Debit and Credit Part 82

The youth had left his garrison to join the troops which were to be stationed near his parents. He had succeeded in exchanging into another regiment, and in accompanying the squadron sent to his father's a.s.sistance. He wished to give his father a happy surprise, and, with the raising of the siege, he brought them his bleeding breast into their house, and death into their hearts.

A mournful silence lay upon the high Slavonic castle. The storm had raged itself to rest; the white blossoms floated silently down from the great fruit-trees in the fields, and lay pure and spotless on the ground like a white shroud. Where are ye, airy schemes of the blind man, which he has so striven, suffered, and sinned to realize? Listen, poor father; hold your breath and listen. All is still in the castle, still in the forest, and yet you can not hear the one sound of which you ever thought amid your parchments and your plans--the heart-throb of your only son, the first heir of the house of Rothsattel!

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

Days of sorrow now pa.s.sed over the castle, hard to endure by every one who dwelt within its walls. Disease lurked in the family like canker in a flower. Since the dark hour when the dying son had been carried into his father's presence, the baron had never left his room. His small measure of remaining strength had been broken; grief consumed mind and body. He would sit silently brooding throughout the livelong day, and neither the entreaties of Lenore nor the companions.h.i.+p of his wife availed to rouse him. When the fatal tidings were first communicated to the baroness, Anton had feared that the fragile thread that bound her to the earth would burst, and for weeks Lenore never left her side; but, to the astonishment of all, she rallied, her husband's state so claiming her care that her own sorrows and weakness seemed to pa.s.s away. She appeared stronger than before, and solely occupied with tending her husband: she was able to sit up for hours beside his chair. It is true that the doctor used to shake his head privately, and to tell Anton that this sudden improvement was not be trusted. As for Lenore, for the first few weeks after her brother's death she was invisible to all; and now, whenever she emerged from the sick-room, it was to answer inquiries for the invalids, or to send, through Anton, messages to the doctor.

Meanwhile, beyond the walls, a stormy spring had pa.s.sed, succeeded by an unsettled summer. True, the property had no longer to dread the horrors of civil war, but the burdens that the times imposed fell heavy on the establishment. Daily the blast of trumpet and beat of drum was heard--castle and village alike had their complement of soldiers to support, and these were frequently exchanged. Anton had enough to do to provide for man and horse. The slender resources of the estate were soon exhausted, and, but for Fink's laborers, they never could have got on.

Then there were all manner of interruptions to the work of the farm.

More than one acre had been trodden down at the time of the siege. The men had become bewildered by pa.s.sing events, and had lost their relish for regular employment. But, on the whole, order was maintained, and the plans laid down early in the spring were being carried out. The irrigation of the meadow-land prospered still better; the number of gray jackets went on increasing; and this body-guard of Herr von Fink were acknowledged throughout the district as a stout set, with whom it was well to be on good terms. Fink himself was often away. Having made and renewed the acquaintance of several officers, he threw himself heart and soul into military matters, and shared as a volunteer in the encounter in which the insurgents had been defeated. His defense of the castle had made him a marked man: he was equally hated and admired by the two conflicting parties.

Weeks had pa.s.sed away since the relief of the castle, when Lenore appeared at the house door, before which Anton and the forester were holding a consultation. She looked across the court-yard, where a pump now stood, and over the palings, from which the earth had been cleared away, to the landscape, now bright with the fresh green of early summer.

At last she said with a sigh, "Summer is come, Wohlfart, and we have not noticed it!"

Anton looked anxiously at her pale face. "It is delightful now in the woods," said he. "I was at the forester's yesterday, and since the rain the trees and flowers are in full beauty. If you would but agree to go out!"

Lenore shook her head. "What do I signify?" said she, bitterly.

"At least hear the news which the forester has just brought," continued Anton. "The man you shot was the wretched Bratzky. You did not kill him.

If you have reproached yourself on that score, I can set your mind at rest."

"G.o.d be praised!" cried Lenore, folding her hands.

"That night when the forester came to us, he thought he had seen the rascal sitting in the bar with his arm tied up. Yesterday he was taken prisoner to Rosmin."

"Ay!" said the forester; "a bullet does a fellow like him no harm; he aims higher than that;" and he laid his own hand on his throat with a significant gesture.

"This has weighed on me day and night," whispered Lenore to Anton; "I have looked on myself as one under a curse. I have had the most fearful dreams and visions of the man as he fell, hands clenched, and the blood gus.h.i.+ng from his shoulder. Oh, Wohlfart, what have we gone through!" And she leaned against the door, and fixed her tearless eyes on the ground.

A horse's hoof rung on the pavement. Fink's bay was led out.

"Where is he going?" hurriedly asked Lenore.

"I do not know," replied Anton; "he has been a great deal out of late; I see nothing of him the whole day long."

"What is he doing here with us?" said Lenore; "this unhappy house is no place for him."

"If he would only be careful," said the forester. "The Tarow people are mad at him; they have sworn to send a bullet after him, and he always rides alone, and late at night."

"It is in vain to warn him," added Anton. "Do be rational for once, Fritz," cried he, as his friend came out; "do not go riding alone, or, at least, not through the Tarow estate."

Fink shrugged his shoulders. "Ah! so our Fraulein is here! It is so long since we have had the pleasure of seeing you, that our time has hung rather heavy on our hands."

"Listen to the advice of your friends," replied Lenore, anxiously, "and beware of dangerous men."

"Why?" returned Fink; "there is no straightforward danger to apprehend; and in times like these, there is no guarding against every stupid devil who may lurk behind a tree; that would be taking too much trouble."

"If not for your own sake, think of the anxiety of your friends,"

implored Lenore.

"Have I still friends?" asked Fink, laughing; "I often fancy they have become faithless. My friends belong to the cla.s.s who perfectly understand the duty of composure. Our worthy Wohlfart, perchance, will put an extra handkerchief in his pocket, and wear his most solemn mien if the game goes against me; and another companion in arms will console herself still more readily. Out with my horse!" cried he, swinging himself on the saddle, and with a slight bow galloping away.

"There he goes, straight to Tarow," said the forester, striking his head as he watched Fink disappear.

Lenore returned in silence to her parents' room.

But late at night, long after the castle lights were all put out, a curtain was drawn back, and a woman listened anxiously for the sound of horses' hoofs. Hour after hour pa.s.sed away, and it was morning before the window closed as a rider halted at the door, and, whistling a tune, himself took his horse to the stable. After a night of watching, Lenore hid her aching head in her pillows.

Thus months pa.s.sed away. At length the baron, leaning upon his daughter's arm and on a staff, ventured out into the open air, to sit silently in the shadow cast by the castle walls, or to listen for every trifle which might afford possible scope for fault-finding. At these times his dependents in general would go a good deal out of their way to avoid him, and as Anton never did this, he was not unfrequently their scapegoat. Every day the baron had to hear, in return for his cross-questioning, "Mr. Wohlfart ordered this," or "Mr. Wohlfart forbade that." He eagerly found out what orders were given by Anton, that he might countermand, and all the bitterness and disappointment acc.u.mulated in the spirit of the unfortunate n.o.bleman were concentrated in an impotent hatred to his agent.

Fink, for his part, took little heed of the baron, merely contracting his brows when he observed his quarrelsomeness toward Anton, and never saying more than "he can not help it."

Karl was the one who got on best with the baron, never calling him any thing but captain, and making an audible military salute whenever he had any thing to say, and this pleased the blind man. Indeed, the first token of sympathy for others which the baron evinced was elicited by the bailiff. A garden chair had been warped by the sun, and seemed on the point of coming to pieces. Karl, as he pa.s.sed by, took it up, and with his clenched fist hammered it together. "You are not striking with your right hand, I hope, my good Sturm?" inquired the baron.

"Just as it happens, captain," replied Karl.

"You should not do so," remonstrated the invalid. "An injury like yours should make you careful; very often the pain returns after long years; you can not be sure that this may not be your case in after-life."

"A short life and a merry one, captain," replied Karl; "I do not look forward."

"That is a very useful fellow," said the baron to his daughter.

The corn ripened, the green fields turned to gold, the cheerful sounds of harvest began. When the first loaded wagon rolled into the farm-yard, Anton stood by the barn and watched the sheaves put in. He was joined by Lenore, who inquired, "What of the harvest?"

"As far as we could contrive to sow this year, the returns have not been bad. At least, Karl seems pleased with the crop, which exceeds our calculations," cheerfully returned Anton.

"Then you have one pleasure, Wohlfart," said Lenore.

"It is a pleasure for all on the farm; look at the steady activity of the men. Even the idle work well to day. But what pleases me most is your question; you have been so estranged from the farm, and all that concerns the property."

"Not from you, my friend," said Lenore, looking down.

"You must be ill!" eagerly continued Anton. "If I dared, I could scold you for having thought so little about your own health all this time; your pony is become quite stiff. Karl has often been obliged to use it, that it might not lose the use of its limbs."

"It may go like the rest," cried Lenore; "I shall never mount it again.

Have pity upon me, Wohlfart! I often feel as if I should lose my senses; every thing in the world has become indifferent to me."

"Why so savage, Fraulein?" said a mocking voice behind her. Lenore started and turned round. Fink, who had been absent more than a week, had joined them. "See that you send off Blasius," said he to Anton, without taking any further notice of Lenore. "The rascal has been drunk again; he flogs the horses till the poor beasts are covered with wales.

I have a great mind to give them the satisfaction of seeing him punished before their eyes."

"Have patience till after the harvest," replied Anton; "we can not spare him now."

"Is he not a good-natured man in other respects?" timidly suggested Lenore.

"Good-nature is a convenient name for every thing that is morbid,"