to have any sort of communication with “the governess,” the bailiff’s niece. . Already he saw her, in spirit, with her carefully kept white hands, that she knew so well how to play off for the admiration of men; he summed up the little scraps of French, a few stiffly penciled sketches, the “Moonlight Sonata,” and a doleful-looking face, with eyes coquettishly cast down—superficial qualifications such as belonged to all governesses, he was disposed to think. Long after his mother’s death his father had married again. Of this mar- 32 THE BAILIFF's MAID. riage came a daughter, a charming little creature that her “big brother ” idolized. His step-mother, who was en- grossed with her housekeeping, did not think that she could get along with the education of her child without calling in help, and so for the four last years this family circle had been enlarged by the presence of a governess. But already thrice within this period they had been com- pelled to change these young ladies, because it had been so very manifest that their efforts were concentrated upon be- coming mistress of the Marcus villa, to the exclusion of all other duties. A grim Smile trembled on his lips. Ah, well—so far he had escaped allowing himself to be caught by a woman in want of a comfortable establishment! Involuntarily his glance sought the picture of the woman upon the wall— that attractive being there had nothing in common with that other species of woman. So then she had only con- sidered herself stewardess at Deerwood during the period of her widowhood! She had watched over and increased the property for the son of the despised “ lock-Smith ” with an unswerving sense of justice. A woman full of character and soul had been that gentle, slender lily, that looked down at him from the golden frame of her radiant tresses, so lovely in her bridal modesty—a wondrous sense of yearn- ing now filled his soul. “What! sentimental?” And he shook off the silly mood, as though surprised into what he was ashamed of. “Why, did you not hear me, Mr. Marcus? Such a clattering too as my china made?” asked Dame Griebel, who had just come in and set her coffee-tray down on the sofa-table. “But there you sat gazing at the picture on the wall, as if you were in love with the dear Saint her- Self.” He laughed and stood up. “Over head and ears, Dame Griebel! She it should have been, old or young, it makes no difference.” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 33 “I tell no tales now, Mr. Marcus!” She paused in dust- ing the table-top, turned her head mechanically back to- ward him, and with an almost mischievous look, said: “Such a woman for hospitals as she was! From a distance she many a time looked white and pink like an apple blos- som, but, to look close, she was as wrinkled as a dried plum. Her curly hair had grown to be as white as snow, and at last she used to lord it over the sick ladies like a very general.” CELAPTER IV. MR. MARCUS had originally planned to spend three days at Deerwood at most. After completing the inspection of his new estate, now become indispensable, he purposed to make a tour through the Thuringian forest, as far as the confines of France. But three days had expired since his arrival, and still it did not occur to him to set out on his proposed journey; and just as little thought had he now of selling this remote and troublesome property, although he had firmly resolved so to do before he left home. No price could have tempted him now to part with this charming little retreat, where he felt as much at home as though he had been “to the manner born.” He occupied the balcony-room, and his bed-chamber opened into it on the right. The suite of rooms on the left, to the contrary, which began with the former master’s office and ended in the laboratory, after a careful airing, had once more been put under lock and key, and was never to be used, as the master gave orders, to Dame Griebel’s infinite disgust. \ He reminded himself of a hermit who had withdrawn to a solitary mountain summit, and could hardly realize that the surge of life was still roaring below, since he no longer heard it. It was so delightfully quiet in the house too. Everything pertaining to business was carried on in the * ** T 4 x s: , , ; *: *: .e., - a • *-*. ** * *, 2. * *s -º-º: * . . & * * *... *-*. 34 THE BAILIFF's MAID. second large yard, behind the neatly kept graveled square, into which the house doorsteps led. There, in front, only the spoiled turkey-cocks were allowed to strut about; the ‘gayly painted dove-cote and a well-laden cherry-tree rose aloft, and Sultan’s kennel stood at the side of the gate like a guard-house. However notable Dame Griebel was as a housekeeper, she suffered no noisy work to go on in front of the house—no slamming of doors by the people—and outside, in front of the doors, it was more quiet still. As a great rarity, a woman might pass with a huge bundle on her back, or a troop of children going a-berrying would pass along the road that cut through the grass-plot in front of the mansion. To be sure it was not comfort alone that detained Mr. Marcus on his estate—questions of business there were for him to settle. A railroad, that had been long projected and which was to touch Deerwood, was about to be taken vigorously in hand and pushed to completion. This affair called for a good deal of writing. The railway threatened the best field of arable land, while, in Farmer Griebel’s opinion, it might just as well run through the less valuable meadow-land. Mr. Marcus had already surveyed his new territory in all directions. Wherever he went he found the management excellent, and saw plainly that the effort was to improve the property to its utmost capacity. As an offset to this scene of productiveness lay the farm, indeed, like a patch miserably put on. “So long as the old lady lived the little place was passa- bly well kept,” said Peter Griebel. “The bailiff enter- tained a great respect for her, and on that account would often even follow the plow himself. In those days, too, he still had a servant, who afterward ran off after the maid, and the bailiff is getting old now—he leans on a staff. The fact is, field-work would be given up altogether if the for- ester over there at Grafenwood did not show pity sometimes, * gº ºf 3. *y wº sº, sº $.3. *Jºº.**. : THE BAILIFF's MAID. 35 He comes from the place where the bailiff used to be over- seer over the princely domains. He was a day-laborer there, and seems to be attached to his old master, for the little bit of spare time that is left him from his own heavy work he spends in working upon the farm, and—let my wife say what she pleases—the strange maid helps brave- ly.” Mr. Marcus had not yet gone near the farm-house. He was fully purposed to carry out to the letter the last wishes expressed by the deceased proprietress, although that bit of writing found in her knitting-bag had no legal authority and had been vouched for by no witnesses. But he con- cluded that the affair could be just as well arranged by let- ter after his return home—he could not overcome his re- pugnance to opening personal intercourse with the bailiff and the young lady governess. He shrunk from any interruption to a solitude whose sweetness he was tasting for the first time and just begin- ning to appreciate. It must not be supposed that he was anything at all of an ennuyé, however; the rush of life in a great city had a thousand-fold attractiveness for him. He was wont to enjoy its delights to the full, for he was still a young man, in whose veins the stream of life coursed swift- ly; but after all the exciting scenes of the past season, and listening to the incessant roar of machinery in his factory, he found it delightful to lose himself, as it were, in the soothing stillness of his woodland surroundings. He had discovered a peculiarly charming retreat at Deer- wood, in the little summer-house that stood in the north- western angle of the garden wall. Of octagonal form, through two windows and as many glass doors, it offered a prospect in all directions. The inner walls were decorated with faded bunches of fruit and flowers painted on a drab ground; a small cushioned divan behind a round table, a few cane chairs, and a book-shelf over the divan, con- stituted the rest of its furniture; and behind the upper 36 THE BAILIFF's MAID. ^, :, … sashes of the windows and glass doors hung festooned cur- tains of crimson calico, which filled the little room with a magical light. Before one of the glass doors, on the west side, extended a narrow balcony with wooden railing, and —which was the main thing that made this spot so attract- ive—thence a short flight of stairs led down directly into the open field outside the garden. Only a narrow strip of sod ran along here outside the wall, and just across waved the nodding stalks of the nearest corn-field. On the fourth day, then, after his arrival, Mr. Marcus was sitting in the summer-house writing. He had fitted up the little re- treat yet more comfortably with a number of select works from the library, all kinds of writing materials, and some little boxes of fine tobacco. He had just lighted a cigar, and its little blue cloud was fast expelling the perfume of lavender and camomile, which the morning breeze was wafting in from the old lady’s herb-garden. He sat on the divan opposite the balcony door. When he cast his eyes up, through the glass he overlooked the road that, skirting the house in front, traversed the fields in an almost straight line, continuing until lost in the opening of the forest. Only one little footpath diverged from it on the right, leading to the farm in the rear of a little pine thicket. Coming along this footpath the figure of a woman sud- denly came within the range of his vision. It was the maid from the farm. Forthwith he recognized her by her gait and carriage, although to-day, besides the white ker- chief (which had called forth such animadversions on Dame Griebel’s part), her face was further shaded by a broad- brimmed straw hat. She walked slowly, with bowed head; in her hand she carried a rake, and in passing along let the green ears of the wheat pass through the fingers of her right hand. The maiden stood forth upon the sunny, Solitary landscape, as from a golden background. She was evidently on her way * 3 THE BAILIFE'S MAID. 37 to turn the hay that she had mowed a few days ago on the distant meadow. g He saw her come nearer; she had evidently no suspicion that her movements were being narrowly scanned by an observer in the summer-house. Mr. Marcus had never thought of the girl who had rendered him assistance on the bridge but with feelings of displeasure; but now, when her short, reluctant way of helping him recurred to his mind, he could not help being amused in the retrospect, and piqued into trying her wit again. sº He got up and stepped to the door, while near to the corner of the wall she stopped suddenly and drew a letter from her pocket. It seemed as if she was on the lookout for some person moving about the house, but no signs of life were to be seen near the house or in the windows. Therefore, having quickly considered, she stepped upon the strip of turf skirting the garden wall on the west side, in order that way to reach the back buildings, where she Would be sure to find the maid-servants at work. At this instant Mr. Marcus came out on the balcony, quickly descended the steps, and thus blocked up her path. She started as though the earth had opened up before her, and in her surprise let fall the rake. “That letter is probably intended for some one on the place—give it to me; I will deliver it,” said he, smiling, while he stretched out his hand after the small envelope. Silently she handed him the letter. “Why, I do declare—it is for myself!” cried he, with a glance at the address. “From whom?” She stooped and picked up her rake. “Not from your master, is it?” inquired he, still further, as no answer was immediately forthcoming. “Yes, from the bailiff,” she now affirmed, in that short, almost distressed manner that he had before observed in her. He smilingly nodded his head. - * * * ... * * * * * - - **- *- 38 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “Look, look, what a pretty woman’s hand the old gen- tleman writes!” “That is not his handwriting—he suffers from weak eyes—” “That, indeed! so then he has dictated, and one of his ladies, the governess most likely, has been his amanuensis.” He held the address off and examined it critically. “Fair, delicate strokes on snow-white paper; such as suits a young lady who has absolutely nothing to do with kitchen- work or house-cleaning.” She drew up her head and already he hoped for a cut- ting reply, but in vain; again her chin fell upon her breast, and she kept silence. “You are very much taken up, then, with your young lady?” asked he, again carrying his cigar to his mouth. “I believe not,” replied she, drawing back somewhat, as though she would avoid the little blue wreaths of smoke that suddenly encircled her head. Ridiculous! Why the girl, who in public places of amuse- ment must, among her equals, have inhaled the noisome fumes of the coarsest tobacco, puts on as many airs as though her nerves were those of the most delicate lady— most probably she was copying the governess. This thought provoked and teºsed him. He would make some bold strokes right away. “You believe not?” he repeated after her. “But, nevertheless, you get your fine manners from her, I can not help thinking. You would very much like to resem- ble her, would you not?” “That would be a strange wish.” “Eh, why so? To sit and hold one’s hands in a cool room is far preferable, is it not, to going into the hay-field to be broken down by hard work in the heat of the sun?” “Do you suppose that—that the young lady does not Work?” “Work! of course she works!” added he, in a jeering THE BAILIFF's MAID. 39 tone. “Why, I am even persuaded that, with gloved hands, she picks wild flowers very industriously, and dries them as tasteful ornaments for her album; no doubt she makes lace, reads, writes, and will practice five-finger ex- ercises on the piano, to the heart’s delight of every nervous person within hearing. Well, am I right?” “Partly sol” she agreed, at the same time drawing her straw hat still further over her brow. The fingers that caught at the hat-brim were slender, well-shaped, but bad- ly tanned. “Do you see?” said he, with a mischievous smile. “I believe, too, that she is fully equal to judging as to whether you have thoroughly dusted and put her room to rights; she is equally well able to decide as to whether you prepare her sweet-bread and broil her steak to a turn.” A light laugh was heard to issue from her white kerchief. “I only know that she is very seldom satisfied with me,” said the girl, quickly and decidedly. “When you are lacking sometimes in the submissiveness required of you, does Miss Bluestocking scold you, little girl?” “Not for that, but she often reproaches me bitterly when my strength does not keep pace with my inclination.” He let the hand drop that held his cigar, and his eyes, with an expression of surprise, sought to penetrate the veil of hat and kerchief. “Your speech is remarkably select for a maiden of your degree,” said he, hearkening. She started in alarm, and stretched, out her hand as though in deprecation. “Ah, yes. I forgot. You are not a native of the region hereabout,” added he, stroking his forehead and rich suit of hair. “Perhaps you have been at service in the city, with some good family, a portion of whose refinement has clung to your manners. Your young lady brought you here with her, as I learn—perhaps you were together in the same house?” * * 40 THE BAILIFF's MAID. The maiden hesitated for a moment before answering. “Well, yes; we were in the same house—that of General von Guseck, of Frankfort,” said she, with averted face, catching mechanically at the blades of wheat that grew near the spot where she was standing. “I was perpetu- ally with her, bestowing upon her all those attentions usual from a waiting-maid, especially in case of such a spoiled young lady governess as herself, and because I was in- separable from her—” “Therefore you walked with her straightway into wretch- edness,” said he, completing her sentence for her. “You are a remarkable girl truly, asserting, as you do, that you are not fond of your young lady and yet following her ‘through thick and thin.” She must possess something of the sorceress’ power thus to have allured you. Is she pretty?” She bent over a bunch of wheat that she held in her hand, and shrugged her shoulders. “One seldom judges correctly of objects too near them.” “Sphinx!” cried he, coming closer. “You would in- terest me in her with your sibylline answers.” He laughed gayly but very scornfully. “‘Love’s labor lost,” little girl! In vain you encircle your governess with a halo, so far as I am concerned. I am not in the least attracted, but shall go out of her way whenever I can. But one strong desire I have, and that is to see her inseparable shadow face to face.” Before she had divined his purpose, with bold hand he had seized sun-down and kerchief, and pushed both back from her face, but at the same moment he retreated in a Sort of embarrassed alarm—he had looked into a face of surpassing beauty. With a sound of indignation she again covered her face, and flew past him. At some distance she paused once more, and said, with trembling voice, to him across her shoulder: “You ridicule the lady at the farm for her light THE BAILIFF's MAID. 41. occupations, and yet have just shown me by your behavior how deeply woman is degraded in your eyes by the work that I undertake. Is this the way men judge?” So saying, again she turned her back upon him, and hur- ried on so rapidly that in a very few minutes he lost sight of her. He angrily bit his lower lip, and hurled the cigar in the grass as far as he could throw it. He hardly him- self understood his own action and its motives, and could not help fancying how his step-mother would stare to see him in such a predicament. How often she had been hurt at his making himself merry at the expense of all the young ladies of her acquaintance, and she had even accused him mischievously of objecting to touch “the laced mes- demoiselles '' even in a dance. But just now a sort of in- toxication had come over him, and the lure had come in that voice, emerging, as it did, from the mystical gloom of obscurity with the piquancy of an interesting problem to be solved. Again he ascended the flight of stairs as rapidly as he had come down them, drew the glass door to violently be- hind him, and wrathfully stepped up to one of the win- dows. Ah! what was it that thus vexed him to the very depths of his soul? Of all his friends not one would be ashamed of having chucked a pretty servant-girl under the Chin, or even of having imprinted a kiss upon her rosy cheek, molens volens? Was it a crime to have touched that horrid old straw hat and ugly kerchief? Had it been for 2 his solitary glance alone that he had been taken to task as if he were some profane person who had penetrated unbid- den into hallowed mysteries? The girl worked in the fields—had she not been many a time forced to encounter the bold looks of any journeyman-apprentice who stepped up to her and asked her to direct him on his way? But, to be sure, she was also lady's-maid at the farm, and had “imbibed culture;” there was no denying to her the posses- Sion of quick intelligence and ready wit; she therefore be- 42 THE BAILIFF's MAID. haved herself almost as a member of the bailiff's family, although she did bring a bundle of fodder home on her head and had to work in the fields with hoe and rake. Let him try as he would to view the affair from its hu- morous side, and do nothing but laugh at it, still he could not get over the uncomfortable feeling of having gotten a lecture that must mortify him as long as he lived. For to-day, at least, he was utterly out of sorts. CHAPTER W. THE train of these uneasy reflections was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Peter Griebel. He came in from the fields, and amid much well-satisfied rubbing of hands, told the master that the railroad engineers had planted their stakes down in the low grounds, leaving the arable land wholly untouched. On the contrary, Bailiff Franz had been stirring up a great tempest. Peter Griebel had also listened at a tolerable distance to his protest, full as it was of gall and venom, his blustering and his talking. How- ever, the railroad was to pass directly through the farm- yard, and so close to the dwelling-house that in a few years the crazy old building would be sure to tumble down and become nothing but a heap of rubbish. At this announcement Mr. Marcus was reminded of the letter which he had put into his pocket, and then forgotten after his interview with the maiden. He broke the seal and ran over its contents, half amused and half vexed. Those people at the farm, one and all, from master down to serv- ant-maid, were incurably possessed of the demon of pride; a queer Crew they were, an absurd mixture of fraud, arro- gance and prudery. The bailiff completely ignored the fact that, more than a year ago, he had received through the heirs' lawyer orders to quit the farm. He protested in Categorical manner against the lax administration of the THE BAILIFF's MAID. 43 proprietor in regard to this railroad question, whereby he, his tenant, would be injured in his livelihood. Never would he submit to remove his yard to the rear of the house any more than he would give his consent to seeing, some fine day, that house come tumbling down about his ears. Finally he touched, in the most airy manner, in a few brief words, upon his being somewhat in arrears “with a little rent,” adding that he daily expected a large remittance from his son, a wealthy Californian, which had been de- layed in some unaccountable manner. Immediately after the arrival of the money this trifle would be arranged. “Yes, yes, that is just like the bailiff!” chuckled Peter Griebel, good-humoredly, after Mr. Marcus had communi- cated to him the contents of the letter. “He is a jolly old dog.” “A jolly old dog, indeed! What easy expressions you always do apply, Peter! He is an arch-braggart, that is what he is,” interrupted his wife. She has been cutting parsley, had mounted to the top step of the summer-house stairs on her way from the garden, and now shook her fist in through the open door, filled as it was with a large bunch of parsley. For Heaven’s sake, Mr. Marcus, have nothing to do with yon man. If you listen to him he’ll persuade you that black is white. He is just like the Ostrich, too, that shuts her eyes and then fancies that she can be seen by nobody. With that talk about his son in California, he would just throw dust in your eyes as he has in those of so many other silly people who have been in- duced to lend him money. A fine fellow, very likely, the Son of such an old swindler!” “Do not make it out too bad, Hetty. That is not com- monly your way,” said her husband. “I know from our dear old lady that young Franz was a good man. Noth- ing but anger and distress at the bad management at home drove him out into the wide world. Once he did send back a large sum of money. To be sure he kept silence after **s- g * :- --- |-3, fº sº .* r *... 3. * v. 2.2 • -rºº ×4 x -3°. 4s. 44 THE BAILIFF's MAID. that, which caused his old mother almost to grieve herself to death.” “Yes, you hear there, Mr. Marcus,” remarked Dame Griebel, satirically, pointing back at the speaker with her thumb. “And still the man would have respect for a good-for-nothing fellow like that, who has not even pen and ink to waste upon his poor mother. There, you Can wait, Peter.” So saying, she clattered clumsily down- stairs, scolding as she went, to carry her parsley to the kitchen. Mr. Marcus incessantly paced the floor of the summer- house after Peter Griebel had gone into the arbor close by, to eat there the breakfast of bread, butter, and brain-saus- age, with a glass of golden Nordhauser, set out for him by his little daughter. With the bailiff’s letter came new light as to the affair of the inheritance, which accident had thrown into the hand of the new proprietor. Even this morning he had thought that the business might be adjusted very easily by an in- terview with his lawyer, shortly before his departure, and a few letters from Berlin, without his being at all necessi- tated to do violence to his own feelings by opening per- sonal relations with the parties concerned. But now an entirely new character had appeared upon the scenes—there was a son too, then, of whom the de- ceased must have had a very good opinion, as Peter Griebel had repeatedly affirmed, and yet not one syllable was said about him in her last will. Could it be that he was as soft-hearted and yielding as his mother, and therefore just as little fitted for coping with the headstrong, reckless ways of the bailiff, so that the testatrix feared, lest in his hand also, this last anchor would not be well secured? Plainly, the old lady must have had a high opinion of this girl’s strength of character, under those protection she had wished to place the future of the unhappy friend of her youth. Mr. Marcus did not understand this hallucina- $.” THE BAILIFF'S MAID. 45 & tion. The deceased had been all diligence and activity her- self; on the farm and in the dairy, in the kitchen and laboratory, by the sick-beds of the poor, as at the writing and work-table, she had been ever found in place, and never had it occurred to her to apply to any one for help in attaching a ribbon to her robe or arranging her hair. How in the world did this sensible, practical woman come to intrust such a commission to a maiden of whom he had just heard, that even in the present deranged state of their affairs she continued to play the spoiled child of fortune, and moreover required servile attendance from a maid who had to toil early and late at house-work as well as field- labor? He cursed his stupidity in ever dreaming of ransacking that old satchel—if he had only been wise enough to let the old-fashioned thing remain undisturbed in its corner of the drawer. Now, too, he was just as silly to take so much to heart the fate of that old lady at the farm, and to deem it his duty to make the most conscientious investigations into her case. This much was certain, viz., that the high warden’s widow, with all her astuteness and clearness of mind, had been thoroughly deceived—possibly a comedy had been played in her presence. Was it not his bounden duty to correct her misapprehension, and rather give the little property into young Franz's hands? Who would in- sure this fine lady’s not finding a suitor so soon as it was known that she had inherited property? Then the govern- ess would not delay her departure for a moment; strangers would fall heir to the succession, and the poor sick woman whistle for her share of the spoils. Full of vexation, he drew both his hands through his hair; nothing was left for him now but to bite into the sour apple, and examine with his own eyes into the relations of the governess with the bailiff's family. All day long he continued to feel out of sorts, and to- ward evening took up his hat for a ramble through the 46 THE BAILIFF's MAID. woods. With the dark foliage arching overhead and the tangled undergrowth at his feet, he toiled, by preference, through closest thickets, and as he inhaled the faint, moldy, **** , “..., rºys ºn ** ** º, ºr- * * * * w ...”:::: *- : º: :* × * -, . .” --> ... º.º. *- but strong odor of the wood-soil, as it came to him from . the fresh footsteps, and the startled millions of leaves rustled indignantly, as it were, when his arms forced a way unceremoniously through their midst, he could not help smiling disdainfully at thought of the artificial grounds which had been redeemed by his father from the most wretched spot of all that dreary stretch of country that en- circled his city home. What a contrast between the stiff formality of the landscape-gardener’s work and the rich luxuriance of untrammeled nature! A highway frequented only by people living in the forest, and wood-haulers, separated the Deerwood estate from the so-called Grafenwood, the princely hunting-grounds, and the valley came to an end very near this dividing line. Here the glorious timber-land began to ascend suddenly; only one more strip of meadow-grass nestled between it and the road, and on this spot of turf stood the house of the prince's gamekeeper. It was a nice, new brick house, with large, airy windows, and a small garden to the side, inclosed with white palings. Twice already in the course of his rambles Marcus had stopped here, and to-day, too, he paused as he saw the red walls suddenly emerge from the copse. The forester who dwelt here must lead a true bachelor’s life; at least, he Was an unmarried man, who went about his business with the house-key in his pocket. The door never stood hos- pitably open; not a vestige of smoke curled up from the chimney; on the inner window-sills stood a few flower-pots, it is true, but nowhere was visible the least show of a pretty lace curtain, no more a human face or the sound of human Voices from within; the only signs of life came from the Window under the roof, where three or four wooden cages hung, inside of which finches and cross-bills chirped and . -* . ." * THE BAILIFF'S MAID. 47 chattered; and then on the steep declivity behind the house two pet goats were climbing about, which probably be- longed to the forester’s stable. The new proprietor of Deerwood had often promised him- self the pleasure of inspecting more narrowly the windows of this neighborly gamekeeper’s house, if it were only to learn with what sort of reading this quondam day-laborer was wont to refresh himself during the few spare moments left him from close service and rendering assistance at the farm. If those volumes lying there on the lower shelf, be- tween the flower-pots, were tales of knights and robbers, at all events they did not wear the aspect of books from the circulating library—he could see that from the distance where he stood now, at least ten paces from the house. Perhaps this forester was a man of intelligence and knowl- edge of the world; he certainly had a great deal to do with the farm, where the very maid who carried a milk-pail and handled a rake conversed with the air of a genuine lady. With a mocking smile upon his lips he parted the last boughs that separated him from the high-road, when the movements of one goat arrested his steps. It was an ugly young animal that ran down the precipice, like something mad, and across the meadow; its comrade followed at more leisurely gait, but also directly in the direction where light footsteps were now distinctly audible. Marcus stamped on the ground. Here again this everlasting girl, whose pres- ence actually began to make his stay in this region irk- some. Was the bailiff’s maid the only woman who lived and breathed in forest and field? There she came again, with that kerchief on her head and a great market-basket on her arm. The goats ran along beside her and nibbled at the piece of bread in her hand, which she had taken out of her pocket to give to the dainty creatures. Marcus drew further back into the bushes, behind the nearest close covert—he had no idea of renewing this 48 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. morning's vexation. He positively hated that girl, and as he had then blown tobacco-smoke into her face, he now threw the still lighted cigar down on the ground and trod upon it, so that not the slightest passing whiff of smoke should betray his presence. The girl threw the rest of the bread to the goats and mounted the doorsteps, in order to get a peep into the nearest window. The chamber must be empty; no sound gave response to repeated knocking against the shutters; . the door remained closed. Nothing was left for her but to possess her soul in patience. Placing her basket at her side, the new-comer seated herself upon the green-painted bench standing near the house door, as though determined at all events to await the return home of the owner. She loosened the knots tying the kerchief under her chin, and let it fall back over her neck. Well—there she was now, in full view, the bailiff’s maid with all her vanity, who would not suffer her skin to be burned in the least, as Dame Griebel spitefully maintained; and however indignant with her Mr. Marcus might be, he had to admit that it would have been a pity to spoil such a delicate, blooming complexion; even from the fugitive glimpse obtained this morning he had been compelled to own that the head did not in the least detract from the grace and nobility of her form, but rather enhanced its perfection. This really chagrined him. He would have liked it a thousand times better if the features of this singular being had been coarse and homely and her skin freckled. She stroked back the loose hair from her brow, and re- arranged her back hair, that without being plaited was twisted into a large knot behind, and held up by a comb; then, with a long sigh of relief, folded her hands in her lap, and, leaning back her head against the house wall, gave herself up apparently to enjoyment of the quiet beauties of the scene. She looked thoughtful, although not exactly depressed, and was far too full of life and THE BAILIFF's MAID. 49 energy to give herself up, for more than a few seconds, to absolute repose. A little parcel was taken out of the basket, its contenti unrolled, and, with investigating glance, spread out on her knee. Marcus saw that it was white lace, evidently old finery of the young lady governess, to be sported on her own white neck now. Her nimble fingers turned the dainty material in all directions, and it almost seemed as though her right hand passed caressingly over it; then the girl suddenly turned her head aside, hastily gathered up her lace, and rose to her feet. A fine-looking man in a green coat came along the road. When he perceived who was waiting for him he quickened his pace, and his dog likewise, that was trotting alone wearily at his side, now darted forward and bounded about the girl with joyful barking. “It is delightful here, resting in front of your hermitage, Fritz! and yet I am glad that you have come, because I am in a hurry,” said she. And again the observer noted her close imitation of her mistress, for in the style with which she returned the forester’s polite salutation there was as much kindly dignity as she could have ever been accus- tomed to see in the manner of the blue-stocking bailiff's niece to the former young day-laborer. “I have a pressing commission for you,” continued she. “But first you are to have something good.” Here she broke off her remarks to hand him a little loaf from her basket. “I baked bread to-day, and it turned out so splendidly that I thought you must have a taste. There is another difficulty overcome, Fritz, and now I can laugh at my distress that first time, when, with awkward fingers I kneaded the dough, and finally drew forth from the oven a black, Sodden lump, as hard as a rock and heavy as lead.” “Yes, there were tears to shed then, in spite of all your resolutions,” said the young man, with a good-natured 50 THE BAILIFF's MAID. smile. He laid the loaf on the outer window-sill, but as he did so he anxiously eyed the young girl. “Must it always be so? To the Jew or the goldsmith in L––, is it?” he asked, without circumlocution, and having an evident reference to the promised commission. “Alas! you know better than anybody else that access to the goldsmith has long since been closed to us—to the Jew we must apply. Eight dollars must be gotten before day after to-morrow.” The man made a gesture of despair, drawing his hand through the thick locks that curled behind his ear. “Why, you see, Fritz!” said she, apologetically, “we have watched like regular sentinels, and still some peddler managed to slip into the house unawares and smuggle in a few boxes of his cigars. They have all been smoked up with the exception of a very few, and now come bills and duns, with, to-day, a threat of bringing suit for the money.” “Dear me, I am not without patience, and yet one will get fretted sometimes, and worry eats to the very vitals when one sees that there is no prospect of his ever seeing the necessity of living in any other way than-as if his purse was full, as in the good days past.” A melancholy expression settled about the maiden’s mouth. “Can we alter it, Fritz?” she smiled, faintly. “There are you burying yourself amid your natural philosophy books at every spare minute; and do you not know, too, that Water positively will not run uphill from its source—old habits and inclinations do not let go their hold of the old—” “But such abominable levity in such an old gentle- man—” “Hush!” said she, interrupting him with a gesture of command. “It becomes us not to judge him; we have only to consider his good and provide for him. Here,” she said, displaying the lace, “is an heir-loom; some costly old * \ THE BAILIFF's MAID. 51 ace! I have been assured by connoisseurs that it is worth ableast twenty dollars—but of course we can not expect more than half of its value from Baruch Mendel.” “If he takes it at all,” suggested the man, shrugging his shoulders, with a dubious glance at the to him insig- nificant looking article that she held in her hand. “The two silk dresses and shawl he purchased, it is true, but such an airy nothing as that? I believe that he will only laugh at me. You had better try him with a few more silver spoons, it strikes me.” “The last!” exclaimed the maiden, quite excited. “What are you thinking about? Am I to carry her a pewter spoon upon her waiter? Such a thing shall not happen while I can stir hand and foot! You know noth- ing about it, Fritz,” added she, more composedly, as she folded up the lace and handed it to him. “Only go with good heart to the Jew, who knows the value of lace as well as gold. Can you take time to-morrow? I thought you might have business of your own in town.” “If I had not it were all one. I’d go in spite of every- thing. You know—” “Yes; and I know that you are a good, kind man, and as true as steel.” This simple praise, spoken, however, in a heartfelt tone, seemed to embarrass him. He awkwardly twirled his cap around, and moved his position. “You were present at the laying off of the railroad route?” said he, turning the subject. “Yes, and a stormy scene it gave rise to at our house. Altogether, this has been a most disagreeable day.” She was silent, and compressed her lips. “I can well believe it. But the absurdity of the affair lies in the old gentleman firing up so about what does not Concern him in the least. He will not be at the farm to see whether the tiles run through the yard, or to hear the locomotive whistle around the house corner. The new *** -3. * 52 THE BAILIFF's MAID. master is soon going to make a clean sweep of the whole. Well, he only uses his right.” A. / “Yes, indeed; his right!” she assented, in a dry tone, with a shrug of the shoulders. “What are old relations to Him?” “Well may you ask! What has a masterful young fellow like that to do with an old friendship, the like of which he has never once witnessed in his whole life? One can not expect it of him! I saw him as I passed yesterday —he is a handsome man, with a fine, vigorous form. To be sure, there is something brusque in his manner—a cer- tain air that prevails among the rich even more than among the nobility—a tone with which I was familiar enough when I used to wait upon officers. He was stand- ing with Farmer Griebel at the saw-mill, which he wants to have rebuilt—and well he may, for it is shackling enough!” The girl turned off as though she hardly heard what Fritz said, and took up the kerchief from the bench in order to throw it again over her head. “And yet that rebellion at old Deerwood cuts me to the heart,” added he. “The farm-house stands on ground not a whit firmer than the saw-mill—the best pretext for making short work with it.” “Let him do so!” said the maiden, hoarsely, as with hasty hands she tied the ends of the kerchief under her chin. “Let him send us out to beg! Let it go on—and on! I lie awake of a night racking my brain as to how our poor invalid can be moved away.” Here her voice failed. “But that is the very least of the troubles,” said he, a broad smile rippling across his bearded face. “Do you deem me such a weakling that I could not carry off that poor, delicate little woman in my arms? I will carry her; the good old lady and her aching limbs shall not be conscious of jolt or jar—and, for that matter, it is no such THE BAILIFF's MAID. 53 $ Af sº great distance to my house. That fine corner room is large and light; her bed can stand there, and she can have a view of the green woods on two sides, a sight that will do her good; and the old gentleman can have a much better outlook from the window here than he had at the farm, for here there is some passing to and fro almost all the while, and at the farm he sees nothing but the bare yard, where the few hens left are scratching and quarreling.” “You are as good as gold, Friz; but—” “And the little end chamber, up there,” he continued, pointing with his thumb to the window where hung the bird-cages, “ that is the prettiest room in the whole house. I am having a little stove put up in it, so that winter and Summer a young lady can paint there, and earn money richly in her leisure hours. So let us have no talk of beg- gary, of which there is not the least danger. Only keep up a brave heart, and all will be well!” “Yes, so I will,” said she, firmly, and not without a certain defiance in her air. “Fate will have a hard strug- gle to get the better of me. So far, I know not what despair is, for do I not feel the strength of youth in my hands? No one shall see it in me, even if the bit of selfish- ness within will not obey, as it shall and must. As for the rest, there are you, Fritz, my faithful support.” She Snatched at her basket. “Now I must go home—an im- portant piece of work is waiting for me there; and, besides, I have the ironing to do yet! Our poor invalid shall and must have fresh curtains to her bed to-morrow—but I have gotten through with all my kindling-wood *-a smile as of Sunshine lighted up her face—“ and only look at the un- conscionable size of the basket that I have brought with me!” He laughed, took the basket and the loaf of bread from the sill as well, and made haste to open the house. In a few minutes he returned laden. “I must bear her burden for her, at least through the forest,” he said, re- 54 y THE BAILIFF's MAID. S *- ~~~ ~ º * × *** - sº º:5. * r x- *-i- º ºsº ºft. * *- Jºr ¥ º 3.§§ º # º, $. • -º-' y * …” -- :* " ----- fusing to put it into the hand that she held out for it, and now they moved along harmoniously together, two splen- did, well-matched figures. And the dog walked on the other side of the maiden, as though she were his master’s property, to be jealously and carefully protected between them. Marcus sprung from the thicket and gazed after them fixedly, until they had disappeared around a curve in the road. Then with a gloomy look he scanned the house. How long would it be before pretty curtains hung beforé those bare windows, and a pretty young wife looked out?— what a ridiculous combination!—manners borrowed from the beaw-monde, and the kneading, washing and scrubbing of the future forester’s wife! But it was so, nevertheless. These two people united with all their strength to work for their impoverished master and his family, and marriage was to be the result of this good-fellowship—as a matter of course. What more could a servant-girl ask, inured as she was to hard work and mean apparel? She would assume the Secured position of a married woman, have a sweet home in the forest, and a fine-looking husband, who had, more- over, aspirations after refinement, and a taste for natural SC16I1Cé. This incomprehensible girl, then, with her unexampled devotion, would have those dear objects of her compassion in her own house. Afterward, as before, she would wait upon the governess, and save to her her last silver spoons, seeing that no common pewter should touch her spoiled lips. And up there in the pretty end room lovely wild flowers were to be painted, the forester had said. Take ºn! Word for it, no, Mr. Forester—it comes not to that yet awhile. Your rich man, with his brusque officer's tone, is not going to allow himself to be put to the blush, even by such a magnate as the forester of his princely highness, and Will much less gratify him by turning the insolvent “5 - * yº, * -º-º: rº” §. jº tº ºf **.* .* ...” *- .3 *.*.*. - . THE BAILIFF's MAID. 55 tenant out-of-doors, and thus expediting his marriage with the bailiff’s maid—that remarkable girl, concerning whom one could not help-sometimes thinking that her menial dress was borrowed, rather than her manners. Mr. Fores- ter should find himself mightily mistaken in his expecta- tions. - With an elastic bound Mr. Marcus betook himself again to the woods, turning his back upon the quiet house, and returning by the same way that he had come. Meanwhile the golden twilight that so beautifully glori- fies the green depths of a forest had well-nigh faded away, and with it the soothing enchantment of the illuminated solitude. The dark shadows under the trees, creeping ever closer, had their influence also upon the human soul. Still less than in the morning could Marcus overcome the deep feeling of dejection to which he was a prey, and woe to the Saucy hazel wand or drooping limb of a tree that dared to graze his lowering countenance—they were angrily snapped off and flung away. * CHAPTER VI. IN so doing he was like a thousand other egotists. Ac- Cording to the requirements of religion, and perhaps, too, in obedience to a sort of general sleepy humanity, they are inclined to give alms of their own—but by no means let there be any contact with the persons helped. They make a wide circuit in order to avoid the disagreeable contin- gency of, peradventure, a few threads of some alien des- tiny clinging to their skirts; gently but persistently they thrust the irksome question aside in order to plunge into the very intricacies of the situation, so soon as their self- love is brought into play. Or was it not wounded self-love that impelled him at any price to anticipate this hateful forester in his benevolent purposes? At this very minute would he not have dearly loved, without pausing to rest, to -** . º $. 56 THE BAILIFF's MAID. go straightway to the hitherto avoided farm-house, intro- duce himself to “that old swindler, that Swaggerer, that notorious spendthrift and carouser,” and his family, beg- ging them all, for Heaven’s sake, not to think harm of him? Nothing but sheer vanity and a grudge against that green-coated fellow, who was “as true as gold *—had not the maiden said so? And yet he had only been playing the part of self-sacrifice in order to further his own ends. In angry haste he carved a way for himself through the undergrowth, far more speedily than before, and soon stepped out upon one of those narrow, beaten paths that opened upon the high-road leading to his own mansion, and as he emerged from the woods, who should he see but Dame Griebel coming up from the saw-mill. She carried a fishing-net on her arm. Here, however, this did not seem So poetical a circumstance as formerly, in the case of the graceful prude; evidently, too, a far heavier burden was tugging at the meshes than that one little fish destined for an invalid. “Yes, there you come, not exactly in the nick of time, Mr. Marcus!” she called out to him, in open vexation. “Could you not stay just a little while longer in the woods, until I was safe at home, and had time to clean my fish? Well, now you will have to make the best of it, and wait for your supper. I can not help you. But only look here! Did you ever see anything like it? We have genuine trout this evening, the finest that the saw-miller had in his cauſ. Louise had churned us fresh butter, when what do you think came just now? Why, new potatoes. A good friend of ours, the gardener at the castle, where my husband was steward until three years ago, has left for you a little dish of them, out of friendship and regard for me. Mr. Mar- Cus, only think of new potatoes at this season!” Here she paused in her talk suddenly and stood still. “What’s this? Have we some more noble visitors for the country?” said she, grimly, with outstretched arm THE BAILIFF's MAID. 5? pointing to a form that lay stretched right across the carriage-track, with its back leaning against the trunk of a beech-tree. “Ah, but these are cruel times! Drunken journeymen lie along the roads like flies, and one must walk carefully not to tread upon the dead. It did not used to be so! And if you were a manufacturer ten times over, Mr. Marcus, I would say the same thing—this factory work and perpetual going to war in the world are what make the mischief. Too many are driven out from home, whether they will or no, and then they fall into this dread- ful vice, they know not how. And then come thunders of damnation against them, and orders to repent. Ah, yes, that is easily said, when one’s stomach is full.” Meanwhile they had drawn nearer to the person stretched on the ground, and Marcus stooped down and looked into the face of the man, the heavy lids of whose dim eyes opened wearily, to cast a shy, disturbed glance at the speakers. “But this man is not drunk,” said Mr. Marcus, quickly, feeling the pulse of the hand that lay limp and nerveless within his grasp. “Bless me, I see that, too, now. Only to think, there was I prating about new potatoes, while here lay a man starving. Yes, yes, and I am always saying the gifts of God are strangely bestowed in this world.” She put her hand in her pocket, and brought out a roll, holding it to the man’s mouth. ſº “Here, good friend, bite at it heartily—it will do you good, as when they pour fresh oil into a lamp.” A faint color rushed to the cheeks of the exhausted creature, as awhile ago at the sound of the word “starv- ing,” and his hand made a feeble sign of rejection. “There now, do not put on the airs of a silly miss,” scolded Dame Griebel, irritably. “The signs of hunger are just as plain as the nose on your face, and yet you would put on that you have been fed on the fat of the : § tº ºf 3. * *çº. •- *º- * : *ś * * * ***...* + * \º r ***: * . **** 58 THE BAILIFF's MAID. land. Do eat a bit of that roll. It will strengthen you, in so far that we may get you to the house, where I still have some good, nourishing soup left from dinner, and you shall have a good bed, too.” “Try to eat,” said Mr. Marcus, in a tone of kindly entreaty. Thereupon the man took the bread, and when he had once tasted it was no longer master of his appetite, but eat with indescribable avidity, and seemed utterly ob- livious of his surroundings. He was a handsome young man, with a Sandy beard that fell low down upon his chest. His clothing was worn, but it was manifest that he had a regard for neatness—he had probably devoted his last pennies to purchasing the new, snow-white paper collar that he wore on his neck. “Ah, if a poor woman at home could only know. Many a time,” said Dame Griebel, designating the eater with a nod of her head, “many a time the mother of such a one deems no bed soft enough and no food strengthening enough for her Son, and afterward—” Involuntarily she hushed; for, with as much haste as his Weakness admitted of, the young man caught at his hat, which must have fallen off when he fell down, and pressed its broad brim low down on his forehead, as though he would withdraw his face from observation. “Why, young man, you need not take that amiss,” re- marked Dame Griebel, in a calm, imperturbable mode of speech. “Many a one has come to grief in the wars, or camped in a ditch from sheer faintness, and afterward gone home a made man. Nobody will set this against your ac- Count if you turn out to be an orderly man. Come, let us see now if we can set you upon your legs.” “I have been sick in an hospital for six long weeks,” murmured he, almost unintelligibly, “and come—” “Yes, one can see from your looks that you have bee. sick,” interrupted the woman, “and whence you come and Whither you are going it is not needful for us to know. -º- prº--e * . .” -> < *, * , 4 * * -- * ~ *.*.*, *, -3. …” * * tº " " ..º.º. º. º.º. ºf *...* º żºłężº º, -- c, -r-‘ ‘a - º: *** ** ---> * - ~ 2- * s t * * * * ~ *.* A. * THE BAILIFF's MAID. 59 You are to stay on this place to-night—you need sleep, as also good bread, and to-morrow we’ll see more about it. Courage then! Let's put it to the test!” She seized him strongly under one arm, while Mr. Mar- cus did the same on the other side. They succeeded in getting the young man to stand up, but he could not move without support. Perfectly helpless, he allowed himself to be borne along, but that he was conscious of his pitiable condition might be seen in the dull despair painted upon his features. They had been mowing grass on the great meadow in front of the house, and the whole air was filled with the sweet fragrance of hay, while two maids were busy taking the drying straw from the loads and making it up into little heaps with their rakes. These maids stood still with open mouths as the strange group came slowly on, and Louise, who, in rose-colored dress and apron with white bodice, stood under the arch of the door looking out for mamma and her trout, flew to meet the comers, and so swiftly that the long flaxen plaits hang- ing down fairly danced upon her back. “Mamma, has he had an accident?” asked she, with bated breath, and her pretty blue eyes glanced under the broad hat-brim with looks full of mingled dread and com- passion. The young man’s bearded face reddened with shame beneath this glance, and by a superhuman exertion he sought to draw himself up more erect and to go alone—a vain effort. Dame Griebel called to one of the gaping maids to take her place at the side of the helpless stranger, so that she might herself make the needful preparations for his recep- tion in the house. The maid did indeed advance a few steps, but then demurred, and spitefully replied that none of her employers had ever before expected her to pick up beggars from the street, and lead home a drunken man as 60 THE BAILIFF's MAID. if he were a prince. She had fresh clothes on, and did not want to soil them. A groan escaped the stranger. On hearing this sound, Louise forthwith stretched out her round, white arms in order to undertake this Samaritan office. “Now, you just go away, you flying-fish,” said Dame Griebel, rejecting her offer, half laughingly, and yet with a tender glance of admiration at the light, graceful figure of her only child. “You would give valuable aid, truly, with your baby arm—it is as if a little red-bird came hop- ping along. Quick as lightning, run to the house, put the soup left from dinner on the fire, and put fresh sheets on the large bed in the soldier’s room. And I have one little word to say to you, too,” Cried she to the refractory maid who was already picking up her rake once more. “Four weeks from to-day you leave Deerwood; you understand that!” In a half hour's time the exhausted patient lay in a com- fortable bed. Through the large, clear window of the so- called soldier's lodging-room on the ground-floor, the green cherry-tree in the yard might be seen, the evening breeze was gently playing through the branches of the trees, and filling the neat room with coolness and perfume; the lazy turkey-hens had gone to roost, and only upon the Wall which separated the two yards a white cat sat strok- ing down her fur. For the first time Mr. Marcus had taken the keys from the press in the balcony room, and gone down into the dear old lady’s wine-cellar to fetch from their dark corners a flask of the costly old brandy, kept only for the poor and needy. The sick man had eaten, and also drunk of the Madeira, but not a word had yet passed his lips, and the more freely the blood once more circulated in his veins, restoring him to life, the more desperately wretched he seemed. His glance clung longingly to the open window, and the master THE BAILIFF's MAID. 61 of the house thought secretly that the first voluntary ex- pression of strength given by the poor man would be a leap from the low window; he would vanish, never more to be seen, in order to wipe out as speedily as possible the re- membrance of himself and his misery from the minds of those who had shown him pity. But a little later exhausted nature peremptorily de- manded her rights, and he fell into a deep sleep, when Mr. Marcus left the room in order to repair to the summer- house, where Dame Griebel had supper served for him. He eat little and thought grudgingly of the fresh-baked loaf of brown-bread that the forester had upon his table to-day. How truly and tenderly these people cared for one another, in all their poverty! Dame Griebel was a good woman, an excellent soul, and her heart was in the right place, but the “trout ’’ and “young potatoes” were to be paid for in money; the old saw-miller had most as- suredly not given away his fish out of pure love for him, and the gardener just the same with his new potatoes. And to make the measure of his vexation full, the two maids were still raking hay out in the corner of the garden, near to his little retreat on the wall, and chattering in- cessantly. “Whatever you say, I am not going to worry myself about the old woman giving me notice!” said the cross maid who had just been dismissed from service. “Any- body who can work like me has no need to go begging for a home. It is easy enough to find another employer.” “But not these times!” answered the other. “In all Tillroda there is not a single place open. Unless, to be sure, you choose to descend to such people as those on the farm—not a dollar's wages and real man’s work in the field!” e “What is that you say? The present one has not so bad a place. She whom the forester helps whenever he can may afford to laugh at the rest of us. And the pay 62 THE BAILIFF's MAID. . . . . . may not be so poor, either, as folks say. She has always on pretty, trim little leather boots—so much I have noticed, although she goes out of everybody’s way so regularly, and does as if we were all poison.” “Yes, she is a conceited thing,” agreed the other. “I’d just like to see her airs when she is once mistress over at the Grafenwood house. That girl has luck. Such a runaway to get settled in that nice Snug nest!” “Well, be it so, for all that I care. What is the whole ship's crew to me if I am to leave Deerwood?” muttered wrathfully the one who was in disgrace, at the same time hurling a rakeful of straw on the nearest pile. “But I can not help being provoked by the old thing’s silly way of acking. Here she comes dragging along the first vagrant she finds lying by the way-side, puts him to bed like a baby, and pours down his throat the very best wine to be found in the cellar, and then she is in her glory. The whole set are distracted, to my mind. Here are we hounded like dogs if we dare to leave a door open, because of thievery, forsooth—and here it is they themselves who introduce rogues into the house. I would kill myself laughing if he should miss something out of his pocket to- morrow morning—it would serve the old-woman right. I wouldn’t take ten dollars for the fun.” The master closed the window of the summer-house with a jarring sound, and the two backbiters ducked like scared partridges behind the nearest hay mounds, and then re- newed their raking as busily as if they never found time to exchange a word. What a quiet, secluded spot was this little forest retreat! And yet it seemed as if not even here sweet peace was to be suffered to fold its wings and be at rest. Envy and malice, alas! were here, and if so, why not all the other evil passions of human nature that are rife upon larger arenas of life. 4. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 63 CEIAPTER VII. ON the next morning everything about the mansion was astir at an early hour. Through his window Mr. Marcus saw pretty little Louise wandering about over the mowed meadow. She was in a white morning-wrapper, and her thick, fair hair was confined in a white net, tied with blue ribbons. The young girl was evidently searching for something she had lost. She parted the thin layer of straw that the night wind had again blown upon the grass stubble, and even shook asunder the nearest hay-mounds. And the two maids, who were just about setting off for the fields—since they had potato-hoes in their hands—stood by and laughed. “You did not take one step in the meadow yesterday evening, Miss Louise—I am positive about it,” said the . dismissed maid. “It is not worth while to look any fur- ther—a perfect waste of time! None of us are so blind as to drag off your gold medal with our rakes—a gold thing like that shines, and a black velvet ribbon a yard long could never, in all the world, be mistaken for a wisp of hay. Then, did I not hear you tell your mother, with my own ears, that you had laid your gold medal, as you always do, in the glass case on her bureau? Now, is it not bound to be a fact, since everybody on the place says so, that nobody in the world stole that medal but the- Well, I’ll not scald my mouth again.” “That is right bad of you, Rose,” cried the young girl, almost angrily, her child-like voice evidently struggling with tears. “A man with such a good face does not steal. I can not think so badly of anybody.” “That, indeed! Well, why did he take French leave, then? Why be off, so early, without even saying “Thank you?' I have nothing to do with it, though. What is it 64 THE BAILIFF's MAIU. to me? It is all the same to me where your gold piece is. I haven’t got it.” So saying she threw her hoe over her shoulder, and marched on to the corn field with her companion, while, obviously very downcast, Louise returned to the house. “Yes, Mr. Marcus, you see what we get for our good nature,” said Dame Griebel, when the master came down and found her in the kitchen. She had both hands in a full bread-tray, and was not at all in a sanguine mood. “My husband laughs at me, because I worry myself, and asks me—you know in what poor jokes he indulges— whether I had counted upon having my hand kissed in return for letting my soldier’s room for the night! Well, well, he has gone, the stupid man. He must have been off at first crow of the cock, jumped out of the window, and gone away through the back yard. It is not pretty be- haved of a young fellow, who could not have been treated better by his own mother than by us—such silliness vexes one. And now my Louise plays me the trick of losing her beautiful gold piece, a keepsake from the dear old mistress here. But this is not the worst part of it. Our servants whisper it around that we introduced a thief into the house ourselves; the rude creatures laugh at us, and that injures our authority.” “We ought to have left the apple of discord lying in the road,” suggested Mr. Marcus, with a roguish smile. “God forbid!” exclaimed she, warmly, turning around. “You little know the Griebels! Another time it would be just the same thing. I am only put out that the man should have given himself such a name, for he was born of good people—that was as plain as daylight—and his sad looks went to my very heart. Just look at my little girl there * —she nodded over her shoulder at Louise, who stood at the kitchen-table cutting almonds—“the nicest morsels will not tempt her to eat this morning. Her red eyes were not made so by the loss of her gold piece alone; she is a silly THE BAILIFF's MAID. 65 little thing, with a heart that melts like wax. Pity for the poor, starving fellow, now also accused of stealing, continually brings the tears into her eyes.” The gentleman laughed slyly; the fair head bent yet lower over her clipping-knife. He left the kitchen to go to the farm, and he went, too, in double-quick time. Who would have said on the evening of his arrival that he would one day so eagerly follow this path of duty; yet, that it would even seem in- dispensable to him, for this end, to draw forth his finest pair of doeskin gloves, which he had destined for his visit to the sights of Nuremberg? He walked along the thicket, behind which lay the farm. To his left the broad wheat- fields wavered in rich luxuriance—their stalks reached well- nigh to his shoulder. The potatoes were equally flourish- ing, and nearly in bloom, while the field of golden rape seed was alive with the gentle, dreamy humming of insects, heavy-laden bees whirring past on their way to their hives at Deerwood. Truly, this estate had actually the attributes of the Scriptural promised land, since it literally flowed with milk and honey; and yet want had succeeded in get- ting foothold in the land. There, on the other side of that thicket, began its do- main. The wheat stood lamentably far apart, couch-grass had crept into the gaps and spread out its barren ears. The live stock on the farm must be reduced to a minimum; no diligence seemed to have made any impression on the exhausted land round about, although the time of the forester and strength of the helpful maid had been put forth for the proper tillage of the fields. If the legacy of the deceased high warden’s widow was to accomplish its destined aim, then, first of all, the money due on the Till- roda inn must be made available, and invested in improv- ing this neglected property. Whether, indeed, this young lady governess should have a mind for this, or prefer to use it in ºplacing the silk dresses sold to the Jew, and , * * * w • * * & g * º º e & e- * * *:::::: * ~ *... sº * *~ * X- r. ** ~ºrk ºn * * * * * * *º * * * Jº “he. “ $ c. * ***, ;” .2% *::::::::: *# ---> º, R. * ‘. … -- . ** * : * ** *: &“ - J * * * * * * * * 66 THE BAILIFF's MAID. generally in surrounding herself again with the luxuries tº which she seemed to have been accustomed in that Frank- fort general’s house, from the hints given by her servant, it might be doubtful whether on this point she agreed with her uncle, the bailiff. f Well, in a few minutes he was to see her face to face. And he would keep his eyes open, too. Not one penny should her ladyship get out of him to expend upon her aristocratic proclivities, although she were as accomplished and fascinating as may be. He was steeled against the affected humility of a governess, behind which he had such good reason to know ambition and covetousness ever lurked. The farm buildings fronted on the side opposite the fir thicket; they were one story high, of insignificant propor- tions, and so old and fallen to decay that the steam horse, snorting by, must inevitably shake it to pieces in no long time. On the south side lay a grass lot, and the trellis gate, in the midst of a white thorn-hedge, led to the thicket. It was not locked. Mr. Marcus entered and stepped into the narrow path that traversed the grass, studded thickly as it was with field flowers. A few tall Cherry-trees and a beautiful mountain-ash cast their cool shadows on his way. He also passed an arbor, a regular shady bower, formed by the interlaced arms of some linden- trees. And here were sheltered a stone table and two clumsily constructed wooden benches. It was very indis- creet, and certainly most unjustiable, for the new pro- prietor of Deerwood to step up to a table not his own, Where scissors, thimble, and fine work scattered around, seemed to indicate a lady's recent presence. But there Was also an inkstand on the table, and lying by it, open, a thick Volume of manuscript. He was in the penetralia now most surely, and without doubt, in this leafy retreat the governess was wont to mount her Pegasus, and com- pose touching odes to Luna and Hesperus. Consequently her spirit cast its shadow before it, alluring him to commit -*. 3** • --" * … .x" THE BAILIFF's MAID. 6? indiscretion before he saw the lady herself. The next moment found him softly laughing. What he had caught sight of in one hasty side glance was not poetical. Two pairs of doves, sold at Tillroda, six dozen eggs, ditto, etc. Well, if he should find the governess with inky fingers to- day, housekeeping accounts would alone be to blame for it. He walked on. The growth of grass ceased to give place to a few vegetable beds in a square cut out for a garden, and to the right, on the side next the house, ran a row of raspberry bushes that separated the garden from the yard. This was the ground over which the railroad track was to TURDr. & The few remaining hens were scratching over it and a dog was barking, and now, too, a gate in the bushes clicked, and something white came through the shrubbery. Mr. Marcus involuntarily smoothed down the glove on his right hand, and quickened his pace in order to go for- ward and meet the lady in the white dress, but it was only the maid, whose appearance every time vexed him so that the blood mounted to his head. She had a wide kitchen- apron tied over her wretched work-day dress and her long under-sleeves rolled up high, but her unsightly neckerchief and usual head-gear were missing. The gentleman remained motionless and she saw him not, but moved straight onward to the vegetable beds and stooped down to cut off a handful of garden herbs. Not until she rose up did she turn her head and perceive him who stood by. A burning flush suffused her face, and her first impulse was to draw down her long linen sleeves over her bare arms. He felt instinctively, almost irresistibly drawn to pull off his hat before the tall, graceful girl as he had meant to do to the supposed lady in white; but his pride was strong enough to prevent such an inconsistency—at least he was not going to strengthen this mysterious maiden in the be. lief that he mistook her borrowed elegance for pure coin. Aºr 68 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. He therefore only slightly touched the brim of his hat, and asked for the bailiff in a cold and formal tone. Instantly a troubled look came over her face, and in the startled brown eyes fastened upon him he read her apprehension that the fatal hour had come when the unlawful owner of the farm was to be summarily ejected. In a low, humble tone, well fitted to represent the spirit of a tributary house, she said that the bailiff was at home, and would highly es- timate the honor done him by the new proprietor. “And Miss Agnes Franz?” asked he. She started as though he had insulted her young lady by asking this simple question. The assumed humility was suddenly forgotten, as, with downcast eyes, but with a very harsh and decided accent, she said: “She will not see you.” “How so? Is the lady absent on a journey?” A half smile stole over her features. “Journeying is forbidden to her as flying to a bird in a cage.” “Ha, ha! there again is the mystical manner of speech whereby you love to shroud your young lady from observa- tion!” He addressed her with as much respect as though she were that young lady herself; he knew not himself wherefore. “But the interposition of your sibylline skill is no longer possible. In a few minutes, I shall see with my own eyes what is hidden behind.” “Assuredly not.” “No? You know that, then, as certainly as though you and your lady were one in heart and soul?” “Exactly so.” He Smiled in derisive scorn. “Well, it may be so; we know that abigails often be- come confidantes, why not in the case of governess ac- quaintances? But do ladies like to have this intimacy pro- claimed abroad?” She stooped to pick up a sprig of thyme that had slipped THE BAILIFF's MAID. 69 Af out of the bunch of herbs that she held in her hand, but quickly afterward drew herself up to her full height, while her beautiful eyes flashed with unbidden light. “Is it not always and everywhere the understood busi- ness of the maid to know the persons to whom her mistress would be at home? And she—" She suddenly paused, blushed, and bit her lip in confu- sion, as if she already regretted the sharp answer that had unwittingly escaped her. Ah! yes, at this instant she be- thought herself with terror that he to whom the lady would not be at home was the owner of her very house, and could at pleasure take the very roof from over her head. He feasted on her confusion, and did not relieve her feel- ing of distress by a single word, although in this sudden access of humility there was nothing about the air of the maiden before him to remind of a foe, but rather a fright- ened fawn; but then punishment must be. “She would not like the seclusion in which she lives to be broken by the admission of strangers,” added she, after a troubled pause, with almost pleading voice. “That I can hardly believe,” replied he, untouched. “Governesses always like to float on the stream of society that forever exists in houses of distinction; that condition qualifies one least of all for a life of seclusion.” Again she straightened herself up, and a bitter smile curled her lips. “Perhaps she is not so bad, though, as the rest; those blue-stockings and pleasure-seeking specimens who have given you so exact an idea of the genus governess. As for the rest, permit me to remind you that yesterday you said yourself that you would avoid meeting her if you could.” “Does she know that?” ** Word for Word.” “Through you, of course! Tale-bearing is the native element of the chamber-maid. That is certainly exactly 70 THE BAILIFF's MAIb. what I did say, and I now repeat most emphatically that I have no wish whatever to enter into any kind of relation- . ship with a lady of that class for which I entertain a most decided repugnance. I gladly confirm my previous state- ment as to my feelings in that direction. But now peculiar circumstances urge me, in spite of everything, to request a half hour’s interview with Miss Agnes Franz. However, the matter may be arranged by letter. I’ll write to her.” “Do you really believe that, after all you have said, any- thing from your hand would be received and read?” asked she, with lips curled in contempt. “Certainly, the lady will be obliged to. Obliged to, for her livelihood depends upon it.” Here she forgot her part of humility, and laughed de- risively. “Obliged to,” she repeated. “If you mean lest she be driven from this wretched shell of a house, you may find yourself mistaken. I believe that she would rather go barefooted into the howling wilderness.” “Nothing else will be left for her to do,” remarked he, with difficulty restraining himself. “Of course, nothing better was to be expected of the new master of Deerwood,” cried she, recklessly. “We knew that the man who has no heart, as becomes a busi- ness man, would come one day and put out his bad tenant. We knew that you were like the hard-hearted rich man that the Bible tells of.” “And you, a maid, a common servant, do you dare to brave this rich man?” said he suddenly, quite quietly, al- most cheerfully. “Consider. The bailiff will hardly thank his maid-servant if she aggravates his already trying situation. Anger ill becomes you, on this consideration, beautiful sibyl.” At these words he advanced a step, and she turned to take flight. “But still less does this overstrained coyness suit you,” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 71 added he, knitting his brow and with angry eyes. “Do not fancy that I am a follower after women, because I once allowed myself a peep under your sun-down. That action sprung from a common principle in our nature that impels us toward whatever is hidden. Perhaps others of my female acquaintance might have interested me more if they had known how to pique my curiosity by masking their faces. -To-day you allow the sun to shine unhindered upon your brow, and therefore have no reason to avoid me as if I were an iconoclast, or Heaven knows what dreadful char- acter. For that matter I would like to know what you will do with your assumption of parlor manners in the position that you will have hereafter?” She had paused, and however provoked she might be, now suppressed a smile. “Leave that to me—good manners do not hurt even a servant-girl. My position hereafter!” She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him composedly. “I believe that one need not be altogether the helpless shuttle-cock of fate, but that life is shaped, too, by a force from within; this thought sustains my courage. Moreover, I am young and healthy, and, for my own part, perfectly prepared for the moment when *—she pointed across the hedge to the door in the yard wall—“we must go forth, staff in hand.” “To move into the forester’s home, where the place of housekeeper invites you?” added he, deeply chagrined in Secret, and inwardly chafing at the recollection of privileges granted that unbearable wearer of the green. Perhaps he would have been mischievous enough to make this remark aloud if a sudden noise in the yard had not interrupted the conversation. The dog barked like mad; the doves flew frightened and noisily upon the roof, and a strong, deep- toned man’s voice called out repeatedly: “IHalloo, child!” and then added, fretfully: “Where can she be hid?” The girl had already flown to the trellis gate and opened it, 72 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “Ah, that is it—you have been to get something for your cooking?” said the voice, in a pacified tone. “Just listen, child—out there before the gate a strange tramp has been walking around for at least five minutes; the fellow frets me with his beard, that is contrary to police regula- tions. But do cut him a piece of bread, and give him these two pennies—the farm can not afford more these miserable days; tell him so, that he may take himself off.” Meanwhile the proprietor had also approached the gate in the hedge, but for a moment hesitated and remained in the shadow of the raspberry bushes. Here he had a side view of the sunken, sloping front of the dwelling-house, with its dull, unglazed windows. How desperate must have been the affairs of a family that could look to this wretched shanty as to a haven of Safety, and even now be ready to contest its possession with the rightful owner, as though it were a last asylum. On the threshold of the house door stood a tall, raw- boned old gentleman. In his right hand he held a long pipe, and with his left hand supported himself on a staff. He had a strongly marked, noble profile, and when a younger man must have been strikingly handsome. Now indeed the skin on his skeleton-like face was wrinkled and yellow, while his dark eyes lay in their deep cavities like coals well-nigh extinct. This, then, must be the notorious spendthrift and sharper; indeed, upon his features were plainly seen the devastating effects of an indulgence of the passions. * There he remained standing in the door-way, while the maiden slipped past him into the house, on her way to get some bread for the beggar. Now and then he drew a long whiff from his pipe, and blew thick clouds of tobacco- smoke into the spicy morning air, while he looked after the whereabouts of the tramp, who, meanwhile, seemed to have withdrawn himself from the blustering old gentle- man’s scrutiny. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 73 Moved by a glimmering idea, Mr. Marcus also looked toward the suspected object. The yard gate lying opposite the house door stood only half open; from his post of ob- servation he could plainly see a man stooped down outside the one closed part of the gate, having his face pressed against the boards, gazing fixedly through one of the widely gaping chinks of the crazy fixture. That torn and wretch- ed coat, the tattered hat and light pantaloons, Mr. Marcus recognized as those that he had seen yesterday; and just as the maiden again emerged from the house with a piece of bread in her hand, the head behind the gate was suddenly lifted, and revealed to view the full sandy beard and sickly face of the very same young man whom he had last even- ing put to rest himself upon the soft pillows of the guest- chamber at Deerwood. The unhappy man looked worse than ever this morning, and it seemed as though he could hardly stand. His escape through the window must have required a gigantic effort on his part, and in view of this evident weakness and help- lessness it was simply absurd to assume that he could have ransacked the house as a thief, and abstracted the missing trinket from a remote apartment. It was strange how powerfully were enlisted the sympa- thies of all who closely scanned this poor creature’s counte- nance. The maid had quickly crossed the yard, and went through the gate with searching glance—but the next min- ute she started back; the piece of bread in her hand flew far away over the path that ran by, and it was seen that “the prude ’’ (just as involuntarily as Louise, the pretty little Sister of Charity, had done yesterday) stretched out her arms to hinder the poor man from falling. Now Mr. Marcus was fired with as fierce a dislike to this strange fellow, who managed to make himself so interest- ing in the eyes of maidens, as to the forester with his offi- cious humanity. Suddenly the two outside the gate were no longer visible; they had disappeared behind the wall, " * ~ * ~ *-* 8, * ... p * xxºs, Rºº. lººr: . . . . ºf -* ^º: 74 THE BAILIFF's MAID. 2.2 but he could distinctly hear how the bailiff struck his staff down hard upon the stone floor, and with audible difficulty worked his way back to his room. - Inside, nobody seemed to come to his assistance—his poor wife could not—there she lay sick, and the governess no doubt was even now composing, and painting perhaps on her flower-pieces, or was absorbed in an interesting book. Mr. Marcus speedily forsook his shady retreat and hur- ried across the yard into the house. ** * *. *3 > Ž ev, --- CHAPTER VIII. THE bailiff was just in the act of putting his hand on the door-knob, when he thought that he heard steps behind him. He clumsily straightened himself out of his stooping post- ure, and tried to turn his stiff neck, and see who the in- truder was, “Halloo! what is the meaning of this? Does the fellow mean to pursue me to my private apartments?” growled he, angrily, and not without fright. At the same instant, with a half-suppressed laugh, Mr. Marcus stood at his side, and, introducing himself, told his IlāIſlé. The old gentleman immediately drew himself up to his full height, as though a galvanic shock had electrified his tottering limbs. And thus he looked actually imposing, and the lordly manner of his salutation was but little in keeping with the soiled dressing-gown that fluttered about his meager body. The tobacco-pipe was thrust into the nearest corner, and while he waved his right hand violently through the air, in order to dissipate the fumes of the ill-flavored stuff that he was smoking, and prevent their offending his visitor’s Olfactories, he said, with the drawl of a man of fashion: “Must smoke the very lightest sorts that are to be had: f ** & -- * ~ -. *...* * * *-x 5–- ºr ~~~ *** - - -- * * * º -T § * {*. , ºr x - is ſº * : <3 * **-*. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 75 S $ these doctors are tyrants, and often ask if one can accus- tom himself to such an ordinary weed or not?” - Hereupon he threw back the room door and invited the gentleman to walk in, as ceremoniously as though he were ushering him into some chamber of state or sacred pre- cinct. It might indeed well be styled holy ground, since here in this moderately large room, by its low wall, stood the couch where an unhappy lady had lain a whole year in languishing and pain. Here, too, were the curtains which the maid had ironed last evening with the help of the for- ester’s light wood. White as snow, they hung in pretty folds around the bed, which, with its immaculately fresh pillows, bolster, and drapery, would not have disgraced the bed-chamber of the richest lady in the land. A little round-table also stood beside the bed; prettily bound books with gilt edges, and a large, artistically ar- ranged bunch of forest and field flowers bloomed in a crys- tal vase. So these people are not so sunk in poverty and wretchedness after all, was Mr. Marcus’s thought. Those Christian sisters were at work to soothe her sick-bed. The strong, energetic one whom he had seen, for the first time, with a fishing-net over her arm, cared for her food, drink, and physical welfare, in general, while the other encircled her with pretty trifles prepared by her dainty fingers—he could fancy her coming down, with hair nicely dressed, perfumed, and in good attire, to sit and read aloud to her aunt select poems from those miniature volumes, and thus breathe in that humble chamber a faint reflection of the high life to which she had been accustomed. --- “Mr. Marcus, our new neighbor, dear heart!” said the bailiff, in introduction, at the same time modulating his strong bass voice to a soft and gentle tone. The man ignored purposely the appellation “proprietor’ in a most ridiculous manner. The head of a little woman started from her pillow at these words. The complexion of her little old wasted face 76 THE BAILIFF's MAID. was transparent, and the hair visible beneath her night-cap was silver gray. “Alas, sir!” gasped the old woman in weak, complaining tones, stretching out to him her thin hand, that, as it seemed, was shaken by a nervous tremor. Into the soul of this woman, too, had evidently darted, at sight of him, the same dread, viz., that now was come the fatal hour. The proprietor of the estate stepped up to the bed, and reverentially drew the proffered hand to his lips. “Receive your new neighbor kindly, dear lady,” said he; “he wants to be a true neighbor to you.” The sick woman opened her large but still beautiful eyes upon him, as though she thought her ears must deceive her. But the handsome, open countenance of the man who stood there, with a friendly smile illuminating his features, did not suggest hypocrisy or mere words of course, such as are heedlessly uttered to be forgotten the next instant. In this blessed conviction, with a deep sigh of relief, she took the young man’s right hand in her own and pressed it warmly. “How kind of you to cheer us poor people *—she paused, and looked timidly toward her husband, who hemmed, cleared his throat, and began to cough—“I mean, us tenants of the farm, by coming to visit us,” added she, correcting herself. “Yes, and let me tell you a joke on myself, Nannie,” laughed the bailiff. “Thinking that yonder beggar out at the gate was impudently pursuing, me into the house, I called out at him accordingly, when, lo! and behold, it was Mr. Marcus who stood behind me!” He let himself down into an old rickety arm-chair, and thus sat opposite the visitor, who, upon an invitation waved him by the patient’s hand, took a seat near her bed- side. “At Gelsungen—the princely domain of which I had the management many years—the fear of being robbed by stroll- THE BAILIFF's MAID. * yy ing knaves was not so great,” he continued, rubbing himself under one knee with a grimace of pain. “There we had our apartments on the second-floor, and the palace swarmed with our servants. Here, in this solitude, the case is alto- gether different; we keep few people about us, and these low windows are anything but safe. Over there, in the dining-room, silver spoons might be stolen by the dozen without any one’s being the wiser; one only finds out on counting over the silver afterward, or taking an occasional inventory.” Mr. Marcus bit his lips in confusion as he thought of that last silver spoon, which the maid had yesterday de- fended so energetically against her trusty comrade’s pas- sion for selling, and the lady in bed looked down on her hands that lay folded on the counterpane, while a blush suffused her pale face. “I believe that you have nothing of the sort to fear from the young man out yonder at the gate,” said the gentle- Iſlöll. He now told us of his meeting with the stranger on the high-road, and how he had spent the night at his house; and although he did not conceal the subsequent flight of the unhappy wanderer, suggested that it might have result- ed from a sense of shame and wounded pride. “He seemed to me yet weaker to-day than yesterday,” added he. “I saw your maid save him from falling when she came to bring him a piece of bread—” * “Our maid?” asked the old lady, lifting her head off her pillow. “Yes, the maid it was, Nannie!” repeated the bailiff, positively, in a tone that effectually precluded any contra- diction. “I gave her a couple of gold pieces for the man. I was sorry to do no more,” said he, with genuine pity, passing his finger through the thin, gray hair under his Velvet cap. “I, too, would have liked to give the poor fellow a lift, and most assuredly he shall not be driven 78 THE BAILIFF's MAID. away from the farm if he needs rest and nourishment for a few days; it has never been Bailiff Franz's way to send off the needy hungry. I’ll go fetch the poor devil in. 95 He made an effort to rise, but Mr. Marcus prevented him. “Let me go for you, bailiff!” said he. “But, dearest, I do not know what we have for lunch to-day,” exclaimed a woman’s soft, trembling tones in great anxiety from the bed. “And just consider, my dear, we must give him a good, comfortable bed—” “Why, of course. I do not understand you, Nannie,” interrupted he, ill-humoredly. “Have we not all that? No bed at the bailiff’s, where everybody was always de- lighted to sleep on our downy couches! Do not disturb yourself about household affairs, my heart! You are al- ways making false representations of our management since you have been hindered from looking into things yourself, my busy little housewife! But everything is going along finely; you may rest perfectly easy. And although we may pay the penalty in loss of outside splen- dor, yet the internal ordering of a well-kept house we may still boast of. To be sure *—again he scratched behind his ear, and pushed his house-cap to the other side—“ for wine, there is the rub. There I can not compete with the compassionate people at Deerwood. This tormenting gout has seized hold of me again, and with crippled limbs, it is an absolute impossibility for me to descend to the cellar— but no other hand can I trust to meddle with my wine.” “Then, sir, meanwhile allow me to place a basket of wine at your disposal, that comes from the cellar of your dear old departed friend,” said Mr. Marcus, pausing on the threshold with the door-knob in his hand. “This lady, too, in consequence of the reason you just gave, has been too long deprived of a needful tonic, and assuredly will not reject this little refreshment, as a last gift from the hand of her life-long friend.” He went out and hastily crossed the yard. All the time THE BAILIFF's MAID. 79 that he had been sitting by the bed he had been possessed by a silly fancy. Just now in the garden that prude had torn down her long under-sleeves over her bare arms, as though the eye of a man falling upon her were a con- tamination, and immediately afterward, without hesitat- ing, she had been ready to throw those arms about the person of a young beggar. The scene haunted him and vexed him to such a degree that he gladly hailed the op- portunity of going out and proposing to undertake himself any help that might be needed. But outside, in front of the door, not a living creature was to be seen, either far or near. The strange man must have managed to stagger off, with his two pennies in his hand, and the girl, too, must have returned to her domes- tic vocations. As this idea occurred to him, he was con- scious of an intense feeling of relief. How ridiculous! What affair was it of his, and how could it possibly concern him, if two young people in their station should take a fancy to lean upon one another? As he returned to the house, he closely inspected the front of the dwelling. The governess was certainly re- solved to withdraw herself from his presence, for which he could not blame her, inasmuch as she had learned that she was an object of aversion to him. He certainly felt no de- sire at all to meet her, and yet really he felt himself bound to overcome any personal repugnance to an interview, in order to ascertain the true character of her disposition. The idea of writing to her had been thrown out merely in a spirit of anger and contradiction; he did not seriously in- tend to do anything of the sort. Perhaps he might descry her profile at one of the win- dows, or the outlines of her figure—the aspect of those windows provoked a smile from him. Only three of them were in any wise fit to form a frame for a dignified lady's face: these windows, with their pretty white curtains, be- longed to the sitting-room, on the left of the front door; * 80 THE BAILIFF's MAID. ** opposite, on the right hand, was one whose shutter hung all askew, and through the two others one looked into an almost empty room, that contained only a large stove, a table, and a few wooden stools. That must be the Serv- ant’s room—the asylum of the maid, whenever she found . time to rest from her work—or was it not rather the vaunted dining-room with its innumerable piles of silver spoons? A moving white object suddenly attracted his glance to the low roof. From the garret window, above the house door, waved a muslin curtain, fluttering in the breeze. On its sill bloomed beautiful roses, and on the prettily papered walls of the deep window recesses hung pictures, he could see. There resided the governess. Well, for aught that he cared, she might keep to her seclusion now. He was in no mood whatever for concocting phrases suited to that sphere of society in which Miss Blue-stocking had lived and moved. & Again Mr. Marcus stepped into the entrance-hall on the grating white sand with which the stone floor was strewed. The kitchen door stood open, revealing a brick-paved room, the windows of which looked out upon the pine thicket. Dame Griebel’s shining kitchen could hardly compare with this one, where the copper and tin utensils, brought over from the great Gelsungen establishment, were burnished to a mirror-like brightness, and all the wooden things were scoured to an equally marvelous de- gree of whiteness. The bailiff’s wife had been quite justifiable in appre- hénding an insufficient meal—a homeopathically small soup-pot was smoking on the hearth, and two little doves lay ready basted, waiting for some hand to put them in the pan, but no such hand was visible. It was so quiet in the kitchen that he could plainly hear the buzzing of a crip- pled bee that beat her wings feebly against the window- pane. It was plainly to be understood that this favored maid, who was one in heart and Soul with her mistress, had THE BAILIFF's MAID. 81 contrived to keep out of the way equally with the initiated denizen of the attic. Upon his return to the sitting-room, he remarked traces of tears upon the gentle face of the lady behind the bed- curtains, but the bailiff was busy in arranging on a cigar- stand three or four fine Havanas. Were not these the last of the cigars, on account of which the forester had been obliged this very day to repair to a Jew with the lace in his pocket? “Well, what has become of old Long-beard?” he called out to Mr. Marcus. That gentleman gave it as his opinion that the young man must have gone on his way, and again resumed his place near the bedside. g “Could she not say where he had gone?” asked the bailiff, quite absorbed in his occupation of putting the cigars in place, for he did not look up. “Ah! the maid, you mean? I did not see her.” “Yes, yes—likely she’s busy preparing dinner.” He now offered Mr. Marcus the cigars, who, however, politely declined them. He had observed that the old lady several times wiped a tear from her eyes. Perhaps she knew about the lace trade. Possibly this lace was some precious heir-loom which had been puffed away in Smoke lately by this pleas- ure-loving husband of hers. A feeling of indignation against the incorrigible old man now took possession of him, and not for worlds would he have touched one of those cigars. “A tasteful arrangement of field flowers,” remarked he, compassionately seeking to divert the thoughts of the patient from so sore a subject, as he pointed to the glass WàSè. “I agree with you there,” said the bailiff; “but then the fingers that made up that bouquet were those of an artist. My niece, who is living with me now, is a flower- painter whose equal 'twere hard to find. We take great ~ * * * *** > ... º.3. * ~, ** ~ * * g.º. ºf ~ : , … .º. 82 THE BAILIFF's MAID. A. delight in her, and the capital that I have invested in her culture is by no means lost, as are so many other dollars of gold that I have thrown away upon supposed talents.” “Ah, yes, my good husband always thought it incum- bent upon him to aid every one who made his living by art, and his generosity was too much imposed upon,” re- marked the invalid, with a faint Smile, casting a glance of ineffable love upon the old gentleman. “Those were youthful indiscretions, Nannie — follies that I would commit again, though, if I-well, if I were breasting the full tide of life in the world. Splendid it is too, that animating conflict. I would enjoy it yet, despite the stiff limbs entailed upon me by the draughts blowing through this infamous vent-hole of a place. Well, night does not make a whole day. Just let my California son come home—” He stopped suddenly, his attention diverted by the vio- lence of the movement whereby the old lady buried her head in her pillows. “But what I was about to say just now,” he resumed, quickly, rubbing his chair in embarrass- ment, was, that my good brother died one day, when he had already been a widower for thirteen years, and left me his poor little thing, Agnes. He never was a lucky penny, and as a guardian of his little daughter I had no need of touching a dollar of his property—there was nothing left though. We took the dear child to our hearts then, did Nannie and I, as though she had been some precious boon of fortune, and never have we had cause to repent of our kindness. At the fatal moment when my poor wife suc- Cumbed under a most aggravated attack of nervous dis- ease, then it was shown what our Agnes was to us. She left her fine situation at Frankfort without a moment's hesitation, and came here into these solitudes to nurse her sick aunt.” “Agnes is an angel—she sacrifices herself entirely for our sakes,” said the old lady, excitedly, and so hurriedly **** **** * ** **, **** Y r *4. $º ... **s << * : ºf .* THE BAILIFF's MAID. 83 as if not a minute was to be lost in placing the girl’s merit in its true light. “She has taken upon herself a yoke that—” y “Why, why, dearie—it is not so very dreadful as you would make out,” interposed the bailiff, with an uneasy look. He turned away and glanced toward a sewing-table that stood in one of the windows. Eh? hat and gloves are gone. She must have gone to the woods again in Search of more flowers. I would have been pleased to introduce you to her—of course she sees no whirl of company with us, such as they had at General Guseck’s, but—” “The young lady might well have been spoiled in such a situation,” remarked Mr. Marcus, with a slightly mali- cious smile. “Spoiled! yes, as much as if she had been the mistress of the house herself,” agreed the bailiff. “Only think: splendid theaters, dinners, soirées, maids of her own, rid- ing in an elegant equipage *—he counted it all off on his fingers—“she is very pretty, stylish manners, plays the piano splendidly. Bless me, how it worries me whenever I think about it!” exclaimed he, interrupting himself. “I had a grand piano at Gelsungen, an instrument that cost me a round thousand dollars. Many celebrated performers have played upon it at my soirées—now it belongs to a lime-maker, who made his fortune, and a half dozen little children are allowed to strum upon it from morning till night. Yes, but there was no help for it, I had to give it up. You can see for yourself that there is no room here for a splendid instrument like that. I just wish, though, that you could have heard its rich, mellifluous tones. Under my niece's touch the effect was simply thrilling. I could even listen to her five-finger exercises with pleasure. Oh! but you are not a lover of music, may be?” said he, for the mocking expression on the gentleman’s countenance was not to be mistaken. “No, I am not,” was the unqualified response. “The * ...º. 2 “, ºf ,” ** *. . ...,g: º3. 4. " 84 THE BAILIFF's MAID. number of piano-playing ladies is legion. After every dinner, at every evening party, one is sure to be brought forward to torture the rest of the company with her per- formances. Generally I take my hat and leave as Soon as a lady is set down to the piano.” The bailiff’s laugh was rather forced, while his wife said, very seriously: “Believe me, even if our instrument yet remained to us, you would never have been forced to listen to music against your will. Our dear child does not even allow her- self to be engrossed in her own special art to the exclu- sion—” “But, dear heart, I have already said that Agnes is an artist par excellence,” reiterated the bailiff, in visible im- patience. “She is also skilled in housekeeping and dairy-work,” she continued, although it was manifest that it cost her a struggle to speak again, after having been thus pointedly interrupted by her husband; but she did so, nevertheless, and indeed with voice somewhat elevated and audible em- phasis. “I do not understand you, Nannie,” he again inter- posed, while his face flushed and he rubbed his knee as though seized by a violent twinge of pain. “Does it be- come you to represent Agnes, the daughter of an officer of rank, a member of our old family, as a Cinderella, a mere kitchen-maid? I should begrudge my money if she were nothing better than this. Apropos, Mr. Marcus,” said he, abruptly changing the subject, “how long do you expect to stay at Deerwood?” “Only a few days.” It seemed as though the old gentleman breathed more freely, although frowning, in a tone of disappointment, he repeated: “Only a few days? Hem! then we shall not have the pleasure of Seeing you at our house again, and I am forced, • * 2 : N THE BAILIFF's MAID. 85 * A. * . - * * since my unlucky foot will not admit of my returning your visit, to take the bull by the horns, and request a verbal reply to my note. Briefly: What about that railroad ques- tion? You have now seen for yourself in what a desolate condition the farm buildings are—for some time they have been beyond repair. Actually, the old shell that we in- habit creaks and cracks in every joint when the wind blows; most assuredly it will tumble down over our heads the very first time that the locomotive goes thundering by.” “Then the best one can do is to tear it down before- hand—” “Good heavens!” shouted the bailiff; and it seemed as though he were ready to fly at the throat of the calm speaker, while the invalid too uttered a cry of horror and held up her arms in entreaty. “That means, in other words, that you would turn us out-of-doors!” Reassuringly, Mr. Marcus caught the old lady’s left hand. “How can you be so shocked by that, dear lady?” said he. “Is this tumble-down house so dear to you that you could not bear to see a new one in its place? I am re- building the saw-mill, too, from top to bottom; nothing else remains to be done, unless I would see my tenants buried under its ruins some day. And here a new building can be put up far more easily than on the water’s edge. I promise you that it shall be a pretty, comfortable house, with large, airy rooms, veranda, and safety-shutters. We shall put it back at least thirty paces, so as not to be in- commoded by the nearness of the railroad, remove the stables to the north side, and the yard to the rear of the buildings, which will, of course, necessitate some encroach- ment upon the fir thicket. It is no more then than what is proper for me to procure you suitable lodgings while these alterations are being made, and therefore I beg you to pitch your tent at Deerwood. The half of the upper story I place at your unlimited disposal. I believe that & 3. • , * *... •. £º-ºº:: * ~ *... . . .- Zºº" - w ~~ sº f 86 THE BAILIFF's MAID. you will feel at home in the house of your dear departed friend, and be able to content yourselves there until you can return to the farm, which, I suppose, will be some- where about the first of May, next year. Are you agreed to this?” Weeping bitterly and utterly unable to speak, she tried to draw to her lips the hand that still held hers clasped; but the young man drew back as if shocked. “No, no,” said he, blushing from embarrassment, “do not thank me for it. Rather take what I do as a last token of regard from your dear friend in the other world!” The bailiff, too, seemed to have been surprised into silence; he, too, had an impulse to seize the young man’s hand and press it gratefully; but at these last words he paused and listened. His hand was withdrawn, and it needed no astute person to read in his sly looks the fact that a light had suddenly dawned upon him in the thought that something must be hidden behind this incredible gen- erosity. He had one of those stolid, obtuse natures that can never grasp the idea that they have fallen from power and consideration, and try to make themselves masters of every situation where the least plank is left upon which they can take a stand. “Ah, yes, our dear friend,” said he, with cool compos- ure and highly dignified deportment, “she well knew how to estimate what we had ever been to her. Long years of joy and grief we shared with her, and finally the mournful Solitude of Deerwood. Many a time have I gone through wind and weather to enliven a long winter’s evening to her by a game of chess—and chess is no passion with me, you must know, sir; quite the contrary! But one gladly makes such a sacrifice for a woman who knew how to appreciate devoted friendship as did the sainted lady of whom you speak.” “She did more for us than the whole host of friends to- gether that used to frequent our dinner and card-tables,” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 87 interposed the lady in bed, timidly, and with trembling voice. “Do not be bitter, dear heart! I make no complaints against my old boon companions. But you are right— Clotilda was a grateful creature, and undoubtedly would have gone much further in testifying her gratitude if we had not always hindered her through considerations of deli- cacy.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, now there is no help for it; death overtook her suddenly—she knew not how—else many a thing would have been quite, quite different.” Mr. Marcus indignantly turned away from the presumpt- uous boaster, who came within a little of telling him to his face that he would even now have been himself master of Deerwood, had he not been an unlucky wight, whose well- grounded claims, on account of Sacrifices made, had been laid aside only in consequence of the former owner’s sud- den death. A sharp retort was upon the tip of the young man’s tongue, but through consideration for the evidently agitated invalid, whose eyes sought his own with a look of anxious entreaty, he restrained himself, and replied, com- posedly: “This much I know, through one who was for long years her legal adviser, that my aunt ever looked upon herself as the mere stewardess of the property left by her husband. Only from that reason did she forbear leaving a will of her own.” “Yes, yes—you may be right—yes, yes!” stammered the bailiff, suddenly collapsing: “I, too, remember to have heard expressions of that kind from her lips. It is not to be denied, however, that the intimate relations exist- ing between us for many years are not to be utterly ignored. Well, then, I accept your friendly offer to move over to Deerwood temporarily, but—pray, what is to be- come of our live-stock meanwhile?” .*. -' 88 . THE BAILIFF's MAID. It was hard to preserve one’s gravity in presence of this ridiculous insolence. p “Why,” said Mr. Marcus, fumbling at a refractory. glove-button, “I think I did see a cow in the stable, as I passed there just now—” “Yes, yes—quite right at this time, Mr. Marcus. A short while ago I was compelled to hand over to the butcher two splendid Swiss cows—a severe trial to an agriculturist! I am rather badly off in that particular, dear sir. Things are not at all as they should be in that respect—nobody knows this better than I do; but a man- servant is what I lack. I have written in every direction for one. I would not have one from this part of the coun- try at any price. The laborers here are not worth a six- pence. Have offered reward after reward, but it is too Ionesome here for the clowns; positively, not a soul can be hired to stay at the farm.” “Let me try my hand at it. Perhaps I may have better luck,” answered the proprietor. “We can quarter the cow at my house, and the poultry, too, can have a range in the yard there. All, however, must be re-established upon its ancient footing—that is to say, the needed cattle must be in the stalls, and the proper force of laborers be supplied for carrying on the business of the farm—unless we would see the place go to total destruction. I shall charge myself with providing a man-servant as speedily as possible, on account of the harvesting. As a matter of course ’’—that glove-button would not perform its office, So that the speaker must needs devote to it his whole atten- tion—“ as a matter of course, we need also a maid—a real, capable peasant girl, that can take hold of things with a wim; the girl that now works on the farm meadows has not been brought up to such work.” The sick woman covered her eyes with her pale and Wasted hand, as though overcome by a momentary weak- ness; and at the same minute the bailiff was seized by *- J."...” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 89 such a violent paroxysm of coughing that he turned blood- red in the face. But the gentleman fairly burned to obtain some more exact information about this maid, and therefore held fast to the favorable moment, in spite of the signs of emotion given by the two old married people. “Is it true, as they have told me, that she is city-born, or, at least, has been at service recently in some large city?” said he, obstinately persisting in his queries. “Yes; she was at Frankfort-on-the-Main,” answered the old lady. Her right hand had fallen from her eyes to the counterpane, and plucked at its fringe. “It is most true that she was not brought up to do such work—anything else, dear sir—” “And therefore we shall be greatly indebted to you, if you would procure for us a strong, capable peasant girl,” interposed the bailiff, with heightened voice. “When, then, do you expect to begin the new building, Mr. Mar- Cus?” “I shall immediately communicate with a master-builder in the nearest town, and set him to work,” replied the per- son addressed, rising from his seat—there was a deep fold of discontent, yes, real vexation, between his brows—“ and shall not fail to report the plan afterward for your ap- proval.” “God bless you! You are a noble man,” exclaimed the patient, in deepest agitation, while he took leave of her with a reverential bow, preparatory to leaving the room. The bailiff insisted upon accompanying him out. He stopped him in the entrance-hall, with an air full of mys- tery. “All that you want to do for us is very handsome and amiable,” he whispered, with lowered voice. “And I am Very grateful to you, too, but do not suppose that you are risking anything by this—all shall be settled to the last º: g .."* 90 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. penny. You shall not lose your money—I give my word for that. You see, I durst say nothing in there; my wife weeps her eyes out, longing so after her boy. Such a silly little woman! This is a forbidden theme between us. Even if he were to come home tattered and torn, she would be overjoyed to have him again—it is the way with women, and in such things it is the father that must hold up his head. Most assuredly I shall not cut my son prematurely short in his career on account of such whims. He has had fine luck, good-for-nothing fellow that he is, to find his home in the lovely Thuringian Mountains too confined for him; the young jackanapes has already risen to be a sort of nabob; again, in two short years, I’ll ask his most Serene highness to tell me candidly what his domain at Gelsungen cost—You wretch, you, will you get down this minute!” said he, breaking off in the midst of his discourse, tearing the cap off his bald pate, and throwing it through the wide- open kitchen door at a cat, who had just sprung upon the table in order to devour one of the doves. He hobbled in and chased the cat into the yard with his stick, and then shut up the kitchen. It was still empty. Not the least sign of smoke curled from the soup-pot—evi- dently the fire on the hearth had been out for some time. “What stupidities are these again!” growled the bailiff, red from anger and vexation. “If one hires and pays ten servants it is all the same, every one leaves doors and win- dows open, boiling and roasting for cats what has been paid for with hard-earned money. Why, we were within an ace of losing our whole dinner— Where can the stupid thing have hid herself?” “Yes, where in the world can she have hid?” thought Mr. Marcus, angrily, who, after he had taken leave of the bailiff, crossed over the yard to the garden in order to re- turn home by the way that he had come. He cast a spite- ful glance up at the mansard window, where the muslin curtain was still floating to the breeze, like a summer cloud * THE BAILIFF's MAID. 91 in the blue ether. It was highly probable that she had taken refuge with the governess, and may be both girls were now peeping out and laughing at him in their sleeves. It was much that she should heedlessly dismiss care of her master and mistress’s scanty meal, and thus draw upon herself the sharpest reproof for nothing else in the world than to avoid him. In the garden, too, all was still and quiet. The hedge- sparrows twittered softly in the shrubbery through which, a half hour ago, the supposed lady in white had come in order to cut the herbs she needed for her cooking as speedily as possible. Yet there lay the green things that had slipped from her hand in the hastiness of her flight— the path was strewn with them, proving that no footstep had passed that way since. And in the linden bower Mr. Marcus could confidently pick up the written pamphlet, for, far off or near, not a human being was to be seen as he ironically smiled. The first pages of the little book were regularly covered with fine writing by the same hand which the bailiff had employed when he dictated his challenging letter. But there were no verses; only detached thoughts, such as were suggested on the spur of the moment—the sentiments and opinions of a sensible young girl. These pages fur- nished a favorable index to the character of the writer. As she had suddenly resigned her pleasant situation in order to become a sick-nurse, so she had also, without delay, ex- changed these not absolutely necessary outpourings of her Soul for neatly kept entries of her impoverished uncle’s household affairs. But how did this resolute mode of action comport with the behavior of a young lady who continued now, as before, to accept the services of a waiting-maid, as if she had been some princess? He indignantly crushed the innocent manuscript in his hand, but indeed he did have every reason to be irritated. Into what a dilemma had he fallen, steady as was his head! 92 THE BAILIFF's MAID. He who generally had such full enjoyment of the blessings of life, who at home punctually and zealously fulfilled his obligations at the merchant’s desk in order afterward to enjoy more fully his hours of recreation, who had never known a sleepless night, or had reason to complain of a failure of appetite, was now consumed by petty causes of disquiet from which he could not possibly escape, and which had effectually broken for him his dream of country tranquillity. Fretfully he thrust aside Dame Griebel’s deli- cacies, and this morning his head was tossing on a sleepless pillow before the cocks in the back yard had sent forth their clarion call for man to start from his slumbers and resume the labors of the day. This farm, this old wreck, with its mystical governess and half-crazed braggart, the bailiff; the maiden with the sphinx face and elegant figure but wretched working- dress, who attracted and worried him as nobody else could, and the humane forester, with his love of learning—that disagreeable creature who was laying his snares so eagerly to entrap her—he wished them all in Africa for the trouble that they had cost him, and of which he could not get rid, let him try as he might. To-day he was to ride into town and confer with the architect, who was also to undertake the repairing of the saw-mill. The plan for the new farm-house would be in his hands in a very few days, as also the contract for com- pleting the building. Everything else he might safely Commit to Farmer Griebel and his better half, viz., the en- gagement of new servants, the temporary transference of the bailiff’s family to Deerwood, and the subsequent pur- chase of live stock. Only a few days were needful for these arrangements, when he would shake the dust from his feet and not see Deerwood again for many a long day. Mean- while, that last entry in the deceased lady’s memorandum- book should remain his own secret until he had recovered his equanimity of mind and satisfied himself as to the THE BAIEIFF's MAID. 93 proper person to whom the welfare of the invalid at the farm could be committed. He threw the manuscript upon the stone table and left the garden, whose old, worn-out trellis gate fell to behind him with a feeble groan. With that low, dull sound, he fancied now ended direct association with the people whom he had left behind. He was far from admitting to himself that he had recklessly plunged into relations with strangers, and had nobody to blame but himself if the threads of a foreign destiny cleaved fast to him, as did at this moment the tough entangling tendrils of wire-grass that tripped his feet on this grassy, seldom-trodden path, and from whose imprisonment he could only escape by trampling upon it. CHAPTER IX. Two days had elapsed since then. Yesterday the arch- itect had been at Deerwood; he had declared himself per- fectly at one with the intentions of the proprietor, and promised to carry them into execution as speedily as possi- ble. Mr. Marcus had gone with him to inspect the farm buildings. Of course he had not crossed the threshold of the door—he was much too steadfast in his resolution for that—but he could not hinder the bailiff from coming to the window to thank him for the basket of fine wine that he had sent to him, immediately after his return home, the old gentleman adding high commendation of the noble gift. He had also been obliged to accept politely the offer of a return visit—and the old gentleman had kept his word too, a few hours afterward, in spite of the pain the effort cost him. Mr. Marcus had been sitting in the summer-house when two figures had appeared on the edge of the thicket—one was that of a man, who, leaning heavily upon a cane, hob- bled wearily along, and the other that of a female, upon which the old man leaned. Had not Dame Griebel said £g * * * * *_º- ** * * 3. * … < * * * * * & “ • * * ** **** 94 THE BAILIFF's MAID. that the governess was just such a May-pole as the strange maid? Well, and so she was an equally tall, slender wom- an, in an elegantly fitting, soft, dark dress—a gray veil had fluttered from her little straw hat, and enveloped her face like a gray-spun spider’s Web. But it had been simply absurd to see how the imbittered fair lady had softly whispered something in her uncle’s ear upon Mr. Marcus's appearance on the little steps in front of the summer-house, and then flown back into the Woods, and disappeared, leaving not a vestige behind her. And the old gentleman had struck his staff into the middle of the path, and turning his stiff neck with difficulty, had gazed in amazement after the fugitive, until relief had come to him in the proffer of a supporting arm from the gentle- man who hurried forward to meet him, and ability to pour into his ear execrations on the silly prudery of their pres- ent maid. It had been a difficult task to get him up the stairs, but once there he had comfortably installed himself on the soft divan, and greatly to his satisfaction taken a survey of this charming “little bachelor’s nest.” Immediately afterward cigars and large green wine-glasses had been placed on the table, and the delicious fragrance of noble Rhenish wine exhaled from the long-necked flask. Mr. Marcus had lighted the new hanging-lamp attached to the summer- house, and its white light revealed the motive for selecting twilight as the hour for this visit, viz., the coat that hung upon the old gentleman’s thin shoulders was threadbare and carefully darned. His linen, though, was faultless as to whiteness and purity, and upon his shirt-bosom shone a mock jewel in old-fashioned setting, that served as a breast- pln. And, after all, Mr. Marcus could not conceal from him- self the fact that he was passing a very pleasant hour. The old man spoke most interestingly of men and affairs, even displaying an uncommon amount of Scientific knowledge, * * -º-, ~~ * * * * * THE BAILIFF's MAID. 95. while a marked peculiarity of this spendthrift's nature was unmistakably shown, viz., he could always give the best and wisest advice to others, but never could act upon it himself. Later the proprietor attended his visitor home—what else could he do? for the crippled old creature could not go so far, and nobody had come for him. It is true that Mr. Marcus's sharp ear caught the sound of gliding through the trees at the side of the road, but her who avoided so in- Sultingly coming into contact with him—be it the govern- ess or that hateful prude—he ignored as well, and thus in going past he had said to the bailiff (who was rather hard of hearing), in a loud tone, that there must be some game as- tray in the forest, for he could hear footsteps; and with a low, mocking laugh he had proceeded, bearing the whole burden of the decrepit old man upon his right arm, while his left held a package of books that the bailiff had brought down from the book-shelf himself, with the remark that he was regularly pining after some good reading, since he had been compelled, for want of room, to sell his own costly library (worth thousands) at a terrible sacrifice. Mr. Mar- cus had no trouble in coming to an understanding with Farmer Griebel. That excellent man had declared himself ready to join heartily in the proprietor’s benevolent under- taking, and his helpmeet agreed to her part, with the re- mark that whatever her Peter wanted was sure to be done, quiet-looking man that he was. But nobody could blame her for shaking her head and holding up her hands in wonder at the young master, who must surely have gone a little daft, else he would never have set foot on such slip- pery ice. With the bailiff’s wife now, and even, if need be, with the governess, she could probably get along well enough; she would not mind at all lifting and moving the old lady, and watching by her of nights—no, she would do that cheerfully—and as for that proud slip of a governess, why 96 : THE BAILIFF's MAID. *** she would not be obliged to see her at all. But with that bailiff, lazy, trifling, selfish creature as he was, between her and him there must be war—that was a foregone conclu- sion—for if she were to feed his cow on bread and butter, and his few half-starved hens on the finest of her grain, he would still find some ground for quarrel, that she knew. And that maid, with her worn-out city finery and city ways, was not fit for Deerwood, where work was done in plain peasant’s dress and without shoe leather; that stuck- up thing would only make the servants dissatisfied and as unbearable as herself. How accident had given further strength to this prejudice the master should have evidence of this very day. He had received a comprehensive report from his book- keeper, and was obliged to attend to various pressing mat- ters without delay. He had been sitting, then, for hours at his writing-desk in the balcony, working so unremittingly that he was wholly oblivious of the outside world. None of the farmer’s family had come up to-day. His dinner had been brought to him by a maid, and after her depart- ure the scratching of his pen had been the only sound that interrupted the deep stillness of the balcony room. But now the door was resolutely opened, and Dame Griebel’s leather shoes creaked as she entered, bringing him his afternoon cup of coffee, with her own hand, as usual. “Really, the mansion house is a pretty little cool spot!” said she, after Mr. Marcus had extended his hand to her in greeting, from the place where he sat. “It is sweltering outside, hot as in a bake-oven;” she wiped forehead and neck, as she spoke, with the end of her apron. “This morning Louise and I went after mushrooms, picking a basketful of strawberries besides. At four o’clock in the morning we were already out of our beds and on our way —you see, we had a long distance to go, for no mushrooms grow near our house. Over in the Grafenwood, on the other hand, there are crowds of them, I tell you, fellows THE BAILIFF'S MAID. 97 half as big as my fist—they grow up on the old collieries. Yes, if it were not for that, ropes could not draw me to Grafenwood. I can not bear the forester there, who is just as proud and stuck up as the people on the farm. By the bye, I must just tell you right away that for the future I do not stay under the same roof as the bailiff’s maid. It will not do on account of Louise, when she comes home for the holidays. I saw something to-day that shocked me. Yes, what do you think of it? here comes that girl to meet me, stepping out of the forester’s house at that time of morning, say half past five. Ah! no wonder that the color mounts to your face. Is it not enough to make one blush the way that women carry on these days?” She placed a full cup for him by his writing things on the table. “Well, you know the scandal now, and need not be surprised if the Griebels hold their heads high for once. If the bailiff’s family must have a maid, let me pro- vide a respectable one; their present one does not come into my house. You will certainly have consideration, and not desire such a thing, Mr. Marcus. With the Griebels, modesty and propriety stand always first. And now, do not let your coffee grow cold, and do not write yourself sick. Your head glows as if on fire.” Hardly had the door fallen to behind her than Mr. Mar- cus sprung up as though he were bursting away from fet- ters that held him chained to his seat. Good Dame Griebel was a gossip, too, like all other old women; it had been all that he could do to restrain himself from taking her by the shoulders and shaking her well in his indignation. It was undeniable that the calumniated girl was a person apart, and one far above those of her own station in nature and manners, and this made it only too comprehensible that she should be hated; but her conduct was pure, let her come out of the forester’s house at whatever hour she chose. Only it always caused him a sort of painful apprehension whenever th; maiden was mentioned, in his hearing, in * ~$: - * 3: $...” --> r - zº 93 THE BAILIFF's MAID, conjunction with the green coat. And now a clear light dawned upon him; his Samaritan task, as Farmer Griebel called his plan, was taking quite a different course from the one that he had purposed. Well, he could say to him- self, with a good conscience, that from the beginning he had meant to carry out his aunt’s wishes in the most bene- ficial manner possible for her legatees, but his sudden, almost overhasty action had not sprung from the noblest motives; he had not wished the green coat to excel him in humanitarian efforts; he had wanted to forestall him, and thereby accomplished the very opposite of what he had striven for in such glowing eagerness. The Self-sacrificing attentions of the maid were no longer indispensable to her master and mistress, in consequence of his arrangements, and so all obstructions to the wedding were removed. Dame Griebel was right—his head glowed, and the pulses of his temples hammered feverishly. He paced the room incessantly, and suddenly there came to him a full explana- tion of the feelings going on within him. Was it not the mechanic’s son upon whom yon proud high warden of the forests looked down so scornfully—was it not plebeian blood that, with accurate instinct, sought “like unto like?” His feelings were stirred for one who eat the bread of servitude, for a maiden in menial garb and labor-hardened hands. But was it written on the fair brow of her who stood there beside that haughty man that she was of noble blood? Might not the dark-haired maiden take the place boldly beside her of the golden tresses? Was she not just as beautiful? and when with daring hand he had thrust back the cloth that hid her face, had not her eyes looked forth with the same bewitching wistfulness as did those in the picture here that had touched his heart so strangely? Let it be ever so sultry outside, still there were broad ex- panses of meadow, above which arched the high blue heavens, and long lines of road afforded ample space for *:::$tº “...:* *** * * *. § *** º: -: * 33 * < *s-, - * * § 3. * ºf *** * * 4. -ºw THE BAILIFF's MAID. 99 feet wandering through the forest. Here the low ceiling and confinement within four walls oppressed him. He caught up his hat. The pen which he had cast aside lay in a puddle of ink on a clean sheet of letter-paper only half covered with writing, and by his hasty movement a good many light notes had been thrown from the table to the floor. He had no eye for this disorder. Let the book- keeper at home have ever so pressing a need for the direc- tions asked for, the head of the great firm of Marcus, hitherto the strictest and most conscientious worker in his own counting-room, rushed out, heedlessly leaving business interests to take care of themselves. CHAPTER X. WITHOUT more ado he struck into the road leading to the fir thicket. His resolves to seek the farm no more of his own accord had blown off like those light clouds of dust which the close; hot and enervating afternoon breeze caught up from the arid field-path, and blew away before his eyes. He did not hesitate even, after he had made the circuit of the left side of the premises, to draw a halt be- fore the closed gate, and look into the yard through the same crevices before which, two days ago, had cowered the beggar to whom poverty had cast a few pennies in charity. The sun glared fiercely down upon the bleached paving- stones of the bare yard, where not a drop of rain had fallen for many days. The fowls had retired in disgust from the glowing stones, and hidden themselves in dark corners of the stable; and the chained dog who, on the other side of the wall, had made a faint attempt at barking, gave it up, in rebellion at the heat. In the chamber of the old peo- ple, on the contrary, which was made chilly, day and night, by the cold, damp walls of the lower part of the house, the hot air seemed to be welcome—two windows stood wide open. At one of them sat the bailiff, reading; and through 100 THE BAILIFF's MAID. ; fº jº i ; the other Mr. Marcus saw the invalid lying quietly on her pillow, with folded hands. The two old people were alone. Behind the curtainless windows, to the right of the closed front door, nothing stirred or moved, and the searching eye of the inquirer gave only a fugitive glance at the mansard window. What did he care whether the governess sat be- hind those rose-bushes or not? He had only one thought —only one! And that urged him on to go around the right side of the premises, and inspect the kitchen window. But here, too, it was as quiet and Solitary as in the garden, which he traversed immediately afterward, and as in all the territory belonging to the farm, of which he could get a good view across the hawthorn hedge. f Angrily he bit his lip. Must he really go to the Grafen. wood house in order to discover himself to be a fool, and his plans to have been frustrated in a most humiliating man- ner? If they could have known this at home! What a triumph for his acquaintances, whom he had often bantered on having taken “the love fever;” the burning indignation of his step-mother, who was a privy councilor’s daughter; the mischievous tittering of the young ladies to whose at- tractions he had been so proud to show his indifference—he pictured all this to himself in liveliest colors; but even while so doing the steps with which he traversed his own ward of the forest grew ever more precipitate, and finally he had worked his way through bushes and briers to the lurking-place behind the beech-tree, whence he could take observations on the forester’s cottage. He could well un- derstand how it might be felt as a relief to body and mind to escape, even for a few hours, from the heat and dust of the farm to that pleasant-looking house over yonder. How inviting it looked, set in the midst of fresh, green sod, and overarching shade-trees for a background, the glorious forest, with its wealth of gushing fountains, sending down into the valley an exuberance of life and joy through many ... a purling rivulet. * e * * -: : P j A THE BAILIFF's MAID. 101 To-day its physiognomy was slightly altered; the bird- cages with their noisy contents were not hanging at the upper gable window, and all the windows of the corner room, which the forester had reserved for the invalid, were darkened by lowered blinds—there was an air of quiet about the house, so studied a repose that one might have supposed that the removal of the nervously diseased old lady had already taken place. At all events, the dwelling was fast closed—nobody was at home, and therefore Mr. Marcus was on the point of deserting his post of observa- tion, in order to return, when a sudden outburst of laughter stayed his foot. From the corner of the house with cur- tained windows pealed forth a loud, long-continued laugh, that, ringing out into the deep quiet of the woods, affected the ear most painfully. Then followed a murmuring of voices in excited talk, and one blind was rolled up a little way, as though by some nervous hand inside the room. The forester must have company—a set of good fellows who were enjoying themselves in that cool room. Mr. Marcus could imagine them filling the air with the fumes of to- bacco and beer, while the merry jest went round the card- table. It was simply impossible to fancy the maiden in any such surroundings as these! No, she was not here. No man could send forth such a coarse, brutal peal of laughter as that in her pure presence—and yet at this very moment the door opened and out stepped her with whom his thoughts were busied. She had an earthenware pitcher in her hand, and de- scended the steps, with her arms hanging listlessly at her side, her eyes cast down and brow painfully contracted, the very picture of mournful reverie. In the shock of his excitement the young man felt the impulse to rush up to her, but involuntarily checked him- self, for a sort of halo seemed to emanate from that quietly descending form, such as gave rebuke to the spirit of angry 102 . THE BAILIFF's "MAID." passion. She proceeded around the corner of the house to the spring on the hill, which, in most primitive style, through the trunk of a tree, poured its crystalline waters into a trough below. ; : Mr. Marcus approached the girl, who, upon hearing steps behind her, turned around. He was already so near to her that he could see her blush, and the look of pain pass Sud- denly from her features as though wiped away. “Would you like a drink of fresh water?” asked she, supporting her pitcher upon a board beneath the gushing water-spout. “I’ll fetch you a glass from the house—” “It is written in the Bible: “And she hasted and let down her pitcher upon her hand, and gave him to drink,’” answered he, sarcastically, as he intercepted her path to the house. “If you would be Rebecca, then you must show yourself well versed in Scripture. But I would rather not drink from your pitcher, thank you. Clear spring water!” mocked he. “Is this really and truly the only ‘fresh drink” that you hand, tasted beforehand, to the jovial company over there assembled in the corner room?” . She was terribly confounded, and he perceived it with grim malice. **** “Can the noise be heard outside?” asked she, falter- ingly. “What? Does that surprise you? I should think those voices heard just now right full ones. I was hoping that the gentlemen might strike up a jolly drinking song—” “You are mistaken,” she gasped, with pallid lips, a tear moistening the eye that so unsteadily met his gaze. 3 * “I am mistaken, am I? Well, then, may be those are church brethren holding a prayer-meeting in the corner room over there—possibly it is so,” and he shrugged his shoulders. “What is it to me, though? But I would like to ask you one question—do your master and mistress know about your visits to the forester’s house?” -- *…* ſ THE BAILIFF's MAID. 103 She held up her hands in deprecation. “Oh, no, no! The old people have no suspicion of it, and they must not learn about it, either.” “That, indeed! Then you would like to place a bridle upon my tongue?” asked he, forcing himself to appear in- different. “I must entreat you most urgently, in case of your pay- ing another visit to the farm before you leave, not to speak of this. Pray, sir—” “Why, yes, then, if it needs must be so, I can keep silence, although I do not generally burden myself with guilty secrets.” 6 & Guilty!” She drew back from him, and he was forced to ask him- self the question whether this maiden, who, by a single word, a single movement, expressed whole volumes of in- dignation, were an accomplished comedienne or a creature of exalted soul, cut to the quick by undeserved insult. His deeply imbittered mind inclined to the first supposi- tion. Could there be a doubt of it? Had not the over- strained prudery with which she had concealed from him her face been the boldest comedy, in view of the fact that she was now waiting upon these roistering men, without hood or cape to veil her from their gaze? And still she could have the face to implore discretion at his hands, with soft and vibrating tones. And oh! the enchanting beauty of her looks, her animated countenance, sGftened by the rich mass of dark hair that shaded her brow and made so perfect the contour of her head. He felt as though some beauteous adder were attempting to charm his senses, that he must needs crush with energy and decision. “Does that ugly word offend you?” asked he, cuttingly. “Well, then, let us say interesting, the interesting secret. You will find the old people easy game enough; neither of them can cross the threshold of their own door and follow 104. THE BAILIFF's MAID. your traces, and I-well, I’ve given you my word to keep. silent, as silent as though a murderer were holding a dag- ger to my throat. But how is Dame Blue-stocking affected? She is not confined to her attic, but is nimble- footed enough, as I had full proof yesterday evening. She glides about like a fairy, and manages to vanish, upon occasion, as suddenly as mist before sunshine; at any mo- ment, then, she might Come near, emerging from her be- loved forest, with her gray veil drawn down, as when a cloud conceals the face of the moon—how then?” % A hardly perceptible smile played about her lips as she stooped over the spring and moved the board with her over- flowing pitcher out of the reach of the gushing stream. “I believe that I have already told you that I am not in a position to do anything without her cognizance,” an- Swered she, returning to the occupation of the moment. “Yes, so you said,” assented he. “And it is no mat- ter of surprise at all that your young lady should give her countenance to such a secret. Intrigue is the favorite amusement for ladies of her stamp, and if it may not be found in the upper classes, they will seek for it in a lower sphere, out of sheer love for the thing. I know what this beaver-like work is in the bosom of a family—I know it. Of course they work best for themselves. They seem to hear nothing, see nothing, but in reality imbibe at every pore the secrets of the family, both small and great. No one hears the sound of their footstep, but they plant their feet upon the lower rounds of the ladder, and steadily mount high and higher, until at last they rest on top the humble, the overlooked ones, and proudly flaunt the flag of triumph in the face of some jilted sweetheart, or the daughter of a widowed father. Could it be possible that the maid and confidante of General von Guseck’s governess had known nothing of this sort?” The girl stood at the spring with half-averted person. At one time she had raised her hands, in order to let them THE BAILIFF's MAID. 105 drop again, and clasp them tightly together. And now she glanced back, but not with the excited look of resentment which he had seen her wear; only painful astonishment and keen reproach spoke from those brown eyes, which were slowly raised to him, while she said, with emotion: “The widowed General von Guseck had a grown son, and a daughter seventeen years old who was betrothed. They both treated the governess with as much respect and confidence as if she had been a member of their family. And I know that the governess never abused this confidence in the least particular. I am the person to know this best, and would put my hand in the fire to prove it.” “Well, well, this caps the climax,” interrupted he, with a bitter laugh; “to lay that poor, hard-worked hand in the fire for the sake of this piece of selfishness personi- fied! Have you not been dragged by her into this wilder- ness, where you have tasted poverty and distress in order that she, the spoiled creature, might not lack for servant’s attendance? The old lady at the farm says herself that you were not brought up to such hard labor; and now you are compelled to undertake these severe duties because otherwise your idolized mistress would hardly have a mouthful to eat. Trouble yourself no further,” said he, mockingly warding off any rejoinder; “ you can not save her honor. I know how it is better than you do. Just let these ladies once taste of the intoxicating cup of wealth, and they are forever spoiled for the more humble duties of life. Their one thought is how to secure themselves the perpetual enjoyment of the luxuries in which they delight; and to that end some unlucky wight of a rich man must be entrapped, whether gray haired and snappish, or young afid silly, 'tis all one with them. Perhaps the Guseck family knew this right well, and were on their guard like myself, who would rather live single all my days than make one who had ever been a governess mistress of my house; better far a simple peasant girl, fresh from the woods, 106 THE BAILIFF's MAID. provided only she has honesty written upon her face and truth in her heart!” . . * + He saw how the color all faded from her cheeks, but not a word did she speak. She took hold of her pitcher to lift it from the board and go her way. “Now, are you really going in there again?” said he, pointing toward the forester’s house. “Is there nothing about that fierce clamor to frighten you back?” She looked at him sideways from beneath her long, drooping eyelashes. * * “I have almost as strong nerves as a robust peasant girl, fresh from the woods, who is not scared at the noise in a tavern when Sunday comes,” replied she, with great sharp- ness. “In this case, however, there is no room for asking whether I do or do not fear. I have simply to yield to necessity.” “Do you mean to say by that that you are already bound by duty to this house?” asked he, in a spiritless tone. “But what can be the nature of duties that puzzle people as much as do those due a governess who hides be- hind a curtaining veil of mystery?” His tone became pointed and satirical. “Bless me, though, it must be very amusing to draw the world around by the nose—very amusing indeed—and I find no fault with you whatever for indulging in such a pastime. The people settled at Deer- wood, however, are not so simple as their new master; they solve the riddle according to a fashion of their own, and can make no excuses for the bailiff’s maid, who goes to the forester’s house at all times of day—the man lives alone—” He hushed. It was painful to himself to see her hand drop down powerless from the handle of her pitcher, and the hot blood mount to the very roots of her hair. Full of shame, she stood motionless for a moment with averted glance, and for the first time he saw the delicate outlines of her profile cut against a dark background of forest green. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 107 Round the upper part of her neck ran a velvet ribbon like a thin dividing line drawn with Indian ink. Involun- tarily Faust’s words recurred to the young man: “How rarely must a single narrow band of red become this lovely neck!” And the glorious valley stretched on till it united itself to the gloomy abyss; the forester’s house, with its curtained windows, and the wild tumult going on behind them, concerning which the maiden had, in visible anguish, hoped that it could not be heard outside, suddenly seemed to him to have become the harboring place of infamy and crime. And here she had gone clandestinely, actually stealing time and leisure for it, as though magnetically drawn into some terrible maelstrom. A fierce pang trans- fixed him as the dread came to him that she already might have been drawn into its vortex. But did she not stand there like a somnambulist suddenly awakened, with con- sternation marked upon every lineament of her features? Perhaps this one bitter moment would forever frighten her away from Grafenwood. He hoped so, gazing fixedly upon her in indescribable suspense; but just now she looked up again, and her face wore an expression of gloomy determi- nation. < “I do not concern myself with the utterances of cal- umny,” said she, curtly and with uplifted head. “Not even when respectable people close their doors against you?” cried he, passionately. “Dame Griebel energetically protests against your being introduced into the mansion on account of her innocent daughter,” added he, with cruel distinctness. This seemed to cut her to the heart. In silent anguish the maiden clasped her hands together, and pressed them against her breast, and yet immediately afterward, she said, calmly, and very decidedly: “Mrs. Griebel will hereafter apologize to me for this hard judg- ment. And, as for the rest, she is not mistress of your 108 THE BAILIFF's MAID. house; the decision rests with yourself, and you will, not close the doors against me—” - ~ , , º, “Ha! think you so?” interrupted he, with a smile of scorn. “For what do you take me, then?” ~, “For what do I take you?” repeated she, slowly open- ing her eyes upon him. “I take you for a noble man, for magnanimity itself. If you can, forget the evil words that I ventured to say to you in my blindness! How ashamed was I when I learned with what purpose you had come to the farm! You have saved the old people from anxiety and distress. You should only see how the poor sick lady has revived since she found that she was under your protec- tion! For this alone I would like to thank you—” Here she broke off, and timidly offered him her hand. But his darkened countenance did not light up. “Never mind that!” answered he, harshly, waving off her hand by a quick, impulsive movement. “For what would you thank me? I ask you what the maid has to do with it, if I choose to make terms with my tenant? You understand nothing about it, and ought not to meddle with it.” Anger and vexation evidently choked him. “And account your charges against me as correct! I am not good; no, nothing of the sort, more especially at this instant. I am alive with evil, all evil and malice. If I could give you an additional pang I would do it with satis- faction.” The maiden Scanned him with a timid, sidelong glance, he spoke so loud and with such vehemence. g “And, then, stick to the truth!” continued he, more dictatorially, but so much the more sarcastically. “You return thanks for the old lady, when the spoiled princess of the attic is meant. Ah! yes, you think that the upper story of the mansion house will furnish some equivalent for the Guseck parlors; that it will be a sort of station for re- freshment and embellishment, where the clipped wings of the bird may grow again. That fine lady-governess is of THE BAILIFF's MAID. 109 course the person first to be considered; and when she enters the Deerwood mansion, formal rejoicings must be instituted; nothing less would be fit.” She looked downcast and shook her head. “Poor governesses! According to you they would all do better to shut up their lesson-books and go to scouring and washing.” She sighed softly. “According to your preconceived opinion, Agnes Franz is a vain, indolent pup- pet.” A melancholy Smile flitted across her face as he emphatically assented, with an ironical bow—but had it in- deed been thus with her, her affectation must needs have forsaken her on her return home. I will not deny that at first she came near sinking under her burden, and yielding to the promptings of despair, by deserting her post. Much, inexpressibly much, is required of a girl of twenty before she can bow implicitly to the stern requisitions of misfort- une. But her neck is bent meekly enough to the yoke at present. For a moment she kept silence, as though over- come by the remembrance of the wretchedness into which they had both been plunged in the past—then she drew a breath of relief. “And now all will be well. The dear old people are provided for all the rest of their lives, so that she can now resume the duties of her calling. She will indeed be obliged to accept your hospitality, so long as the sick lady needs her attention.” “Dear me, in what does that concern me? We shall not be in each other’s way. I set off in a very few days. Let her stay at my house as long as she wishes tol But you?” “I?” She folded her hands across her breast and looked down. He was highly excited by catching sight of a charming smile that beautified her countenance indescrib- ably. To Smile at such a moment! She was just as frivo- lous and spoiled as her mistress. “Well, I shall stay too,” said she, without looking up. “If you will have one, you must e'en put up with the other.” J. Łº *, * ~ * . * * , , “ 15: 33% ºf A * : *.x. ... " + * * , * * * * “ * 110 THE BAILIFF's MAm). •- “Eh! how say you? But therein you are altogether mistaken, unless *—he paused and fixed his eyes upon her face in breathless suspense—“unless you obviate the scru- ples of those good Griebels, while you promise me never more to cross the threshold of yon house from this hour.” “No–that I can not do,” replied she, gravely and posi- tively, without any hesitation. He turned from her, his eyes flashing anger and hatred. “Go your way, then! I shall waste not another word on you,” cried he. “Only one thing more I would have you to know.” Here he stooped over again and said, bitterly: “Learn that I despise you from the very bottom of my heart.” - She started up with excitement. For a moment these two measured each other with looks of ire; but if he con- sidered the tears that trembled on her eyelashes as evi- dences of maidenly weakness and helplessness, he was mis- taken. She turned her back upon him suddenly, with a gesture of pride, and lifted the pitcher from its place near the spring. “Have you nothing at all to say to this?” cried he, angrily. - “Nothing! what matters it whether or not you despise the poor maid of the bailiff? She cares for the regard of only a few people—notice of her on the part of others is only a pain.” So saying she left the spring, taking the direct path to the forester’s house. “Commend me to your jolly friends over there,” he called after her, in a biting tone. The gentle breeze seemed to dissipate the sounds ere they reached the maiden’s ears. Not the slightest movement betrayed her consciousness of his impertinent address. She moved forward with a firm step, and the next minute had vanished behind the corner of the house. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 111 CEIAPTER XI, ON the very same evening Mr. Marcus made ready for his journey. This state of things was unbearable. By what force, pray, was he bound to the rack here in this Thuringia? The whole world lay open to him, and only let him once more be out in the midst of it with the fresh, glad breezes of life greeting him, this dark fog would soon be dissipated, that had now settled down so closely upon him and was obscuring his usually clear wits and chain- ing his thoughts down to one hateful, cursed subject. Then he laughed heartily and shamed himself over the Othello-like feeling that ever urged him, nay, drove him to hover around this forester’s hut like a martin over the dove-cote—a pretty dove-cote! A forest tavern, rather, full of roistering, roaring guests. Yes, a dove flew in and out of it—a beautiful, white one, with deceitfully innocent eyes —but he questioned much if her bright plumage could long remain unsullied in so close and impure an atmosphere, or if her going and coming were well hidden beneath the veil of secrecy! Fraud and deceit lurked even in the retire- ment of this remote corner of the world—and why not? Nightshade and the poisonous but lovely fox-glove grow alongside wholesome herbs and shrubs, under the shadow of the noble fruit and flower-bearing trees of the forest; and the venomous adder hisses from the tangled roots of majestic giants of the grove. # He arranged the papers for his book-keeper, and sent them home, writing word at the same time that he would not limit his pleasure-trip to Nuremberg and Munich, but would extend it further, much further—he wished to re- visit Rome and Naples—and therefore would not be at home so soon again as he had anticipated. And thus he opined, laughing savagely at himself, that in presence of 112 THE BAILIFF's MAID. the noble works of art, with which the halls and museums of Rome abound, and beneath the sweet, pine-trees.of the Gulf of Naples, he would no longer think of a maiden in Servile garb, and the harsh climate of this close, confined and lonely glade of the Thuringian forest, nay, would hardly be able to comprehend his present lunacy. But next morning, when his curtains were drawn apart and the window opened, the harsh air so scorned by him breathed forth so sweet and spicy a fragrance of strawberries—the waving corn-fields looked so gloriously luxuriant in the splendor of the morning sunshine—and hard by the beech- trees cast their shadows over a certain path through the woods whither his heart would lead him, keeping it, too, so pleasantly cool. As his eye thus contemplated the scene, there came over this passionate, deeply imbittered man a sensation of ardent longing that had nothing to do with the lifeless eyes of marble statues, and that swept over his soul in overpowering intensity. He threw plaid and traveling-bag aside as hurriedly as possible, and established himself, as usual, for the whole day, in the summer-house. He did not set foot, however, upon the precinct beyond the wall, but confined himself to the shade of the garden linden-trees, where he read and wrote, letting down the blinds before the summer-house windows that looked toward the pine grove, closing the door that led to the balcony and out-door steps as firmly as though the foot of man were never more to go in and out. And for the whole of this one day he stuck to his self-im- posed captivity with superhuman resolution. Yes, he list- ened apparently with extreme indifference, while Dame Griebel came in the afternoon and told how she had already hired a new maid for the bailiff's family. This strait-laced person would be ready to enter upon her duties in a few days, and so old Mrs. Griebel had preferred going herself to the farm to carry them the news. She lamented over the bailiff’s wife, who, year in and year out, must keep THE BAILIFF's MAID. 113 to her bed; and at the same time said that the poor cross- bearer was so sweet, gentle and lovely, that she could hard- ly wait patiently for the time when she might herself lift and attend to the wants of the poor, dear little woman; for it was certain that she must take the nursing in hand, after all she had observed herself to-day in a couple of Sec- onds. The bailiff and his wife she found entirely alone. The old cripple, who could hardly creep across the floor, had been obliged to open the house door for her, and not a particle of fire or smoke was to be seen, and that, too, just at the hour for coffee, when the poorest could afford to have a little pot of chicory on the hearth. It was a regu- lar sight to see. She believed that the fine lady-governess was taking her afternoon nap, and the other one—well, everybody knows where she is to be sought. Now, though, she may be off to her forester, bag and baggage, for the “new one * is a very dragon, and such a pattern of indus- try that no good housekeeper could fail to be charmed with her. She will soon bring a bit of order into the household, and work to some purpose on the starved fields, going in nailed shoes and flannel frock, as becomes an ordinary vil- lage maid. In brief, it is high time that there was a thorough cleaning out and purifying, so that an end be put to that Grafenwood scandal. While she talked thus, this little runt of a woman had Scanned the gentleman’s face sharply with her keen little eyes, for, ever since yesterday, when he had left a cup of her superlative coffee untasted and cold as ice upon his desk, and she had picked up the business papers he had left scattered about the floor, she had entertained strange suspicions with regard to the new owner of Deerwood, and just now he had used such a gesture, as though nothing would please him better than to tear her sparse and well- brushed flaxen locks with his long and slender fingers. She Was not the woman, though, to show the result of her ob- servations. She had just rattled on with her talking, and 114 THE BAILIFF's MAID, gone off remarking that she must go and fix up the serv- ant’s room down-stairs for the new maid. And then, when the sun had set, it had actually hap- pened that an impulsive hand had softly turned the knob of the balcony door, drawn back the bolt, and immediately afterward the proprietor had descended the wooden stair- case, and gone to walk between the corn-field and the gar- den wall. This path ran by the back buildings of the es- tate, and across a strip of meadow-land, straight to the Woods. The walker had pressed his hat down low upon his forehead, as though he were ashamed for the whispering heads of wheat and nodding tree-tops to look upon a new folly. To his ear every sound became intensified: that made by his own footsteps, as well as the far-off rustling of the undergrowth as a herd of deer passed through, and the hopping of Squirrels from limb to limb—all these fell with redoubled force upon nerves so highly strained as were his just now. The policeman’s cry to halt would have pro- duced less effect upon him who went along this path than did the thought that Mr. Marcus, the severely correct man of business, was here slinking along like some miserable poacher trespassing upon forbidden ground. And in the forester’s stable the goats had bleated traitorously, and the dog had pressed his nose between the chinks of the gate and barked, to the vexation of him who was creeping around the house, and whose approach over the soft grass had been almost inaudible. The corner windows had been shut down as closely as on yesterday; only from one window on the north side issued a stream of light, shining brightly in the evening twilight, and through this window he had seen what he dreaded, what forced curses to his lips and a tear of impotent rage and bitterness to his eyes. Yes, there she was, standing at the fire-place, and a vivid flame had shot up brightly and suddenly illuminated her figure. He felt an impulse to rush forward and by striking against the window-glass 3. * * ^3 ł \ THE BAILIFF's MAID. 115 frighten her out of the deep reverie into which she seemed plunged, and that cast, as it were, a shadow over the maiden's lovely countenance. But he had hardly time allowed him even for this; she had suddenly collected her faculties, with nimble fingers covered up a vessel that con- tained something boiling over the flame, and with a table- spoon in her hand had vanished behind the nearest door. The man outside had stood still for a second longer; then drawing himself up to his full height, had, as it were, shaken the dust from off his feet, and with hard, firm step- had passed on under the windows of the house, so that the terrier behind the front gate was fully justified in breaking out into a loud bark. A window had rattled; somebody must have looked out, but Mr. Marcus had gone forward, like any other wayfarer who passed the lonely house with- out having the least interest in it. No, he durst no longer be the wretched football of this miserable passion. Shame upon the man who allowed the waves of tender sentiment to close over his head! All must be at an end now, as truly as though an earthquake had swallowed up behind him that brick cottage with all it contained. The stars looked pale as yet, for it was still quite light, but they were there, nevertheless, the few that could be seen through the tops of the trees that overarched the path that he pur- sued; they stood at their posts and looked down unchanged upon the man rushing heedlessly along, just as they had shone upon his path long years before, when he was still a child. How could the poets compare their steady, soft and gentle luster to women’s eyes? A scornful, bitter laugh sounded specter-like in this deep solitude. Could there be anything more delusive than a glance of sweetest sensibility coming from beneath the long eyelashes of a lovely maiden? Saturday evening had come, the last day of this stormy week, and with it the architect who brought the plan for the new farm building. He had something to do on the sº 116 THE BAILIFF's MAID. / / saw-mill, whither the proprietor accompanied him, and so he stayed for lunch at Deerwood. But no sooner had his carriage rolled away from the yard gate than Mr. Marcus descended his steps on his way to the farm, to show the plan. He could trust himself to do that very well, for he, had passed a perfectly quiet night—yes, indeed, as quiet as- though his heart had never beat more quickly than usual. The feeling of contempt had gained for him the mastery over his fatal inclination. And what though for him the sun no longer shone so radiantly upon the world, and it had grown as singularly quiet about him as if the dark earth had absorbed all the gladness of life; better to look into a grave than allow himself to be charmed by a spell and be made a laughing-stock of] In the farm garden they had begun to mow the grass, until the narrow path traversing it was strewn with flower- besprinkled tufts. But a handkerchief lay there be- sides. Mr. Marcus picked up the fine and Snowy thing, from which breathed a delicate odor of violets. The gov- erness must have been taking a walk here, and it was very likely that she might now be surprised in the linden arbor, with her sewing or a book in her hand. The suggestion left him perfectly cold; he had no desire whatever for a meeting, and would simply like to take off his hat to her in passing—but this too was to be omitted. The reaper stood before the table that was in the linden arbor. She had probably sought a moment’s refreshment in its cool shade, being evidently tired and heated. The sickle lay before her on the stone slab beside a handful of grass, from which the girl was picking out the flowers. Without speaking, Mr. Marcus lay the handkerchief that he had found upon the table, and his eye only took a mock- ing survey of the imbrowned but slender hands—he could but think of the new one with her vaunted capacity for work, and doubt whether she too would engage in the graceful task of binding up bouquets. * \ THE BAILIFF's MAID. 117 “And he went on as if the arbor had been perfectly empty. The forester had pronounced his mode of speech and action to be brusque, and instantaneously he became in every lineament brusque and imperious, “a gentleman’’ for whom the servants at the houses where he visited had no existence. But so soon as he had crossed the yard he walked as any other would have done. The old lady on her sick-bed must not, on any account, be made to feel that this farm had now come to be hateful to him in the very depths of his soul. He spread out the plan for the building upon her coun- terpane, and feasted upon the joyful surprise with which she gazed upon a sketch of the pretty new building. Yes, those were tall, beautiful windows and glass doors that opened upon the veranda. Wild grape-vines were to clamber about the iron railings and veranda pillars, and instead of the bare farm-yard, in front of the main en- trance, the sketch showed a pretty grass-plot studded with globe-acacias. As she cried and laughed at the same time, he described to her all the judicious arrangements inside the house, and to all appearance remained perfectly tran- quil under the absurd claims and pretensions of the bailiff —whose comb had suddenly swelled immensely. The in- corrigible Swaggerer was again master of the situation—and was building the house himself. He talked foolishly of parquet floors, of velvet-covered furniture, that he meant to order for the parlor, and found great fault with there being no suitable arrangement made for the approach of a respectable carriage. And meanwhile he hobbled excitedly through the room, majestically stroking the lapels of his patched dressing-gown, as though they had been made of some fine fur, while out of his pocket hung a faded cotton handkerchief. The proprietor Smiled and soothingly pressed the hand of the invalid, who looked at him anxiously, as this tirade was being poured forth, at the same time telling her that 118 THE BAILIFF's MAID. he would look out in Berlin for a comfortable rolling-chair, by means of which her removal to Deerwood might be facilitated. But then he got up to take leave in great haste. It might have been the close, confined air of the sitting-room that drove him, with throbbing temples and palpitating heart, out into the open air; he went only to breathe more freely; yes, for no other reason in the world. Moreover, he might have gone home through the yard gate; but the sun blazed down there with unmitigated heat upon the neglected stony high-way, while the garden invited him with its cool shade-trees, and pray! why should he not go through the garden? - CHAPTER XII. HE held the gate of the hedge in his hand, in order that it might not jar in falling to, and for an instant stood motionless under the shelter of the raspberry bushes, be- cause—now, because it was so refreshingly cool there. And over yonder he saw the maid standing on the square that had been mowed, saw her straighten herself up, draw the violet-perfumed handkerchief of the governess from her pocket and pass it across her face. From what he now saw, the intimacy of mistress and maid extended even to a community of goods. She turned her back upon him, and, from the movement of her shoulders, he saw that she breathed convulsively. Almost in the same minute he stood beside her. “Why do you weep?” asked he, half mockingly, half sympathetically. The maiden uttered a faint cry of alarm, and involun- tarily let the handkerchief fall from before her face. Yes, the lids were red with weeping, but from her eyes deepest indignation flashed forth upon the questioner. She made no answer, and lifted the sickle from the ground, as though THE BAILIFF's MAID, 119 she intended to set to work again without heeding him or his question. " - “Am I to get no answer?” asked he once more, with smothered voice. - She was evidently struggling with herself. “Not until I can prove to you that you have grievously wronged me,” came from between her teeth, uttered with intense emotion. “Would you prove that?” He gave a short, hard laugh. “I should like to know how you will set about it. But this I tell you ’’—and his voice assumed the tone of passion—“I would beg your pardon on my knees, if you could convince me.’’ She looked up in surprise and with unsteady glance, turning red as crimson; then her head sunk low upon her breast, in very deed like one conscious of guilt. “Yes, I know it,” said he, contemptuously, viewing her confusion. “You were at Grafenwood yesterday?” “You, too,” remarked she, quietly. This composure struck him, and, in sooth, he was heart- ily ashamed himself of the espionage at which the girl had caught him. “Ah! I did not know that the people at the forester’s house expected to control all who passed through the for- est,” said he, vacillating between embarrassment and in- finite chagrin. “They have neither time nor inclination for such a thing at the forester's,” replied she, as quietly as before. “The dog barked—” “And you looked out for him whom you were expecting home,” he chimed in, sarcastically. “The evening meal was ready, and he had naught to do but sit down at a well- covered table. He has things comfortable. You are already remarkably domestic and stirring in your future home.” At first she looked up at him in amazement, but sud- 120 THE BAILIFF's MAIB. denly seemed to comprehend. She blushed, and, the cor- ners of her mouth twitched with restrained laughter. “We are not to move to Grafenwood, are we?” inter- posed she, half questioningly. & ** “We? Certainly not, if you understand by that your master and mistress. I believe Miss Agnes Franz would not much relish such a sojourn in the house of her former abigail.” “The forester’s house at Grafenwood belongs to his highness the prince,” replied she, overcoming her disposi- tion to smile; “ and I do not know how I should get the right to dispose of it. As for the rest, I have been too long in Thuringia; if Miss Agnes Franz vanishes, so do I, in order to seek for a support out in the wide world be- yond.” In speechless surprise he gazed upon her. “I would like to believe you,” said he, slowly, without once turning away his eyes from her face, “if I did not know that you were false.” Her lips quivered, but she submitted to the accusation with apparent resignation. “I do not contradict you—why should I talk to the winds? You see things through distorted glasses, and I can not lift a finger toward revealing the truth. Alas! in one respect you will be justified in charging me hereafter with having played a false game—” “Yes, the unwarrantable game of womanly coquetry, as you have learned it from the lady whom it is your delight to follow in everything!” “No; I can not admit that.” She said this decidedly, looking steadily into his angry eyes. He smiled maliciously, with provoking incredulity. “I should like to know the forester’s opinion of it.” “He thinks and says renewedly every day: ‘God be thanked that that dreadful time of anxiety at the farm has THE BAILIFF's MAID. 131 now passed by.” He has the same feeling of relief that I have.” “ A feeling of which he will soon be rid, when he learns that you have been cruelly playing with him.” The girl tossed her head proudly, and an unmistakably sharp answer trembled upon her lips, but she controlled herself, and asked, quite quietly: “Call you that play, the hard, severe labor in the fields that we have assuredly taken upon ourselves like a couple of good comrades? Fritz Weber is a fine, trustworthy man, to whom I shall be grateful all my life. Therefore I have promised him ‘’—a dash of roguishness now appeared upon her beautiful face, to vanish, however, in an instant —“to attend in person at his wedding, though, to do so, I should have to cross the sea. In two years he will be so situated that he can bring home his bride, to whom he has been faithfully attached ever since he used to live at Magde- burg.” The features of the proprietor brightened as though a weight had suddenly been lifted from his soul. “And so you would go across the sea, would you? Will your young lady seek her fortune over there?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps so,” said she, laconically, drawing her slender fingers over the blade of the reaping-hook, as though some blur was to be wiped away. “Let that alone!” said he, turning to her in nervous irritation. “You will hurt yourself. Throw that profane instrument away! You need it no longer any more than your lady does her flower-painting.” The girl let the hand drop that held the sickle, but it did not occur to her to throw the tool upon the ground. “I shall work and stand at my post until a substitute is procured for me,” answered she, with grave composure. “And why my lady is to give up an art that she loves, I can not understand.” - * ~ * * 123 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “Eh! Did you not say that she meant to cross the sea? Now, you see that is the direct road to Utopia, to the dreamed-of prince of diamonds!” -*. She curled her lip contemptuously. “What a high opinion such a rich man entertains of the power of posses- sion!” said she, bitterly. He laughed. “And were that opinion false? God for- bid! Every day confirms it. Shower down a rain of dia- monds over head and shoulders, a palace in some crowded metropolis, and a fairy-like bower in the midst of rich plan- tations, and such an avaricious little person as a governess is sure to be will find the dispenser of all these glories fascinating, though he were black and brutal as Satan him- self. Do you not believe this?” “Well, yes, if you say sol” answered she, in a tone as light as his own. “The one to whom I refer has her own idiosyncrasies. Is it not unbounded presumption in her to allow herself certain sympathies and antipathies, just as you do? I know that she places the advantages of wealth on the same platform to which you have banished those hated governesses—far down below her wishes, ’’ This sharp reply betokened the degree to which she had been provoked, but he did not seem to feel it. “Ah! give up trying to make everything so white!” laughed he. “You are a sensible girl, for one in your sphere, a perfect phenomenon, but your mistress’s inmost being, you may depend upon it, is still a seven-sealed book to you. She deceives you. Away with her then to the longed-for El Dorado! I wish her abundant success from the bottom of my heart. Let her be happy in her own way, provided that she leaves her shadow behind her! Do not go with her. No! stay at Deerwood, will you not?” he asked, almost pleadingly, after drawing a deep breath. But this did not move her in the least. “Stay here? To await my destiny here, perhaps!” asked she, in inde- scribably harsh and mocking tones. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 123 “It would come to fêtch you away much sooner than you think,” answered he, with strange hesitation in his way of speaking; it sounded as though the deep feelings of a hungry heart were welling up to the surface, as these few words came forth in such unsteady tones. He suddenly drew nearer to her, but she shrunk back in alarm, with clouded brow, and raised her right arm as though involun- tarily to ward him off. The sickle-blade flashed between them. “I shall be obliged to take that abominable plaything away from you,” stormed he, catching at it with a swift movement of his hand. It was done with the swiftness of thought, but still neither knew how it was done. He started back, and she uttered a shriek of dismay and hurled the sickle far away. “Am I to blame for it?” stammered she, in horror. “Suppose you are? Was it not all right?” asked he, while he drew forth his pocket-handkerchief and wrapped it around his wounded hand. “Punishment must needs be. That such a simpleton should ever have his wits sharpened!” A fleeting smile of mockery curled his lip, displaying a set of strong and beautiful teeth. “I knew, that very first day, when I received such fa- mous answers on the bridge near the saw-mill, that Thur- ingian thistles sting abominably, and now I have again been silly enough to run right into a hedge of them.” He bowed low and ironically. “So now we are quits, fair prude—I have but received my dues.” She made no reply. Lost in thought, she stood there, her eyes fastened in inexpressible horror upon the white silk handkerchief, which was being fast soaked through and stained with crimson; and, at sight of this, she flew through the garden like some one chased, and disappeared in the raspberry bushes. In spite of his profound ill-humor he had to laugh. This high-hearted heroine, who really had taken a heavy burden 124 THE BAILIFF's MAID. upon her shoulders with heroic courage, could not stand the sight of blood, but left her victim in the lurch. He felt that the wound was not a bad one, and the opening of a vein could do him no harm. For days his blood had been boiling and rushing as impetuously through his veins as if he had had an attack of fever, bewildering and darken- ing his soul. t He was ashamed of himself. He deserved to be despised and ridiculed by his friends. Could they only have seen him now, picture of folly that he was! He could not bear to think of their laughter, well merited though it were, and clinched his fist in rage. And the cloak of contempt in which he had wrapped himself, what had it availed him? Nothing, nothing, Oh! the miserable make-shift! At his very first glance toward the weeping maiden there had been no more thought of that lofty contempt. And that regu- lar flow of spirits whereby he had ever been accustomed to shake off so lightly all pressure upon mind or body, where was it now? Why, no condemned criminal could wear a longer face. As he went along thus, having forsaken the garden with- out delay, following the lonely path to the pine grove, where not a creature could see him and all was still, the young, tender needles of the freshly budding evergreens brushed gently against his face, and seemed to cool his bare and burning brow. He struggled mightily with him- self and those feelings of most painful disillusion. He had experienced one instant of intense joy, when there had first broken in upon him the full sunshine of an infinite bliss. The maiden was innocent and free; no other man had a claim upon her; she had irrefutably proved this, but, alas! how would this help him? He was obliged to admit that he had no prospect of making her his own. After that idea came, no palliation, no promising words availed him anything, and however sweet might be these siren songs of treacherous hope, he felt that the maiden THE BAILIFF's MAID. 135 would have nothing to do with him. His own sound sense and correct-judgment told him this, and bade him struggle manfully to maintain at least a little bit of self-respect. CHAPTER XIII. IN the little summer-house it was oppressively sultry. It had not rained for a long while. Day after day the sun had risen and set in a cloudless, bright blue sky, and gradually everything had become heated through and through, roof and walls, forest, grove, and fruitful field. Mr. Marcus thought Dame Griebel was right when she compared such a brazen sky (that would not allow the tiniest little cloud to rise) to a spiteful, grinning face mak- ing merry over the misfortunes of God’s poor earthly creat- ures. Already the full-eared wheat-stalks were drooping their heads,” while leaves and flowers also showed the first symptoms of coming decay. Yes, this consuming glare was dreadfully prostrating, penetrating through pore and nerve to his very inmost soul, and there seemed to ring in his ears the sound of demoniacal laughter, mocking the woes of poor humanity, that must succumb to destiny all the same, whether with shouts of rebellion or bitter cries of grief. * His hand burned, and it was well that among other com- forts he had had his sanctum furnished with a decanter of fresh water and conveniences for washing. He had no need now to return to the house and throw himself upon Dame Griebel’s hands, a thing which he by no means de- sired, but nevertheless he did not escape his fate. Just as he was about to lave his hand, the fat, good-nat- ured little body came puffing and blowing up the steps to See whether he was there or not, on account of his after- noon cup of coffee. She was not the woman, however, to make much of a flesh-wound. She only shook her head at the gentleman’s 126 THE BAILIFF's MAID. remark that he had cut himself with his pocket-knife, and said, in her dry way: “I can not possibly see how, you, could have managed that, Mr. Marcus. If it had been the thumb or forefinger, I could have seen into it—but in the palm of your hand!” The needful inference that he must have been exceedingly awkward she evidently swallowed with difficulty. She went off, however, to procure some Soft old linen and arnica, promising, however, that Mr. Marcus must arm himself with patience and keep his hand in the water while she was looking up the things. Old linen was not exactly easy to come at, and as for the arnica, Heaven knows where that was, since it had not been used for ages. Once more quietness reigned in that little retreat. The door leading to the balcony was standing wide open, and through it came, now and then, a faint breeze, that did not, however, cool off the air. Mr. Marcus sat in his easy- chair, and before him lay a dressing-case, whence he drew forth a piece of sticking-plaster. He wanted to make short work of it, and hence have no need for recourse to the aid threatened by Dame Griebel, but already he had forgotten what he had set out to do. His forehead was buried in his left hand and his eyes were closed—again he was in the farm-garden, and the Sweet, anxious, deadly pale counte- nance was near to him; he could almost feel her breath fan his cheek. “I do believe I shall go mad over this girl,” he mur- mured, between his teeth, drawing his fingers through his rich suit of hair in a manner suggestive of desperation. What was that though?—a soft, velvety step upon the balcony stairs? Assuredly, no one would come here. This corner of the garden was so solitary, and of the few neigh- bors living near not one would have ventured to approach the master of the house in this way. Mr. Marcus looked up, and as a sudden thrill ran through his frame, fancied that he must be dreaming—most certainly somebody was THE BAILIFF's MAID. 127 coming up the stairs and just now about to stand in the door-way—she, the prude, to whose cheeks the life-blood had not yet returned, in spite of the glowing atmosphere that had brought a flush to every other face. She was coming to him—into his house! Ah, yes! with all her in- accessibility and reserve in personal intercourse, she had gone freely in and out of the unmarried forester’s house. She paid no deference to the requirements of conventional usage, none to the biting tongue of slander. So, there she stood, with timid glance, it is true, and shy hesitation, upon the half-neutral ground of the balcony—and yet most indubitably she was in the act of entering. There boiled up within him a strange mixture of delight at Seeing her and vexation at the step she was taking, and to this was added a dread lest at any minute Dame Griebel might make her appearance—when, oh! would not her mill be supplied with grist to grind? It was all over, then, with any hopes of preserving the fair fame of this poor, imprudent thing. He jumped up in excitement. A burning blush suffused his face. “What would you have?” he asked, unsteadily, therefore almost rudely, and with repellant accent. When she heard these sounds it seemed as though the maiden would drop. She involuntarily caught at the balcony rail- ing for support, and drew her other hand across her eyes. But she quickly recovered herself. “My master, the bailiff, sends his warm thanks for these books, and begs that you will be so good as to lend him ‘Munchausen,” by Immerman,” said she, dispiritedly, at the same time handing him two volumes that he had lent the bailiff, which she took from a little basket on her arm. Ah, she came as an envoy—as her master’s maid! How strange that he was forever forgetting her station in life! If ordered by the bailiff to go, it was not for her to refuse. Dame Griebel herself could not gainsay that— such was her duty. 128 • THE BAILIFF's MAID. “I have not the book here,” replied he, while his brow cleared, “ and must ask you to wait a moment. I’ll go fetch it.” . He wrapped a cloth around his still bleeding hand, and was about to open the gate leading to the garden when he was stopped by the maiden approaching to within a few steps of him. “There is time enough,” objected she, hurriedly, in shy embarrassment. “I was to carry these books to the for- ester, in order that he might effect the exchange. He will be here this evening to get the book. Please give it to him.” In overpowering shame she suddenly clasped both hands before her face. “Oh, how painful!” murmured she, and letting her hands drop down again she said, with downcast eyes: “The exchange of books was only a pre- text for introducing myself. Perhaps you thought so yourself. I came—because I could not bear to have caused you pain without doing what I could to lessen it. I will make such restitution as I can.” Ah, how speedily was all forgotten that had just now occupied his thoughts! His hypermoral scruples, Dame Griebel’s lost respect, how could such trifles compare for a moment with the touching tones that had just struck upon his ear, or stand for a moment in presence of that sweet, pale, girlish face, bent low upon her breast in meek humil- ity! Involuntarily he stooped over, in order to clasp her in his arms, where she should be protected for all time to come. But this one rash movement scared her away forth- with to the threshold of the balcony door. She really seemed horrified at the effect of her words upon the beam- ing countenance of the proprietor, and lifted her foot to re- move yet further from him, bound down the steps and escape into the open country. “I had just run to the house for some bandages,” said she, reproachfully, with darkly contracted brow; “but when I came back you had gone. I do not know whether or not I am to bear the blame of that unhappy accident; THE BAILIFF's MAID. 129 in any case I have been incautious, and this thought gives me no rest, but has driven me thither! I will not have any unexpiated sin upon my conscience against any one, be it whosoever it is.” *** * * “Ah! that indeed? Well, then, I thank you right heartily for your sympathy,” remarked he, smiling bitter- ly, as he stepped up to the table. “You can go home comforted. I alone am to blame. Why did I go so rashly near to the defiant sickle-bearer? As for the rest, you see that I was just about ’’—he pointed to the dressing-case— ‘‘to-close simply with court-plaster the witnesses to this ‘unhappy accident.’” “That will not suffice,” said she, promptly and decisive- ly, coming further into the room. “ The wound goes tol- erably deep. I saw it, and have a remedy that will pre- vent inflammation and promote rapid healing.” She threw back the cover of the basket that she had brought with her, and took out a little bundle of linen. “ Allow me to bind it up for you! You may trust to me implicitly. I am no stranger to the duties of dea- coness.” ~x. “Take care! Think you that I would submit to such a sacrifice on your part? Never, fair prude! I, who know with what reluctance you discharge such Samaritan-like duties—only remember the bridge by the saw-mill, where I had to appeal to your sentiments of Christian compassion ere you would release a poor devil like myself from such a vise! This happens no second time! And now, in God’s name, go home, or better to Grafenwood, and tell the for- ester that the book shall be ready, if he will call for it, this eyening.” She did not go—on the contrary, stepping up to the table she unrolled her bundle of linen, uncorked a little vial of medicine, and spread out various things to aid in making the ligatures. This was all done dexterously, con- fidently, an; With silent gravity, just as a surgeon is wont 130 THE BAILIFF's MAID: to behave toward a refractory patient. “You may rate, me harshly, and pass merciless judgment upon me, ngy more, you may despise memore thoroughly even than heretor- fore, but I shall not give up until I have discharged my, duty,” said she, softly, but with firmness, - * “But positively I will have none of your dutiful services. I decline them, and herewith give you my testimony, that you have done everything within the range of human pos- sibility to quiet your sensitive conscience,” Cried he, quiv- ering with excitement. “Are you satisfied now?” The maiden shook her head. “I was overhasty just now, and hurt your feelings by my heedless words. You are quite right to ask for self-control as the first requisite of a deaconness, and therefore I pray you to forget my in- considerate demeanor.” She timidly held out her hand to him. “Much ado about nothing!” exclaimed he, half laugh- ing and half angry, without, however, heeding her gesture. “Who would waste even a word on such a trifle as this paltry cut. And if I should so far draw upon my stock of patience as to stand still, the very next minute I might tear off the things. I am much too impatient.” “re “Be good!” interrupted she, with gentle entreaty. These tones produced a magical effect. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned away his head, leaned his left hand upon the table, and silently held out to her the wounded right member. She must indeed have already exercised the office of a deaconess, for her skillful, confident way of probing a wound was not merely the result of that dexterity which is natural to woman. – C The gentleman slowly turned toward her again, and looked down upon her. * . “Were you ever in an institution for deaconesses?” asked he, with audible astonishment. - ~ & ‘S - c “Yes; not very long, it is true, and not with the ex- THE BAILIFF's MAID. 131 clüsive purpose of becoming a deaconess. I only wanted to ścquire so-much knowledge as might render me fit to extend aid in cases of emergency, when out in the country, where a surgeon must sometimes be summoned from a great distance.” She made this answer without once paus- ing in her task. But now she looked up. “You will have to send for a surgeon,” said she; and he saw how her eyes filled with tears. “The sickle was notched.” He laughed. “Just you sew away courageously,” said he, cheerfully, “ and trust to my robust constitution.” - She pressed her teeth together, and handled the needle rapidly and steadily, although now and then her delicate fingers quivered. Here was another problem to solve con- cerning this remarkable person. What manner of spirit was she of? Her style of speech, her whole nature and bearing, the ever-denied and yet ever-recurring evidence of general information, proclaimed her as certainly belonging to the higher class of society—and yet she discharged the most menial offices; and the governess, who knew her capabilities most intimately, inexorably kept her under the yoke of this degrading servitude. What gave to yon egotist her power over the mind and destiny of this wondrous mäiden? His eye hung spell-bound upon the shapely head that bent over his hand, with its wealth af nut-brown tresses brushed so smoothly back from her marble brow—an elec- tric current flashed through his frame. His breath came and went with difficulty. Upon the little bit of her white neck, left bare by her neck-handkerchief, was again to be seen that velvet band, this time with knot half untied. Did she wear an amulet, or a dear memento on her breast, that she never laid aside? An ebullition of jealousy caused a rush of blood to the head—how he would have liked to catch the ribbon by its loose end and dash it far away. The girl assuredly did not suspect the deed of violence that 132 THE BAILIFF's MAID. he meditated, else she could not have looked up to him with so heartfelt a glance of gratitude. The bandage was applied, she gently let go of his hand, and approached the table in order to put away again the things that were left. “I thank you,” said she, drawing a deep sigh of relief, as though a burden had been lifted from her soul. “To-, morrow I’ll come again and see after it.” -* He had nothing whatever to oppose to this, yet he did not speak. Treason and evil wishes were trickishly spin- ning their webs within his soul. To outward appearance watching her occupation with truly heroic composure, he was really dreaming that a puff of wind had picked up his snug little summer nest from the garden wall, with all whom it contained, and transported it with the lightning- like speed of thought through the air until it was set down softly within the grounds of the suburban Villa Marcus. Far behind in the Thuringian forests was left the inexplica- ble power of the egotistic inmate of the attic, and the house of Grafenwood, with its power of attraction and its un- solved enigmas. Torn away from all her surroundings, the being for whom he so ardently longed had cast herself for protection upon him and him alone, and he would never let her go again. Yes, somewhat of that sort was the treacherous web woven, drawing its meshes tighter and tighter, while he stood beside her and inhaled the faint odor of sweet vio- lets—the perfume used by that governess, and exhaling also from the coarse garments of her maid. And what hindered him from forthwith taking upon himself the part of the storm-wind, and winning the sur- prised maiden by a sudden and passionate wooing? Noth- ing but the will in that cute little maiden's head. Should he actually live to see the day when the bailiff’s maid would declare, in brief, blunt words, that she hesitates very much to become mistress of the Villa Marcus? In view of the efforts of the governesses this decision was novel and unheard of, and imposing, besides, for in this and no other THE BAILIFF's MAID. 133 way, would it turn out, he felt sure, and thus Mr. Marcus, junior, wh9, at home, was accustomed to carry his head high; and scorn the female sex in general, was upon his guard, and pressed his lips firmly together in order that no passionate word might challenge a sharp rebuke from this sober girl in servant’s clothes. CEIAPTER XIV. HE used to have no objection whatever to Dame Grie- bel’s coming, for her chat afforded him constant amuse- ment; but just now the creaking of her leather shoes grated most unpleasantly upon his ears, as they could be heard steadily ascending the stairs from the garden. He saw that the sound brought a mantling blush to the maiden’s . cheek, but she gave no other evidence of embarrassment, quietly continuing to roll up the parcel of linen as Dame Griebel opened the door. JHer daughter Louise accompanied her. The waiters, borne by the two, hardly sufficed for the bottles of rasp- berry-juice and Seltzer-water, the coffee things, arnica, and Heaven knows what else, the good woman had scraped to- gether in her hurry, “Well, now!” exclaimed she, drawing her words out, lifting up her eyebrows, and standing on the top step as though nailed to the spot. And more nimbly than usual. she turned her head back toward her little chicken, spread- ing herself out, so as to obstruct the view for those saucy young eyes that were in her rear. “Ah! you are too late, most respected Griebel,” said Mr. Marcus. “It is not a thing to be despised, when peo- ple keep armica and old linen at hand like our friends over at the farm. This awkward accident to my hand hap- pened over there, and because I had such a dread of its be-, ing bandaged—I am of a timid disposition—why I just ran. off, but in vain. The surgeon followed close upon my: 134 THE BAILIFF's MAID. heels, and so I must hold still whether I like it or no Only look here, most excellent of nurses! The gaping wound is sewed up, artistically Sewed up, and I should like to see the person that would find fault with this bandage.” “Is it possible—sewed?” with these words the waiter was set down upon the table so hard that the china and glass rattled; and, at the same time, admission was allowed for Touise. “Why, that is well done indeed,” chimed in Mrs. Grie- bel; “but as for your being of a timid disposition, tell that to the marines, I was not born yesterday. By my faith, the bandage actually looks as if it had been put on by our old medical counselor at the Castle of Heinrich’s Walley— he is a clever man; a famous doctor, you must know, Mr. Marcus. Why, that old Tillrada quack would be ready to Creep into an augur-hole if he could see himself beaten thus upon his own ground. And did you do this—you, the bailiff’s maid?” She fixed her eyes keenly upon the girl. “Yes! Where do the maids in your country learn how to do such man’s work as this? Nothing of that sort is taught at the school where my Louise is being instructed in all manner of learning—am I wrong, Louise?” “No, mamma,” replied her daughter, who had been all this while gazing upon the beautiful waiting-maid in open- mouthed silence. “But a fellow-pupil of mine, who is en- gaged to go out as a governess next Easter, is now staying with deaconesses in order to learn the care of the sick.” “Ah, indeed? Well, that is all right. Your young lady over there is a person of that sort, and you have caught the knack from her,” said Dame Griebel to the girl, who with averted face had continued her task until finished, and who was now replacing the lid upon her basket. “It has all suited very well in case of an accident, such as has overtaken the master, when she could make you take her place. Of course, it would have never done for her, a THE BAILIFF's MAID. 135 bailiff's niece, to come here into a gentleman’s room. What a fine dish of gossip, to be sure, it would furnish the servants in stable and kitchen!” The maiden’s cheeks flushed crimson, and her hands felt backward after the knotted ends of her large white ker- chief, in order that she might loosen them. “What is that you say?” exclaimed the proprietor, sharply and indignantly. “What has become of my Grie- bel’s sound sense? I ask, what reasonable person would turn around out of deference to kitchen gossip? Surgical aid, let who will exercise it, lifts one above the bondage of social customs, silly as they often are. The right surgeon for me would be the one who would not scruple to minister to a drunken or wounded man if her skill were applied for.” “Well, the bleeding was not so dangerous after all, Mr. Marcus,” replied Dame Griebel, with undisturbed tran- quillity and not in the least sensitively. “But your fine talk about honor is not quite so much to the point. I stand to it, that a lady’s good name may suffer at the hands of common folks, just as those wretched little mice make their nests in the finest of silk dresses, without once stopping to ask if it belongs to them or not. You should only hear their tongues, for example, wagging over this girl here *—she pointed at the girl—“but I do not mean to scald my mouth again. God forbid! I’m mute!” and here she broke off. “I would add my entreaties to that end too,” said Mr. Marcus, with solemn gravity. “You? Bless me, you take it as gravely as a judge, Mr. Marcus. In your eyes Dame Griebel is all of a sudden an old dragon, ready to devour every young person who comes in her way. I see myself such a creature! No. Such a one I am not, nor ever have been. I always had a weakness for a pretty young girl even in my youthful days, and may be looked up to such lovely creatures with the *…* x < * , a - ~~& v sº- *- * +2. 136 THE BAILIFF's MAID. greater delight, being no beauty myself. I always was just the same little ugly runt that I am to-day, but my Peter always liked me just as I was. But as I was saying, I never could help grieving bitterly when one whom I had set my heart upon took to wrong ways and had the finger of scorn pointed at them. You need not shrink so,” Cried she, turning back toward the girl, who tried to slip behind her and gain the balcony steps; and just as the stout little woman had done once before, on the road to the Saw-mill, she now held her who sought to escape fast by the ends of her apron-strings. “What I am saying fits you exactly— you and nobody else. Now, when for Once you have not that absurd covering over your head, I see what you are like. You are a beautiful creature—even envy must admit that. On my faith, one might search far and near before he could come up with such a face as that.” She paused for a moment, literally put out of counte- nance; for, as she heard those last words, the girl tore off her kerchief and threw it over her head, so as to hide her face. But now holy indignation overmastered this imper- turbable woman. “What! Are you a Catholic, a cloistered nun, to be so precious of your face? Is it a misfortune or a shame for an honest woman to look you in the face? Zounds, what a Saint! Say, are you the same shy bird when you are at the forester’s house?” A loud outcry from Louise cut short this castigation. The velvet ribbon had been loosened by the violent move- ment which the girl made, and it fell from her neck to the floor. She herself had taken as little heed of this as the in- furiated woman; but with so much the greater interest had Mr. Marcus's eyes followed the direction of the ribbon, hastily Snatching at it, and picking it up from the floor—a gold coin hung upon it, at sight of which Louise had ut- tered that cry of exultation. But at this minute the maiden’s eye too fell upon the ..ºry x wº , sº * **** $** - 3% THE BAILIFF's MAID. 137 gold piece dangling from the ribbon. With both hands she felt around her neck. “That gold coin is mine,” declared she, composedly, stretching out her right hand to take it. “Ha! Yours? Hearken, girl, I can not take that in. How do you come by so valuable a piece?” asked Dame Griebel, as she quietly thrust aside her intimidated Louise in order to fight out the battle herself. “I know that gold ducat as well as I know my own name—it belongs to my Louise just as certainly as two and two make four. Such old family pieces are not to be picked up every day, our old lady said that herself on confirmation-day, when she hung that ducat around my little daughter’s neck. Ah! but that was a solemn time; it makes cold chills run over me to remember it now. And now only say—it will bring no harm on you—did you not find that gold ducat lying outside the house, and were you not tempted to try how becoming it would be to your pretty face?” The girl’s whole face became blanched. “To wear found jewelry is the same as stealing!” she gasped forth. “Stealing—what?” repeated the little woman, shaking her head. “Who says that, silly girl? No one suspects you of such a thing. An experienced woman like myself can discern light-fingered gentry at a glance. If you could stoop to robbery, you would have better clothes on your back. But you are young, and a wee bit of vanity is to be excused. I bear you no grudge for it—God forbid! Yet, in sooth, I am glad that we have the ducat again! But another time I’ll tie it on tighter, Louise.” “Not this ducat, in any case!” declared the girl, posi- tively. “Then your daughter would be wearing an orna- ment that did not belong to her. It has belonged to me for many years,” said she, turning gravely to the master of the house—“ and—well, it must be told and proved—it was given me by the deceased lady whose former home was 138 THE BAILIFF's MAID, here. Look at the inscription! It is one of the first Sicilian gold coins, dating from the twelfth century—” “Quite right,” assented he. “I know it, and its motto runs: Sut tibi Christe datus—” “Quem tu regis iste Ducatus,” said she, completing the quotation. He smiled and lay the ducat in her hand. “This bringing of proof was not needful. And yet one thing astonishes me: I perceive that your egotistical mis- tress has occasional little fits of magnanimity, and decorates her abigail with pretty mementoes of her deceased old friend.” The girl blushed but did not speak, and again untying the cloth that enveloped her head, fastened the ribbon around her neck. “And am I really to stand by silent and look on such injustice?” cried Dame Griebel, beside herself with anger, and pointing at the sunburned fingers of the maiden as she hurriedly slipped the ends of the ribbon into a knot. “Am I to suffer the bailiff’s maid to fasten round her neck, right before my eyes, the gold ducat that my Louise had on her neck every day for three whole years? And that merely because that singular girl there has been cute enough to learn by heart the verse written upon it? To be sure, I could not repeat it—not if I were to gain the world by it, and though you should strike me dead if I couldn’t. Such foreign gibberish I have never had any use for—I am a true German—what is that French trash to me?” “It is Latin, mamma,” laughed little Louise, flinging her plump arms around the shoulders of the wrathy wom- &Il. “Ah! what do I care? French or Latin, it is all one to me. And now go away, you little flatterer! You shall not get around me this time, I promise you. It is not handsome of you, Mr. Marcus, to take the part of that un, THE BAILIFF's MAID. 139 settled young thing against a woman of established char- acter. King Solomon in the Bible, even, would not have been allowed such power—no offense, Mr. Marcus, but proofs come before judgment. Yes, laugh if you choose, and go on laughing to the end; I do not take it ill of you! I know, though, that my time to laugh is coming. The girl says that our blessed old mistress gave her the ducat— but the bailiff’s new maid did not come to Deerwood until long after the dear old lady was dead and buried. We are to suppose, I reckon, that her blessed spirit showers down gold coins from the sky in behalf, moreover, of one who must earn her bread by the sweat of her brow—for one whom she never laid eyes on in her life-time? You do not get me to believe any such thing! And how many ducats like that is the old lady presumed to have had? One's whole neck can not have been set round with them—one at a time is as much as one ever wears.” “One wears nine, too, strung on a golden chain, for just such a one is among my aunt’s possessions, most respected Griebell” remarked the proprietor, with a mixture of hu- mor and vexation. “I will produce the desired proofs after awhile—you shall see for yourself that two gold coins are missing, which leaves no doubt but that one has been made a present of at the farm. Or would you deny that the deceased was upon intimate terms with the people who live there?” “Eh! Why should I wish to deny it? Really, then, nine pieces on one chain, and all alike?” asked she, in low tones, and very much taken aback. “I never had an idea of such a thing,” said she, in apologetic tones, shrugging her shoulders. “Our old lady was not one for arraying herself in finery and jewels—for whom, indeed, was she to dress? For the whole time of the Tillroda fair, which was gotten up for Deerwood, too, the upper story of the man- sion house was kept close-locked, and not a mouse, much less an attendant on the fair, could have found even so *~, **** * wº- - ** *** * **º gº .gº. 3. ‘º :*:: ***. < -- . * *-23-4;.”: ' ' - c. •: * A- ºr J40 THE BAILIFF's MAID. much as a crumb of cake in the cupboard over our heads; she had nothing to do with the bustle of company and parade. There is no denying the fact, though, the bailiff's wife, or Miss Franx, may be, got the other ducat. But what I ask you now is, how comes it on your neck? Can you tell, girl?” and she looked across her shoulder at her. “Am I to suppose that the ladies at the farm would look quietly on and see their maid trick herself out in their orna- ments? In cooking, too, in hay-making, and washing, and those faded garments that, the next thing, will come tumbling off her back—a lovely spectacle, truly.” “But, mammal” interrupted Louise, with gentle ad- monition in her tone. The eyes of the young girl were fastened immovably upon the singular being who, amid all the humiliations to which she was exposed, had not for a moment lost her look of proud reserve. “All that sounds so insulting—you are generally so good and compassionate, and can not stand the sight of a tearful eye. At all events, the ladies at the farm must have made a present of the ducat— ” “Present!” spitefully repeated Dame Griebel. “Only hear the Squeak of this hedge-sparrow, who thinks itself a model of wisdom, when it really has not a grain of sense or reason. Saints alive! there at the farm—where the wolf is ever at the door—where they have not even a cup of coffee to drink of an afternoon, and where the old gentleman runs around in a dressing-gown that is made up of a thousand patches; that is the place where they give their servants ducats; ducats, forsoothl a likely tale, you little goose! I can not indeed bear to see tears in anybody’s eyes, but just behold those black ones, if you please! No signs of tears there—” She paused and looked at the master, who stretched out his hand toward her in sign of silence, but his angry Countenance did not intimidate her. “Well, and what ob- jection have you to what I am saying, Mr. Marcus?” asked *- THE BAILIFF's MAID. 141 she, quite composedly. “Only to behold that hardened girl over there; why she looks as though she never shed a tear in her life! Nothing but the demon of pride rules there; she looks down upon us as upon the dust beneath her feet." I have no pity on such people; I should be a hypocrite if I should pretend to such a thing. But I’ll not, vex myself about the matter any more. I see plainly that our ducat is not in the question, and it is not my business to guard other people’s property. Those good friends over there must e”en look to their own affairs—they have not given their treasure-box into my keeping.” She stepped up to the table and began to arrange the china and glass, while, on her side, the maiden departed. In vain Mr. Marcus leaned forward, trying to catch her eye—her countenance was impenetrable as stone. Not an eyelash quivered, and passing him by she went down the steps. As though magnetically attracted, Louise followed her and stood still upon the balcony. “Do not go away in anger,” she called down, whisper- ingly, and with accents of entreaty. The girl, who was just now passing below the balcony, neither looked up nor gave any other sign of having heard this appeal. “Do not trouble yourself, little Louise,” said Mr. Mar- cus, who had also stepped out, in a loud, Satirical tone; “you can not appease her by your child-like pleading; the innocent must suffer with the guilty—that is the way with Women. I, also, am under a ban, because I supposed that any defense in face of such accusation were really an in- sult.” “Go in, Louise, and play no silly tricks,” Dame Griebel ordered, in short, dry tones, from the table where she stood. “Let that singular being go. Just as at court one must weigh their words well, where a blind man might see that 142 THE BAILIFF's MAID. there is something wrong in that story of the ducat. Mr. Marcus, that girl is a maid like all other maids, and because she knows how to put on a certain style, you need not do exactly as though she might be, if possible, the bailiff’s niece herself. That is just the way to spoil people, and afterward there is no abiding in the house with them.” With these words she also drew near the balcony door, at the same time as she wiped and polished the tumbler which was to receive the mixture of raspberry juice and seltzer-water. “I should just like to know exactly where the young lady at the farm picked up that girl. It strikes me that she must have run off from a tribe of gypsies. She is acquainted with so many arts, as we saw in the case of that bandaging; she has such a queer, foreign accent—and look how she is flying toward the woods! Her kerchief has fallen from her head and she takes no note of it whatever., Really, there she has left it lying in the road! Well, to be sure, there we see the genuine blood of a wanton gypsy race! And then her jet-black, thick hair belongs to the gypsy race. It actually sparkles in the sunlight. Yes, a gypsy is slight, slippery, and flexible as a lizard; the old Crones steal women’s purses out of their pockets, and the young ones right often steal men’s hearts out of their bodies. Mark my words, Mr. Marcus, the story of the ducat is not ended yet; we shall live to hear the rest.” “Let us wait and see!” and he curtly and abruptly closed the interview, picking up from the table the books that the girl.had brought. “Well, yes, nothing else is left for us to do; but we shall not need much patience,” said she, dryly, following him with her eyes and shaking her head over him as he went down the steps with the books under his arm, and pro- ceeded to the house, leaving her standing alone in the sum- mer-house surrounded by all her delicacies. But later she grew seriously angry; for, as the maids told her, the mas- THE BAILIFF's MAID. 143 ter had left the house directly and gone straight to the woods. And Mr. Peter Griebel smiled—he had just taken his seat for supper under the cherry-tree in the yard, and twirled his thumbs good-humoredly, as she stepped up to him and said, rather faster than she was accustomed to articulate: “That man evidently thinks that the Griebels were put into the world to wait upon him. Yes, profit! There have I been sweltering over the fire to get him a cup of coffee; running into the cellar after Seltzer-water; cutting up a counterpane that I wove myself, a right good one yet—that worries me most of all!—and there I went searching through all my chests and presses after arnica; and all this—just to be laughed at for my pains! Just let him comewhere I am again!” CHAPTER XV. CoulD she be a gypsy, that mysterious creature? Had she blossomed in Zingara tents? With this bold hypothesis that good woman, Dame Griebel, had, as it were, thrown a ball which her master had picked up almost in spite of himself, and been turning over all yesterday and to-day, half laughingly, half curiously. He laughed when he thought of the intellectual grace, the marked features of the maiden’s character, which undeniably indicated culture and knowledge of the usages of Society. He laughed when he thought of those brown eyes—Dame Griebel had called them black under the influence of anger—her gravely modest air—her white chin could not have preserved its enamel under the exposure of camp-life, continued from her childhood up. No, she was not a wild flower. And , yet dark suspicions pressed upon him. Could those ques- tionable visitors at the forester’s house have had connection with some former sphere of life whence she had made her escape? Had they tracked her and made their claims felt, * 144 THE BAILIFF's MAID. *- and did the forester, her “trusty comrade,” put up with the presence of these nomadic gentry in order gradually to loosen their hold upon the maiden, and finally redeem her - completely from their power? This was strange, and when he thought of her, her persevering industry, her unex- ampled devotion to her master and mistress, then he re- jected that thought as absurd, as absolutely ridiculous. But this evening he had again seen her in the game-keeper’s house. After a long ramble in the forest he had—against his will of course—found himself at the old point of obser- vation; it was for him the enchanted ring drawn around a new victim every night by the souls of deceased lovers—it was the cross-barred pen for game against which the stag strikes his antlers in vain. Beyond the boundary lines that inclosed Deerwood and the bit of Grafenwood that held the forester’s cottage he went no more. Now, if truth must be told, he played the spy, watching her even to a late hour of the evening. Before he was well aware of what he was about he had stood upon the bench under the two corner windows hung with the blue roller-blinds; but from this window had gone forth a pale and bluish light, a magical sheen, just as fascinating and attractive to him as to the swarms of moths and gnats that came trooping hither from marsh and swampy low ground. One blind, slightly drawn aside, had afforded him a partial view of the interior of that corner room which had been so long an object of curiosity to him, and because the forest around had become so intensely still as twilight drew on apace with its darkening shadows, as though life and breath were being stifled beneath the oppressive sultriness of the heat, he had plainly heard the murmuring of a manly Voice coming from behind the closed shutters. It had Sounded monotonous, almost like the confession of an op- pressed spirit, and had been often interrupted by a long- drawn breath or painful sigh. f The lamp-light had not been sufficient for pervading the THE BAILIFF's MAID. 145 roomy apartment, and the greater part of it therefore had remained in gloomy half shade, and there the maiden had sat still, with her head leaning against the high back of her chair and her left arm stretched out. It had seemed as though some one was holding her hand in his own, for many a time the arm was slightly shaken. Mr. Marcus had used every exertion to find out what man sat there in the dark corner, thus uninterruptedly talking to the girl and holding her hand firmly within his own, as though she were his undisputed property, but those inexorable window- frames stood precisely in his way, and the invisible man had not been obliging enough to stoop forward one single time. Dim as had been the light yet it had been sufficient to illumine the pale maiden’s face. Its expression had been one of pain, and those vilified eyes (said to be incapable of tears) had hung upon the speaker with sad and mournful expression. Then she had suddenly drawn herself up and assumed a listening attitude. The approaching tramp of a horse was heard, a sound that had been irritating and disturbing Mr. Marcus for a long while already, but which seemed just now to have reached her ears. It was high time for him to leave his post of observation. Mr. Marcus had sought the refuge of the coppice, and immediately afterward a rider had come around the curve of the road. Emerging at a quiet pace from the silence of the darken- ing forest, in the uncertain light of a starry sky, the ap- parition of the horseman had assumed gigantic proportions and a mysterious solemnity, so that not much fancy was required in metamorphosing him into a gypsy captain, especially as he wore a broad-brimmed, slouched hat, and the buttons on his jacket shone like silver. Upon his approach the house door had been noiselessly opened, and just as softly had the forester stepped out upon the stairs. In a whisper he had greeted the horse- man, taken his horse by the bridle, and led him a few times 146 THE BAfLIFF'S MAID. up and down, while the other dismounted and went into the house. Probably the riddle might have been guessed just now, if the farm-dog had not interfered. Springing out of the house he had run barking around the horse, until a kick from his master reduced him to a sudden silence, and sent him off just in the direction where stood the watcher be- hind a tree. Upon the renewed barking of the dog, that gentleman had issued from the thicket with apparent unconcern, and, without paying any attention to the green coat, he had struck into the homeward path. Later, it is true, he had returned to the forester’s house; and still the blue light in the corner window had sent forth its rays into the woods, like a pale star, but steed and rider had vanished like specters of the night, the high-backed chair upon which the maiden had sat remained empty and deserted, while not another whisper came from the dark corner to excite his eager curiosity. All these singular goings-on must have been instituted for the sole gratification of the owner of the house, who now sat alone at the half-shaded lamp, bending his handsome head over a volume in which he seemed deep- ly absorbed. And in the fantastic web, from which Mr. Marcus had not been able to extricate himself, with all his self-knowl- edge and clear judgment, ever mingled new threads from outside. The Jew who came to beerwood from Tillroda, on account of a horse trade, told how a band of gypsies had passed by the place and given rise to Scandal, because they had not been permitted to stay overnight. And for the rest they had been a splendid-looking set of fellows, bringing with them horses that were genuine specimens of a noble breed—stolen property, of course, from the Hun- garian steppes. And following upon this news, a servant, Coming back from delivering a message, complained that the forester now always shut the door rudely in his face, THE BAILIFF's MAID. 147 and dismissed him as abruptly as though he were a thief, whenever he went there on an errand from his master. Such hints suggested tantalizing queries. This time, though, he was determined to see to the very bottom of those brown eyes. He would exert all his per- spicacity and control his foolish passion, in order to study this incomprehensible maiden, when she came—and come she must. It is true, that yesterday she had gone away, deeply wounded in spirit, but nevertheless she had said: “I’ll come again to see after it.” And to those words he clung, as to the promise of a man of honor. He religious- ly kept the bandage on his right hand, irksome as it was to him; she should see that he had faithfully waited for her. He would not budge, then, from the summer-house, whence he could watch for her approach, although the sun poured down upon it with relentless ardor, until in the afternoon the atmosphere seemed unbearably stifling. The door to the outside steps stood wide open, so that his sur- gical attendant might come in directly, but hour after hour passed away, and still she did not appear. The road to the pine thicket remained untrod and still as death: not even a butterfly fluttered across the dusty, fissured line of road, where the burning air scintillated as from a well-heated oven. Still the pitiless sky arched above the parched and thirsty earth like a heated globe of burnished brass, but the far-off line of the hitherto sharply defined horizon be- gan to grow hazy. The first clouds that had appeared for many days approached softly, and imperceptibly swelling, and darkening as they came, until in a huge mass they now hovered threateningly above the tops of the forest trees. And as they spread themselves, and with long arms began to embrace the whole expanse of blue, and rashly lay siege to the throne of fiery Sol himself, in the same degree waxed the impatience of the watcher. If she should tarry much longer, the storm would break forth, and then he could not see her to-day at all. 148 THE BAILIFF's MAID. *- He took his hat, closed the glass door behind him, and descended the balcony steps, while at the very minute that he set foot upon the road he saw something moving behind the ſ extremest corner of the thicket. But the violent palpita- / tion of heart ensuing proved to be wholly unwarranted—it was not the hated and yet ardently expected maiden that' now appeared above the lower pine-trees of the thicket—a straw hat with floating blue ribbons, crowning a flaxen head, showed it to be Louise, who now came running along, with her good, fat mother trotting behind. Dame Griebel stopped half-way. “Thank God, there comes Mr. Marcus!” with a turning back of her head that indicated her dread of the gathering clouds. “If we are caught we shall get a regular ducking—else, oh! I’ll be thankful, and bake the beggar-children to-morrow a butter- cake so good that they’ll remember its taste for ten years to come.” She set down a large hand-basket, and wiped the per- spiration from her brow. “That was a hot walk, I can tell you, Mr. Marcus, and not for the world would I have stirred outside of our own cool rooms,” said she to the master, who had now come up, “but the new maid at the farm came to-day about noon, and I had to see after her myself. And well it was that I went. The stupid thing comes from a rich farmer’s house, and is already howling over empty presses and bare cellar. I had expected something of the sort, and so packed up in that basket there ham, and sausage, and jars of preserves, and while she was bewailing her case in the kitchen, my little girl was secretly stowing the things away in the store-room. Well-a-day, it does not look especially pleasant over there—that must be granted. Their smoke- house is literally bare, for their hogs were all distrained the winter before—and one who has just come from the flesh- pots of Egypt may well feel dissatisfied. On this account you would think that the master and mistress would be THE BAILIFF's MAID. 149 more than usually kind to their new servant, but the bailiff’s arrogance has tainted the blood of every one of them, till, like moths fretting a garment, it spoils every- thing, so that nothing can be done. As we entered the front hall, my Louise and I, who should come along but the governess, daintily descending the stairs. She had on a hat, with a gray wail wrapped around her head—” “Yes, not much of her face could be seen,” remarked Louise, “but she is so tall and moves as gracefully as any lady at court—” “And the whole place smelled of violets, like my clothes-press at home,” said Dame Griebel, dryly finishing her sentence for her. “And as my little chatterbox there stood, stretching her blue eyes at her in wonder, she turns away and passes out of the door, nobody knows how. Mr. Marcus, it is a horrible thing, but pride sticks, though there is not a crumb of bread in the stomach, nor a shoe to one’s foot. I heard how the bailiff called after her: * Whither away, Agnes? To the woods? Have you got your gloves on?” Now, do pray, Mr. Marcus!” He laughed. “Dear me, why should not the young lady take care of her pretty hands? She has two maids at work for her now.” “Ha! two? No, you will stare when I tell you what I know. You see '’—she lifted up her forefinger and shook it at him reproachingly—“when, yesterday, you clapped your books so crossly together and ran out of the summer- house as though the roof were on fire, you were thinking ‘That old vixen, in there!’ And I was an old vixen, that I was. Well, well, just you keep quiet. I know this as well as I know my A B C's, I read that much from your angry face. But I kept quiet and thought my own thoughts. And I was right—and another time you will trust a steady old woman, who never told a lie in her life, rather than a pair of sparkling, black, gypsy eyes--” 150 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “What has happened?” asked he, impatiently, cutting her short in her speech. “Why, a misfortune, for which we must feel sorry, but in which we must not meddle. How strangely you do look, Mr. Marcus. What is it to you or me if the bailiff’s people have dismissed their maid?” “Dismissed, do you say?” Now her imperturbable equanimity was shaken a little off its balance. She looked with some consternation into the face of the young man whom her words had so fiercely excited. “Upon my faith, you act as though I had seized the maiden by the throat. I must beg to be excused from blame in the matter. I should be telling a story if I were to pretend that there was any soft place in my heart for that singular girl. She is not a person to my mind; but to injure her, and induce her master and mistress to send her off—why, it never entered my head. I just accident- ally asked the new girl: ‘Where is the other one hiding?” and lo! she gazed at me in stupid perplexity, and knows nothing about ‘any other one.” The young lady, she said, had shown her what was to be done; the old gentleman, too, is always shuffling about in the kitchen, grumbling and giving orders gruffly, like an inferior officer; not an- other creature has she set eyes upon.” “Stick to your subject!” urged the master, trembling with impatience. “Why, yes—and afterward, when I asked in the room after the maid whom I had often seen working in the fields at the farm—only listen, the old lady in the bed grows pale and turns her face to the wall, and the bailiff flushes up and glares at me as though he would devour me, and stam- mers and blusters, and snaps at me: ‘That girl, eh? Why, she is gone off over the mountains, as a matter of course, Oh, my goodness! do you imagine that I would keep two thievish creatures to feed now, when my roof is to be torn THE BAILIFF's MAID. 151 down over my head, and all my fine management must be brought to a stand-still?” Only to hear ‘all my fine man- agement,” Mr. Marcus! The old swaggerer, hel And what does he imagine that an experienced woman like my- self would make of that gasconade over his maid! No- where in the world do they dismiss servants without giving them warning, unless there is some special reason for it. Why we are not to learn the grounds of this dismissal I know not, but I’ll agree to have my head cut off if that gold ducat is not at the bottom of it. Why, whither away so fast, Mr. Marcus?” She turned around, and with elevated eyebrows looked after the master, who had rushed past her and struck into the path by which they had come. “How can you ask, most respected madame?” he called back. “Can you not guess how anxious I am to get ac- quainted with the new one?” He hurried on as though borne forward by the slight gust of wind that now swept along the road. His eye passed searchingly over the scantily covered landscape. Surely the white kerchief would emerge from some thirsty Wheat-field, or from between the last hay-mounds of the next meadow, but nothing stirred throughout the whole ex- tent of the field; only the long-sighed-for clouds were gathering fast and thick overhead; they came as messen- gers of hope, as heralds of the coming storm, and through the tops of the cherry-trees in the farm-yard blew another slight gust of wind, shaking down noiselessly upon the path the showers of their shriveled little fruit. Mr. Marcus passed by the quiet, shady linden bower, and on through the raspberry bushes into the yard—there at last there was life. The door creaked, Spitz stuck his nose through the front gate and barked, while from the house sounded the peevish voice of fault-finding. On stepping into the entrance-hall he saw the bailiff standing before the provision-safe in the open kitchen. In 152 THE BAILIFF's MAID. T*~. his left hand the old gentleman held his cane and pipe, while with his right he dashed to the safe door until it groaned in every joint. Thereupon he drew out the key and put it into his gown pocket. “The devil take such housekeeping,” growled he, hob- bling out into the hall. He held out his hand to the pro- prietor, in whose eyes he resembled a poorly acting villain on the stage. “There lie in the open press a tremendous brain-sausage, and at least three pounds of the finest ham. A fine tidbit for the straggling beggars that are forever in- festing our farm. Bless me, if it is the same case with my Smoke-house, where my provisions are housed, no wonder that there should be no profit in farming. And the pre- serve-jars!” He scratched behind his ear. “I dare not tell my good wife how her fine cellar has been plundered— and why, in the hangman’s name? I did not know that we had given invitations for a dinner or supper. Well, when my niece comes home—” “Perhaps the maid can give the information you want,” suggested Mr. Marcus. “That one there?” asked the bailiff, pointing back to the dresser, at which the “new one * was working and muttering in. a tone of dissatisfaction. “I beg pardon, sir, she has been hardly two hours in the house.” “I am speaking of the other one.” The bailiff looked into the air for a moment, as though in an absent fit and trying to think; then he suddenly stopped in order to brush off a few shavings clinging to his unique dressing-gown. “Ah, her? her?” muttered he, right indistinctly, for he had again thrust his pipe between his teeth. “She is no longer here—no longer here. Packed off bag and bag- gage!” He drew himself up again—stooping had evident- ly made the blood mount to his head. “But come in, Mr. Marcus! My wife will be delighted, and I must talk with THE BAILIFF's MAID. 153 you about some arrangements in the new house. The par- lor, for example.” “Will you be so good as to tell me, first, where your maid went?” interposed the other gentleman, politely but emphatically. “That a is foolish question, if you will pardon me for saying so, sir,” replied the bailiff. “Will you tell me what master troubles himself about the whereabouts of his dismissed servants? I am accustomed to pay them their wages, and then I’m done with them. The devil take me if I know what becomes of them—whether they enter some- body else’s service or go round the world, gypsying. All that I know is the girl’s gone, gone as though the wind had blown her away, as though she had never been—yes, yes, never been!” “But your niece, who brought the girl with her, did she agree to this sudden dismissal?” Again the old man’s whole face became suffused with crimson. . “My niece?” repeated he, drawling out the words. “Bah, nobody asked her,” blustered he. “What the women think is a secondary consideration. I am mas- ter of my own house. I am. But, ridiculous! here we stand gossiping like two old wives over a trifle. Come closer, though. I have just conceived a famous ideal The parquette floor in the parlor—” “Of that hereafter, bailiff!” interposed the proprietor, moodily, not stirring from the spot where he was stationed. “This trifle interests me. I must and shall learn all about the girl who has toiled for you in house and field, through Winter cold and summer heat.” “Ah, bah, the silly thing! Not so bad as that,” stam- mered the old man in angry embarrassment. “Well, then!” said Mr. Marcus, unconsciously stamp- ing upon the floor in his impatience, “let it go! I'll ap- peal to your lady’s sense of justice.” He turned toward the chamber door, but the old gentle- 154 THE BAILIFF's MAID. man blocked up its approach. “Sir, are you going mad?” whispered he, waving him back. “Would you disturb my poor sick wife with your inquisitorial face? The whole story is a completed one, so far as she is concerned, and must not be adverted to again. Pray, what can induce you to make such a stir about a woman that has passed through our house like a shadow, and no more exists for us.” “Nor to Miss Franz either, to whom she has been so de- voted a servant?” “Ah? who has been imposing upon you with this tale?” asked the bailiff, casting upon him a sidelong glance; a sly, clandestine Smile, as though a sudden light broke in upon him, passed over his wasted features. “The maiden herself—” “Odds, fish! she talked with you, did she? And told you herself, actually herself, that she waited specially on my niece?” The fatal smile did not fade from his face. “Well, that’s news to me, too. I did not know that. You see my lameness does not suffer me to mount the gar- ret stairs. So she was chamber-maid, too?” He tittered to himself and shrugged his shoulders. “To be sure it is perfectly right that my lovely niece should be waited upon until she enters society again, or, better yet, until my wealthy son comes home. Things will assume a different aspect then, sir. He would not suffer his sweet cousin to go out to teach, though she made her home in a prince’s family. Then we shall reign ourselves—reign by the grace of God. Then she shall ride no more in a stranger’s coach, but in our own. Sir, I know a pair of carriage-horses”— here he kissed the tips of his fingers—“perfect beauties in shape and spirit! But I’ll not tell you in whose stable they stand—they were in their stalls and sold before my very face. Yes, you see I have my plans all cut and dry—a magnificent programme! Nobody can well imitate me. And at this very minute, if my son were to cross this mis- tº THE BAILIFF's MAID. 155 erable threshold—in a few days I should stamp out of the ground, as it were, an establishment such as would become a rich man—” He got no further. The proprietor put on his hat and passed out through the hall door. CHAPTER XVI. “LOST time!” he muttered, clinching his teeth for rage and vexation, as he hurried through the door and across the yard. “You had better take care of yourself, sir!” called the bailiff after him, as he stood in the door-way, pointing with his pipe to the sky, whence the sun had totally disappeared behind a dark mass of clouds, as, with a long-drawn sigh, the hot breath of the tempest now made itself felt, as it swept over the fields and lifted his scanty white locks from the old gentleman’s temples. “And if you should meet a young lady with a gray veil wrapped round her hat, send her home quick here to the farm!” cried he, holding his hand curved over his mouth. “Oh, that plagued hunting after flowers! Now we old people must sit at home and suffer.” The departing gentleman only heard these last words over the yard waſl, behind which he was walking. Scorn- fully he laughed to himself. If he only could meet her, that beautiful niece—he would not hurry her home; not hel On the contrary, he would plant himself in her way, and force her to talk with him without favor or mercy, in lightning, thunder, and streaming rain. The road leading along the farm precincts ran into the open fields, or rather to the narrow by-path cutting through the Grafenwood. He conjectured that the maiden’s steps would have tended thither after leaving the farm, bag and baggage. To the woods, then; the green Woods! Had not the bailiff, too, spoken of gypsying 156 THE BAILIFF's MAID. around? Above the tops of the trees over there, could he not discern a thin column of smoke rising from a fire of fagots, over which hung the caldron of a parcel of these Arabs? Absurd! The elements were warring now, and what he saw were only the shadowy outlines of soft, gray mist, soon to be absorbed into that dark, compact wall of tempest advancing upon him with giant step. A gypsy encampment would hardly be suffered upon the well-culti- vated land of his princely highness. But the public road was free to the canvas-topped wagon escorted by those tawny horsemen; the highway to the wide world without was unobstructed through the cool, refreshing shades of these glorious old beech-trees. Now, such people traveled slowly—people who wander com amore; a swift walker would soon succeed in overtak- ing them and finding out by inquiry if that lovely but in- comprehensible maiden sat beneath one of their tents, again caught and held by the chains that are regarded as binding even among such lawless nomads. “Silly thing!” the bailiff was always saying—and now Mr. Marcus said the same thing, as he vehemently shook his head and kicked a stone out of his way. Silly thing! That modest, cultivated, proud, and courageous girl going through the world with half-naked gypsy children, unprin- cipled men, and fortune-telling hags! How was it possible that so crazy an idea could ever have entered into the head of a rational being? In redoubled haste he moved on. An explanation must come to him at the forester’s, and if the maiden had gone from there, well—he would shake the dust off his feet and follow her without ceasing until he found her. Sunlight no longer gilded the tall tops of the beech- trees; dark and motionless seemed the whole forest, as though all that lived and moved within it held their breath before the on-coming of the storm. The scorching heat of these last days had penetrated to its very heart. The nar- $º, *** * * THE BAILIFF's MAID. 157 row path, which was almost always damp, now had a bleached and arid look, edged as it was with grass so dry that it crackled when touched, while the tall ferns hung over it limp and sapless as could be. And the little brook that ran straight through it was well-nigh dried up—the loose board thrown from bank to bank as a bridge lay there as though in mockery. The public road passed through it at Some distance, making a gentle curve beyond, and further on the red walls of the forester’s brick house came in view. As he caught sight of this the proprietor stood still in amazement, for the rider of the night before stood be- fore him on the doorsteps, and mounted his horse, which was held for him by the forester. That stately old gentle- man in summer overcoat, with his short-cut gray hair and chamois-skin gauntlets on his hands, would have been lit- tle complimented at being taken for a gypsy captain. At a tolerably sharp trot he rode away from the house—the dog ran ahead of him, and the forester walked alongside. After a few minutes they had disappeared in the woods. What now? Mr. Marcus’s first impulse was to rush for- ward; the forester was the only man who could give him the information he sought; but gradually his pace slack- ened—the man had evidently left the house in haste; he could not waylay him and demand an explanation in the open road. At that moment he saw how a cat descended the door- steps, and walked straight across the carriage-road into the thicket. The door must be open, and there were people in the house. He went along under the corner windows; the blue blinds still hung behind the panes of glass, but the door was indeed ajar, and Mr. Marcus did not hesitate, but pushed it further open and entered. The entrance-hall had no windows, and was cool and dark, but there to his right stood the dining-room door, wide open, apparently to admit the cool air, and a bluism 158 THE BAILIFF's MAID. light shone out upon the surrounding gloom of the spot where he stood. A feeling of self-dissatisfaction now crept over him. Here he stood himself, exactly like some thief who had en- tered another’s house unawares. Did suspicion or curiosity warrant such a step on his part? and how should he ex- plain his motives if an encounter with some fierce stranger should suddenly take place? Nevertheless, a truce to rea- soning. He closed the door behind him and for a minute observantly held his ground. A death-like silence reigned through the whole house, and at first the uncertain light caused all objects to seem indistinct before the eyes of the intruder, but it was only for a second; immediately afterward he made a surprising discovery—the governess was here, here in this very house. There on a table, near the door, lay her hat, gray veil, and the gloves which had so excited the ire of the peace- lowing Griebel. Ah! the bird was caught! A sort of tri- umph, a sweet feeling of revenge, boiled up within him. Now he would unveil the mysterious statue. The cruel egotist should confess and do penance; she herself must and should help him again to find the girl whom she had dragged with her into poverty and want, in order afterward to leave her pitilessly to her fate. With quick determination Mr. Marcus stood under the door-way, but drew back in shocked surprise, involuntarily shrinking yet deeper into the shadow of the hall. In the corner of the room lying opposite—it was the very corner whence, yesterday evening, had proceeded the monotonous murmuring of a male voice—stood a bed, and on its pillow lay a sleeper. The pale twilight gave such a corpse-like hue to the countenance that it was hard to decide whether or not those eyes were closed in the actual sleep of death. The man who stood there stunned, as it were, thought not of this though. He was gazing at the flowing, light-red beard that spread out over the many-colored patch-work THE BAILIFF's MAID. 159 quilt with which the bed was covered. How came that man here?—the same whom he and Dame Griebel had picked up, as it were, out of the road, and kept for a night in the mansion house—and how long had he been sheltered in this corner chamber, over whose mysteries he, the pro- prietor, had been so fruitlessly racking his brain? But above all, what was the governess doing here—spoiled worldling that she was—here in the forester’s house, at the bedside of a homeless adventurer? A slight rustling sound, caused by the gliding of a woman's dress over the floor, drove him yet further into the darkness of his recess: he wished to acquaint himself with the ways and doings of the hated occupant of the attic before introducing himself to her. She must have come out of a side door, probably from the kitchen, and seemed to be busy with something at the table; a slight tinkling of glass was audible for a moment, but quickly hushed. Again came the rustling of her train. The lady came within the scope of the watcher’s vision. The back of her tall and elegant figure was turned to him. He saw the beautifully arranged twist in which her rich, dark hair was put up at the back of her head, from which, behind each ear, stole a couple of short ringlets; saw also how gracefully she caught up the train of her dark and flowing skirt. Wondrous strange! he had only had a fugitive glance of this young lady once before, when she stood like a shadow beside her uncle in the evening twi- light; he had never spoken to her in his life, and yet it seemed to him as though he had known her for a long, long while. She bent low over the sleeper and listened to his breath- ing; a fly that buzzed about his pillow was gently brushed away; then she turned, and—the man in the hall stood like one transfixed—and although she looked the thorough lady, although elegantly crimped frontlets fell low upon her forehead, and a stylishly fitting dress set off the perfec- 160 THE BAILIFF's MAID. tions of a form hitherto disfigured by the ungraceful folds of a servant’s coarse gown and stiff, Cumbrous apron—for all this it was the bailiff’s maid who stood revealed to his delighted gaze, as she stood there, lost in thought, and now noiselessly retraced her steps to the table by the door. Scales, as it were, fell from the eyes of the man, whose breath fairly failed him through surprise. Zounds! he had allowed himself to be shamefully mystified. In face of this refined lady he had deported himself like some coun- try bumpkin, who believed whatever any one chose to tell him, nor saw anything beyond his nose. Just the least bit more of mother-wit would have enabled him to solve the enigma; for it was not a difficult one, and he could now discern the vein of maidenly playfulness that had been running all the while parallel to the stern realities by which she had been borne down. Of course, the veiled image must keep within the retirement of its attic while Miss Agnes Franz had donned menial attire, in order to get bread for those two unhappy old people. “Insepar- able,” “one in heart and soul,” were the bailiff’s maid and her young lady, the governess—these words had been spoken in strict conformity with truth, and if the clever thought had not then come to him that this double being had one and the same head—that beautiful one which seemed so delightfully near to him from his place of con- cealment—it was only because he had been the dullest, blindest creature in the round, round world. A mixture of anger and admiration, longing and desire for revenge, welled up within him, not to speak of an all- pervading feeling of tender compassion, and he thanked his star for having detained him in the obscurity of the en- trance-hall—time was still allowed him in which to collect his thoughts. The young lady governess should not enjoy the triumph of beholding him in the first consternation of surprise—not the least bit of wonder should she read upon his features, THE BAILIFF's MAID. 161 Without perceiving him, she passed directly by him on her way to the open door, and he stooped forward in order to obtain a better view of her as she stood at the table. She was cutting up a lemon and throwing the slices into a glass bowl of panada; and now he knew, too, why the love- ly niece was not to be allowed to go out without gloves; why, because that old braggadocio at the farm sought, with all his might, to conceal the fact that a Franz, the daugh- ter of a superior officer, must needs condescend to the dis- charge of menial offices, and the worst possible tell-tale were those little fingers embrowned by toil. At this moment the storm burst forth with violence. Like an alarm-peal from a trumpet came a loud, shrill blast of wind, making a majestic echo in the answering roar of shaken tree-tops—but it made the windows of the house rattle, too, and shook the front door as if it would burst it open. The lady at the table listened and looked anxiously toward the sick man in the bed, who, meanwhile, stirred not a finger of the hand that lay on the outside of the counterpane; he was evidently sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion. Meanwhile Mr. Marcus noiselessly approached; once more he was completely master of himself, and as, com- forted, she turned her head in order to resume her occupa- tion, her eye fell upon him who stood on the door-sill in reverential attitude, hat in hand. A visible tremor shot through her frame; lemon and knife fell from her hand, but with incredible celerity she regained her composure, and it seemed as though she grew in height beneath his gaze. Thus loftily erect she moved away from the table, crossed over the threshold to where the gentleman had retreated, and opened the door lying opposite, which led to the forester’s sitting-room. “Walk in, sir, if you please,” said she, waving him $orward with a polite gesture, and cold but feeble voice, 6 162 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “I suppose you are seeking a refuge against the coming storm?” He suppressed a smile. “Miss Franz?” asked he, in- terrupting her with a smile as cool and reserved as though he saw this lady for the first time in his life. “Yes, sir, I am the bailiff's niece, Agnes Franz,” as- sented she, her eyes seeking the ground and the blood rushing to her cheeks—“ the governess,” she added, with firm and heightened tone; she looked up, and her eyes glistened, in evident conflict between embarrassment and inimical defiance. He did not remark this; he was very little concerned. Parting at the door, he said, as though in excuse for him- self: “It is not my purpose to abide here till the storm is over—a drenching can not alarm me: indeed it is very probable that I must be out in it in a few moments, to stay for hours, if need be. I am in search of a young girl, a Sister of Charity, that put on a bandage for me yester- day ”—he pointed to his right hand. “The bailiff says this girl has gone, gone for good. Is this true, Miss Franz? Has she gone?” She avoided his penetrating glance, and answered, un- steadily: “Her services were no longer needed. You yourself supplied her with a substitute—” “And did she go without remembering that she had a promise to keep? The bandage stays just as she left it. Yesterday she said: “I’ll come again to-morrow to see after it.’ You must know that this was as good to me as any man's word of honor, as much to be depended upon as the gospel itself. Well, I have waited patiently. All through the broiling heat of this long afternoon did I sit for hours, ever hoping to catch a glimpse of a young girl coming from the thicket in a servant’s dress and white kerchief on her head. I have not touched the bandage, lest I might loosen it and incur the censure of that gentle Samaritan. Now she has gone forth into the wide, wide THE BAILIFF's MAID. 163 world, as though blown away by the wind, says the bailiff —what am I to do?” “Permit me to redeem the promise given?” said she, holding out her hand after his right one, while a shy, almost smiling look passed over her face. Not a feature of his countenance stirred. “Thank you,” he answered, shaking his head. “I can not accept your offer. The bandage remains as it is until my dear surgeon returns. I have already told you that I am in pursuit of her, and confidently hope that you will have the goodness to give me a hint as to how I may get to her.” “No-that I shall never do,” interposed she, bluntly, turning away as she spoke. “But this is hard, and unchristian, and hatefully con- trary! In what has yon strange pauper the advantage of me, that he is tenderly nursed, while you refuse me the in- formation needed to cure my wound?” She grew quite pale and inaudibly closed the door, which had been hitherto on the latch. “Yes indeed, a beggar,” said she, with clouded brow, “a man who does not even own the pillow upon which he lays his head to die. It is a bitter thing to cross the broad seas, and encounter a thousand perils in search of gold, just to come back home as poor as Job and ill unto death. It was for his mother that he wanted to work and Save money. He knew that a day must come when from comfort and luxury she would be thrust out penniless, and therefore made this great effort to obviate such an emergency, while there was still time, as he believed. After the wrecking of his plans any other man would probably have remained dead to his friends—but this he could not do—longing after the sight of the old lady drew him home, as it were, with the strongest cords. And now he must make a halt here, not a hundred yards from her sick-bed.” “Is he the one for whose coming the bailiff hopes, as do 164 - THE BAILIFF's MAID, :* -- the Jews for that of Messiah?” interposed the proprietor with awe-struck mien and bated breath. She silently nodded in the affirmative. He was deeply moved. This then was the “nabob.” Only a little while ago the old man in his vagary had styled himself and his son as “reigning by the grace of God;” he had been so proud of his “magnificent programme '’ that was suddenly to transform a desert into a Utopia by means of California gold. And though one should say that this incorrigible boaster did not himself really believe in these pictures of his imagination, for all that, it was pathetic to know that the vagrant to whom he had so condescendingly given a penny and a scrap of bread was his own flesh and blood, “his millionaire.” And in the midst of this family drama stood a maiden, wise and brave, one who in child- like faith gathered all the cruel spears of their enemies together, and pressed them against her own breast. She had taken everything upon herself, the dreadful burden of severe labor, care for daily bread, and attendance upon two helpless old people—and now here lay another one, whose return she must conceal—she had only been permitted to visit him by stealth. With what palpitating anxiety must she have left the farm, by night, in order to watch here! And having been caught at this labor of love by Dame Griebel, how cruelly had she been judged! With bowed head, he saw her standing there at the door, and would have gladly knelt down to her. But he felt that the storm raging within his breast must be kept within bounds, the much-abused governess was rightfully embittered and prejudiced against him—one single passion" ate gesture indulged in now before her who felt herself so much injured, would hurl him far back from the longed- for goal—her whole demeanor showed this. “Will your cousin probably recover?” asked he, forci- bly controlling his voice and expression of countenance. “Thank God—yes! The doctor, who only left us a few *...* *-*. …” .*** xx. * f £. *. * ºr THE BAILIFF's MAID. 165 minutes ago, declares him convalescent. Yesterday even- ing he showed great anxiety—his delirium had assumed a critical character.” Such had been the source of that murmuring which issued from the corner, and mad jealousy had made a gypsy captain out of the honest country doctor. “Then came upon us nurses a moment of terrible re- sponsibility,” continued she, with feeling. “Otto’s return home under such sad circumstances, we had been com- pelled, for the present, to conceal from his parents; but if it came to dying—” She was silent, recollecting the frightfulness of the dilemma from which she had just been extricated, and in this sudden stillness the thunder was heard growling in the distance, and a shower of large rain- drops struck hard against the window-panes. “The storm is coming, and the forester has not gotten back from the apothecary’s at Tillroda,” said she, anx- iously. - “And at the farm two old people are making them- selves miserable over a young lady who is in the woods looking for flowers,” suggested Mr. Marcus. “What harm can it do the spoiled and idle miss, who does nothing but paint flowers and practice music, if she does get a little taste of a storm?” asked she, lightly. The proprietor bit his lip, and looked out at the tremen- dous rain now coming down in floods. “I am of the same opinion,” answered he, turning around composedly after a moment’s delay; “but I do not See that your remark applies to the sunburned hands on which my eye rests now.” He pointed to her hands that still clasped the door-knob. * “Yes, they are not pretty,” said she, with good humor, letting the finger of her right hand play before her eyes. “Since noon jo-day my uncle insists most strenuously that I no longer go ungloved to visit the dear old woods.” 166 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “The old gentleman has regard to externals and his name.” She laughed scornfully. “He does not know or consider how this name has fallen into disrepute. With all their pretensions, the Franz fam- ily have one ruined man and one governess in their num- ber.” *. “And—what I deem much, much worse—a hatefully, windictive, unforgiving element in their nature,” added he, with outbreaking indignation. While so saying he picked up his hat that he had placed upon the nearest table. “You will not go out in this storm?” asked she, timidly. “Eh? Why not? It can not hurt the rich man, such as he is described in the Bible, to have a few drops of rain on his hat. The air in the house here stifles me. I would a thousand times rather do battle with nature’s fiercest ele- ments thäh hold my own against narrow-mindedness and resentment. And have you forgotten, then, that I came here wholly and solely to look for my girl—I beg pardon, my dear surgeon? Well, she is not here, the brave, mag- nanimous, noble creature, who could not bear to have caused me a pain, and unselfishly came to my aid.” “She only did her duty,” interposed she, bluntly and defiantly, with quivering lips and blushing cheeks. “You are right; you will not find here the maid in head-hand- kerchief and servant’s garb; she will not be found again. Did she not tell you that she and I were one in heart and Soul? Must she not, then, be angry with me, and feel with me that a woman who maintains her self-respect can not overlook that most abominable of all accusations brought against her, viz., that she is a fisher for the hearts of men? I know best what a struggle she had with herself at the foot of the steps leading to your—” “But in spite of all this she came up and acted just as the true woman should act, following the dictates of her compassionate heart instead of that selfish reasoning, that THE BAILIFF's MAID. 16? obstinate pride, which says “a tooth for a tooth!”. To doubt this heart were a sin that I could not pardon myself for; and, therefore, I say—deny as you choose, in this strange place, her goodness and unselfishness—I say that she will come again, because her duty as a Samaritan must bring her to me once more,” and he held up his bandaged hand. “Please remember that I have offered—” “And you know I felt obliged to reject this assistance. I shall wait, patiently wait, till my dear surgeon remem- bers her patient. And now I must be gone—perhaps out in the woods I shall find traces of her sooner.” “You can not possibly leave the house now.” “Pshaw! on account of the tempest? Look out! Just now not a rain-drop is falling.” The sound of the dashing rain had indeed abruptly ceased; but it was a pause such as a wrestler makes while he draws in new strength with a deep, long breath. The room suddenly darkened as though night had fallen—the black mass of clouds sunk down so low that it seemed as if the roof of the house would be crushed in, and there was a feeling as if something awful was impending. Mr. Marcus bowed low with a speaking glance over the hands upon the door-knob, but they did not let go their hold. “Do not go!” said the young lady. Her voice sounded as soft and persuasive as on the day before in the exhorta- tion: “Be good, now!” His eyes shone with radiant light. “I stay if you bid me do so,” replied he, coolly and formally, however. “I can imagine that here alone you would dread this storm.” “I am not so faint-hearted as that,” replied she, with pique. “From my childhood up I have rather loved than dreaded a storm.” “Well, then, your wish is an enigma to me. Had the Sister of Charity uttered it, I should have known that it 168 THE BAILIFF'S MAID, was done through solicitude for me, as yesterday she came to me for my own sake—” “You are mistaken. She explained to you particularly that she took this unheard-of step at the instance of con- science, for humanity’s sake,” said she, almost with vehe- mence, throwing back her head with an indescribably proud and defiant gesture. “Ah! is that meant in sober earnest? And you really can have the heart to rob me of my sweet-illusion, because I judged superficially and with levity of a calling and those who followed it!” She looked down, and her hands dropped from the door- knob. \ “Can you not find a milder word from which I might gather some hope?” *. It was evident that a fierce conflict was being waged within her soul, but her lips remained glued together, and her pale face was rigid in its suppression of unbending persistence as she withdrew from the door. “Very well, then; I accept the cruelest disillusion of my life, and go!” said he, as he opened the door and crossed the hall to the entrance. He had entirely forgotten the presence of a sick man in the house, and therefore taken no pains to moderate his quick, impulsive movements. Thus the noise of the grat- ing door-knob and his firm step upon the flag-stones had startled the sleeper. “Agnes!” called a faint, languishing voice from the corner chamber. Mr. Marcus saw how the young lady came flying across the threshold of the other room. He saw also how she paused in the entrance-hall, wringing her hands and following him with anxious eyes, until he had succeeded in wresting the front door from the grip of the raging wind and drawing it to behind him. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 169 a-ºº: W t- . * * sº- ºf tº **, * * * -- CHAPTER XVII. HIS physical vigor was not inconsiderable, and he had need of it all to enable him to stand up against the fury of the storm that assailed him as soon as he left the door- steps. Above him and round about the prospect was bad enough. The black, seething medley of clouds held plenty of lightning and hail, too, in its skirts, and the spitting and spewing fiend that shook him and drove him forward like a trap-ball might at any moment make a jest of up- rooting one of those groaning giants of the forest as though it had been a flower stalk, and hurling it down upon the poor, powerless earth-worm that was struggling along so painfully below there. It would indeed have been safer within the walls of a cer- tain red-brick house, and any man with a cool head and pulse in a normal condition would have returned there in any case. But not on any account in the world would he do this. He had the whip-hand now. He could desire no better ally than this horrible commotion of the elements. A smile was upon his lips, quite a soft, secret one, that shone out from an unconsciously exultant soul. Thus he struggled along the highway for some distance, until suddenly flashed down a forked streak of lightning, followed by such a terrifically resonant peal of thunder as can only threaten in a narrow valley situated between lofty and beleaguering mountains. For an instant Mr. Marcus stood motionless, as though struck by the lightning, and stunned; the storm hushed as though from horror, and made a brief pause, wherein the yellowish glare of the Mightning seemed still to quiver before the aching eyes. But now, as though freed from a spell, the water-floods broke loose again and poured down with renewed fury, 170 THE BAILIFF's MAID. ** small hail-stones as well increasing the confusion by the rattling sound. Mr. Marcus sprung diagonally across the meadow and bounded up the hill. There stood, as he knew, a small shed put up under the fir-trees, half covered by the thicket, as a shelter for the wood-cutters. In a few seconds he had gained this primitive asylum. It had three walls made, without trouble, out of large quarry-stones, and a roof con- structed out of the bodies of small trees, and, if the pour- ing rain did not wash out the moss with which the fissures were chinked, the person who sought shelter would, at least, find all needful protection against the wind and water. He retreated to the back part of the shed, and, half awe- struck, looked out upon the progress of the storm. Here, now, was what pastor and people had prayed for so fer- vently last Sunday: precious streaming moisture, that was to fill the half-dried-up veins of the vegetable world, and reanimate hopes of a blessed harvest and a full store of bread. But amid what fearful throes did Nature give forth her gifts! Frightful fire! Serpents hissed and darted down their living tongues from all directions, and so unintermittently followed terrific claps of thunder that one might almost fancy that old Jupiter had let fall from his hand a whole bundle of his fiercest bolts. It was as though these shat- tering convulsions were about to rend asunder mountains that had been bound together for thousands of years. And in a trice the overarching water-floods had changed the flat meadow into an inland lake; they filled the dried-up bed of the little brook, and, discolored by clay, shot through the country, bearing along with them rolling stones, up- rooted plants, and, finally, the loose-lying bridge. He wondered if Dame Griebel was satisfied with this drench- Ing. As for the rest, the bit of woodland inclosed between THE BAILIFF's MAID. 171 those three walls kept perfectly dry, the water flowing down the declivity on both sides of it; the roof, too, stood its ground wonderfully. The lower boughs of the agitated fir-trees did, indeed, lash pitilessly its staggering grooves, but they resisted the first onslaught of the attack, and only when the storm-king had succeeded in grasping and sun- dering its mighty trunks as though they had been switches, did a direct shower-bath come down, so startlingly as to take away sight and hearing from the refugee in his lurk- ing-place. Ah! he knew now what a storm in the forest meant. An escaped monster breathing forth vengeance in a lane that has no turning. He could not cross the mountains, and raved until his breath deserted him. This lasted a long, an unendurably long while. Finally, Mr. Marcus ran to and fro in the narrow space where he was confined, glowing with restlessness and impatience. But it gradually grew brighter now; the thunder rolled away and the show- ers of rain abated in violence, and then ceased altogether. By degrees other sounds ventured to let themselves be heard; the twittering and cooing of birds, the rustling of the leaves, as disturbed by the passage of some small ani- mal, besides ever and anon faint sounds of life proceeding from the habitations of men. From afar became audible the rolling of creaking wagon-wheels; nearer and nearer it came along the highway, and stopped for one brief mo- ment—most certainly before the solitary brick house. Then the wagon staggered heavily on over the thoroughly soaked ground, and at last Mr. Marcus could overlook it as it turned a curve of the road. It was a covered wagon, that had evidently picked up the returning forester and set him down before his own door. , Ah! the forester was at home now. Üne nurse would relieve the other from duty; and if she had any solicitude whatever about a poor fellow-creature exposed to the perils of such a tempest, she would not stop to consider the rain 172 THE BAILIFF's MAID. still falling nor the swimming ground—she would profit by her freedom, her release from the imperious claims of sick- ness, and come. And she did come. She came along as an escaped pris- oner would have done—hat and veil, gloves and umbrella, all had been left behind. She had thrown her train over her arm; the pretty little nimble feet flew along the road, and wildly her head turned searchingly in all directions— she expected to find him lying in the road, struck down by lightning. Mr. Marcus deserted the shed, and stooped down behind some bushes near. From below she could see into the space between the three walls, and she must and should find it empty. With a fleeting glance at the shed, she hurried past it and struck into the narrow foot-path lead- ing through the woods to Deerwood. How could she know that this path was no longer pass- able? Now she was brought to a halt, and bounded back from the broad, foaming sheet of water that had taken the place of the half-spent, peaceful little brook, and that now threatened utterly to cut off her passage. No bridge, far or near! In despair, she ran along its shore, and sought in vain for a place narrow enough to jump across. .* Meanwhile, the proprietor had noiselessly descended the hill and crossed the soft, spongy meadow. He stood be- hind her just as she was in the act of gathering her clothes about her in order to wade through the water. Quick as lightning, he flung his arms about her and lifted her high above the ground. With a shriek, she sunk, half fainting, upon his shoulder, and her countenance, which was frightfully red from weep- ing and disfigured by grief, brightened up now, as she drew a long, deep sigh of relief. **. .*. tº ** * * : * * ge “I am not doing this out of common humanity,” whis- *#. pered he, Smilingly, into her ear. “Ah! no; I am not such a philanthropist. I do it for your sake solely.” *** * *** THE BAILIFF's MAID. 173 sºr, Thereupon, he gently let her down upon the ground. “You have grieved me,” cried she, catching at his bandaged hand, because, with a quick movement, he had withdrawn himself from her. “I have not grieved myself though,” said he, with double meaning. Any unconcerned person must have per- ceived the mischief lurking in his eyes—in her great excite- ment, though, it was lost upon her. “Possibly all may not be right under this bandage,” suggested he, shrugging his shoulders; “but what matters that? My robust con- stitution will know how to right itself. And now go home as fast as possible. I know the old people are perfectly miserable about their flower-seeker. But your uncle will quarrel terribly about your coming back without your gloves. Must 1 go for them?” He made a movement as if he would run back to the forester’s house. She shook her head in the negative, and now in her eyes, too, gleamed a roguish Smile. “And you have left your hat behind too,” said he; “the rain-drops are sparkling like diamonds in your hair, and will give you a cold. To be sure they would not have paid much respect to that thin, gray veil either—for my part I commend the white kerchief—my surgeon’s dear, white kerchief. And now farewell!” With these last words he had bounded back and re- crossed the rushing water-course, without once looking back, and now walked through the meadow to the car- riage-road. Nothing was to be done to-day, of course, with that romantic breaking of one’s way through the under- growth—an unparalleled drenching would have been the consequence—but the path followed by the flower-seeker was to be shunned by him at any cost, and so he must e'en submit to passing by the forester’s house and turning into the well-beaten road, that lay at a considerable distance 174 THE BAILIFF's MAID. from it, the same over which Dame Griebel had come from Grafenwood the first time that he had met her. Swiftly he traversed this road—he was in a hurry. The rain had ceased; nevertheless the trees were well-laden with moisture, and if, in rushing along, our pedestrian struck an overhanging bough, he was greeted by a perfect shower-bath. Water in abundance had been dispensed during this anxious hour—the Soft, mossy ground was full of laughter, and the little stream that drove the saw-mill, full to the brim, dashed with noisy glee along the glen. Down on its shore stood the saw-miller, with jocund face. “To-day God has rained down bread from heaven, Mr. Marcus,” he called out to the passer-by, and in the open gate of his own yard Peter Griebel came to meet him. “Good times for hungry people now, Mr. Marcus. The potato crop will be a fine one now. Yes, I love such a scourge as that,” said the farmer, with beaming satisfac- tion, as he stretched out his arms over the swimming, shin- ing landscape. But in the entrance-hall Dame Griebel ran almost into the returning master’s hands. She was coming out of the dining-room, and had two full-paper cornucopiae in her right hand. “Well, Mr. Marcus, what say you to a little weather, now?” asked she, thrusting her arm into her side. “Our thunder and lightning are a little different from anything you have ever met with on your sand-flats at home, are they not? Why, you see, nothing but a regular roaring will do for us—this is so much the fashion with us that I love to hear it as much as I do a church organ. And just see here!” She held out to him her well-stuffed horns of plenty. “These are the plum-cakes that I have baked extra for the Tillroda children. We have had such a glori- ous rain!” “Just so—plum-cakes! And I’ll give the wine to go with them. And can you bake fine wedding-cakes, too?” With these words the master wantonly seized the dumpy THE BAILIFF's MAID. 175 little woman beneath her arms and whirled her several times around. “Wedding-cakes?” repeated she, pausing for breath, with suspicious looks. “Where have you been hiding, Mr. Marcus, that you have come home so merry? And you are wet as a spaniel, too. Ah, bless me! only to see the drops of mud on my beautiful, freshly scoured plank floor! Go away. Dancing, too, and having half Deer- wood turned upside down. And will not Hannah scold finely when she finds that she will have to bring her scour- ing-cloth and begin her work over again. Wedding-cakes, did you say? Oh, yes, I can bake splendid ones—two hands high, and so delicious that they melt in your mouth. But now I ask: for whom in our quiet old Deerwood? Who is to eat them?” “Who? Eh? Anybody, everybody, whoever will, shall be my guest! Old and young—rich and poor, they are all invited. He who finds a treasure should not be niggardly in rendering thanks for it.” Full of rapturous imaginings, he laughed full in her puz- zled face, and, mounting the stairs, sung, in a fine barytone voice, a snatch of this song: “Come, pretty lady, oh!” Then the continuation: “Thy name I long to know,” rang down into the echoing hall; then his door fell to. CHAPTER XVIII. AFTER a short while he came down again, and crossed over the hall to the front entrance. He had changed his dress and brushed his full suit of hair that had become perfectly saturated with water; he looked dignified, almost solemn. * * * ---- * • T . .- : * * *, *. º $4 -- * .* * +* *- ...:*.*. .* - *. - ... Kºº * -", 176 THE BAILIFF's MAID, “By my faith, you do look almost like a bridegroom!” cried Dame Griebel across from the kitchen. “But the garden is still dripping wet, and in the next minute that fine dress-coat will be as well soaked through as your travel- ing-coat was just now, Mr. Marcus. And, then am I too to swim with my eatables through all this slush and mire to the summer-house?” He told her that he would like to have something to eat, about eight o’clock, in his own chamber, but until then wanted to remain in the summer-house, undisturbed, not even by his most excellent of foster-mothers. So saying, he left the house with the greatest speed, as though some piece of negligence were to be atoned for. In the summer-house he encountered all the pent-up sultriness of the afternoon. He shook his head with a grave Smile as he propped back the balcony door in order to admit the fresh air. Hardly two hours ago he had de- scended these steps only to go to the edge of the woods and then back again, not a step further! What a pitiable thing the human will is as opposed to destiny, when it ap- proaches a crisis! Well, he had had trouble and distress enough until he had come to an understanding with fate! It had had, as it were, to seize him and push him onward; it had fairly chased him into the forest, where the enigma was to be solved in the most delightful manner. He had stood before a dark door, and had the silly caprice of want- ing to beat it in with his head. His bit of imagination had even misled him to seek for what he wanted under a gypsy tent; but his dull eye had heedlessly overlooked the treas- ure that lay just within his grasp. Assuredly he could not take upon himself the sole blame for this—to all the dwell- ers at Deerwood the girl who worked in the field at the farm was none other than the bailiff’s new maid. All of them had contributed to this hallucination; and the only One who knew the true state of the case, viz., the bailiff, had had a selfish interest in confirming him in his error. THE BAILIFF's MAID. 177 He had simply disowned his niece when found in servant’s dress, the old fox that he was. * Now all had changed. The threatening thunder-clouds in the sky had emptied themselves in naught but blessing and contentment. Moreover, the dark door was wide, wide open; but, just as he had done two hours before, h now paced to and fro in indescribable suspense. - It was no longer so oppressively still, though, out-of- doors as it had been before the storm. All that had life and breath was astir with renewed animation, and every sound came with double distinctness through the pure and cooled atmosphere. In the bird-nest under the summer- house roof the yellow-beaked young ones called out lustily to the old ones, who were busily flying hither and thither; before the window danced a cloud of gnats, and the white butterflies were there again, too, fluttering like snowflakes on the field. At any moment a white object might become visible at the edge of the thicket—it must and should be so, unless it were to turn out that he had criminally let slip a favorable moment for fixing his happiness forever. What if he should have been deceived in his prognostications? What if she should proudly and gravely look upon his farewell at Grafenwood as final, and never again cross his life-path? The blood rushed tempestuously to his temples, and the next minute found him out upon the balcony. Ah! no, he need not go down a single step. With trembling hand he shaded his eyes against the red and golden rays of the evening sun, just now breaking forth in splendor, and gazed fixedly toward the far-off undergrowth. Something stirred behind the screen of pine needles and came steadily forward, and he was not again to be deceived by the blue ribbons floating from a lit- tle chip hat, which, in the violence of his disappointment, he had cursed this afternoon. No, white, puffed out and ugly as a human head-dress well could be, it arose above 178 THE BAILIFF's MAID. \ the last dwarfish fir-trees. A wild cry of joy, almost irre- pressible, parted his lips, and his heart beat well-nigh to bursting. He withdrew into the recesses of his little apart- ments, and she came slowly around the corner. Her wide, white under-sleeves flew up a little as they were caught by a passing breeze, and it seemed as though it shook, too, her slender figure and made her gait unsteady. She was in her shabby servant’s gown; a wide, blue linen apron stood out from her form in stiffly starched folds, and the outlines of her bust wanished beneath the coarse, unshapely hand- kerchief that crossed her chest in many plaits and was tied at the back. Never before, though, had the covering been drawn so closely over her face as now. Thus she came along, timidly, as though frightened, and for a moment it seemed as though all strength would de- sert her at sight of the open summer-house door, and as though her inclination to run back at the top of her speed must gain the mastery. This was a critical moment, that made her lover’s heart stand still, so intense was his anx- iety, but it passed by. Samaritan-like pity and gentleness got the victory, and urged on the maiden, step by step. He could but think of that other morning when she had followed the same path with so much unconcern. Then she had stood out from the golden background of a morn- ing sky, a vision of brightness—now the glowing crimson of twilight was closing upon the well-washed fields—and it was right thus. The longing and palpitating, the Wrestling and struggling begun that day must culminate in glowing flames; then, his presumption, his untamed pride in a sense of freedom, had stood on a war footing with her maidenly dignity and sense of self-respect; and now he was the one conquered, but at the same time the game was being decoyed into his trap. Leaning far back upon his divan he did not move, and unconsciously held his breath. It seemed to him as though the whole happiness of his life was hanging upon a THE BAILIFF's MAID. 179 single, slender thread—a bird, suddenly whirring out of the thicket, a sound issuing from the mansion house, a countryman hobbling across the road, might startle the maiden's troubled spirit, and scare his game away never to return again. The nearer she came the more violently throbbed his pulses. With an almost pleading expression she looked up toward the open door, as though hoping that some assist- ance would be lent her. Ah, not on any account in the world would he lift a finger in her behalf! He wanted to taste all the sweetness of the situation. She must come— close up to him—driven of her own impulse. Now he saw her no more—she passed below the house where he sat. He could hear the folds of her woolen dress rub against the rough corn-stalks as she grazed them; a somewhat heavy, lingering step lightly shook the slender staircase, then suddenly she stood on top, and leaned against the balcony railings, as though out of breath and exhausted. He jumped up and approached her. “I am keeping my word,” murmured she, almost to herself. With a nervous twitching of the eyelids she looked sideways, down upon the corn-fields, and her hand did not let go its hold upon the balustrade. “I knew it,” said he. Now she looked up at him with a painfully indignant glance. --- “Yes, you were sure of your cause, in consequence of your many experiences with governesses,” retorted she, bit- terly, drawing her white kerchief yet further over her face, as if for a protection against him and the whole outside World. Her tone and this gesture assured him that he was yet wide of his mark. “No, but I knew that my dear surgeon could not find it in her heart to let a fellow-creature suffer for aid that she might render,” said he, drawing back and placing himself ,-- 180 THE BAILIFF's MAID. sº *-*. "'s. * ,” * * 4 sideways behind the threshold of the room, so as to give f place and invite her to enter. She passed him by and walked straight up to the table, where she took from her basket what she needed for a renewal of his bandage. He avoided looking at her while he stepped up to her side, perceiving that only the greatest composure and Self- control on his part could restore to her the self-possession after which she was evidently struggling. He saw that every fiber in her body was quivering, that her hands vain- ly strove to arrange the strips for bandages that would keep falling apart. “How awkward!” murmured she, drawing her right hand over her brow. “I do not know how it is—the air here oppresses me. What a wretched creature I am!” With feverish hand she loosened the ends of the kerchief that were tied under her chin, pushing back the hood part till it fell upon her neck, in order to breathe more freely; and now, without looking up, she took hold of his band- aged hand. “The pain will soon be over,” said he, in tones meant to soothe, but they were half stifled through the vehemence of his own agitation. She was silent, and began to undo the bandage. “Well, I am spared one trial, at least; you have not given yourself a new injury,” said she, lifting up her head. “The wound is healing very nicely; hardly any scar will be left.” “What a pity! I would have liked to bear about a memento of it all my life, as a student glories in the trophies of his deeds of prowess in fencing. And I sup- pose you mean to say, too, that I have no further need of medical attendance?” “Of mine, certainly not,” answered she, as with nimble fingers she rolled up a fresh strip of limen. “Dame Grie- bel can attend very well to what remains to be done now.” “Ah, you are very kind! Well, then, I must e'en sub- **** THE BAILIFF's MAID. 181 mit, although I can not say that I am exactly willing to exchange my own dear surgeon for good Dame Griebel. Perhaps I may come to the farm myself for further in- structions.” “That would be a fruitless exertion,” remarked she, without looking up from her occupation. Then she moved away from him—her task was complete. In flying haste she gathered her things together and thrust them into her little basket. Ere he had caught her design, she had slipped past him, and was outside the door, like a freed bird that seeks the open air. Not until out on the balcony, with one foot on the second step, did she once more turn back. “Is not this enough of self-denial?” asked she, and re- strained sorrow, mingled with bitter defiance, made them- selves felt in her tones. “If every Samaritan-like task costs such a humiliating effort as did this, then—” “Why do you torment yourself and me with ill-feelings that come not from your heart?” asked he. He had picked up his hat and was already at her side. “Why, yes; I did insist upon my privilege—and who would blame me for that?—and you simply kept your word. Is that so bad? In return I now attend you as a knight should do. No, do not protest against this. You do not know, appar- ently, that Deerwood is swarming with gypsies.” “In that case they had better take me with them and let me dance the tight-rope.” As she said this, with a half-smile she turned to the gentleman, who was now com- ing behind her down the steps. “In sooth, if not on the tight-rope, yet under a canvas- topped wagon. Just to-day I saw you among old fortune- tellers and the wild youth of a gypsy encampment. But I’ll tell you about this hereafter—that is to sº *—added he, correcting himself as speedily as possible—“ that is ~ say, if the sun of mercy in the attic would ever rise upon a poor fellow like me! So far indeed there is little prospect 182 THE BAILIFF's MAID. of it, and, since I know that in little over a half hour the bailiff’s maid, with her white kerchief and menial garb, will have vanished forever, I must profit by this brief mo- ment as far as I can.” She scanned him with a sidelong glance. He assumed a very grave air as he slackened his pace. The pair were already walking alongside the thicket, rather in the middle of the road, however, for the long pine needles were still overcharged with water, and the close-set coppice was studded with millions of pearl-like rain-drops. But all these sparkling brilliants, and the besprinkled ears of wheat in the broad fields, with every little mirror-like pool on the way-side were flushed with the crimson hues of eventide, as though reconciled now, after the fierce com- motion of the storm was over, heaven and earth, fierce Sun and water, were melting into one another. “What do you believe young Franz will set about when he recovers?” asked Mr. Marcus, without further introduc- tion. “Assuredly he will not return to California?” She shook her head vehemently. “‘Rather crack stones on a Thuringian turnpike,” he said to me the very first hour of our meeting.” A deep sigh heaved her breast. “You yourself best know in what condition the ‘old man’s millionaire * reached home. For he told me how compas- sionately you picked him up on the road-side and took care of him that first night at the mansion house. Shame and grief, indeed, did not suffer him to accept your hospitality longer—he would have rather died alone in the forest than be a burden upon the charities of strangers. I understand his feeling—understand it only too well,” she went on, passionately pressing her hands against her breast. “He was right. A lonely death is not half so bitter as to have to live a pensioner upon the bounty of others.” She kept silence for a few seconds. With painfully con- tracted brows and her lower lip pressed hard between her teeth, she gazed into the face of the glowing heavens, and THE BAILIFF's MAID. 183 the young man at her side interrupted this wrathful silence by never a syllable. “So he dragged himself further through the woods,” continued she, after drawing a deep, hard breath, “ until he tumbled into my arms at the farm gate—” “And is it possible that you contrived to help the poor exhausted man on his way unaided?” “Anxiety gave me strength—he must be kept out of his parents’ sight. Such a heart-rending spectacle would have killed the old lady.” “It is a long way to the forester’s house—” “It seemed endless to me that morning. But once ar- rived there I got the most efficient aid. The forester, that excellent man, used to be Otto’s playmate and friend; he laughed and wept in one breath at this mournful reunion. A few hours afterward the poor fellow lay on a bed in the wildest delirium—” “And made such a disturbance in his feverish imagin- ings that the forest re-echoed with it,” added the proprietor, in a tone of deep feeling. “And the people who heard that mad laughter outside supposed that some jovial fel- lows were making merry in that corner chamber with its drawn blinds. Yes, I know it, and to atone for a certain, hard, wicked, evil-minded speech wherewith a noble heart was deeply wounded, a man might well deem a whole life- time of devoted love insufficient.” She turned her face away from him, and it almost seemed as though she was meditating a sudden plunge into the coppice at her side. This involuntary impulse to flee must have escaped her Companion; for the same minute he asked, as quietly as though not a thought of anything else had diverted him from the original theme of his conversation: “To what calling did the gold-hunter originally be- long?” * “He is an agriculturist,” replied she, stepping out fur- _* 184 THE BAILIFF's MAID. ther, in order to avoid the branches of the fir-trees, that every now and then dashed copious showers upon their pathway. “He used to hope to be his father’s successor on the Gelsungen domains—of course there is an end to all that. And now, after having made such terrible ship- wreck of his schemes, his views have become extremely modest. Any humble sphere of labor, where he can earn his daily bread and be near his precious old mother, would satisfy his most ardent wishes.” “Then perhaps he would like to remain at Deerwood?” She suddenly stood still and looked up at him with a joyful expression of face. “Would you let him rent the farm?” He looked aside and shrugged his shoulders. “The dis- posal of it no longer rests with myself.” “No longer rests with yourself,” repeated she, mechan- ically and despondently, in breathless amazement—at the same time turning white as a sheet. “Have you sold Deerwood?” “What think you? That I would sell my pearls, unde- servedly as they have fallen into my lap? No, rather let the establishment of Marcus & Co. be sold under the ham- mer! The thing is that the farm has not belonged to the estate for more than a year.” “So you actually have the right to dispose of it no longer? And once more the unhappy old couple will be compelled to suffer anxiety lest they have not a roof to cover their heads?” cried she, half desperately, her head sinking upon her breast, as though she were crushed by the blow. “How cruel! And for this revelation to come just after you had spread out before the poor patient a plan of her new house? Dared you do this without the cog- nizance of the present proprietor?” “I presumed that I had the approbation of the proprie- tress.” “The proprietress? Does the farm belong to a lady?” --" zer tº º ** … * * / * -º-º: z THE BAILIFF's MAID. 185 She looked astonished, but more encouraged. “And you just now said yourself that Otto Franz could stay at Deer- wood. Then, at all events, the new proprietress will con- sent to lease it out?” He drew up his shoulders, and looked smilingly into her anxiously intent countenance. “That I do not know—you must ask Miss Agnes Franz about that!” - She stood as though transfixed, and, as if bereft of con- sciousness, allowed him to grasp both her hands and retain them for a moment. He told her how he had accidentally discovered the last wishes of his aunt, and finally drew from his breast-pocket the deceased lady’s memorandum- book, in order to lay the proofs before her. Tears of emotion flowed over her face, as she glanced at the handwriting, but she did not take the proffered book into her hand, but rather gently thrust it aside. “This is no legal instrument, sir,” said she, firmly and decidedly, by a great effort mastering her deep emotion. “Nobody in the world would consider that this writing gave me a shadow of a right to be considered as the heiress of this property.” “Nobody?” repeated he. “Eh! What has the poor world done to you, that you judge it to be full of knaves? Possibly there are people enough to whom the last will of one of their relatives stands for nothing, if not reinforced by such or such a number of signatures, in a strange hand. In my opinion, you are fully entitled to all that that testa- ment bequeathes you—and I also think that an appeal to law in such a ease is a breach of trust. No, no; you need not shake your head at me, as if I came from Some legend- ary land with my ideas of right! May they always be a little pragmatical, as is all the paraphernalia of my intel- lectual equipment. You have had experience yourself of my inadequate conception of men and things, by the ridiculous manner in which I have allowed myself to re. 186 THE BAILIFF's MAID. gard the strangest anomaly as sober fact. Let them still have on their side, I say, conscience, that supreme and in- fallible judge.” Upon his hinting thus at having played the part of dupe, into which she had innocently led him, blushing deeply and with quickened pace she had gone forward, but he still kept by her side. The thicket lay behind them, and the farm-garden came in sight. “This testamentary bequest of my sainted aunt’s was certainly not pleasant to me, in so far as it seemed to bring me into personal relations with the fatal bailiff's niece,” continued he, after a moment’s pause, and the inimitable humor that could so beautify his countenance now fairly illumined it. “But I sinfully stifled my sense of duty and satisfied myself that my man-at-law could just as well attend to the affair for me, after I had turned my back upon Deerwood. But now, all of a sudden, I learned of the existence of a son of the bailiff, whereby the responsi- bility of the testator was more responsible. I saw myself forced to seek closer relations with the inmates of the farm, if I would do the right thing. I could but ask myself why the testatrix had selected a young lady as guardian of the two old people, while they had the most natural of pro- tectors, viz., a Son.” “I understand the dear, true old lady perfectly,” re- plied the maiden, in her turn stepping close to his side. “Otto was always kind-hearted and gentle until it amount- ed to weakness. In opposition to his imperious father he had neither spirit nor resolution, just as is the case with his poor mother. But now, since he knows the bitter les- sons taught him by life, since he knows what mean the pangs of hunger, and that only through energy and the strictest economy he can relieve from misery his parents’ declining years, he-” “Then you think I shall have to alter in his favor the last will entered in this book?” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 18? She was silent for a minute, and then lifted to him her lovely eyes, glistening with inexpressible gratitude. “Why, yes, then,” she answered, firmly, “if it is not wrong in me to confirm you in such unheard-of gener- osity. 53 He laughed, and pushed open the little garden gate be- fore which they now stood. “I can not, then, as I had in- tended, invite you to step upon your own soil and territory —you have resigned your right to it—” “Most joyfully!” exclaimed she, entering, and turning back to address him. “I need nothing, and this I know ’’ —she folded her hands fervently over her breast—“ wher- ever I may go, this will always be home to me; hither I can return whenever I would taste the sweets of a home feeling.” º “I should indeed think that you had earned that privi- lege hardly enough. But do you not know that no true husband and householder ever permits his wife to call any other than his own house home?” She drew away from him with a repellent expression upon her pallid countenance. “Those are relations apart from my path of life,” replied she, sadly. “No man shall ever prescribe to me what I shall do or leave undone. Do you believe that I could ever eat even a crumb of bread from the table of a husband who, in his inmost soul, Cherished the conviction that not love, but a desire for an enviable position in life, had driven me into his arms? No; compared with this the hard-earned bread of the governess is a sweet and honored morsel. And I shall eat it, too, so long as life and strength are left to me.” “Agnes!” He had seized both her hands, and, in spite of her struggles, held her fast and drew her to him. “Will you really, then, punish so cruelly the presumptu- ous fellow who, acting upon an idea, a superficial preju- dice, knew not himself what he was doing?” A roguish smile played upon his features. 188 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. ** “Am I to fall upon my knees in this rain-soaked garden and beg your pardon? Am I to throw into the spree the - bit of money on account of which you reject the bad, con- ceited fellow? I will do any or everything! I will lift slandered governesses upon my shield as long as I live, and break lances in their behalf whenever I can. When I die I’ll endow the home for aged female teachers to the utmost of my ability—everything, in expiation of my guilt. Agnes!”— and his voice again vibrated with passionate earnestness—“ do you not know that you give, and not I? You spoke just now of an enviable position in life; who says that I have such a one to offer you? No aristocratic blood flows in my veins, nor have I any high-sounding title attached to my name. My good, honest father set out as an apprentice, with a knapsack upon his back, to work his way up in life. I am a workman’s son, and have been trained to labor from a boy, just as journeymen now do under me. And even now, if need be, I could verify my words by coming before my wife with a face begrimed. You See, I am better, far better than you; nobody can per- suade me that she, the refined and cultured governess, in such a case would not shrink back with horror, but rather honor the marks of toil. Am I right, Agnes?” Her head had sunk low upon her breast—no answering Sound escaped her lips, but bright drops fell from her eye- lashes. “I should not properly waste another word, but simply take what is my own,” continued he. “I)oes the fowler ask his little prisoner’s leave to be permitted to keep him? And mine you have been from the moment you voluntarily Set foot upon my territory. I tell you to your dear, sweet face, that no Samaritan-like duty, no conscientious keeping a promise strictly, enabled you to overcome your maidenly pride, your wounded sense of honor—it was the same irresistible impulse that has irremediably seized me and fairly chained me to your feet—we belong to each other THE BAILIFF's MAID. 189 for all eternity. Well, Agnes, inexorable one, will you prolong the struggle further?” “How can I, if you thus wrest one weapon after the other from my grasp?” murmured she, hiding her face upon his breast. They stood not far from the linden bower, and it was so solemnly still throughout the garden and underneath that green arbor that single drops of rain could be distinctly heard splashing upon the top of the stone table, and yet not a sound from these two lowers broke the stillness—full of unutterable bliss, no need had they of words. Later they went hand in hand along the path that led through the raspberry bushes into the yard. They also passed by the herb bed, where, upon occasion of the pro- prietor’s first visit to the farm, the young maiden had in- stinctively or grudgingly, as he maintained, drawn down her long sleeves over her bare arms. “Now own, was it not a little Franz’s pride that made it painful for you to meet a stranger in servant’s dress, and induced you to keep up your masquerade as a maid?” asked he. “No, assuredly not! In the beginning your error amused me, and for that reason I did nothing to explain it away; but afterward I held willfully to it, in the feeling of deep mortification and bitter defiance, determined that you should never make acquaintance with the despised govern- ess. And besides, I had my orders not to open my vizier. My uncle was beside himself at the bare idea of the new proprietor recognizing, in a field-laborer, the bailiff's niece; he extracted from me a promise to keep up my disguise un- til the proprietor had taken his departure. The old man shows a little weakness in this, to be sure—” “Hateful ingratitude, you mean,” growled he. “And I can not spare him a lesson on the subject,” added he, murmuring to himself. So saying, he crossed over the yard, While Agnes left his side and glided along beneath 190 THE BAILIFF's MAID. the windows of the house, on her way to the attic-cham- ber, where she meant to change her clothes. The bailiff stood in the sitting-room, and was just open- ing a window in order to give his pipe a good shaking out. He did not observe the young lady, but immediately took cognizance of the approaching gentleman. “Well, sir, there you are, safe and sound, I See,” he called out. “Come in, just as soon as you can; my wife has been making herself miserable on your account.” “Well, Nannie, are you satisfied now? Here you can see our young neighbor for yourself, looking sound and well; moreover, as nice as if he had just stepped out of a band-box,” laughed he, as Mr. Marcus entered the room. “I thought all the time that he was one who knew how to take care of number one, and must congratulate him. Bless me! Was not that a thunder-storm for you? and our niece not at home. Could we guess that she had found a shelter with the forester? Nevertheless, she came home after it was over, without her hat and her hair all dripping, trembling and quaking in every limb, just like an aspen- leaf. This is no common thing with her, you must know. Her father was a soldier, and she has his blood in her veins; she is not wanting in courage, I can assure you; but such a tempest in the woods is no joke.” “I know that from my own experience. I, too, was in the woods,” said Mr. Marcus, who had stepped up to the bed in order to pay his respects to the old lady. “Zounds! you don’t say so? Well, sir, then you must have been astride of the storm-king’s back, to come thus unscathed through such a war of the elements.” “I told you, when I was here before, that I was follow- ing a track,” answered the proprietor, composedly, “and my concern was to set about it and not wait under shelter until the rain had washed out every vestige of it. You know that I went to look for the maid that you had dis- missed.” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 191 The old lady’s hand, that he still held clasped within his own, trembled violently. “Oh, compose yourself!” said he, looking lovingly with beaming eyes into the shocked face of the invalid. “You have no reason to be troubled. It was, indeed, a toilsome path for me to travel, and I had a hard battle to fight too, first—but I have found the maid.” “Found her?” repeated the bailiff, stammeringly, with glassy eyes, while he let his right hand (that held the mouth-piece of his pipe) drop as suddenly as though he had been wounded in it. “Would you make sport of us, Sir?” “Oh! dearest, what a speech!” lamented the sick wom- an, with trembling voice. “Never mind!” said Mr. Marcus, gravely smiling. “The comedy of errors in which I have taken a principal part is played to an end now, and I should be the last one to wish it to be spun out to any greater length. It is as I have said: I have found the maid. You know her and love her, and yet do not seem to be aware how pre-emi- nently beautiful and noble in bearing she is, else you would never have supposed that she could pass unnoticed in her menial garb. I discerned her rare nature, and since I pre- fer energy and activity in the character of woman far be- fore the elegant habits and tastes of a fashionable lady, and am myself a friend to honest labor, nothing hindered me from losing my heart.” He turned from the bed toward the bailiff, who had with- drawn to the window, and was gazing very intently at some- thing in the yard. “I had long ago made up my own mind to make your maid my wife, bailiff. All of a sudden, though, I was told that she had been dismissed, and you yourself expressly confirmed this statement. You can no longer be surprised, however, that I did not hesitate to rush right into the jaws of the tempest when my whole life’s happiness was at 192 THE BAILIFF's MAID. stake. And, as before said, I did overtake it, but not in the way that I would have expected—the scene was enacted as in some tale of fiction, where, at the decisive moment, the hero or heroine is metamorphosed—and now the last step to be taken is just here, so permit me to sue to you most dutifully for the hand of my Agnes.” “Ah! that is the game, is it? Oh! the sly little puss to be carrying on a perfect little romance behind the back of her old uncle and aunt, without anybody having a suspicion of such a thing,” cried the bailiff, making a terrible effort to overcome his terrible embarrassment. “But you shall have her, Mr. Marcus—you shall have her. You are agreed to it, are you not, Nannie?” “Only agreed, dearest,” faltered the old lady, deeply moved. “I would like to thank God, on my knees, for the happiness that he showers upon our precious, Self-sac- rificing child.” The bailiff coughed, opened the room door, and called for his niece in a resonant voice, who immediately after- ward flew down the steps, coming in arrayed in a thin white dress, the very picture of youth and innocence. She fell upon her knees at the bedside, and bowed her beautiful head beneath the trembling, withered hands that were laid upon it in blessing. “What a change, my child!” whispered the old lady, weeping for joy. “Is it not like the noble Boaz sueing for the hand of Ruth?’” “Wife, what nonsense is that you are saying? Take it not ill of me, but that comparison between our niece and that poor gleaner in the Bible grates upon my nerves. Pshaw! do not let them discourage you, Mr. Marcus—it is not so bad with regard to pecuniary matters as it might be. Only let my Californian get home again!” Agnes looked uneasy, and directed a searching glance to- ward the proprietor, and the old lady fell back upon her pillow like a person who has received a shock, while the THE BAILIFF's MAID. 193 *** bailiff went out, as he said, to order up a bottle of wine from his cellar in order to celebrate the joyful event. “Ah! how that pains me,” sighed the invalid. “My poor boy must come home laden with wealth if he would be welcomed by his father—and I, I would give the rem- nant of my miserable existence if I could only see him again, let him come back as he would! But he is no longer living.” “Yes, he does live. You will see him again, and proba- bly right soon. I give you my word for it!” asseverated Mr. Marcus, as he affectionately stooped over her. . “All will yet be well—only cast freely upon my shoulders all that troubles you.” * “God help you! God help you a thousand times!” fal- tered the surprised woman, folding her hands and looking heavenward with raptured countenance. CEIAPTER XIX. “NAY, then, that’s enough,” Dame Griebel would have said if she had been there. But would she have been pleased if this narration had closed with the dear old in- valid’s benediction? Hardly! For, in the first place, her mother’s pride would have been deeply wounded if her Louise had vanished thus quietly from the scene; further- more, it would have clashed with her views of duty and conscience if the whole reading world had not learned where and how Louise’s confirmation gift, the gold ducat, namely, had again come to light; and finally, the good woman had to bestir herself most diligently to bring mat- ters to the proper pass; and this is not a thing to be sup- pressed—of course not—it must be told, out of regard to simple justice. The day after the storm she stood with her daughter in the entrance-hall, cutting into, slices the huge plum-cakes 7 194 THE BAILIFF'S MAID. promised, while outside, on the doorsteps and under the cherry-tree, tarried crowds of hankering young peasants gawking intently, but with shy respect, through the wide- open door. They durst not venture further. The white aprons of the farmer’s wife and daughter were actually dazzling in their purity, as were likewise the well-scoured plank floors, and over and above these stood Hanne, with a large kitchen-plate, by the table, launching really mur- derous glances at any little naked foot that threatened the door-sill with an impress of its sole. Dame, daughter, and maid suddenly saw the door-way darkened by the entrance of two tall forms. Dame Griebel let her knife drop, and her little Chinese-shaped blue eyes opened to their utmost capacity. Yes, that certainly was Mr. Marcus, her petted foster-son, as he styled himself; but how altered he looked! So highly erect, so proud, so radiant! and at his side fluttered , a white robe, and the tall, slender figure that wore it and hung upon his arm, as though that were her natural place, had a pretty little hat and gray veil covering a suit of rich, dark hair, but the good woman knew that she had seen that hat before. Yes, it had been in the bailiff’s pew at the Tillroda church; of course, then, the lady in white was the bailiff’s niece, the young lady governess, and anybody must be stone blind who could not see that it was all right about those wed- ding-cakes. *\ But how suddenly it had come about! How very secret- ly it had been managed! People ought to be ashamed of having gone along so stupidly, just as though they had had no eyes in their heads; but the sly old chap was to be none the wiser for her confusion. She smoothed down her stiffly starched apron, advanced a few steps, and made a solemn courtesy of welcome, while, pointing to the kitchen, she said, with a meaning glance: “But they are not done yet, Mr. Marcus.” He laughed, “No, for we must first celebrate our be- *** THE BAILIFF's MAID. 195 trothal as is right and customary and highly proper—is that not so, Agnes?” He introduced his betrothed, and meanwhile the grim Hanne had as much as she could do to hold the dirty little urchins within proper bounds, so eager were they to get a peep at the face of the pretty lady in white. She was not at all proud though. She forthwith pulled off her gloves and helped little Louise to share out the cakes among the children, and the betrothed bridegroom made haste to fetch a bunch of keys, and came up directly with an armful of wine-bottles. Each of the children to be feasted had a glass of pure Rhenish wine, and the pro- prietor shook his purse full of small silver coins into the lap of his betrothed, that she might divide them out among the happy throng. And as she stood on the doorsteps, en- circled by the troop of children, half laughing and half chiding them, in order to preserve order, Dame Griebel was cautiously swallowing the golden fluid in her glass, and her sharp little blinking eyes were fastened upon the young lady; those nimble fingers looked strangely sunburned and dark beneath her white mull muslin sleeves. On her neck, under her lace frill, shone a gold piece, and that lovely face—why, yes, she has said once before that one might search far and near for such a face. But now she said nothing, nothing at all; she only touched Mr. Marcus’s -glass with her own, and congratulated him upon the treas- ure that he had found, as he had told her himself the day before; adding that, so far as she could judge, he was a lucky fellow, and had made no mistake. And afterward, when she went upstairs with the engaged couple, because Agnes wished to see the balcony-room, she pointed to the picture of the former mistress of the house, and said, mysteriously: “Young lady, that was his first love at Deerwood. Our young master fell desperately in love with that fair, curly haired lady in the picture; those flaxen locks ensnared him—” 196 THE BAILIFF's MAID. “The flaxen locks least of all, dear madame!” laughed the proprietor. “No, the charms of this portrait did not fascinate me until I had obtained a deep insight into the inner life of this rare woman,” said he, as becoming very serious he turned to his lady-love; ‘‘so gentle and lovely was she, evidently a woman of frail body but exalted soul. This wonderful combination of virtues was beheld by me here for the first time, and made me capable of understand- ing and appreciating you, my Agnes.” The young girl, whom he tenderly drew to his side as he said these words, had never been at Deerwood in the life- time of her friend. The mistress would not have liked such an intrusion upon her solitude, but she had herself often been upon the Gelsungen estate, where she had had an op- portunity of becoming acquainted with and esteeming the bailiff’s niece and foster-child. The old lady had also been in the habit of botanizing there, and in these expeditions, through forest and field, Agnes had been her constant Companion. With emotion she now looked around the comfortable apartment, upon whose walls hung tokens of what had been the sad experiences of a widowed heart, from the first passionate outburst of grief to the subdued gentleness of silent resignation. Hitherto, in passing, she had only looked up to the balcony in reverential awe, now she might enter, and this cozy nook was to be her own chamber until the man she loved came to claim her as his bride and carry her to his own home. “Yes, in the life-time of its now Sainted occupant, this balcony, with its glass walls, always reminded me of a jewel casket. It was always full of blooming mignonette and Alpine violets, and at Christmas there were always tulips and hyacinths on the window-sills, as in the finest of green- houses,” said Dame Griebel. “Ah! yes, there was some- thing peculiar about our old lady—‘pure poetry,” my Louise used always to say. But, for all that, she was as THE BAILIFF's MAID. 197 *. resolute and practical as anybody—the necessary and use- ful always came first; yes, yes, there was no trifling about her. Well, but what I wanted to say, Mr. Marcus, was this: your guests will not have much room to turn around up here; the place is far too crowded.” “Dearest Griebel, do not alarm me! I was just going to announce to you the coming of a new inmate—the bailiff’s son has arrived.” “What! The one from the land of gold?” “Yes, the very same. And he has been very sick, and is to get well here. And, of course, I too must stay at Deerwood as long as I can. You will have to put on your thinking-cap and contrive quarters for us.” “You may depend upon me for that. You shall be lodged in my spare-room, and up here—well, let me see to that.” >k >k 2k sk Sk * sk After a few days the blinds were no longer drawn down behind the windows of the forester’s corner chamber, and every day the Tillroda young people—who were now more than ever attracted to the woods by an abundant berry crop—met the engaged pair going to visit the forester. The sick man became rapidly convalescent. At first, in- deed, he had been very low-spirited, for he had hoped never again to meet the proprietor, who had been a wit- ness to the utter forlornness of his condition; yes, in the very last rational moments he had had before delirium supervened, he had besought Agnes and the forester not to reveal his presence on any account. He positively preferred to have no existence, so far as the dwellers in the mansion house were concerned. But day after day, now, that ele- gant gentleman was to be found sitting by his bedside, helping to nurse him. And the brotherly, cordial tone that he assumed finally had its effect, in enabling the dis- appointed fortune-seeker to overcome his sense of bitter humiliation. But the tidings that the farm was to become 198 THE BAILIFF's MAID. his own property had the most decidedly beneficial effect upon him. From that day on his stooping form began to grow erect, his spirits recovered their elasticity, and with the revival of hope came also renewed force of will. This was a part of the burden which Mr. Marcus had lifted from the shoulders of his beloved one; but another responsibility with which she had charged herself was not to be lifted so readily. The bailiff was not to be shaken in his faith as to his Californian expectations. He had a contemptuous laugh for every doubt expressed, and his sarcastic replies made it plain that he imputed envy and malice to the incredulous. But when young Franz had walked out of doors for the first time, supported by Mr. Marcus's arm, the latter com- municated the intelligence that a letter had come from his son to the forester, his old playmate, whereupon the old gentleman grew very still and thoughtful — the boaster could no longer make capital out of the long-continued silence of his millionaire son. With every day his son’s supposed return drew nearer, and it was more clearly inti- mated to his parents that he would bring home with him nothing but a heart full of filial love and a determined will to labor and provide for his dear ones. Here, too, a knowledge of the provision made for them by their old friend had the effect of healing balsam upon their spirits. “I don’t care, then, if there’s no help for it!” said the bailiff, half bitterly; but the old lady wept tears of joy. Meanwhile great changes were being bustlingly effected in the neighborhood. Such lively times had never before been seen at Deerwood in the memory of man. At the farm swarmed workmen, who here felled a considerable portion of the pine forest, and there put up stables, while every day stones were being hauled for the erection of the new building. And in the mansion house broom and duster were unceasingly brandished, carpets were shaken and furniture moved, while Dame Griebel thanked Heaven THE BAILIFF's MAID. 199 that her Louise's holiday had been prolonged, so that she had her help. In all this tumult there also came packages from Berlin, a rolling-chair for the bailiff’s wife, and com- fortable arm-chairs in the sitting-room for both of the old people; and later—Mr. Marcus could not help laughing himself while he helped to unpack it—a piano for the bal- cony-room. There it was to stay for good, so that the young lady should never lack for music in her summer so- journs among the Thuringian Mountains. “Yes, now you see how it is, Mr. Marcus; men change so,” said Dame Griebel, with elevated eyebrows and a toss of the head, as the beautiful instrument was being set up. “Right in the beginning you gave me to understand that you could not bear piano-playing; so, of course, my little girl never dared touch a key when you were in the house. And many a time, what would I not have given to hear my favorite pieces played! Now, here you are spending ever so much money to have one of the ‘rattle-traps” brought direct from Berlin, helping to haul it up yourself, turning and twisting and contriving to find the very best spot for it to stand, lest one of its precious tones be lost. And all this because you love the two hands that are to play upon it. Ah! yes, I knew it. “Time brings its roses, And wonders discloses.” “And the living have the preference. They have a right to the earth, and what is dead must give place. Dear me! if all the world thought like you—that is to say, if the rooms of the departed, with all they contained, were to be locked up forever, why, after awhile, the whole world would be a great trash-room, and people would have to give way before rubbish. Not that I am an inhuman body, wanting in due respect for the dead—no such thing; just see how soundly I brushed and put away in pepper the deceased high war- den’s dressing-gown (it was stuffed full of moths), and then 200 THE BAILIFF's MAID. packed it away with ever so much more old clothing in an out-of-the-way part of the store-room, where they may stay till crack o’ doom—I certainly shall not disturb them. And that sweet little down-bed, where a baby was cradled long years ago for a few weeks only; there it stands, thorough- ly aired and sunned, all ready for other occupants. Well, and now you see how much nicer and more roomy it is up here. Ten bailiffs’ sons may arrive from California now for aught that I care.” So saying, she locked up the suite of rooms lying to the left; and she was right, for a more comfortable abode was not to be imagined. In spite of all this, the total transfor- mation affected the proprietor’s spirits—he had sanctioned her movements without calculating the full result. “It was high time that a living soul took possession of this sepulcher,” continued Dame Griebel, without heeding her young master’s ill-humor in the very least. “And if our old lady had had such a swarm of moths flying around her ears she would have said ‘yea and amen’ to a thorough cleaning, that I know. And, for that matter, I just want to know what would be done if some day you should bring your family to spend the summer at Deerwood? Should the lively little Brandenburgers be thrust into corners to leave room for relics of a baby, who has been a saint in heaven these ages? That would be a pretty thing, to be sure.” This argument of the resolute, stirring little woman proved more efficacious than had done all the long dis- course that prefaced it. Mr. Marcus silently vacated the field. And now came the morning of the day for the grand flit- ting of the farm-folk to the mansion house. The balcony was full of rare plants, and over the doors hung wreaths of flowers and garlands of evergreens, while the whole house was in apple-ple order from garret to cellar. Mr. Marcus's THE BAILIFF's MAID. 201 temporary asylum, the spare-room, had come last on the list. They must have been deeply absorbed in preparations, for when the expected parties arrived, only Sultan barked, like something possessed, in their honor, and the turkey- hens came strutting up; but with these exceptions, not a living creature was to be seen. But just as the proprietor set foot into the front hall, with his betrothed by his side, the sitting-room door flew open, and Dame Griebel came bustling out, attended by Louise. “A fine business, this!” cried the dumpy little woman. “Lo! I have come within a hair-breadth of failing to wel- come you—such a pretty speech as I had prepared, too! But what is to blame for it? Nothing else than this,” she cried, whirling the long-lost ducat in the air by its velvet ribbon, that was still attached to it. “Yes, here the troublesome thing is. It had lodged behind the bureau, Mr. Marcus—as we were moving it out of the way of your desk, what but it should ring on the plank floor. And Hanne declares that it was all a trick of that abominable girl Rose, just to make us believe that the poor fellow we picked up on the road was a thief. Would any one have believed such a thing possible? The poor fellow had never done her any harm in the world.” “He was no thief. I knew that well,” said Louise. “He was honorable and high-minded. Such honest blue eyes—” She suddenly ceased speaking and turned red as scarlet. In the door-way, hardly three steps off, she saw standing a tall, slender, rather narrow-chested young man. He was elegantly dressed, had quite a distinguished air, and upon his clean-shaven, thin visage was reflected vividly the blush which was suffusing the pretty little maiden’s cheeks. He had led the bailiff up the front doorsteps, but the old gentleman had to pause and take breath ere he entered the front hall. Then he pinched Louise on her cheek, and introduced to her mother a rather shy and modest-looking 202 THE BAILIFF's MAID. 3 young gentleman at his side as his dear son, who had just returned from an extensive tour, made for the sake of self- improvement, as was only proper for a young man of posi- tion. He had arrived yesterday direct from Bremen. From this day the two families began to live together at Deerwood in the most exemplary manner. Even the bailiff, enjoying the great change in his circumstances, moderated as much as possible his acquisitiveness and love of dispute. At his incorrigible propensity for bragging the others winked by common consent, for he could not have existed without some vent being allowed for a passion in- dulged until it had become habitual. Young Franz, however, succeeded admirably in sustain- ing himself in his new calling. With the greatest docility he submitted to receive instruction from the plain, honest farmer. Early and late he was in forest and field, work- ing like a common laborer, and Peter Griebel opined that a new face would be put upon affairs at the farm. The old lady, too, revived under the influence of this sunshine of prosperity, so different from the gloom under which she had so long languished, and her physician gave her assurances of certain restoration to health. In the evening, the whole family, including Peter Griebel, his wife and daughter, would gather around her arm-chair in the balcony chamber. Then they would have music and conversation; and many a time the brightly lighted win- dows of the mansion house sent forth their cheering rays into the surrounding gloom of the forest until quite late into the night. Mr. Marcus postponed his departure from week to week and with affecting candor. Louise made known her wish that the new school-room at the Institute might never be done. She no longer played marches — Mendelssohn’s “songs without words” and music of that description were in favor now, or better yet, she would sing in her fresh, sweet voice: “Oh, wert thou in the cauld, cauld blast!” THE BAILIFF's MAID. 203 * or other pieces in which that great musican has embodied the tenderest emotions of the young and longing heart. No one seemed conscious that much which was mysterious had preceded this harmonious commingling of several families, nor ever made allusion to such an idea. The forester, too, who almost daily went to and fro—to his great delight the proprietor had placed at his disposal all the treasures of his library—was on his guard, lest any remark should escape him as to the time when he had nursed his sick friend at home. Mr. Marcus secretly laughed at the good, conceited little woman, who was always declaring that she was not born of yesterday—for this time her sharp little blue eyes had been right dull, and the simplicity of the mother had far exceeded that of her only child, young thing of sixteen, as was the latter. It was now the evening before the day positively set for Mr. Marcus's departure—he was obliged to go home in order to make arrangements indispensable for his marriage. They were all assembled in the balcony-room. The bailiff, his wife, and Peter Griebel were playing whist with a dummy; the beautiful betrothed had just taken her seat behind the tea-urn, and Dame Griebel was cutting slices of bread and butter at a side-table, while Louise sat at the piano, and with fervent feeling sung “My peace is gone, my heart is sore.” Young Franz leaned sideways against the wall, So that he could look into the face of the charm- ing girl, and he did so most intently, seeming as if he would devour her with his eyes. The proprietor softly touched the busy woman at the side-table, and smilingly drew her attention to the interest- ing couple. “How would you like it, dear foster mamma, if, on the fifteenth of September next, two loving pair, instead of one, should be united at the church in Tillroda?” “A little bit too soon, Mr. Marcus,” said she, without showing the least surprise, and with exceeding exactness 204 THE BAILIFF's MAID. fitting together two pieces of the bread that she had just buttered. “My girl is too young, and a proper dowry is not prepared in such ‘head-over-heels’ style. Do you not think so? I would have her better fixed; else I should like it well enough. He is good and honest, nor could we hope for a better son-in-law. And my Louise! Well, she is pretty and healthy and clever. Nor are the boxes and chests empty at Griebel’s. My Peter and his old woman have never known what it was to idle, so have plenty and to spare. As I said before, we old ones would like it well enough; but ’’—she winked at the proprietor with a sly smile, and raised herself a little on tiptoe in order to whis- per into his ear—“but pray, who would have thought it, when I pressed that roll into the hand of the red-bearded man who lay there helpless in the road?” Mr. Marcus found it hard to repress a loud outburst of laughter. “You have brought it all about!” “Yes, indeed, I and my Louise! She, first of all, for she recognized him again at the first glance, and would have done so if the bailiff’s son had cut off his red beard ten times over. Would anybody have believed such a thing of Louise, an innocent little creature, that has hardly pipped her shell? But love has sharp eyes—although, for that matter, it can be deaf and blind too, upon occasion, and notice nothing until forced to stand face to face with what is true and real—or was it different with you and the bailiff’s maid, Mr. Marcus?” THE ENIO, "That Last Rehearsal' AM C OTHER STO RIES. ". . . * } }} %/cºva a tº } i^{ 4 / A. --" 2. .../ Y. 1. j y * 4. $23 + *" Re? * £r’ ºf Q. -, ~ t_ ! *ºtº /Yip - $º f ". * - \ } NJ • THE DUCHESS.” NEW YORK: GEORGE MUNRO'S SONS, PUBLISHERS, 17 To 27 VANDEWATER STREET. “THAT LAST REHEARSAL" HE is standing with his back to the fire, his eyes bent upon the ground, lost in thought. So, evidently, are all the little dogs deep in contemplation, as they lie all round him, with their chilly noses turned toward the cozy fire, that laughs and crackles and leaps in mad enjoyment, al- though May is far advanced. At his feet the three rough terriers—Rum, Charlie, and Gip—snore luxuriously; on his right the setter pup blinks softly; on his left the fox- terrier, handsome Cheekie, dozes; while in the center lies Crinkle, the small toy, wide awake and evidently eager to challenge the world to single combat. This latter, when dispassionately considered, is but a melancholy creature, —all legs, and no body to signify beyond an aspiring tail and two dejected ears. A forlorn thing, fit only for the tomb, but beloved of its master; so it lives, and its legs grow, and it prospers. The clock ticks, the moments fly, the gilt hands point to half past three. Just now a soft, distinct chime pro- claims the hour, and Mr. Dynecourt, rousing himself, wonders vaguely what on earth he shall do. This thought is so perplexing that involuntarily he tightens his clasp upon the letter he holds in his left hand, and brings his foot down with some emphasis upon the hearth-rug. Probably he meant no offense, but all the little dogs resent the hurried movement, and, as though pulled by a uni- versal string, rise and gaze reproachfully upon him. Their master takes no notice of their indignation, but with moody eyes seeks, as it were, to look into futurity. At this moment the door opens, and a pretty creature dressed in deep mourning enters the room. Descriptions, . like comparisons, are odious; therefore I shall not describe my heroine, but will ask you to picture her to yourself as $ THAT LAST REHEARSALs the very sweetest thing in all the world. Surely beauty lies not in form or feature, but in expression; and she is * Tiante, provoking, gracieuse,_all just as it suits ©I’s Mr. Dynecourt is twenty-six, and very much in love. Georgie Hamilton is seventeen, and very much in love too. But he is in love with her, and she is only in love .." and the freshness and fairness of this pleasant WOTIC!. As she enters now and advances up the long room, she smiles brightly. “I have news for you,” she says, with large, pleased, eager eyes. “Do you know, Polly has five of the loveliest pups imaginable—regular darlings! All a deep brown, and without a single spot.” “Has she?”—absently. “‘Has she?' How very enthusiastic! What's the mat- ter, Davy? Something is wrong, I know, and I’m sure it is in that letter. How I do hate letters!” “Yes, it is in the letter,” returns he, uncomförtably, and somewhat forlornly. “It is from your uncle, John Greaves, asking you—to go and live with them.” “I sha’n’t go,” says Miss Georgie, promptly. “Not likely. May I ask what put such a festive notion in his head? Am I not very well as I am?” “That’s just it,”—crumpling the unlucky letter nerv- ously, while staring with fixed determination at Rum's silvery head. “Your uncle doesn’t think so. In fact, he thinks you shouldn’t—live here any longer.” * “Not live here? in my home? And why?” Mr. Dynecourt is beginning to feel distinctly ashamed of himself, and is inwardly hurling bad words at Uncle John for having compelled him to his present task. “You see, two months ago it was different,” he begins, desperately. “Poor Aunt Hilyard was alive, and of course It was with her you lived, and all that; and But now Mrs. Stokes has left us, your uncle is afraid people may talk if—if-” “Why can’t you speak?” interrupts she, impatiently. “I dislike people who hesitate, even more than people who “talk,” as you term it. Wol don’t say another word: I understand perfectly. Oh,”—sinking into a chair, “what a nuisance it all is! and what on earth is to be: come of me?” THAT LAST REHEARSAL, 5 He is silent. IIe draws himself up with a quick move- * ent, and opens his lips as though to speak, but checks himself resolutely, and as a further preventive to speech brings his teeth down sharply upon the end of his blonde mustache. “I certainly sha’n’t go to Aunt Maud's,” goes on Georgie, with decision; “nothing shall induce me. I once spent a month there, and I’m not going to try it again. I don’t fancy having Julia's perfections retailed to me half a dozen times a day, and I won’t be treated as a baby when I am seventeen. I can’t bear Aunt Maud. Do let me stay on here, Davy; what does it matter what any one may say?” “You could only stay on here in one character,” replies he, quietly, though he pales a little and regards her searchingly. “And that is 92 “As my wife.” “Well, then, I will be your wife,” decides Miss Hamil. ton, with flattering haste, though perhaps there is some- thing not altogether satisfactory in the air of self-sacrifice that accompanies the little speech. Then she stops short, and laughs rather awkwardly. “I forgot,” she says, looking down and trifling with her white fingers. “Par- don me: I forgot you might not view the idea in quite such a cheerful light as I do.” “You must be blund,” he says, coming forward and speaking quickly, “if you can have any doubt on that subject. I love you, Georgie; surely you know that. But I know you do not love me in—in that way: and I would not hurry or tempt you into a marriage that later on you might bitterly repent.” “I shouldn’t,”—calmly; “I am sure of it. Why do you always imagine unpleasant things?” “If I could be quite sure you knew your own mind,- that you really wished to marry me,” says he anxiously, Some degree of hope rising in his mind as he listens to the seeming earnestness of her words. “You may be quite sure,” returns she, reassuringly. “I would do anything to escape Aunt Maud.” He drops her hand abruptly and walks back to his old position on the hearth-rug. “No; it is out of the ques- tion,” he says. “You do not care for me, and I would --" - - • , . * * ~, --~~ 6 THAT LAST REHEARSAIR not do you such an injury as to marry you under the circumstances.” “Then don’t,” she says, petulantly, and, turning to the window, lets her eyes wander tenderly, lingeringly, over the lovely parks and uplands that seem to swell and glow beneath her gaze. For six happy years she has called them home: day by day they have grown dearer: surely they are more to her than they can ever be to him, who has spent all his life abroad, and has only enjoyed their sweets for the past eight months. Yet now he will re- main here undisturbed, in full possession, while she— At this point she lets one hand smite the palm of the other sharply, and, turning with a little passionate gesture from the window, faces him. “What am I to do?” she Bays. “At least help me to think, as by your decree I Anust leave my—home.” Her eyes fill; her lips tremble slightly; her hands fall together with an involuntary movement and clasp each other closely. “I will not go to my aunt's,” she says, quickly. “I have money: why should I not take a cot- tage—the Elms, for instance—and live by myself, or with Some nice old lady?—though, as a rule, I hate old ladies.” “That is a good thought,” says Dynecourt, eagerly, Some light coming back again into his eyes. (If this can be accomplished, she will at least be always near him; that is, until Here the glad light fades again suddenly and Melancholy once more marks him for her own.) “It can be managed; I dare say, if your uncle gives consent. I know an old lady, a friend of my aunt's, who would, I am sure, be glad to come to you. Yes, it might be ar- ranged, and—the Elms would exactly suit you.” “As well as any other place,”—with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. “You have refused to marry me, and }. have turned me out of doors; therefore I must needs e content with the lesser goods the gods provide.” “Georgie,” exclaims he, angrily, keen reproach and }. in his tone, “how dare you speak to me like that? ow have I deserved it at your hands? It is unlike you to be unjust. He is gazing down with tender severity upon her willful, provoking face; and at last, when she can endure the intensity of his regård no longer, she raises her head, and, meeting his eyes, lets her mouth relax into a soft, irresistible smile. But he is too hurt and sad at \ THAT LAST REHEARSAL, º ;"> * > \, . . * * heart to return the smile, and presently she becomes aware that his eyes are full of tears. “I have vexed you,” she says, remorsefully, slipping her slender fingers into his: “forgive me. I am bad to you always. But one cannot be amiable forever, and just now I am angry with Mrs. Grundy because she will not let me be happy in my own way; and I think I am a little angry with you too. It isn’t the pleasantest thing in the world to propose to some one and be ignominiously re- e : ... : 4. D22 --- jected. Now, is it? “My darling, how can I act differently? You are only a child: you do not know your own mind yet. A time might come when No, it would be madness toward both of us to marry you without being fully assured of your love.” “Would it? And yet I know I like you better than anybody I ever met;” persists she, a little wistfully. “That is saying nothing, you know so few. But listen, Georgie. Let a year go by: at the end of twelve months, if you still wish to marry me, I shall say to myself, ‘She loves me!” If not,-why, then *—Sadly—“I shall know how wise I was to-day. In the meantime, promise me one thing,” says Dynecourt, earnestly, closing his hand tighter upon hers, “ that whenever you feel yourself growing—interested—in any one, you will tell me of it instantly.” “I promise,”—with faint surprise in look and tone. “You will not hide it until it is too late?” “Certainly not. Of course *—with a little mocking smile that irradiates her whole face—“ you are alluding to George Blount, or perhaps to Captain Stannus, who, I hear, is expected at the Grange next month.” “I may be,” replies he, quietly, though some slight discomposure betrays itself in his manner as she mentions the last name. “I have your promise, however, have I not?—that you will give me timely warning of the very first sign of tenderness you feel.” “I promise faithfully,” returns she, laughingly, “ though I know you are imagining what will never come to pass.” fortnight has come and gone. Uncle John has given in: so has Aunt Maud with startling amiability. It is a settled thing that for the future Miss Hamilton is to be ...,x** A A A 8 THAT LAST REHEARSAIL, / mistress of her own actions and the Elms (a picturesque cottage, without an elm within a mile of it), while the Park loses its sweetest inmate, and Dynecourt grows to almost detest the beautiful place that now, in Georgie's absence, seems bereft of its chief charm. Gradually the long drawing-rooms assume the unlovely look of all rooms in which no humanity lingers; the din- ing-room grows gaunt, the galleries ghostly. Only the library retains in part its old appearance, as here its mas- ter sits at night, brooding sadly over her he loves. Yet, of all rooms in the house, this perhaps is the one most haunted by her presence. In each huge arm-chair he sees a slender lissom figure lounging; from behind each hanging curtain a charming face peeps gayly; over every table a sleek head is bending, reading or drawing or work- ing as the silent apparition chooses. At last the terrible loneliness becomes unbearable,_so much so that it drives Mr. Dynecourt down to the cottage at all sorts of unreasonable hours, where he is received with such empressement by Georgie as makes good Mrs. Wright—the old lady who has come to take charge of her —wonder nervously whether such incessant intercourse is strictly proper. In her young days it had not been so, etc., etc. As for Georgie, she pines persistently for her lovely Park, and regrets every hour she lives her enforced exile from it. Once, about three weeks after her change of residence, loitering among the flowers alone with Davy (having eluded Mrs. Wright's vigilance), she turns to him and says suddenly, with some childish bitterness and envy, “Well, and are you happy, now you have the Park all to yourself?” “Does that speech deserve an answer?”—reproachfully, “Take it, however. I am as miserable as I well can be. Every room and hall and corridor reminds me ceaselessly of—what I sorely miss each hour of the day.” “I am glad of it,”—wickedly. “The more wretched you are, the more I shall enjoy it. I can never forgive you for having refused me. Such an indignity! Even still my heart beats when I think of it.” wº “You jest about what is cruel earnest to me.” “What a tone!”—laughing. “You remind me of the t \\ THAT LAST REHEARSAL. 9 Aº N frogs and those unpleasant boys. And yet surely I have stated only bare facts, you did refuse me.” “Ask me again when you can tell me honestly you love Iſlee “What if I told you so now?” “I shouldn’t believe you.” “No? Then what is love?” demands she, standing still before him in the center of the path, framed in by glowing, fragrant roses, and gazing with calm inquiry, though somewhat mirthfully, into his grave eyes. “I mean, how does one feel when one is in love?” “You confess your ignorance?” asks he, with a slight smile that is full of dejection and regret. “Well, let me try to enlighten it. First, when one loves, one has a passionate longing to be near the beloved,—a sense of desolation when apart from her.” “So 9” says Georgie, raising her brows slightly. “Now, don’t you think—please do not believe me unsympathetic —but doesn’t it occur to you that—that—it might grow slightly monotonous?” “No, it does not,”—emphatically. “To you, of course, it might.” “Ah!” murmurs Georgie, gazing with expressive regret at her delicate, filbert-shaped nails. “In the second place,” goes on Mr. Dynecourt, “one is always absurdly jealous.” “Is one? But, my dear Davy, how very dreadful! Do you not think jealousy a rather vulgar sentiment?” “It may be, but it is at the same time a thoroughly natural aid utterly unconquerable sentiment.” “I’m absolutely certain I couldn’t be made jealous,” says Georgie, with uplifted chin. “I flatter myself I am above all that. It is low and commonplace.” “Perhaps you look upon love itself in the same light,” says hº, a little bitterly. “Remember, it too is common- lace.” p ‘‘No, no. I am not so sure of that,” returns she, re- flectively. “Well, go on... Besides monotony and jeal- ousy is there anything else?” “As I regard it, yes. I think,” says this old-fashioned young man, in a low tone that he firmly believes befits the occasion,-‘‘I think one would feel if one's dearest died that one must die too.” 10 THAT LAST REHEARSAILe *Well, now,” says Georgie, in a clear, healthy, business. like tone, “I don’t believe a word of that. It is ridicu- lous: it is too much.” “Didn’t I say so? I told you beforehand you knew nothing about it,” says he, hastily, a little indignation, a little disgust, and a good deal of pain mixed together in his voice. “I do not expect you to agree with me, be- cause you have never loved.” “I dare say you think you know best,” says Miss Geor- gie, with some just irritation, “but I ask you to look round at those among our friends who have loved, and see if you speak sensibly. There was Maud Eldon, for in- stance: when news came that Frank had been shot in that stupid Ashantee affair, did she droop and die?, And yet they were quite devoted: we all knew that. , And then there was Jane Newcome: did she find an early grave be- . cause poor George succumbed to that fever? She didn’t. I never saw any one grow so fat and so—so pleasant as she has done of late. Then remember Mrs. Hartley’s case: you know how awfully fond of each other she and Arthur were, and yet when he was brought home on a door to her from the hunting-field, did she die? No: she only got married again. # must repeat it, Davy: I don’t believe a word of it.” - “Of course it isn’t in one’s power to die,” says Davy, apologetically, feeling somewhat crushed by this heavy weight of evidence, “but at least one would feel anacious to die. It would seem the hardest part of one's misery that perhaps one couldn’t. Now, I ask you, Georgie,”— in a challenging tone,—“do you think you would feel anxious to die if I died?” “How can I say?”—perplexed, letting her rounded cheek sink into her palm. Then, suddenly, “How can I think about it at all, when you are alive and well, and so very near to me?” she says, sweetly, moving a degree closer to him and turning upon him the softest, tenderest smile imaginable. But this smile, that might reasonably be believed capa- ble of melting an iceberg, fails in its purpose. Mr. Dyne- court distinctly declines to be melted, and, fearing to meet her eyes, looks resolutely over her head toward the distant hills beyond, behind which the golden sun is sinking * THAT LAST REIHEAltSAL. 11 slowly, slowly, emitting in his dying agonies a yellow haze that covers all the land. “Pshaw!” he says, impatiently, “why do you bring me into the question? I was speaking generally. And—you do not know what love means. How should you? You are but a child.” At this allusion to her age Miss Hamilton is very prop- prly offended. Wrath grows within her violet eyes, mak- ing them larger, darker, more intensely expressive (if pos- sible), than they were before. “Child l’” she says. “Oh, yes, without doubt I am only a child, and I am very glad of it too, as it is a good thing to be young. But I suppose one can’t be a child al- ways, and perhaps you have forgotten that I am seventeen. And as to love, you say I know nothing about it; and I hope I never shall, because, if your description of it be a correct one, it must be the most uncomfortable, absurd, and detestable thing in the world.” This vehement speech, I need scarcely say, ends the conversation. Mr. Dynecourt disdains to reply, and turns his attention with renewed interest upon the distant land- Scape. Presently, however, his meditations are brought to an ignominious close. Georgie, springing to her feet, ap- parently forgetful of recent wrath, seizes him eagerly by the arm, and by an animated glance brings him to his feet. “Let us run,” she says, with the utmost bonhomie, as though their late passage-at-arms had never occurred. “I see Mrs. Wright looming in the dim vista of the future, and her coming means platitudes, mild expostulations and shawls. Let us escape while we may.” With this she turns the corner hastily, and, he following as in duty bound, they presently find themselves in an ob- scure arbor, moldy and earwiggy, but secure. Georgie, seating herself at the rustic table, lets her chin fall into her hands and silently contemplates her com- panion, who is looking his severest and is crushing with- out remorse the “starry jasmine ‘’ that climbs the arbor's sides as he leans against it. “How quiet you are!” she says, at length, with a slightly provoking smile, being in a teasing humor. “Is it your temper or your toothache? Speak to me, Davy.” “I am afraid you don’t like Mrs. Wright,” he says, 12 THAT LAST REHEARSAL. and it must be unpleasant for you, living with her, and that—” --- “Not in the least: I like her very much, but I don’t love her, that is all. She is tiresome, poor soul! and will think I have a delicate chest.” “She is a very good woman.” “That is just it,”—demurely. “What is?” “Her being so good. She is too good: that is her great fault. She is the most perfect woman I ever met, and I don’t like perfect people: they disagree with me. Oh that one could find a flaw somewhere! But one looks for it in vain. There are no exceptions to her rules, and she is never wrong. Good people are very disagreeable: I prefer the other sort myself.” “You make me wish myself of the other sort,” says he, smiling. “Don’t wish yourself different: you are the happy medium. “But Captain Stannus, he is quite of the other sort. “You have met him?”—turning with a palpable start to examine her features. “When? where?” “Last night, at the Grange; you know he was ex- pected there, coloring distinctly, though faintly. “I dined there: did I not tell you? I dine there so often it scarcely impresses me. Mrs. Blount came herself at six o'clock, and made me walk back with her, as she said she was most anxious I should meet her brother.” ** No doubt.” “He is very handsome, and was very agreeable and— attentive and pleasant.” “Was he?” << Yes.” “Go on, Georgie; you have something more to tell me.” He has turned his face from hers, and is uncon- sciously reducing to ruin a branch of the jasmine that has foolishly wandered within his grasp. “Not much. Only once, you know, you made me promise if I ever felt interested (was not that the word?) . any one I was to let you know directly. You remem- 6]'. “Yes, yes.” “Well,”—with a slightly, embarrassed laugh, and a THAT LAST REHEARSALs 13 blush that deepens every moment by fine degrees upon her W.". cheeks,—“I think I rather like this new friend. We had dancing in the large hall after dinner, and he danced with me all the evening, and said a good many charming things. And he didn’t tell me I was a silly child. And altogether we had a lovely time.” She stops with another little laugh at her Americanism, but Dynecourt makes no reply. She cannot see his ex- pression, and, as his silence troubles her, she rises, and, coming to his side, slips her hand through his arm. . “Have I vexed you?” she says: “do you really care? Of late I have thought—not. You scold me so much, and look so sadly at me sometimes. Perhaps, after all,”— with a little sigh, -" I am only a silly child. - Mind, I am not sure that I feel even the faintest interest in this new- comer; only it certainly did occur to me that he was good to talk to, and I liked his way of dancing. And you know you made me promise faithfully to tell you of the very first sign of-" “I know,” interrupts he, impatiently, in a compressed tone, taking no notice of the white little hand that is so gently pressing his arm. “To-morrow night,” she goes on, earnestly, “I shall be dining there again, and 92 “Again?” “Yes. Are you not to be there? George said he would i. flown this afternoon to ask you: I suppose you missed im.” “It doesn’t matter: I sha’n’t go.” “Not when I am going to be of the party!”—reproach- fully. “No,”—brutally. “Well, you must please yourself about that, of course,” —with a flattering sigh. “But I was going to say to you that when to-morrow night is past I shall know more positively whether I really like Captain Stannus or not. Come here on Friday and I will tell you all about it.” Dynecourt smiles in spite of himself. “And yet you were indignant a moment since because I said you were a child!” he says, half musingly. “I keep to your bargain. On Friday I shall be here to learn my fate.” He leaves her presently and goes home full of sad fore- bodings, as miserable as any woman could desire. All the ~ ^*. T4 THAT LAST REHEARSAL. evening (that seems so interminable) he fights with his fears, and refuses to find comfort in his choicest cigars, Dinner is an abomination, bed a mockery. Every hour of the succeeding day he torments himself afresh, and as twilight falls almost makes up his mind to waive ceremony and, in spite of the refusal sent, dine at the Grange, if only to judge with his own jealous eyes what amount of favor Stannus is finding in the eyes of his beloved. But pride and obstinacy prevail. , No, he will not interfere in any way; let her give her heart to this stranger if she will; let this fancy, born of a few hours, grow and supplant the affection, that has lasted for years. And so on and on. As Friday morning deepens into noon, his mood be- comes even more depressing. Why fight against fortune? Why seek to compel fate? Why go to the Elms at all, to hear what he already knows too well? Better take the next train to town, or shut himself up in his private den, or die first. Five minutes after making a solemn choice between these three evils he finds himself in the hall, gazing with gentle meditation into his hat. Whether he has mistaken time and place, and is about to Say a prayer into it, will never be known, but presently he draws himself up, a l as though hardly conscious of the act, places the hºt, firmly on his head. After which, still with the abstract. 1 look upon his face, he opens the hall door and takes the road that leads to the Elms. Whilst yet at a distance from that paradise, he sees standing at its gate a very gracious figure, evidently on the lookout for somebody. Coming nearer he can see it is Miss Georgie herself, clad in a marvelous costume and innumerable smiles. “It is all right,” she cries, gayly, at the top of her fresh young voice, running to greet him. Then, as they meet, she leaves her hand in his as she goes on to tell him her story. “I don’t care in the least for him,” she says: “he is rather a prig. I found out all about it at once. You know you said jealousy was a chief ingredient, and last night it so happened that I offended his lordship early in the evening so grossly that he declined to notice me after- ward. He would not even ask me to dance, but devoted himself to that pretty Miss Hanley, and—would you be. THAT LAST REHEARSA L. 13 lieve it?—I didn’t mind it in the least: in fact, it amused me. So, you see, I don’t care a bit for him.” . “Sulky beast!” says Mr. Dynecourt, with withering contempt, but in the cheeriest of tones. “Yes, isn’t he? As you weren’t there,”—with a re- proachful glance,—“I consoled myself with George Blount, and enjoyed myself immensely. Now, aren’t you lad?” g This question is asked so naïvely, and his relief is so great, that he bursts out laughing. His companion joins in merrily. “Glad doesn’t express it,” exclaims he. “I cannot tell you what a miserable time I have put in since last I saw you. My darling, how pretty you are looking this morning! And isn’t that a very charming dress you are wearing?” Naturally this pleases her, and she instantly proceeds to tell him all about this desirable gown, where she got it, who made it, and the exact amount of the bill sent in to her by Elise. Whilst imparting all this information to her puzzled hearer, she induces him in the most artful manner to tell her three distinct times how very becoming it is to her. Feeling at last satisfied that he is thoroughly impressed by her very charming appearance, she thinks fit to change the conversation. She is in one of her kindest humors, so that when his visit of two short hours has drawn to a close she makes him a noble offer of her company as far as the gate. On their way thither she says, “When next you are asked to the Grange you must come: it is a very pleasant house and great fun, and I like to see you there. But,”—with a swift glance from under her long lashes, “You mustn't dance so much with Florence Blount as you did the last night we were there together in poor auntie's time. Do you remember?” “Hardly.” “What a politic answer! You know you danced all night with her. By the bye,”——with a charming assump- tion of indifference,—“ does she dance well?” i Very well,” replies he, with all a man’s hopeless stu- pidity. “Really?” Then, after a suspicious pause, “I shouldn’t have thought it. She looks heavy.” 16 THAT LAST REHEARSAL, “She has rather too good a figure to be called “heavy, I think,”—still more stupidly. “A charming figure!”—stiffly. “I like people inclin- ing toward embonpoint myself: they are much more worthy of admiration than meager creatures like—like me, for in- stance. She is very handsome too, isn’t she?” “Yes,”—absently. He is thinking of anything in the world but Florence Blount, but how can she know that? “ Very handsome?” says she, with uncalled-for energy. “Altogether, I think she would make a very suitable wife for you.” “Georgie!” rousing himself from his pleasant day- dreams—in which his companion of the moment bears so large a part—with a palpable start. *Yes: why not? You think she dances divinely, has the loveliest figure you ever saw, and is the handsomest woman in the world.” “Did I say all that?” “Every word, and more. So, I see no reason why you should not marry her.” “Except the simple one that I love another,” replies he, coldly, feeling some anger at her heartlesss sugges- tion. “I don’t believe you do,” says she, pettishly, though considerably mollified. “At least, you never tell me you think me good to look at.” “Why should I bore you by telling you over and over again what you know so well already?”—impatiently. “Good-by, Georgie: I have evidently tired you out. I must really go.” “You are cross,” says Miss Georgie, coaxingly: “but don', go for a little minute, it is so long since I have seen Oll. “What a humbug you are!”—smiling. “As if you could forget that only one day has passed since our last ineeting!” ‘‘I forget everything when I am with you,” says this 90%uette, archly. Then there is a pause, and then she *ays, very softly and with an air of the utmost importance, “Davy!” “Well?” says, Davy, stopping, short, and feeling sure some dark secret is about to be disclosed. “I Want to ask you a question,”—taking hold of abuſ, THAT LAST REHEARSAT, 17 ton on his coat and twisting it nervously, to its serious detriment. “Then ask it, darling,”—very anxiously. Do I or Florence Blount dance best?” Mr. Dynecourt, though strongly tempted to give way te merriment at this solution of her gravity, with a wisdom beyond his years, refrains. “You, decidedly,” he says, with emphasis. ** You are sure?” ** Positive.” “There is something else. A moment since you said you thought her very handsome.” “Did I? I don’t believe 33 “Yes, you did. Now, don't you think—her nose—a little large, eh, Davy?”—with a faint laugh and some em- barrassment. “Do say you think her nose the largest you ever saw.” “Quite the largest,”—with comforting conviction; “ut- terly out of all proportion.” “I fully agree with you,”—with a delicious laugh. “And her figure? It is very fat, isn’t it?” “Abominably so.” “And you hate fat women?” “l simply loathe them: I only care for ‘meager little creatures’ like—you.” “Rude boy! But, honestly, you think me prettier than she is?” “A thousand times prettier. My darling child, what an absurd question! She is not fit to be named in the same day with you.” “Ah, now I shall say good-by really, my dearest Davy,” said Miss Hamilton, with considerable empressement, ten- dering to him both her friendly little hands, that return undisguisedly his farewell pressure. $ Sk #: Sk :k sk sje Mrs. Blount of the Grange is a very clever woman,—not only clever, but sensible, two things that don’t always go together, and is devoted to her step-brother, Captain Stannus. ... The captain is handsome and susceptible; Miss Ham- ilton, according to Mrs. Blount’s lights, is handsome and susceptible also. Why should not two handsome, sus- ceptible people be brought together, and by a little judi. : 8 THAT IAST REHEATRSA Le cious management be united in heart and fortune? 1 think when Mrs. Blount got to this point in her medita- tions she put the fortune before the heart, as being the more important thing of the two. Miss Haimilton’s fort- une 1s considerable, almost as pretty as herself: the cap- tain’s is inconsiderable, being indeed of the Mrs. Harris order, vague and shadowy. Beyond all doubt, Georgie would make a very suitable wife for dear Fred. Nothing can exceed Mrs. Blount’s kindness. She gives the little mistress of the Elms to understand that the Grange is her home whenever she may wish to visit it. She is positively unhappy if a whole day passes without bringing her a glimpse of darling Georgie. . The county (especially the mothers of nice young men) admires her conduct immensely, and tells her with a smile how very charming it is of her to be so attentive to the little orphaned girl. It says a few other things too,-behind her back, and without a smile; but these, of course, she does not hear. Fred at first proves somewhat refractory, being rather averse to matrimony, even with an heiress, and openly dis- inclined to “range ’’ himself for years to come. But when a fortnight has drawn to a close he discovers, to his everlasting chagrin, that his heart is no longer in his own possession but safe in Miss Georgie’s keeping. Against his will he has fallen a victini to the charms of the pretty heiress, and knows he would accept her gladly in the morning were she without a penny. About this time it occurs to - Mrs. Blount’s fruitful brain that it is better to bring matters to a crisis, with- out further delay. She takes into consideration the effect of private theatricals upon a budding attachment and mentally decides that the frequent rehearsal of a love- scene must be conducive to the desired result. So private theatricals are arranged to take place at the Grange on the 3d of August, and every one for ten miles round is invited to witness them. Georgie of course is to act; so is Stannus; so is Florence, the eldest daughter; so is Dynecourt, but he, unfortunately, has business that will keep him in London a good deal just at this time, so is not available, and some one else is selected for his part. He will return to the county, however, the day before the all-important event, and will gladly stay at the Grange from THAT LAST REHEARSALs 19 Monday till Wednesday, Tuesday being the day appointed for the performance. Georgie is intensely delighted with the whole affair, and studies her part from morning till night. The play has been run through again and again, until at last every one is declared to be almost—if not quite—perfect. There are rehearsals in the drawing-room, rehearsals in the library, rehearsals in the shrubberies, or any other place where chance may bring the actors together, and the house is turned upside down. On Monday, when Dynecourt arrives, he finds chaos reigning and nobody to be found anywhere. Strolling through the rooms in search of Georgie (being filled with a desire to see her riante face light up as he gives her the costly trinket he has selected for her with such loving care in town), he comes to the door of one of the smaller con- servatories, across which a heavy welvet curtain is hang- ing, and, lifting it partially, looks in. As he looks, his grasp involuntarily tightens upon the velvet, and his face whitens until his very lips are bloodless. Spell-bound, as though rooted to the spot, he gazes at the scene within. In the center of the stone floor stands Georgie, looking very lovely, very earnest, with her blue eyes full of tender longing, while at her feet kneels the gallant captain, evi- dently pleading passionately for the small hand he is hold- ing so closely, fondly, between both his own. IHis face is tragic,+perhaps a degree too tragic, if only rage and de- spair would allow Dynecourt to notice it. But the lover- like attitude is as nothing to what follows. At this luckless instant the captain speaks, addressing Georgie in a tone almost frenzied in its vehemence. “Darling,” says the captain, “for the last time I kneel to you, and entreat you to hear me. Do not, I pray you let the adulation of another ” (“That's me,” says Dynecourt, Savagely, between his set teeth) “blind you to the honest and heart-felt affection I offer you. In you are centered all my hopes of bliss. Do not condemn me to life-long misery, but say you will be mine.” Dynecourt draws his breath hard, and waits with mad- dening impatience for the reply to this florid speech, It comes slowly, with evidently modest reluctance, from Georgie’s pretty lips. Her head is downcast; her hand 20 TEAT LAST REHEARSAL. lies ºranquilly in her companion’s; she has turned herface a little to one side. “How can I answer you?” she says, in clear but trem. bling accents. “And yet why should I shrink from tell- ing you the truth? Yes, I confessit; my heart has long been in your keeping, and, if you wish it, I am yours.” Dropping the curtain with a smothered and rather highly flavored word, Dynecourt turns away, grief and bit- ter disappointment at his heart. At last the dreadful awakening has come: she has discovered her heart is not her own to bestow or withhold at her pleasure. She is right, of course,_quite right. Her love is not to be con- trolled as she thinks fit; but why had she not told him? To find such a child so skillful in the art of concealing chills him to his heart’s core; and he had believed her so true, so sweet, so unworldly! With apparently the face of a guileless girl she has proved herself old in the wiles and deceptions of the practiced flirt. Then a moment comes when he tells himself he is glad of his awakening, and pictures to himself the desolation of a life spent with one who would bear for him no love. But somehow, it is a dismal gladness, that brings with it no consolation. “The adulation of another:” the words rankle. For the future he will spare her this “adulation " that dis- tresses and probably annoys her. Nor will he interfere with her appreciation of another’s “honest affection.” Later on in the day, when they meet, his manner, though civil, is markedly cold and indifferent, while his demeanor toward Miss Blount, whom he takes in to dinner, is devoted, almost promoncé. He takes not the smallest notice of the pretty puzzled child, who watches him with great bewildered eyes and tells herself a thousand times she must be dreaming. What has she done? Then comes bed-hour, and everybody says good night to everybody else, and still Dynecourt is so attentive to Miss Blount that he barely notices the small soft hand that is held out to him as its owner bids him good night in somewhat troubled tones. So the cold farewell is said, and all separate; and two people at least in the house lie awake half the night through very wretchedness, and one cries bitterly until her richly fringed lids are pink and sorrowful. { ſHAT LAST REHEARSAL. 31 Next morning it is the same thing over again. At breakfast Dynecourt is seated next Florence, and is carry- ing on with her an animated discussion about toy terriers. He barely notices Georgie’s greeting, and then goes back to the terrier question, as though the success of his argu- ment is all he lives for. Georgie’s lips tighten, and a choking sensation rises in her throat. With a soft glance she turns to Captain Stannus, who is of course beside her, and taiks to her all through breakfast, with a grace, a verve, unapproachable. Once, meeting two stern eyes fixed upon her from the opposite side of the table, she returns their glance with one of defiance that breathes open war. It is half past eight: the guests have arrived, and Dyne- court in his side seat is gazing moodily into space, hardly aware that the curtain has risen and that the play has commenced. There is the usual programme. Beauty; Beauty's true and disinterested admirer; true and disinterested admir- er's villainous rival; the smart chambermaid; the funny man—all are here. Dynecourt, glowering in his corner, declines to laugh at the funny man, and hardly deigns to notice the brilliant costumes that go such a long way in private theatricals. Two scenes go on successfully, and the curtain at length rises on the third and last. It progresses: Beauty is be- ing tenderly driven into a corner; the true and disinter- ested is gaining ground, until finally, with an energy worthy of even a better cause, he flings himself at Beauty’s feet, and for the fourth time entreats her to look favorably upon his suit. At this moment it occurs to Dynecourt, whose eyes are fixed upon the ground, that something not altogether un- familiar to his ear is being said. He starts, grows a little pale, and turns his attention to the stage. Captain Stan- nus is on his knees, and has full possession of Georgie’s hand. He is uttering an impassioned speech, the words of which fall clearly upon Dynecourt’s ear. “Do not, I pray you, let the adulation of another blind yºu to the honest and heartfelt affection I offer Oll- It is all only too palpable. Dynecourt gazes at the 22 THAT LAST REHEARSAILe actors blankly, full of a horrible misgiving. Then comes Beauty’s reply. Georgie is perhaps not quite so well up in her part to- night as she was yesterday, when in the conservatory she rehearsed to an unseen audience. Her tone falters; her eyes are unsmiling, a curious expression of pain has fallen athwart, and somewhat mars, the joyousness of her usu- ally piquante face. For one brief instant her glance wan- ders, and, traveling over the heads of the listening guests, meets and questions Dynecourt. There is a world of dis- appointment and reproach in that tender glance, and then the long lashes droop, and the eyes return again to the suppliant before her. Remorse, self-reproach, keen anger at his own folly, threaten to overwhelm Dynecourt, and would perhaps gain mastery but for the extreme feeling of relief that grows within him and permeates his whole being. He scarcely sees how the play ends, but as the curtain falls pushes his way triumphantly through the throng of ap- plauders, and, crossing the hall, enters the impromptu greenroom, where actors and actresses are all talking and laughing and congratulating each other freely on the hap- piness of the whole affair. But the little figure so charm- ing in its old-world finery has disappeared. Georgie is nowhere to be seen. Florence Blount, resplendent in powder and patches, comes sailing toward him. She is of the large and fleshy type, and looks uncommonly well in powder—a fact of which she is fully aware. “Have you come to say some- thing pretty to us?” she says, with her orthodox smile. “It is scarcely form—is it?—to force an entrée into our private room; but we forgive you. Oh, Georgie? Yes, how well she acted, but how painfully nervous she was just at last!, Did you notice? She was hardly off the stage when she burst out crying, and said she felt tired and frightened. Poor little thing! She has gone to her room; Katie is with her, I fancy.” “Ah,” savs Dynecourt. If his life depended upon it, he could not at this moment form a sentence. His eyes are lowered, his tone might mean anything. “Don’t you think you like old-fashioned plays?” goes on Miss Blount, vivaciously. “The dressing and that is 80 much more effective.” THAT LAST REHEARSALs 23 Dynecourt murmurs something. “Oh, thanks, ever so many, but I am quite tired of hearing that. Yes, powder is becoming. I wish some great lady would adopt it for common use, and then we should all follow suit; and as for the patches, I really think I shall take to them without waiting for a lead from any great lady. Georgie? No, I am almost sure she will not come down again to-night. You see, she is Fo upset, nervous, what you will,” etc. Dynecourt, disappointed, impatient, turns away, and, after a decent delay, frames a proper excuse and quits the house. He is conscience-stricken, and yet at heart more glad, more hopeful, than he has ever been in all his iife before. sº st iſe sº: * * iſ: It is evening, but very early evening; as yet upon its borders the baby Night sits crouching, not daring to ad- vance. All the earth is still; not a murmur, not a whis- per from the distant ocean, that lies sweetly sleeping in the bay, comes to disturb the calm and tender silence of the dying day. Suddenly upon the great quiet a little angry bark falls noisily, then another and another, and all Mr. Dynecourt’s merry terriers, flinging themselves against the entrance gate of the Elms, burst it open, and with one accord rush up the graveled path. . Their master follows them slowly, hesitatingly, with a palpably guilty air. The little dogs run on before, Charley scampering well in front and barking vigorously, as is his wont. Coming to a certain corner, half hidden in the dusky shadows, they pause, and with a sniff of recognition they bound toward it, where a slender figure upon a rustic seat re- clines somewhat sadly. The young man sees her too, and advances with singu- lar reluctance. How will she receive his apologies, this pretty, passionäte, ill-used child?. His heart beats with considerable rapidity, as the small figure rises, and, com- ing quietly from out the gloom, holds out to him a cold, unfriendly hand. “Good evening,” she says, icily. Her eyelids are sus- piciously red, her head is bent. “Geod evening,” replies he, nervously, and then speech 24 THAT LAST REHEARSAT, forsakes him and her, and silence, short but eloquent, follows. At length he breaks it. “I only came for a minute or two to ask how you are after Tuesday night’s fatigue,” he says, uncomfortably, and rather disjointedly. “How kind of you!” in a tone that strikes cold upon his heart. “I am only pretty well, thank you. My head has ached horribly all day. It has got into my eyes, the pain, and made me wretched.” “So I can see,” returns he, gently, gazing with tender solicitude upon the telltale lids. “Have you done noth- ing for it?” “Everything, but nothing has done me good,”—with a faint touch of pettishness. “Try eau-de-cologne,” says he, more because he can think of nothing else to say than from any strong belief in Johann Maria Farina. & 6 , have none: I used the last drop I possessed yester- day.” }. Let me go home for some,”—eagerly: “I sha’n’t be a moment, and—” “Not for worlds !”—with unpleasant emphasis: “I would not give you so much trouble for anything. Do not go: I shall not use it if you do.” “Oh, if you will not,” returns he, piqued, flushing darkly, “ of course I shall not do what is unpleasant to you. Well, I shall not detain you longer: good even- ing.” * “In such a hurry to reach the Grange?” puts in she, quickly, childishly, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders. “I am not going to the Grange, Georgie. Why do you speak to me like this?” “I wonder I speak to you at all,”—petulantly. “So do I,”—haughtily: “talking always makes a bad head worse. Forgive me that I have kept you standing so long. Again good evening.” “Good-by,” returned she, with suppressed meaning. “Good-by? That is a dismissal,” says he, bitterly. He holds out his hand, and she places hers within it. The little fingers he clasps are dry and burning. He holds them closely, silently watching her face, which she has studiously turned from his. “At least accompan me to the gate,” he says, in a changed voice, out of whic THAT LAST REHEARSAL. 35, all the hauteur has vanished, leaving only grief and regret behind it. She makes no reply, but, with her face still averted and her hand still clasped in his, moves beside him down the walk toward the gate. Just as they reach it a little sob Smites upon his ear, and then he knows that she is crying. “Georgie! Georgie! what is it?” exelaims he, in an agony, trying to meet her eyes, but with both her hands she has covered them very successfully. “That horrible, odious, detestable Florence Blount!” she says, presently: “oh, how miserable she has made me! But of course it is no wonder you should like her best; she is so tall and handsome, while I—I am only small and insignificant, and so—so young!” “Georgie, let me—” “I do not blame you. But why did you tell me a lie the other day, when you said you thought me prettier than she?” “My darling! my angel!” says Mr. Dynecourt, taking her gently, gladly, in his arms, “how can you be so foolish? Don’t you know every bit of heart I have is yours? And as to comparing you with that large overgrown woman of the world, my beloved, I would not do you such a wrong.” “Then it isn’t true? you are sure? you are certain?” asks Georgie, visibly brightening. “Then how could you go on as you did the other night, sitting near her, and talking to her, and looking into her eyes, and—and behav- ing so abominably in every way?” “Let me explain,” entreats the young man, in a contrite tone; and then he does explain, and tells her all about that fatal rehearsal in the conservatory, and his despair and jealousy, and how he discovered his mistake and came up this evening to throw himself on her mercy, but was prevented by her coldness from making any explanation. “Oh, how glad I am!” says Georgie, with a deep sigh of relief. And then she throws her arms around his neck in the fullness of her joy, and lays her soft curly head upon his chest. “Perhaps all has happened for the best,” she whispers, “because until that Tuesday night I never really knew how much I loved you. But now I know.” “How do you know, Georgie?” 26 THAT LAST REHEARSAL. “You remember all you said to me that day long age about people who were in love. I didn’t believe you then, but now I do. I know I should like to have you always near me,”—with a little shy laugh, and an adorable blush; “and I should be dreadfully jealous if you liked any one better than me; and ”—the smile fading and tears coming into her eyes—“if you were to die I know I should die too, because I couldn’t live without you.” “My own darling!” says Dynecourt, in a low, unsteady voice, straining her to his heart. T H E BABY. “A simple child.” WORDSworrel. SHE was the bonniest, sweetest, most lowable child in the world, quick, and lithe, and fairy-like. In many small points she differed from other children of her age; she seldom misplaced her words, and held all infantile abbreviations of dissyllables in contempt. From her lips, every now and then, dropped little rounded pearls of speech that made those wonder who heard: while she had a fine love of getting at the root of matters that raised within her people mingled feelings of admiration and à,Wee At times they vaguely doubted whether she were not in reality ninety instead of barely four years old. But her clinging arms, and dewy kisses, and sweet innocence as- sured them of her youth. They adored her, as was only natural, coming, as she did, thirteen years after they had all decided Nina was to be the last,-bringing with her so much grief and trouble; for as she came the mother went, and so it happened that the wee delicate bairn was flung upon a cold world, with only four growing girls to tend her and sympathize with her joys and woes. Their father, always a recluse, grew daily more and more taciturn and sedentary, as month by month rolling by only made him miss more hopelessly the companion- ship of her who had been to him all in all. Only “the Baby” could bring a smile to his lips. Only her soft fingers could by their touch coax back the old peaceful look to his face. But that her nature was too true for spoiling, she would have been utterly and irretrievably ruined before her first year had ended. None of those about her dared -º- tºp ** ** 3- ~4 98 THE BABY. oppose her slightest wish, so that she tyrannized over the *ntire household, from the ancient and cross-grained butler down to the latest stable-boy, unrebuked. But Lilias, pretty, stately Lilias, was her chief joy; gentle Lilias, with her crown of golden hair, her dark jeep eyes, her lissom, graceful figure. None of them 2ame so close to the Baby's heart as this her eldest sister; and all her tiny riplets of discontent, and still wilder waves of wrath, were ever quelled by the low sweet voice of Lilias, that rang like silver chimes. Their name was Heriot, and they lived near a tiny vil- lage, insignificant and unknown. Three miles from them was a town rejoicing in a railway-station and (what its proprietor was pleased to name) a railway hotel. This latter was usually in a state of stagnatiou; but one even- ing in midsummer two young men, apparently fagged, broken-hearted, not to say ill-tempered, took pity on it, and, leaving the station just opposite, walked into its best parlor and sank upon its horsehair chairs. “Any use in ringing the bell?” asked the elder of the two, whose name was Lord Farnie, casting a helpless glance around. “Try,” replied his companion, sulkily, who was evi. dently further gone in the blues than his friend. Lord Farnie tried. A cracked bell tinkled in the distance. There was a long pause. Outside, a few geese cackled unpleasantly; inside, all was as silent as the palace that held the sleeping beauty. The sun, as yet untired, poured its golden rays through the many-paned window; the door opened slowly, sleepily, and a waiter appeared. “Waiter,” said his lordship, languidly, “what can we have?” while his friend standing at the window gazed moodily down upon the court-yard beneath. e “Fowl, sir, cold j’int, cutlets,” replied the waiter in a sing-song tone, wisping some imaginary dust off the nearest chair. “Cutlets,” said his lordship, plaintively, his eyes fixed upon a faded cobweb that hung with much dejection from the ceiling; “cutlets in a village inn. Fred, do you think cutlets would be safe?” “Don’t know, I’m sure,” said Fred, disgustedly. “It ~. THE BABY. 29 would more than half depend on the state of the fire; per- haps they have no fire. On the whole, I should say not.” “Then we have no resource but to fall back upon the fowl or the “cold jºint,’” said his cousin, “and I don’t think I like “cold j’int.’” Waiter,”—as though suddenly inspired—“do you believe the presiding genius in your kitchen could cook a rasher? and fry with it two fresh eggs?” “Oh, make it four when you are about it,” said Fred, impatiently; “I dare say I’m as hungry as you are.” “Very good, then, waiter, we will make it four, and as many rashers as her frying-pan can conveniently hold. You think she knows how to serve it properly?” “I really can’t say, sir,” said the indignant waiter, throwing as impertinent an intonation into his voice as he dared; “we ain’t in the habit of rashers in this house ex- cept at breakfast. But if she can throw her mind into 'em at this hour, I dessay you’ll get ’em.” “I like that fellow,” said Lord Farnie, when the man had disappeared; “there was an insolent twinkle in his eye that I especially admired. Yet I don’t think he likes me. Odd that one possessed of—” “There! don’t moralize,” said Fred, brusquely, “but tell me what induced you to stop at this beastly hole?” “An inward craving “Nonsense! when we were within five miles of our destination—” “My dear fellow, don’t lose your temper because you have chosen to come down here,” said his cousin, cheer- fully, changing his glass from his right eye to his left. “I wish myself safely out of it quite as much as you do, but I never Jose my temper. Firstly, because I haven’t got oue to lose, and secondly, because it is bad form. I own I think Ashburnham far preferable to Linwood; but what will you? Here we are, and here we must remain at all events for a few days.” “I hate compulsory visiting.” “So do I. But when a man has been civil to one in a hundred little ways, and then makes a point of getting one to promise to spend some time with him, it don’t do to refuse. That's about it, I take it. So let us put a good face on the matter, and be festive under adversity.” “You’re right,” said Fred, laughing; “but old Conroy 80 THE BABY. don't catch me accepting any more of his little civilities in a hurry, if this is to be the price of so doing. I have a morbid horror of small towns 9nd eccentric gentlemen.. I suppose Linwood is a torn-down place, without the com- mon necessaries of life. I sha’n’t stay there three days.” “Perhaps it is a palace,” said Lord Farnie. “At all events, we may as well go and see it now, or we shall be late for dinner and turn your ‘ eccentric gentleman’ into a ravening beast.” * They rose and went. :k :k: §: ilt sk sk iſ: The next morning awoke calm and smiling, and, deep- ening into full-grown day, showed itself one of summer's brightest and gayest efforts. On her own doorstep stood Lilias Heriot, ready equipped for a walk; she called to the Baby to hurry, and presently - the little one broke from her nurse’s grasp and ran to her with hand outstretched. Together the big and little sister went up the avenue under the limes; and out of sight. *śir walk for a short while was peaceful, and full of such intellectual converse as can be derived from “Mother Hubbard ” and “Puss in Boots.” But when they entered old Tom Conroy’s wood—now glowing and swelling with the pride of its rich and bursting charms—they turned aside and took a higher flight into the land of fantasy, and discussed such topics congenial to the scene as “Golden- locks” and poor “Red Ridinghood.” Presently the Baby, tiring of bloody jaws and fiery, wicked eyes, raised her head on high, and became enamored of some white blossoms in the tree above her. They were sufficiently beyond reach to make them madly desirable. “I want them,” she said, with a healthy disregard of grammar. “But they are so far away from us that I fear we must do without them.” - “I won’t,” said the Baby; “I want them, Lily: get them for me.” “But, darling,” expostulated Lily, who always would follow out an argument with children, instead of telling them, as wiser people do, to be silent, or that “little folks should be seen and not heard,”—“but, darling, it is im- possible; and remember what happened to Goldenlocks ** * * THE BABY. 31 when she went wishing for what was not meant for her. See, these yellow flowers here are far prettier.” “I don’t care for them, and I don’t care for Golden- locks either,” pouted the Baby. “Those up there are better; I want those. If Jerry was here,”—reproachfully, —“she would get them for me.” Geraldine was her second sister. * “But Geraldine is so much taller than I am, and even she could not reach them without climbing.” “Then climb,” said the Household Tyrant, promptly. As, when she uttered this terrible command, the big tears stood in her azure eyes, Lilias gave in. Placing one foot upon a projecting branch, she essayed to climb, and just as she did so a young man, forcing his way through some laurel shrubs hard by, came—himself unseen—upon this charming picture: A little maiden standing with frock outheld to catch the hoped-for blossoms, a bigger maiden, with intent look, showing amidst green leaves. When Lilias had raised herself two yards from mother earth, she stopped short and glanced down ruefully at her own miniature beneath. “Now Daisy, what is to be done?” she said. “I have caught my foot in some awkward way, and am as far from flowers as ever. How shall I get down?” Here the young man came a few steps nearer, and stood hat in hand, hesitating, hardly knowing how to proffer aid. Daisy saw him first. “Oh, he will get them for me!” she cried, gleefully, —- with all the selfishness of childhood, forgetful of the wounded foot. “He is taller than Jerry.” “I shall be very happy to do anything,” said the young man, taking courage, and speaking to Daisy, while his eyes were fixed upon a crimson face a little way above him. “Are these the flowers you want?” He made a spring, brought them branch and all to the ground, and laid them in the tiny maiden's arms. Then he turned to Lilias. “Now may I assist you?” he said, with a half smile. “Thank you,” said Lilias, smiling too, but gravely, ar became her position. “That child induced me to pisº myself in this predicament; and my foot,”—trying to stir *~ *-. 32 | THE BABY. * it, and making a faint grimace,—“my foot has forced it. self into this hollow,-and-ah!—” “You are hurt. I am sure you are hurt,” said the young man, anxiously. “Place your hand on my shoul- der, and try to turn it. There! now it is released. Is it painful? Do not use it for a moment, butlet me help you down.” Then, very softly, “Do you permit me?” He attempted to put bis arm round her; and, as Lilias just then was making a trial of the wounded member, she uttered no protest. He took her in his arms, and placed her lightly on the ground. “Does it pain you?” he asked. “No,-not much: it will be nothing,” said Lilias, color- ing again. To her, if not to him, the situation was altogether new and strange. “I hardly feel it now, thank you so much.” She bowed somewhat distantly, and would have gone away, but the child Daisy ran to him and caught his hand. “Good-by,” she said, and, while still having a tight hold of him, went on with what had been puzzling her for some minutes. “Why did you put your arm round my Lily?” she asked. “To help me out of the tree,” interposed Lilias, troubled, but outwardly calm. She felt what was com- 1Il Qſ. §: Oh!” said this terrible infant, pausing. Then, ques- tioningly, “When Bob puts his arm round you, he always kisses you; but he didn’t kiss you,” with a reproachful glance at the stranger: “why?” “(Bob was a distant cousin.) It was too much. Sir Frederic Ashurst burst out langhing, not only laughed, but roared; and in a minute or two, when she had had time to recover the shock, Lilias laughed too. “I beg your pardon,” he said, presently, with much contrition; “I know I should not feel annused, but I can- not help it. You must forgive me. Good-by little Daisy; I am glad I was able to get you your flowers. Good-by.” Just then his cousin appeared sauntering leisurely to- . ward them. “There you are, Fred!” he said: “I have been looking for you everywhere.” Then he stopped and glanced curi. º at Lilias, and put his hand in a puzzled way to his at. Gr THE BABY. 33 ¥4 “I have had an adventure, Farnie; I have oeen happy ... enough to do good service to a little wood-nymph,” said Sir Frederic, smiling at Daisy; then turned to Lilias and said, frankly, “I have no card about me, but I should like to introduce myself; I am Frederic Ashurst, and this is my cousin, Lord Farnie, and we are staying at old Tom Conroy's; and—you are Miss Heriot, Ifancy.” “Yes, I am one of the Miss Heriots,” said Lilias, smil- ing as frankly. “And we live in the big gray house down there,” broke in the hospitable Baby in her high sweet treble. “Won’t you come to see us? and bring me more of those pretty white flowers; and I will show you my squirrel, and my bow-wow, and my dolly.” “If I may,” returned Ashurst, directing appealing eyes at Lilias, “I should like to call this afternoon to inquire about ’—with a desperate guess at the relationship— “your aunt’s foot.” “It is quite well,” said Lilias, coldly; then, seeing his face fall, her conscience smote her, and she added, “But, if you do call, I am sure—papa–will be glad to see you.” She bowed first to Lord Farnie, and then to him, be- stowing a gracious smile upon the former, while not deign- ing to raise her eyes to the latter, and drew the child away. “Good-by,” called the Baby, nodding at them over her shoulder. “Come soon. And she is not my aunt at all- she is my mamma.” So it ever pleased her to designate her sister Lilias. That afternoon they called, and then the next day, and then the day after that again; and I think it was the day after that again that it first dawned upon the Heriots that Sir Frederic Ashurst was in love with Lillas. sº sk sk §: sk se sk It also dawned upon Lord Farnie. So that when a full week had gone by since their arrival at Tom Conroy’s, and still his cousin showed no desire for departure, in spite of his vehement protestations on the subject be- fore coming, he made his way one night to Fred Ashurst's room, and spoke as follows: “I can stand it no longer,” he said; “I am off to-mor- row: it is insufferable. Nothing shall induce me to come here again. To-night he told me nº over again that story '34 THE BABY. about Sympkin's oxen. I wish Sympkin was dead, and his oxen too. I shall go. Will you come with me, Fred?” “It might look rude our both going together, don’t you think?” said Ashurst, evasively. “Better for me to stay a day or two longer.” “Ah, just so,” said Farnie, with a smile. “What a considerate fellow you are, Fred! and what uncommon pretty girls those Heriots are!” “Wery, though I don’t quite see what that has to do with it.” “No more do 1, but I think I like the eldest one best. She is in very truth a lily. I wonder’” —provokingly— “how you can prefer Miss Geraldine!—though I own she too might rout many a London belle. If I stayed here much longer I should lose my head—as it is— Did you ever see anything so fresh and sweet as her smile when she gave me that rosebud yesterday? It has haunted me ever since.” “Of whom are you speaking—of Miss Heriot?” “Yes, of Lilias. She gave it—the rosebud, I mean— with such perfect grace.” “I dare say you asked her for it.” “I did, certainly; nay, I begged for it, and—got it. She has the prettiest eyes I ever saw,-somewhat like a cow’s when chewing the cud.” “I would not be coarse if I were you,” said Fred, coldly. “Coarse! my dear fellow, far be it from me. Can there be anything more peacefully pensive than the expression of a cow when chewing the cud of sweet and bitter mead- ows? The study of nature, I doubt, has had no charms for you, else you would understand and appreciate my simile. , I beg pardon if I have offended her, or you: I had no idea it had gone so far. What will the mother say? How shall you explain to Diana?” “I don’t follow you,”—stiffly: “I know of nothing that requires explanation. And even if I did, I know no reason why I should choose Diana as my mother con. fessor.” .* . “I thought you were engaged to her,” said Farnie, ficking a simall fragment of cigar-ash with great caré from his coat sleeve. “Engaged! nonsense! Of course I am not engaged to her. I believe my mother and hers have often spoken of THE BABY. 35 a marriage between us as a thing that ought to be, con- sidering how the estates lie; but I have never uttered a word of love to her in my life, and never shall, for various reasons,—one of the chiefest being that were I to do so she would not listen to me.” “Ah! that being so, I wish you luck with Miss Lilias,” said his lordship, rising. “Good-night, dear boy; it is just as well I am leaving to-morrow, as I was fast losing my heart to the beaua yeuw of your love.” He left the room hastily, without waiting for a rejoin- der, but on the corridor outside he paused, and his whole expression changed and softened. “Sol” he said; “I am glad to know that of Diana. I shall chance it with her, on my return from the North. She is handsome, distinguée, and can hold her owu. She likes me, I fancy, and—ah!—really I do believe I like her too,-uncommonly!” So he left; but Sir Frederic lingered on at Linwood until time had grown into a month. :: Sk iſ: sk * -— $ sk It was night; but night as light as day, so pale and brilliant were the moonbeams, so faint and shadowy was the veil that lay upon the land. Lilias stood in her rose-scented garden alone, her hands clasped loosely behind her, her eyes fixed upon the tiny stream that gurgled at her feet. She had plucked her rose, and now watched it floating away from her leaf by leaf upon the water's bosom, leav- ing behind it an assurance sweet as the touch of lips for- bidden. “He loves me,” she whispered, dreamily, her fingers still pressing the last kind petal. “He loves me,” she re- peated, with a long-drawn happy sigh. ** He does, he does,” murmured a voice close beside her in trembling accents. “Oh, Lilias! but do you love him?” For all answer she turned and laid her soft pink-flushed cheek to his. sk sk sk :}; $: iſ: iſk It was a wonderful thing to the Heriots to hear that Lilias was going to be married, and to Sir Frederic Ashurst. She would have a title; she would be my Lady Ashurst; it was as good as Cinderella. Their father was pleased, but puzzled. For the first 36 THE BABY. time, as he saw one of them preparing to leave the home- nest, it dawned upon nim that they were no longer chil. aren. He approved of the engagement, but shrank from naming any immediate way for the wedding. “Time, time,” he said to Frederic; “give me time. You rob me of a dear possession, and expect me to rejoice over it. You are going to Scotland for the grouse-shoot- ing: well, when you return we will talk over it.” “Then I shall return immediately,” said Fred, laugh- ing; but so it was arranged; and, after a few more days of lowers’ raptures, Lilias and he bade each other a sad fare- well, “and kissed, and kissed,” and parted. Four weeks alone were to separate them; but when he had been gone barely a fortnight, it so happened that one day a carriage drove up to the Heriots' door, and from it alighted an elderly lady, short but resplendent, whose features—as Lily gazed upon them from an upper case- ment—did not seem to her altogether unfamiliar. She begged a private audience of Mr. Heriot, and, being shown into the library, where he sat reading, made him a present—according to his daughter's calculations—of one hour of her society. By the time the schoolroom clock chimed two, all four girls were nearly mad with a suppressed desire to know: and when the stranger had departed, and Lilias of them all was summoned to the mysterious apartment she had so lately occupied, their excitement knew no bounds. Half an hour more dragged slowly by, and then Lilias came out with uncertain steps into the hall, where they stood awaiting her. , Her face was as death, her very fig- ure had lost some of its pretty roundness. “Lilias!” they cried, catching hold of her, “Lilias! what is it?” “Nothing,” she said, in a low voice, twisting her slen- der fingers in and out, with a fierce effort at composure. “Nothing—only—he is engaged—he was engaged all the time—to his cousin, Diana Fairfax.” She went from them up the stairs with swift steps, whilst they—stupid with rage and grief—stood below and mutely watched her. Presently they knew it all. The lady who had been closeted with their father was Lady Ashurst, Frederic's mother, and she had come to tell him of her son's engage- THE BABY. 3? ment to his cousin, Diana Fairfax. They had been be- trothed for years, she said, with the consent of both fam- ilies. She had heard accidentally of his imprudent conduct with Miss Heriot, and had hastened to inform Mr. Heriot, for the good of all parties, of how matters really stood. Her son’s honor was in his hands; would he not restore it to him unbroken? Was this sudden fancy for Lilias to lower him forever in he eyes of ) is world? She was an adroit old lady. Of course, as she put it, she showed, if possible, more consideration for Lil:as than for her son. Mr. Heriot, cold and calm, gave her an as- surance that, as far as he and his were concerned, her son should be regarded as though he had never been among them. “But as for his honor,”—he paused, and then went on, —“it is not in my keeping; and—I know not where it is.” It was the only unkind insinuation he allowed himself. Her ladyship, well content, withdrew. “And now,” said Mr. Heriot, severely, that same even- ing, “let me never again hear that young man’s name mentioned in this house. He is dead to us... Let us all remember that.” He did not look at Lilias, who sat quiet within the em- brasure of the window, her knitting in her hands, her fin- gers moving swiftly, her eyes bent down. “Should any one,” went on her father, sternly, “receive a letter from him, I desire it shall be returned to its false Sender, without an answer and unopened.” He paused. They all sat around silent, frightened. Juilias alone was calm. She looked up bravely. “You shall be obeyed, papa,” she said, without a tremor in her voice; and left the room. A shadow fell upon them. Nina and Gertrude were crying silently. A heavy sigh broke from their father. These were the only sounds that came to them through the gloom. Was the father thinking of her who should have been there row to soothe and comfort her stricken child? “Papa!” murmured a little troubled voice from out of the semi-darkness, “papal” Five small fingers tightened upon his; he lifted the child in his arms, and, as he pressed her almost passion. 88 & THE BABY. ately to his breast, two large tears fell upon her upturned face. iſ: ... iſ: sº 1ſt & After this a good deal of the laughter of their lives went from them. Not that they were altogether unhappy; but they had an uneasy feeling that at any time some- thing further might crop up as a sequel to poor Lily’s story. Still, they took whatever amusement chance threw in their way, and to the outer world were as they had ever been. Lilias herself appeared utterly callous and unconcerned. At times, so perfect was her indifference that a vague feel- ing of disappointment oppressed the others, as they asked themselves whether indeed the love that had seemed so real could be put aside and forgotten as entirely as though it had never existed. But in this they wronged her. About a fortnight after the preceding events, and just about the time when, if all had gone well, Fred might have been expected home, some one in their neighborhood gave a ball. The Heriots went to it, and Lilias through- out the evening was almost feverishly gay. With pained astonishment, her sisters watched her. All through the drive home she chattered, and laughed, and jested with them, and with their chaperon. But when at length the journey’s end was reached, and the friendly bedroom door was closed against intruders, she flung herself upon the floor with a low, agonized groan. “I cannot bear it any longer,” she said to Geraldine (they occupied the same room): “it is killing me. Will it ever end? Oh, to sleep only to wake to it again, that is the horror of it.” “Lilias!” cried Jerry, bending in dismay over the slight white heap upon the ground. “Darling, this is dreadful. Surely you are not still thinking of-” “Yes, I am,” she said, doggedly; “I am always think- ing of him; I never cease thinking of him. I wish I was dead! Oh, if I could only see him again, only once, per- haps I might bear it better. But to have no good-by, no last Word, and the pain in my heart forever burning,- burning——” , “Lily—Lily,” called a plaintive voice from the dress- ing-room, in frightened sleepy tones, “Lily!” It was the Baby awakening from a dream of bogies, and THE BABY. 39 calling to her favorite mother to come to her aid. How could she refuse the entreating accents? She rose wearily but hastily, and, going to the small crib, took the child to her breast, an I, holding it so, and crooning over it and soothing it, soothed too at the same time her own poor woundad heart. & The next morning Mr. Heriot received a letter the writing on the envelope of which turned pale Lilias paler still. It was from Fred, and declared his intention of coming forth with to her home to learn in person the cause of the strange silence to which he had been subjected. A little thrill of excitement ran through the household. Lilias’s lips refused to speak: she sat silently awaiting her doom. And when her father came in and said she was to go to her grandmother's for a month or two, she ac- quiesced quietly and made no protest. To go to her grandmother’s was like going to execution, because she was a dreadful old woman, and was vehe- mently detested by every one of the girls. She had a hate- ful habit of always calling a spade a spade, and would not hesitate about playing upon one’s weak point. However, Lilias gave in without a murmur, and packed her things in a methodical, miserable sort of way that nearly broke Geraldine’s heart; and when Daisy had squeezed a beloved but dilapidated doll, and half a ginger- bread cake damp with tears, into her pocket, she stepped into the carriage and drove away to the railway station. “I give strict orders,” said Mr. Heriot to the three who remained behind,-taking no heed of Daisy, who sat shriveled up in a corner “like Niobe, all tears,”—“I give strict orders that if that young man—Sir Frederic Ash- urst—calls, none of you give him any information about Lilia’s present abode.” 3% sk se sk * Sk $: She had only been gone two days, when, as Geraldine sat moodily working in the drawing-room, she chanced to raise her head, and there outside the lower window stood Frederick Ashurst. He lifted the sash, and vaulted lightly in. “Well, here I am again,” he said, defiantly, before she could speak. “And what is all this that has happened during my absence? An engagement is spoken of that was never an engagement,--the Whole world dead against A / A 40 THE BABY. *. … º, and Lilias hidden away! What is the meaning of it. --- A “You have behaved shamefully,” cried she, with rage, “hatefully, and I wonder you dare show your face here again! No engagement, indeed! when your own mother came to this house and spoke to papa about it, and was as rude as ever she could be, and 52 . “It was not an engagement,” he persisted, angrily. “'There was Diana, and there was I, and because our estates joined, two or three old women put their heads together and decided we should marry each other, whether we liked it or not. She is four years older than I am; we grew up together; I would as soon dream of marrying my sister, and she would not have me if I asked her.” “Your mother said you were engaged to her,” replied she, obstinately, running the point of her needle across the linen she was working, so as to make a creaking, aggravating noise, “ and I, for my part, believe her.” “She-made herself misunderstood.” Then, hotly, “Am I a blackguard, to come here and try to win your sister’s affection when promised to another woman? My mother has wished so earnestly and so long to see me married to my cousin that she has brought herself to imagine her wish fulfilled. It was all a mistake—a fatal one. And then my letters,” he said, with agitation, “ rejected, unanswered; and I alone left in the dark as to the real cause. It was unjust. And now, when I have come down here without an instant’s delay to explain to her, I find——You will tell me where she is, Geraldine?” “No! Indeed, I will not. Even if I would, I could not, as I have promised papa faithfully not to do so.” k & 6 It is madness. Such promises are better broken than ept. “Oh, we all know how lightly you regard your prom- ises,” muttered she, viciously. “What has come to you, Jerry?” asked Fred, his tone changing. “You used to be the best little girl in the World, and now you treat me as though I were the veriest scoundrel the world contains. What have I done to you?” “What have you done?” cried she, tears in her eyes and voice. ...’ What have you not done? You have upset our whole lives. You have made Lilias—the dearest, sweetest darling upon earth—miserable; you have driven her from N º A `N r `s, THE BABY. " 41 her home; you have destroyed our peace, and now you ask what you have done. I wish,” exclaimed she, waxing wroth, “I had never heard your voice! I wish I had. never seen you. I hate and detest you with all my heart! so, there!” “Thank you,” said Fred, stiffly. “I have not taken away your breath, at all events. Do you refuse to tell me where she is?” “I do, distinctly.” “Very good: then I shall find out for myself. It is only a question of time.” A patter of tiny footsteps, a ringing, joyous laugh. The door was flung widely open, and the Baby came in. “Ah, Freddy, Freddy!” cried she, rapturously, and, . spreading out her arms, she came flying up to him, her ex- quisite golden fleece floating behind. “You have come back!—I knew you would; and now my Lily will come too. How glad she will be? I know she hates staying with grandmamma.” “Daisy!” Jerry broke in, vehemently, “do not speak of Lilias. I forbid you to mention her.” But he had her in his arms, and was gazing at her, com- pelling her by the very fixedness of his look to answer him. “Go on,” he said, with authority. “She is staying with grandmamma—where?” “Yes, at Marley, in Surrey,” said the child, in a troubled tone, glancing first at him and then at Jerry. “Marley Hall—did you not know? Have you not been to see her? She always said you would come to see her the very first thing when you came back. But that was before she left.” “So I will,” cried Fred, ecstatically, straining the child to his breast. “The very first thing, indeed. Oh, Daisy! Daisy! what a debt I owe you! My poor Lilias, she at least believes no evil of me.” “Daisy, what have you done?” exclaimed Jerry, des- perately; and then to him, “If you take advantage of what that child said, you will be 35 “Take advantage of it!” repeated Fred, with his old gay laugh. ** That I shall, and before the sun goes down. Good-by, Jerry; try to think more kindly of me. It is unpleasant to be on bad terms with one’s brother-in- law. What shall I bring you from London, Daisy?—a doll?—a very big doll?” THE BABY. “Oh, will you?” cried the Baby, clasping her hands. “And will it open and shut it’s eyes? Cecilia”—in a half whisper—“ has one that nods, and says ‘Mamma.’” “You shall have one that says ‘Mamma,’ and ‘Papa,” too,” said Fred, decidedly. “Good-by, my best friend,” --kissing her. “You shall have your doll.” “And Lily too?” called the child. “And Lily too,” returned he, gayly. In the drawing-room at Marley there was consternation. An ominous yellow envelope lying upon the ground had brought them news that raised within them feelings of indignation and fear. In one poor heart it had raised hope. George Heriot had sent his mother warning of the approach of his daughter's false lover. Lilias set apart; Lilias, with flushed cheeks and bent brows, and small feverish hands, tightly interlaced, lying upon her lap. No one heeded her, except, perhaps, Uncle Charles. Old Mrs. Heriot sat in judgment. Her mittenod fingers had in them a world of determination. She was in her most awful mood, and chose the center ottoman as her throne. With the first finger of her right hand she proceeded to lay down the law. “It is indecent,” she said, “neither more nor less, to persecute us in this way. In my young days, no gentle- man with any claims to distinction would have so for- gotten himself. But the youth of the present day are sadly wanting. What does he mean by this intrusion?” “Well, perhaps it is only natural his wishing to come here, under the circumstances,” said Uncle Charles from the background, with a glance at Lilias, he and his elder brother being both present. “Naturall” frowned Uncle John. “When a man is openly engaged to one woman, what right has he to go philandering after another? Answer me that. If he has the impertinence to show himself here in this house, after his dishonorable conduct, I shall—” ‘‘I don’t believe it was very much of an engagement,” said Chºles. “There was something about another IIl{}{l— “Charles!” interrupted his mother, “cease any excuses. The young man has behaved abominably. No more need be said on that subjee.' º $: THE BABY. 43 *I certainly did hear she was going to marry that lord,” said Charles, unrebuked. There was an awkward pause, but Lilias neither raised her head nor seemed to hear. “Just let him come here,” said Uncle John viciously, “ and I shall give him my opinion of him in pretty strong language.” “You shall do nothing of the kind,” said Mrs. Heriot, with decision. “No son of mine shall address him one word. Does he imagine we—the Heriots of Marley— sought an alliance with him? He shall never enter my doors. I shall give strict orders to Tapes that, if he comes, he may not be admitted.” Just at this auspicious moment the door was flung vio- lently open, and a yeung man, dusty, travel-stained, handsome, stood upon the threshold. It was her hero, her Prince Charming, and Lilias rose to her feet with a little wild, half-suppressed scream, and held out her hands. “Lilias!” he cried, his whole heart in his voice. For a moment she tottered, then rushed forward—past them all; past grandmamma's frown, past Uncle John’s detaining grasp-right into her lover’s arms. There he held her, close against his heart. They did not speak, they scarcely breathed; but they kissed each other passionately, lingeringly, forgetful of all, of every one, but he of her, and she of him. Then she lifted her head and smiled, and sighed,—a long, long, happy sigh,-and knew that she might dare the world. sk * sk se ir iſ: :0: Of course there was a terrible fuss made about it i. at first, and a general chorus of indignant “Noes.” But when Diana's marriage with Lord Farnie appeared in pub- lic print, and when old Lady Ashurst not only wrote but came in person to entreat the grandmother to use lier in- fluence with her son to induce him to give his consent to Lilias’s marriage with Frederic, dissent became weak, and finally died out altogether. So they were married three months afterward, and it was a very grand wedding; and Lilias looked lovely; and there never was such a beautiful doll in all the world as the Baby got from London. TW J C E SAVE D : A STORY OF TO-DAY. By A.M.E.L.I.A. B. ED WARD? CHAPTER I. BARNARD AND SON. BARNARD SENIOR laid aside his pen, and, with his pen, for the moment, all business thoughts and cares. Bar nard Junior, standing by the fireplace, compared his watch with the timepiece on the mantelshelf, and wound it up. * "one of my little rules, when I am going to travel all night,” he said, smiling. “Sure to forget it if you don’t do it before you start.” Barnard Senior—good-looking, well-dressed, on the right side of sixty—smiled back at the handsome young man, who reminded him of himself some thirty years ago. i You will send me a telegram from Queenstown,” he ſºld, “Of course, sir.” * “And look here, my boy, I don’t want you to feel tied to time. Make it six weeks, if you like the place and the people. New York, no doubt, will be like a furnace; but Newport would be very pleasant just now.” The young man shook his head. “No, no, sir; the sea-trip there and back is all I care about. You’ll see me here again about the twenty-eighth of next month, ready to be off at once with you to the North. By-the-way, hadn’t I better speak to Wells about that matter before I go?” Barnard Senior's face became grave. “Oh, no,” he (#4) j TWICE SAVED. . 45 said, with a vexed look; “leave that to me. You have done with disagreeables for a month.” “Still, as it was I who noticed it.” “As you like—only it is an annoying thing to go into just now!” “It doesn’t make it less annoying, sir, to put it off. Besides, if should like to hear Wells's opinion.” Barnard Senior pressed the spring of a hand-bell, and desired the answering clerk to request Mr. Wells to come up. Mr. Wells came—a florid man, with iron-gray hair and an open-air complexion. A man who looked like a farmer, or a commercial traveler, or a horse-dealer, or like anything in the world rather than the principal cashier of a house of business in the City. He came in smiling. Barnard Junior was to start presently for New York, vià Liverpool, and he concluded he was sent for to say good-by. “Well, Mr. Frank,” he said, “it is nearly time you were gone. Here is the name of the hotel you wished to remember—the Brevoort House.” And he laid a neatly-written card upon the table. “Much obliged, Wells,” said Barnard Junior. “I sup- pose I must be off in another ten minutes. But there’s a little something I want to speak to you about before I go. My father had last year’s day-book up just now, you know. He wanted to refer back to that tiresome account of Pe- troffsky's. And—and I happened to come in while the book was on the table.” Mr. Wells’s quick ear detected something unusual in the tone of Frank Barnard’s voice. “Yes, sir?” he said, Interrogatively. “Well, you know I’m rather sharp at seeing things. That is to say, without actually reading, my eye seizes the general sense of a passage, or the general sense of a col- umn of figures.” The head cashier glanced toward the ledger, and noted that some slips of paper had been laid as markers between the leaves. “You have not detected any errors, sir?” he asked, anxiously. “Judge for yourself, Wells,” replied Barnard Senior, speaking for the first time, and looking very serieus. w"- * ar - .* y * - * : *-- * * * ** w - J. * j +. 7- - *~ •- 1 º- 46 twice saved. Then they all three gathered round the book, which young Barnard opened. - “Look there!” he said, running his finger down the column. The head cashier’s ruddy face flushed a deeper crimson. “These are Mr. Conway’s entries,” he said. “But you pass Conway's entries,” said Barnard Senior. “I passed these, sir, eighteen months ago; and they were right—then!” “If they were right then, how can they be wrong now? There have been no erasures here.” The cashier took the book to the window; held it side- wise, examining the surface against the light; doubled the binding back, and pressed the page against a pane of glass; shook his head, and confessed himself puzzled. “The entries are right,” he said. “It is the total which is wrong.” “Go on to the next marker,” said Barnard Senior. Young Barnard opened the book in a fresh place. Same comparison of column and total; same examination; same timaccountable result. w A third time he opened it. The cashier uttered a smothered ejaculation. “But these are my own figures!” he exclaimed. “ Under date June the Second of last year,” said Bar- nard Junior. “Yes; I took the books over for a few days about that time. These three or four pages are mine.” “The total is wrong here by twenty pounds,” said Bar- nard Senior. ‘‘I never left it sol” “I do not for a moment suppose it; and yet—it is wrong.” } *: Wells wiped his forehead with his pocket handker- CIlléſ. “The books have been tampered with!” he said, huskily. “But how? ...And by whom?” The cashier shook his head. “God knows!” he said. “The surface of the paper is untouched. There has not been a knife near it. It can only have been done by chemical means. And as for— well, Heaven forbid that I should accuse or suspect any. one without proof!” *** * * , Twick SAVED. 4? “The sums are small,” observed Barnard Junior, with a glance at his watch. “Twenty pounds—fifteen pounds —twenty-five—eighteen—and they appear to be pretty wide apart. There is a certain timidity about the transac. tion—it is not like the Ricketts affair.” “The small peculator soon develops into the large one,” said Barnard Senior. “Ricketts felt his way at first; and if we had found him out sooner, while he was experiment- ing in twenties and thirties, we should not have ended by losing eleven thousand pounds.” “The first thing is to ascertain the actual deficit,” said the cashier. “I will take the books home with me to- night, and find out that much, at all events.” Barnard Junior shut up the volume smartly, and threw his mackintosh over his arm. “Thank you, Wells,” he said; “we won’t detain you any longer now; but by the time I come back I hope you will have solved the whole mystery. And now, as time, tide, and the north mail stay for no man, I must be off.” “Poor old Wells, he is dreadfully upset,” said Barnard Senior, when the head cashier had left the room. “And well he may be, sir. Did you notice how he col- ored up, and how generally queer he looked?” “Any man would color up and look queer under the same circumstances.” Young Barnard shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I don’t know—perhaps I am too suspicious.” “You will outgrow that, my boy,” said his father, dryly. “It is a fault of youth nowadays.” “Just so—inexperientia docet. I recommend you, never- theless, sir, to exercise a benevolent supervision over Wells. Two things I venture to predict, however:-the thief will never be identified, and the fraud will never be repeated!” The elder man made a gesture of dissent. “You are wrong, Frank,” he said. “Wells is an honest man—as honest as you or myself. Of Conway, I do not feel so sure; but I would stake my head upon Wells. I shall never suspect him, no matter how this affair should end.” “All right, sir. Take care of yourself while I am away.” “Yes, yes—and you!” 48 TWICE SAVED, “Oh, you may be sure of that. You go down to Tunk bridge Wells to-night, for certain?” ** For certain.” “And you’ll give yourself a full week's rest—honor bright?” “Yes, a full week. God bless you, my boy. Don’t forget to wire from Queenstown. Good by!” A hearty grip of the hand—a laugh and a nod from the son at the turn of the stairs—a somewhat blank look on the father's face as, with a sigh, he went back to his desk —and so, in the ordinary matter-of-fact English way, they parted; not, indeed, without emotion, but certainly with- out showing it. CHAPTER II. IN MR. BARNARD’s PRIVATE ROOM. WHEN the partners were both absent, which did not often happen, Mr. John Wells was Regent and Prime Minister in one. Being a fussy man and a choleric, he was wont at such times to dabble somewhat freely in that vicarious thunder which a little brief authority placed temporarily at his disposal. On the present occasion, however, to the perplexity of Barnard and Son’s employés, his habitual fussiness was exchanged for an air of impene- trable reserve. Hereupon the clerks, taking sweet coun- sel together in the seclusion of the counting-house, indulged in extravagant speculation, guessing that the principal cashier was in love, in debt, writing an epic, plotting a revolutionary movement, planning a burglary, and so forth. It was, at all events, clear that he must have “something on his mind; ” and so he had—but it was not that something of which Barnard Junior sus- pected him. For Barnard Junior was wrong, and Barnard Senior was right. Mr. John Wells was guiltless of the fraud. His sudden flush meant nothing but angry surprise. That a theft should have been committed in his own department and under his very eye, overwhelmed him with mortifica- tion; but that the theft should have been discovered, not by himself, but by young Barnard, was even more humili- ating. º TWICF, SAVED, 49 He was, in truth, as his employer had said, a perfectly honest man. More than this, he was a strictly respectable man; a man who especially prided himself upon the exact- ness with which he fulfilled all the duties and obligations of life. In his comings and goings, in his self-allotted in- tervals of rest, of exercise, of feeding, of sleeping, he was as painfully punctual as if he were one of the processional puppets in the great Strasburg clock. Your ultra punct- ual people, however, are mostly peppery, and Mr. John Wells's patience bore to his punctuality about the same proportion as Falstaff's bread to Falstaff’s sack. When, therefore, instead of being for the time more than usually dictatorial, he suddenly assumed this portentous and un- wonted solemnity of bearing, it was no wonder that his subordinates were both puzzled and amused. Now Mr. John Wells did not certainly propose to himself to provide entertainment for the clerks; but he meant to puzzle them. And one person there was whom he sought not merely to puzzle but to terrify. From the moment when the ledger was placed before him, he knew who must have done the deed. He also knew that to the evil-doer who lives in dread of discovery, nothing is so alarming as gloom, watchfulness, and silence. Therefore, keeping his eye upon the man he suspected, he became, of set purpose, gloomy, watchful, silent; and ob- served the effects of his policy. The man whom he suspected was Robert Conway, the deputy cashier. It could be no one else. Only Wells and Conway had access to the safe. Only Wells and Conway had access to the books. The cash that Conway counted was verified by Wells; and Wells examined and passed all Conway's book-keeping. It would seem at first sight as though, under such a system, fraud was impossible. However, it was, and is, but too possible; and Mr. John Wells not only guessed at once who had done the trick, but he also knew perfectly well how the trick had been done. As a matter of routine, the principal cashier, at the close of each day's work, made an entry of the contents of the cash-box, which he then put into the safe with his own hands, together with the check-book, bank-book, and rivate account-book. The other books were then put in y the deputy-cashier, who locked the safe, and handed 59 TWICE SAVED, the keys to his principal. They then generally went down together and were let out by the house-porter, who at once barred up for the night. As they lived in the same sub- urb and went home by the same train, the two cashiers habitually walked together as far as the Ludgate Hill Metropolitan Railway Station, where they parted com- pany, Wells traveling by second class, and Conway by third. Day after day, from Monday to Saturday, year after year, from January to December, as mechanically as the two bronze men who strike the hours over the Mér- ceria gateway in the Piazza San Marco, they did these same things in the same way and to the Same moment. It was on a Monday afternoon that the Barnards, father and son, took their departure, the one for a week, the other for a month. On that Monday evening, contrary to all precedent, Mr. John Wells, instead of allowing the current year’s books to be locked up as usual, had them taken down stairs and put into a cab; and so drove home. On Tuesday evening, taking the books of the preceding year, he did the same thing. On Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings, steadily going back one year further in the date of the books, he repeated that proceeding; al- ways in grim silence, and without saying good-night to 2,I), WO 118, eanwhile he watched Robert Conway as a cat watches & Iſl OllSé. The man was in torment; and showed it. His wander- ing attention, his haggard face, his tremulous hands, be- trayed the mental misery which he despairingly strove to conceal. Each day, as the week advanced, his suspense became more agonizing. Each sleepless night plowed harsher lines about his mouth, and deeper hollows round his eyes. Not one of these signs of tribulation was lost upon the principal cashier. He noted and weighed them all. Had his suspicions needed confirmation, they would have been confirmed; but from the first, he had been as º of his man as if he had seen him at work upon the OO KS, The question was not “who did it?” but “how did he do it?” There could be no doubt as to the deed; there could be no mistake as to the doer; but the process was the problem. As regarded the deed, five late nights and five early mornings of close investigation had enabled Mr. TWICE SAVED. 51 John Wells to arrive at certain distinct conclusions. The books, he found, had been “manipulated ” at irregular intervals for a period extending over more than four years; and always in the same way. That is to say, by the sub- stitution of a false total at the foot of a column of per- fectly correct entries. During these four years, no less than one hundred and twenty-seven such false totals had been introduced. The separate sums thus eliminated rarely exceeded £20, and sometimes fell below that figure. It was evident, however, that the thief, though afraid to exceed his accustomed margin as to the amount of each falsification, had nevertheless gained courage as he went on, and so had gradually come to repeat his venture more frequently. Eight false totals in the course of the first year, nineteen in the second year, thirty-six in the third year, and sixty-four in the fourth year indicated the rate at which he had accelerated his downward pace. The aggregate of the plunder amounted to precisely £2212. So much for the deed. Not all Mr. John Wells’s sagacity availed, however, to find out the means by which it had been accomplished. The most powerful microscope which he could borrow nowhere revealed the slightest trace of abrasion on the surface of the paper. All that he succeeded in discovering was a little patch of dead surface, about the size of a shilling, where the glaze was gone. The edge of this patch, in three or four instances, betrayed a scarcely discernible greenish margin, as if marking the settlement of some almost colorless liquid. The keenest eye aided by the strongest lens could detect no more than this. Of the original figures, no faintest trace was visible. The defrauder had achieved a triumph of forgery. He had completely removed the ink, without removing or injuring the surface of the paper. The warehouse closed on Saturdays at one o’clock, and —most of the younger employés being volunteer riflemen— the place was generally cleared, and the last man gone, before three. On this particular Saturday, when the cash had been sent to the banker’s, and all who received weekly wages—such as porters, carters, messengers, and the like—had been paid, the principal cashier retired to Mr. Barnard’s private room, on the second floor, ostensibly to write letters. When he had been there about a quarter of an hour, he sent for Robert Conway. 5% • TWICE SAVED, The miserable man received the message with a sinking heart, knowing full well that his hour of shame and dis- grace was at hand. - He tapped at the door as he would have tapped had he been summoned by the head of the firm, and went in, trembling. Wells, sitting in Barnard Senior's chair, was writing letters at Barnard Senior's desk. “Wait a minute,” he said, roughly; and, without looking up, went on writing. He finished his letter; read it through; folded it; put it in an envelope; directed it; stamped it—not only with business-like exactness, but with studied deliberation. To the wretch standing just inside the door, it was like waiting on the scaffold while the hangman tied the noose and tested the rope. At length, without raising his head, Wells motioned with his pen for Conway to draw nearer. Then, taking a memorandum slip from the stationery-case on the table, he wrote something upon it. Something so brief that it seemed no longer that, a single word. “How soon will it be convenient to you, Mr. Conway, to make good this deficit?” he said, handing him the slip, and staring him suddenly in the face. It contained only a sum in four figures—£2212. Deadly pale before, Conway turned livid. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but his lower jaw seemed fixed, and no sound came. “How soon, I ask you, Mr. Conway?” repeated the other, angrily raising his voice. Conway made a desperate effort to speak. “Deficit, sir?” he stammered. Wells pointed to the memorandum slip fluttering in his hand like a leaf in the wind. “What have you done with it?” he said, never taking his eyes from Conway's face. “I—I— So help me God, sir, I don’t know what you mean!” “That's flat perjury!” exclaimed Wells, with disgust. Then, after a moment’s pause, he added—“You have been systematically robbing the firm for more than four years. have gone over the books myself. I can lay my finger on every spot where you have extracted the ink and forged TWICE SAVED, 53 a fresh entry. I charge you with having embezzled two thousand two hundred and twelve pounds. Whether you have stolen other moneys in other ways I cannot yet tell, but of this much I have the proof.” “But, sir—Mr. Wells!” “And you make your case worse by protesting—remem- ber that. Better confess at once, and throw yourself on Mr. Barnard's mercy.” “I can’t confess what I have not done!” “You persist in denying your guilt?” “What else can I do—being innocent?” A dark look came into John Wells's face. He had thought to carry the game by coup de main, and to elicit immediate confession. That Conway, in the absence of direct evidence, should take refuge in point-black denial, was an alternative which had not entered into his calcula- tions. And it was an alternative which disconcerted his whole plan of action. “Now, look here, Mr. Conway,” he said; “you have been nearly ten years in the employment of the firm, and I don’t desire to push matters to extremities—at all events, in the absence of the principals. Mr. Barnard returns to business on Tuesday——” “You have not said anything to Mr. Barnard?” gasped Conway. “Mr. Barnard knows that he has been robbed,” replied Wells, sternly; “but I have not yet told him the name of the defrauder.” IIe was going to say “ of the thief;” but he had mercy, and forbore. “Then 95 “Stop, if you please! I am going to write to him, and that is why I have sent for you. If I can tell him that you have confessed; and if on Monday you are prepared to show in what way and to what extent you can make res- titution of the money, I don’t suppose that Mr. Barnard will deal harshly by you.” “You take it for granted that I am guilty! You con- demn me unheard!” cried Conway, wildly. “And, by the Lord, if I did my duty, I should send this moment for a policeman, and give you into custody!” shouted the principal cashier, in a sudden storm of cons tempt and anger. 54 TWICE SAVED, “Oh, for God's sake, sir, don’t do that! You know that I have seen better days! Think of my daughter- the shock—the disgrace. You will surely give me till Monday?” - John Wells looked at him—abject, agitated, pleading —as he might have looked at some new kind of ape caper- ing inside the monkey-house at the Zoëlogical Gardens. “Oh, I will give you till Monday!” he said, scornfully; “but you had better have told the truth at once. How- ever, that is your look-out—not mine. Only be careful of one thing—make no attempt betwixt now and then to evade the consequences of your offense. You can’t evade them. You can but make your case more desperate.” He pointed to the door; and Conway, after a moment's hesitation, shuffled slowly out of the room. Yes, indeed, his case was desperatel The agony of sus- pense was over, but the blow was a death-blow, now that it had fallen. Waiting in the cashier's office after all the rest were gone—waiting for John Wells, who was probably now, even now, writing his condemnation, the miserable man went through tortures of vaciliation. Had he done wisely or unwisely? Would it, in truth, have been better for him to confess at once? Yet, confession, once made, could not be unmade. As things stood, there was nothing but circumstantial evidence against him. Proof–positive proof, there was none. Witness there was none. Should he himself supply that proof? Should he himself be that witness? Good heavens! that surely would be madness! What counsel, while yet there was a chance of acquittal, would advise his client to plead guilty? At ten minutes past four, when Mr. John Wells came down, stern and silent, he was still wavering. Not till all was locked up—not till he found himself in the street, alone, watching the retreating figure of the man who held his fate, did he feel that he had taken his irrevocable choice between truth and falsehood, and that in so choos- ing he had consummated his own destruction. .* …-- * x* • 23 * ~ * * ~ * * TWICE SAVED, 55 CHAPTER III. A DESPERATE RESOLVE, 1&obERT ConwAY was a widower, with one daughter, aged nineteen years. John Wells was a bachelor. Robert Conway rented a tiny villa in Camden Town. John Wells occupied the ground-floor apartments of a good-sized house, situate about mid-way of a highly respectable cres- cent in the same parish. Robert Conway was a ruined man. John Wells, having been for more than thirty years in the employment of Barnard and Son, was in receipt of a good salary, and had also a little money of his own, judiciously invested. Both as to the past and the present, no two men could, in their career and condition, be more absolutely a con- trast to each other. Mr. John Wells, having begun with nothing, had worked his way to a competency. Robert Conway, having started in life as a Turkey merchant, with a good education, good talents, and excellent means, had gone from error to error, from failure to failure, and sunk lower each time in the social scale. It was his misfortune to have had a turn for chemistry and a passion for foreign travel—tastes in themselves excellent and praiseworthy, but wholly incompatible with that steady attention whick a young merchant is bound to give to his own affairs Unhappily for himself and for those dependent upon him, Robert Conway left his business to subordinates, while he accompanied an exploring party through Northern Thibet and the chain of the Hindoo Kush; an expedition which ended, for him, in the discovery of the Bankruptcy Court. Set going again by his creditors, he soon got into a more hopeless complication than before; and so, step by step, i came down at last to the second desk in a cashier's OHIbò, It may as well be said at once that Robert Conway was not a mere vulgar thief and forger. In very truth, he had never intended to wrong Barnard and Son of a single penny. The story of his fall was but the old, common. place story, which meets one's eyes week after week in the 56 TWICE SAVED, columns of the daily papers. Anxious to better his cons dition, he had speculated in a small way on the Stock Ex- change. Beginning with a few pounds of his own money —then “borrowing ” (without leave), a few pounds of his employers’; sometimes gaining a little, sometimes losing a good deal, and continually “borrowing ” more in the mad hope of being able to win enough to make all straight at a single “ coup,” he drifted into deeper and deeper water, till conscience was deadened, and the gambling fever possessed him, body and soul. And yet, he told himself, as he wandered aimlessly hither and thither in the Regent's Park that Saturday afternoon, too wretched to go home—and yet, it was neither for the greed of gain nor the love of hazard, but for his child’s sake—for her sake only—that he did it! Had he not squandered her mother’s fortune and his own? And, being a desperate man, was it wonderful that he should have had recourse to desperate means in order to make some kind of future provision for his wronged darling? Broken in health, broken in spirit, a bankrupt in credit, his own years were likely to be few. How could he die, leaving her to fight the bitter battle of life unhelped and unarmed? If ever a righteous end could be held to sanc- tify unrighteous means, that justification, he argued, was surely his to claim! Besides, other men, speculating in the self-same way, and without a penny of real capital, made lucky hits, and realized large sums by the mere stroke of a pen. One such fortunate hazard would have enabled him not only to provide for his child, but to re- place every penny of that fatal deficit. And now—alas! now, it could never be replaced. Now, all was gone—situation, good name, the last shred of respectability, the last gleam of hope. It was no longer a question of the future, but of the present. His anxiety, hitherto, had been prospective; now, he asked himself, how should he guard her from destitution and disgrace? Ah! the disgrace—that was the bitterness of it! How should he tell her? What should he tell her? Disguise facts as he might, she would be sure to find out the truth i. last. He might be arrested. Great God! it would kill er! Was there no escape? Leaning on the rail of a little rustic bridge which here TWICE SAVED, 57 spanned a side-water between the bank and one of the artificial islands, he stared down into the dull depths of the sluggish stream, and moaned aloud. Two little girls who were feeding the ducks, looked at him askance, and - moved further away. Well-dressed loungers passed to and fro, chattering and laughing. Faint echoes of the brass ...; in the Zoëlogical gardens came and went with the WII) Ole * Yes—there was one way! Not flight. Flight meant America. Flight meant present funds, passage-money for two, and something to live upon, at all events for “awhile, on landing. Flight was impossible. But death—” Well, what could he do better for his child than die? If he lived, it would be but to darken her life with the shadow of his disgrace; to drag her down with him into poverty, want, possibly starvation; to become a burden upon her in his old age. But if he died—now—at once —before the blow fell, those whom he had wronged would surely pity her and him! They would not blacken the name of one who had paid for his misdeeds with his life. They would spare the dead, and do something for the helpless survivor! ondering thus, a vague notion which had haunted him for days past, assumed a definite form. He looked at his watch; then, dazed and giddy, like one half-asleep, he turned slowly away from the little bridge, and the green sward, and the pleasant trees, and made his way back into the dusty road beyond. Here, instead of taking the turn which led to his own home, he followed the main thoroughfare as far as the New Road, and thence, along an interminable chain of dull streets and squares, trudged on till he came to Oxford-street. He then turned east- ward, and held straight on till he came to a by-street opening into a melancholy-looking square, surrounded by large old-fashioned houses which had been fashionable residences a hundred and fifty years ago, but which now were converted into business premises, occupied chiefly by wholesale stationers, artists’ colormen, pianoforte-makers, and the like. Here he paused; looked to right and left, as if to make sure that no one whom he knew was passing #: and entered a large wholesale and retail chemist's shop. A bald-headed man, writing at a railed-in desk behind 58 TWICE SAVED, the door, greeted him with a smile and a little nod as he came in. Conway was evidently an habitual customer. “The wholesale department is closed,” he said, briskly; “but we will let you have anything you want on this side, sir. Have you a list?” * Conway muttered something about being “late, and in a hurry;” produced a stump of pencil, and tearing out a leaf from his pocket-book, scribbled the names and quan- tities of some six or eight chemicals. The bald man ran his eyes down the list, nicked the items with his pen, and handed the paper to a subordinate, who wanished. * “Curious affair, this, of Cook and Currie's bankruptcy,” he said, chattily. “Not heard of it, sir? Full particulars in the second edition of the Telegraph. Looks very fishy wº fishy indeed! Makes the third heavy smash of the week.’ Conway stared at him vaguely. “Ah, these things don’t interest you as they interest me,” said the chemist, smiling. “You are a man of science; I am a man of business. That makes just the difference.” Conway shook his head. “No,” he said, absently. “They don’t interest me— much.” The bald-headed man slightly lifted his eyebrows, ex- changed an amused glance with a young man who was sealing up packets of powders and bottles of medicine at a gas-jet close by, and resumed his writing. Some ten or fifteen minutes thus went by, Conway sitting bent and motionless, with his eyes on the floor; customers coming and going; carriages and omnibuses rumbling by outside, and all the busy life of trade and traffic going on. At length his goods were brought, and he went to the counter to receive them. “Fifteen shillings,” remarked the assistant, putting the whole up in a single parcel. The bald man interposed. “We charge this gentleman wholesale prices, Mr. Meek- ing,” he said. Then, turning to Conway, he laid his fin- ger on a certain item in the list, and added— ‘‘I need not remind you, of course, sir, that this drug, in this form, is a deadly poison.” TWICE SAVED. 59 Conway nodded. He did not look up. He was fum- bling in his waistcoat pocket for the money. “I am fully acquainted with its special properties,” he muttered. “Of course—of course. I must ask you to sign our book for it, if you please. Mr. Meeking, be so good as to put a ‘Poison” label on that smallest bottle.” Conway put down a sovereign, took the proffered pen, and stared in a bewildered way at the page in which he was requested to write his name. “There, if you please—just there.” And just there, in a rambling uncertain hand, he scrawled a name—not his own. A portly, well-dressed man, whose brougham was wait- ing outside, looked after him as he shambled out of the shop, and asked who he was. The chemist shrugged his shoulders. “Well, Sir Jeffrey,” he said, “I can only tell you that he is one of our regular customers—in a small way. Dabbles in chemistry, I believe. Remarkably absent— seemed as if he could hardly remember his own name!” “What is his name?” asked Sir Jeffrey, who was a celebrated physician, and keen observer. “Here it is, Sir Jeffrey. Morgan—J. C. Morgan.” “There was an odd look in his eyes,” said Sir Jeffrey. “I don’t quite like that half-ounce bottle of atropine.” “Oh, that’s nothing, Sir Jeffrey—nothing at all. He has bought poisons before now—again and again. He is constantly experimenting and inventing. So he tells us, at least!” “And where does he live?” “Somewhere up Brixton way, I believe. We have his address in our books.” “Humph!—and I daresay you don’t know whether he lives there or net, or even if he is down in the Directory? . No?—I thought as much, Mr. Starkey. It is the old story. When will you chemists learn to be properly careful with regard to the sale of poisons?” 50 TWE&E SAVED, *** CHAPTER IV. ON THE THRESHOLD, “LEBANoN LoDGE * was the somewhat pretentious name which, in remembrance of his Oriental experiences, Robert Conway had given to the tiny cottage in Camden Town. This little house had a railed plot in front, and at the back a narrow slip of garden sloping down toward Regent's Canal, which here wound in and out among the builders’ yards and wharfs, and at the back of suburban villas and terraces. The turbid stream, boarded just at this point by garden-walls overhung with tufted lilacs and drooping laburnums, made a picturesque bend and vanished under a bridge with a single arch beneath which there passed and repassed a continuous traffic of lighters laden with coal, hay, pottery, wood, and the like. On bright mornings, when the inner side of that arch was lighted by flickering reflections from the surface of the water, and when, perchance, there glided out of shade and into sunshine a gayly-painted canal-boat towed by a sturdy cart-horse, the view from the back windows of Lebanon Lodge looked marvelously like a bit of Flemish or Dutch canal scenery. . It was to this humble home—poorly furnished, but as retty as exquisite neatness and womanly taste could make it—that Mr. Barnard’s doputy-cashier at last returned, baggard, tired, and a half an hour behind the time at which his “little girl” was wont to prepare their evening meal. Now on Saturday afternoons he was due at home some three hours earlier than on the other five days of the week; and generally, when the weather was fine, the fa- ther and daughter made the most of their half-holiday by taking long rambles together on Hampstead Heath, and though the pleasant Highgate fields and lanes. Now and then, while yet the summer days were at their longest and brightest, they even committed the extravagance of tak- in; the rail as far as Kew or Hampton Court. 'o Ethel Conway, who had been counting the minutes this Saturday afternoon till her father should come home, and who had set her heart on one of those rambles which • { TWICE SAVEB), 61 were the rare delight of their quiet life, his late return was a heavy disappointment. “And where have you been all this long afternoon, petit père f* she said, pouting. He explained that he had been delayed in the City, and that he had been buying chemicals. “Chemicals! always chemicals! Alas! what a trial it is to have a learned father! See now, I had packed our little basket, and I was going to carry you away for a tea-picnic somewhere under the trees.” “I am sorry to have disappointed you, my pet,” said Conway, passing his hand fondly over her hair. ... “Will you like to take a turn by-and-by in the gloaming?” “Impossible. I have a very particular engagement this evening. Does that surprise you? Don’t you want to know what it is? Well, I have to go round to the church at half-past seven, to try my solo with the organ accom- paniment!” “Your solo?” he repeated, absently. “Yes; my solo. I presume you do not mean to tell me that you have forgotten all about it? Forgotten that I am to sing the solo in the Anthem to-morrow, and that you have promised to come to church in the morning, on purpose to hear me?” “My memory is so bad, my child. I have so much to think about!—And I am so tired!” Tired! At that word, she forgot walk, disappointment, , solo, everything. Of course he was tired! How should he not be tired at the close of six days’ work in that horrid City? He must have his tea at once—and his slippers— and lie back in the easy-chair, and be waited upon and taken care of, this poor dear petit père / And see, here was one of his favorite cakes, made by her own hands— and here was a rose for his button-hole—and his news- paper, ready cut, to be read presently, when he was re- freshed and rested! Perhaps, if he was very good indeed, she would even roll him up some cigarettes, to console him by-and-by while she was away. Thus chattering, she flitted to and fro, a graceful, girlish figure, ministering to his comfort, stooping every now and then to kiss his forehead or his cheek, and almost jº his thoughts for a moment from his own wretch- Ilê Sºlo 63 TWICE SAVED, Watching her, he shaded his eyes with his hand that she might not see how his tears kept rising. “Child,” he said, “one would . you did not know poverty!” “Then one would think rightly. I have heard of it, petit père, a good many times; but I have never yet suc- ceeded in finding out what it really is. I presume it is a chemical?” “I am quite serious, little one.” “And so am I, father. You are always saying that we . are poor. I don’t believe it. Tell me what it is to be rich! Is it not to have everything in the world that one wishes? Well—I have everything—everything! A queen could say no more.” ** Poor child!” “If we had a big house, should we love each other more than we do in a little one? Suppose we owned a grand private park; could we enjoy it more than we enjoy the rass and the trees in our dear old Regent's Park, close by? f we had ten thousand a year, would it make the books, and the music, and the flowers I am fondest of, one bit more delightful? By-the-way, petit père—you who know ºs-do you believe in the transmutation of metals?” “The transmutation of metals! What do you know about the transmutation of metals?” “Nothing at all, except what I have just been reading in a novel of Harrison Ainsworth’s. That is why I ask you. I want to know if there is any truth in it—I mean, in the art and mystery of alchemy?” “You ask if metals are susceptible of transmutation? They are.” “Then the old alchemists were right, after all, and the Philosopher’s Stone was not a dream of the Middle Ages! But this is delightful! Did you find out the great secret yourself, father? Have you tried it?” And, leaving her own tea untasted, she ran and sat her- self down, all eager interest, at his feet. “I have tried it,” replied Conway, gloomily. “How did you do it?” “Well—I began by transmuting my gold into silver; then I transmuted my silver into copper; lastly, I re. TWICE SAVED, 63 solved my copper into its elemental condition. I evapor- ated it.” “You are laughing at me, petit père ſ” “I never felt less like laughing.” She looked up, inquiringly. “But—one never knows whether you are in jest or earnest!” she said. “Besides, you have not answered my question about the secret of making gold.” “Because my experience has been confined to making away with it—to my sorrow, Ethell To my sorrow!” “Oh, darling father, don’t look and speak like that! Why do you fret for your past losses? Why think of them? Why remember them? I know it is for my sake that you grieve; but that is folly. As long as we have enough, dear—enough for our daily needs—what does it matter? I should not know what to do with more money, if I had it!” “My Ethel, you talk like a child! You do not know —you do not understand.” “I know that you are a dear, over-anxious petit père— and I understand that you are tired and out of spirits, and that I ought to stay at home this evening and sing you the old songs that you love, instead of going to practice at the church 1” But he would not hear of this. She was right in sup- posing him to be out of spirits; but the old songs would not tend to make him more cheerful. Old songs brought back the memory of old times, and he did not wish to be reminded of old times this evening. He had, in fact, a business letter to write—a letter of great importance; and all he wanted was quiet. It was really better, as far as he was himself concerned, that his little girl should be going out for an hour or two. Better for him, better also for her, that she should not be sitting alone in one room, while he was writing in another. Her life was dull enough already, without that! All this he said somewhat confusedly and nervously, but at all events with a sufficient show of reason. So, when the time of her appointment drew near, the girl ut on her hat, gathered up her music, and prepared to OIl&e .#. anthem practice will not take more than an hour, if so long,” she said, coaxingly. “I wonder if it is at alſ *** .# 64 TWICE SAVED, likely that a good patit père will chance to be strolling in the direction of Kºmmanuel Church somewhere about half- past eight o'clock? The letter will surely be finished by that time!” * * But Conway shook his head. “It is a very difficult letter to write,” he said. “It will take me all the evening.” Then, answering the ques- tion in her eyes, he added:— “It is to Mr. Barnard, my child. He is away at Tun- bridge Wells, and I have something to communicate to him—a matter of great importance connected with the affairs of the firm. You would not understand it, if I even explained it to you.” This satisfied he.. This accounted for his worn and worried look and his preoccupied manner. But it was hard that he could not leave the cares of business behind him when he left the City! It was hard that he should have to bring Barnard and Son’s affairs home with him to Camden Town! Let him, however, write his tiresome let- ter, and have done with it! So she kissed him, and bade him good speed with it, and went her way. At the gate she turned and waved her hand; the golden light of the summer evening falling full upon her fair oung face, and brightening the pale chestnut of her hair. ever, he thought—never had she looked and smiled so like her dead mother. And then, out from the darkness of the past, there flashed upon him the remembrance of another summer evening, five-and-twenty years ago, when he and his lost love, lingering hand in hand, parted for the first time as declared and promised lovers. Just so she smiled at him, when he looked back from the turn of the road. Just so she waved her hand, five-and-twenty years ago! Only five-and-twenty years ago! It seemed ike a century. But he must not think of these things. He had much to do and to think of to-night—and first of all his letter. *_MAJESTIC SERIES._e. COf{PRISING THE BEST WORKS OF . . . . . . POPULAR STANDARD FICTION, Containing 500 Titles by the Most Noted Writers in Literature. &ach. Work in this Series is Printed from Large, Clear Type. on Jod Paper, all Sewed and Uni- Wormly Bound in very Attractive Paper Covers. • . . THIS AS A SUPERB LINE OF QUICK SELLERS . . . * Rºme RETAl L FRICE, 25 CENTS. *** * NO. TITLE,. AUTHOR, ... , 1 Abandoned, The... . . . . . . . . . By Jules Verne . ... 2 Arter's Ward, The. . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Praeme 2 T1AJESTIC SERIES. NO, TITLE. AUTHon. .... 8 Adrian Lyle. . . . . . . . . . . . . . “Ritta, ’’ .... 4 Airy Fairy Lillian.......... “The Duchess * .... 5 Arundel Motto, The... . . . . . Mary Cecil Hay .... 6. Amos Barton............... By George Eliot .... 7 American Notes. . . . . . . . . . . . Charles Dickens .... 8 Allan Quartermain. . . . . . . . . H Rider Haggard ... . 9 Allan's Wife. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . H. Rider Haggard .... 10 Alhambra, The... . . . . . . . . . . Washington Irving ... , 11 An Unnatural Bondage . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . . 12 An Egyptian Princess ..... George Ebers ... 13 An Inland Voyage . . . . . . . . . Robert Louis Stevenson ... 14 An Ocean Tragedy......... W. Clark Russell . 15 April's Lady. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “The Duchess * .... 16 Armorel of Lyonesse . . . . . . . Walter Besant .... 17 At the Green Dragon....... Beatrice Harraden .... 18. At War with Herself. . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . . 19 At Bay . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Alexander . . . . 20 At the Altar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . E. Werner . . . . 21 At a High Price............ E. Werner ... 22 At the World's Mercy...... F. Warden ... 23 Auld Licht Idylls. . . . . . . . . . J. M. Barrie ... 24 Bad to Beat. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hawley Smart ... 25 Bag of Diamonds, The....., G. Manville Fenn ... 26 Bailiff's Maid, The... . . . . . . . E. Marlitt, . 27 Baffled Conspirators, The... W. E. Norris . 28 Barbara's Rival............ Ernest Young . . . . 29 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. Miss M. E. Braddon .... 30 Barbara Heathcote's Trial... Rosa Nouchette Carey .... 31 Ballroom Repentance, A ... Mrs. Annie Edwards .... 32 Beaton's Bargain..... . . . . . . Mrs. Alexander ... . 83 Bºauty's Daughters....... “The Duchess” ... . 84 Beauty's Marriage.......... Charlotte M. Braeme ... 85 Beatrice . . . . . . . . . . ........ H. Rider Haggard . . . . 36 Beau Tancrede, . . . . . . . . . . . . Alexander Dumas * * * • MAJESTIC SERIES. NO. TITLE. AUTHOR. .... 87 Belinda ............ a & tº e º ſº . Rhoda Broughton .... 88 Belle of Lynn, The . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . . 89 Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush. Ian Maclaren ... . 40 Between Two Sins... . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... . 41 Between Two Loves. . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme .... 42 Beyond Recall............. Adeline Sergeant ... 43 Beyond Pardon . . . . . . . . . . . . By Charlotte M. Braemae ... . 44 Beyond the City. . . . . . . . . . . . A. Conan Doyle ... . 45' Black Business, A. . . . . . . . . . Hawley Smart . . . . 46 Black Dwarf, The.......... Sir Walter Scott ... . 47 Black Beauty . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Anna Sewell ... . 48 Blossom and Fruit ......... Charlotte M. Braeme ... . 49 Bondman, The... ‘. . . . . . . . . Hall Caine . ... 50 Born Coquette, A. . . . . . . . . . . “The Duchess * . . . . 51 Borderland. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Jesse Fothergill .... 52 Book of Snobs, A. . . . . . . . . . . William M. Thackeray ... . 53 By Woman's Wit. . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Alexander ... , 54 Bride of Lammermoor, The. Sir Walter Scott . 55 Bright Wedding Day, A. . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . . 56 Called Back. . . . . . . . . . . . . ... Hugh Conway ... . 57 Camille... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Alexander Dumas . . . . 58 Canon's Ward, The... . . . . . . James Payn ... .. 59 Captain of the “Pole-star,” The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A. Conan Doyle ... . 60 Cash on Delivery. . . . . . . . . . . F. DuBoisgobey .... 61 Child's History of England, A. Charles Dickens ... . 62 Change of Air, A. . . . . . . . . . . Anthony Hope .... 63 Charlotte Temple . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Rowson ... 64 Cleverly Wom.............. Hawley Smart .... 65 Cleopatra . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . H. Rider Haggard .... 66 Clique of Gold, The . . . . . . . . Emile Gaboriau ... 67 Coming Race, The . . . . . . . . . Sir E. Bulwer Lytte . 68 Cometh Up as a Flower. . . . . Rhoda Broughton ... , 69 Comin' Thro' the Rye....... Helen B. Mathers * * 4. MAJESTIC SERIES. as gº NO. TITLE. AUTHOR. . 70 Consequences of a Duel,The; Aº A Parisian Romance . . . . . F. DuBoisgobey ... 71 Corsican Brothers, The..... Alexander Dumas ... 72 Corrina, A Study. . . . . . . . . . . “ Rita ?” ... 73 Court Royal. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . S. Baring-Gould . 74 Courting of Dinah Shadd, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rudyard Kipling ... 75 Cranford...... . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Gaskill . 76 Cricket on the Hearth, The; and Doctor Marigold..... Charles Dickens . 77 Crown of Shame, A. . . . . . . . By Florence Marryat .... 78 Dark Days. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hugh Conway ... 79 Dark House, The... . . . . . . . . G. Manville Fenn ... 80 Daughter of an Empress,The Louisa Muhlbach ... 81 Daughter's Sacrifice, A..... F. C. Phillips . 82 Dead Heart, A. . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . 83 Demoniac, The... . . . . . . . . . . . Walter Besant ... 84 Derrick Vaughan—Novelist. Edna Lyall ... 85 Devout Lover, A. . . . . . . . . . Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron .... 86 Deemster, The . . . . . . . . . . . . . Hall Caine ... 87 Deerslayer, The... . . . . . . . . . J. Fenimore Cooper . 88 Diana of the Crossways.... George Meredith ... 89 Diana Carew........ * ... • * * * * Mrs. Forrester . . . . 90 Doctor Cupid. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rhoda Broughton ... 91 Dolly Dialogues, The....... Anthony Hope . 92 Donal Grant. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . George Macdonald ... 98 Donovan. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Edna Lyall . . . . 94 Dora Thorne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . . 95 Doris . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . “The Duchess” . . . . . 96 Dream Life. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Ik. Marvel ... , 97 Dreams. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Olive Schreiner .... 98 Duchess, The .............. “The Duchess * .... 99 Dynamiter, The... . . . . . . ... Robert Louis Stevenson ... ...100 Earl's Error, The... . . . . tº e 9 & “Charlotte M. Braeme MAJESTIC SERIES. NO. TITLE. AUTHOR. ....101 Earl's Atonement, The..... Charlotte M. Braeme ....102 East Lynne. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Henry Wood ....103 Ernest Maltravers.......... Sir E. Bulwer Lytton ....104 Erling the Bold. . . . . . . . . . . . R. M. Ballantyne . . . .105 Esther Waters. . . . . . . . . . . . . George Moore . . . .106 Eugene Aram. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sir E. Bulwer Lytton . ...107 Evelyn's Folly.... . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . ...108 Esther; A Story for Girls.. Rosa Nouchette Carey ....109 Eve . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . S. Baring-Gould . . . .110 Evil Genius, The... . . . . . . . . . Wilkie Collins ....111 Fairy of the Alps, The...... E. Werner . . . .112 Fair Women. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Forrester . . . .113 Faith and Unfaith.......... ** The Duchess” . . . .114 False Start, A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . By Hawley Smart . ...115 False Vow, The . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .116 Fallen Idol, A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . F. Anstey ....117 Family Failing, A...... ... Hawley Smart ... .118 Family Affair, A. . . . . . . . . . . Hugh Conway ... .119 Fatal Dower, A. . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .120 Fatal Lilies, The... . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... , 121 Fatal Three, The... . . . . . . . . Miss M. E. Braddon ....122 Fatal Wedding Day, A. . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... -123 Fiery Ordeal, A. . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .124 Fight for a Fortune, A. . . . . F. DuBoisgobey ... .125 File No. 113. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Emile Gaboriau ... .126 Finger of Fate, The... . . . . Captain Mayne Reid ... .127 First Violin, The... . . . . . . . . Jesse Fothergill ... .128 Firm of Girdlestone, The... A. Conan Doyle ... .129 Flying Dutchman, The..... W. Clark Russell ... .130 For Lilias. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Rosa Nouchette Carey . . . .131 For Another's Sin. . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ...132 For Her Dear Šake......... Mary Cecil Hay . . . .133 Forging the Fetters. . . . . . . . . Mrs. Alexander MAJESTIC SERIES. NO. TITLE. AUTHOR. ... 134 Foul Play....... ........... T Charles Reade ... .185 Frankensteir....... . . . . . . . . . Mary Wolstenkraft Shelley ... .136 Friendship. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ** Ouida,” ... 137 Frozen Pirate, The......... W. Clark Russell ... 138 From Post to Finish........ Hawley Smart ... 139 Gertrude's Marriage........ W. Heimburg ..140 Guelda. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... 141 Gilded Sin, A. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... 142 Glorious Gallop, A. . . . . . . . . Mrs. Edward Kemnard . . .148 Golden Gates............... Charlotte M. Braeme ...144 Gold Elsie. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . E. Marlitt ... .145 Golden Heart, A. . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .146 Cost of a Lie, The.......... Mrs. H. L. Cameron ... .147 Golden Dawn, A....... . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .148 Good Luck. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . E. Werner ... .149 Guilty River, The.......... Wilkie Collins ... . .150 Great Hesper, The.......... Frank Barrett, ....151 Great Taboo, The...... . . . . . By Grant Allen . . . .152 Great Expectations. . . . . . . . . Charles Dickens ...158 Hand and Glove. . . . . . . . . . . . Amelia B. Edwards ... .154 Hardy Norseman, A. . . . . . . . Edna Lyall ..155 Hard Times. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charles Dickens ... .156 Harry Lorrequer. . . . . . . . . . . Charles Lever ...157 Haunted Life, A. . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .158 Heart Wins. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Alexander ...159 He Went for a Soldier. . . . . . John Strange Winter 160 Heir to Ashley and the Red Court, The... . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Henry Wood ..161 Heir of Linne, The......... Robert Buchanan .162 Henrietta's Wish; or, Dom- ineering.......... . . . . . . ... Charlotte M. Yonge .168 Her Only Brother.......... W. Heimburg .164 Her Only Sin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme * * & MAJESTIC SERIES. --- .* -- * {: *~x. I.O. TITLE. gº AUTHOR, ....165 Her Second Love........... Charlotte M. Braeme ... .166 Her Mother's Sin........... Charlotte M. Braeme ... .167 Her Martyrdom. . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme . . . .168 Her Marriage Vow. . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... 169 Her World Against a Lie... Florence Marryat . . . . 170 Hidden Sin, The...... . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .271 Hidden Perils. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Mary Cecil Hay ... .172 Hired Baby, The... . . . . . . . . Marie Corelli ... .173 His Wedded Wife.......... Charlotte M. Braeme ... .174 History of Henry Esmond, º The... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . William M. Thackeray ... .175 Home Again. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . George Macdonald ...176 Home Sounds. . . . . . . . . . . . . . E. Werner ... .177 Honorable Mrs. Vereker, The “The Duchess” ... .178 House on the Moor, The.... Mrs. Oliphant ...179 House on the Marsh, The... F. Warden . . . .180 House of the Wolf, The..... Stanley J. Weyman ... .181 Hypatia. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charles Kingsley ..182 Idle Thoughts of an Idle * Fellow, The... . . . . . . . . . . Jerome K. Jerome ...183 In Cupid’s Net.............. Charlotte M. Braeme . . . .184 In an Evil Hour, and other " - Stories. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . By “The Duchess” . . . .185. In Shallow Waters. . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braerne ... .186 In Luck at Last. . . . . . . . . . . . Walter Besant . . .187 In the Schillingscourt. . . . . . E. Marlitt, ...188 Irene's Wow. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ..189 Ivanhoe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Sir Walter Scott, ...190 James Gordon's Wife. . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .191 Jane Eyre. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Charlotte Bronte ‘....192 Janet's Repentance. . . . . . . . . George Eliot ... .193 Jenny Harlowe. . . . . . . . . . . . . W. Clark Russell . . . .194 Jenny..., . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . - Charlotte M. Braeme * riAJESTIc series. ! *mº NO. TITLE. AUTHOR; . . . .195 Jet, Her Face or Her Fortune Mrs. Annie Edwards , *. .196 John Halifax, Gentleman... Miss Mulock ...197 Kenilworth............. . . . Sir Walter Scott, ..198 Kidnapped. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . -. Robert Louis Stevenson ..199 King Solomon's Mines. . . . . . . .200 Knightbridge Mystery, The.. " H. Rider Haggard Charles Reade . .201 L’Abbe Constantin. . . . . . . . . . .202 Lady Audley's Secret... . . . . ... .208 Lady Branksmere. . . . . . . . . . . .204 Lady Clare. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .205 Lady Damer's Secret. . . . . . . . .206 Lady Latimer's Escape. . . . . . .210 Last of the Mohicans, The.. .211 Last Days of Pompeii, The. . .212 Last Coup, The... . . . . . . . . . . .213 Lasses of Leverhouse, The.. . .214 Led Astray . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..215 Legacy of Cain, The. . . . . . . . .216 Leighton Court. . . . . . . . . . . . . .217 Lester's Secret. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218 Life's Mistake, A. . . . . . . . . . . . . .219 Life's Remorse, A. . . . . . . . Ludovic Halevy , Miss M E. Braddon “The Duchess * Georges Ohnet Charlotte M. Braeme Charlotte M. Braemºn . .207 Lady with the Rubies, The. E. Marlitt, . .208 Lady Valworth's Diamonds. . “The Duchess” . .209 Land Leaguers, The . . . . . . . Anthony Trollope J. Fenimore Cooper Sir E. Bulwer Lytton Hawley Smart Jessie Fothergill Octave Feuillet Wilkie Collins Henry Kingsley Mary Cecil Hay Mrs. H. L. Cameron * The Duchess * ... .220 Life's Secret, A. . . . . . . . . ....By Mrs. Henry Wood . . .221 Like no other Love. . . . . . . . . Charlotte M. Braeme ... .222 Lilies of Florence, The..... George Sand ... .223 Little Irish Girl, A. . . . . . . . “The Duchess' . . . .224 Little Rebel, A. . . . . . . . . . ... “The Duchess * ... .225 Little Pilgrim, A. . . . . . . . . . . Mrs. Oliphant ... .226 Little Loo. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . W. Clark Russell . . . .227 Living or Dead . . . . . . . . . . . . Hugh Conway DEC 27 1917 The Standard Dictionary Library in Itself * tº tº º º is C O M PLETE | N. . . . . . Every Essential mº" Particular. IT IS THE RESULT OF THE Best Mental Effort of 247 Most Eminent Men And an Expenditure of $960,000.00. This combination of Brains and Money was formerly gº." º $18.00. 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