The Northern Light Part 35

A deep flush overspread the pale features of the girl for a moment, and she turned again toward the window.

"You do not understand, auntie," she replied in a low tone. "You do not know how much happiness I have had in the head forester's house, how humbly Toni begged my pardon for the insults her future mother-in-law heaped upon me. What will she think of me when she hears that her lover has had a duel on my account? What will Frau von Eschenhagen say?"

"Well, they can be easily convinced that you are blameless in the whole affair, and if it ends well, they need know nothing about it. I hardly know you, child, the last few days. You, who always laughed every care and anxiety away, to sit and mope and grieve. It's incomprehensible to me. You have hardly eaten or drunk a thing for two days, and wouldn't sit down to your breakfast this morning. But you must eat some dinner, and I must go and see to it at once."

With this the old lady rose and left the room. She was right, poor Marietta seemed indeed a changed girl. It was without doubt a painful, depressing feeling, that blame would undoubtedly rest upon her; her friends at Furstenstein perhaps might never be made to understand the real state of the case, how innocent she was of any intention to wrong or even annoy them; her reputation, too, of which she had been so guarded; would not every paper be teeming with this "affair of honor,"

if either combatant were killed?

"If need be with my blood," these had been Willibald's last words to her and they rang in her ears. "O, G.o.d be merciful. Not that! not that!"

Suddenly a tall, manly figure turned the corner and came forward hastily through the little street, evidently in search of some special number, and as Marietta looked down she gave a cry of delight, for she recognized Herr von Eschenhagen.

She did not wait for the bell to be answered, but rushed out impetuously to open the door herself.

Her eyes were wet with tears, but her voice sounded clear and jubilant:

"You have come at last--G.o.d be praised!"

"Yes, here I am, safe and sound," Willibald replied, while his whole face glowed at this reception.

How they got back to the little sitting-room neither of them ever knew, but he had drawn her arm through his and led her in, while she feasted her eyes on his flushed, happy face. But now she noticed that his right wrist was bandaged.

"You have been hurt?" she said, in an anxious whisper.

"Only a scratch, not worth talking about," Willibald answered, with great cheerfulness of spirit. "I gave the count something worth remembering, though--a fine shot through his shoulder--nothing dangerous, but slow to heal, so that he'll have plenty of time for reflection. It's very satisfactory, very!"

"Then it's all over? I knew it."

"Yes, we met this morning at eight o'clock. But there's nothing to be anxious about now, Fraulein. It's all well over."

The young singer gave a deep sigh, as she said: "I thank you, Herr von Eschenhagen, I thank you from my heart. You have risked your life on my account, and I cannot be too grateful."

"There is no occasion for grat.i.tude, Fraulein, but as I have faced a pistol on your account, you must, at least accept a little memento of the occasion. You must not trample this peace offering under your feet."

As he spoke he unwrapped--somewhat awkwardly, for he had only his left hand--a full blown rose and two buds from its cover of tissue paper.

Marietta's eyes sank and a flush of shame o'erspread her features as she took the flowers, without speaking, and pinned them on her breast; then she reached out her hand, as if begging for forgiveness; it was grasped at once.

"You are accustomed to receive gifts of flowers," he said almost apologetically. "I hear from all sides how much homage is paid you."

The young girl smiled, but smiled more sadly than joyfully.

"You have seen what manner of homage is done me at times," she said.

"Count Westerburg is not the first against whom I have had to contend.

So many men consider it perfectly legitimate to attempt liberties with any one who appears on the stage, and sometimes even those with whom one a.s.sociates are not--believe me, Herr von Eschenhagen, my lot is not always an enviable one."

Willibald appeared surprised.

"Not an enviable one? Why, I thought you loved your profession, heart and soul, and that nothing could induce you to leave it."

"Certainly, I love it; but I am realizing each day, more and more, with how much that is hard and bitter I have to contend. My teacher, Professor Marani, says 'one must mount with the wings of an eagle, then he leaves all the dross far beneath him.' I think he is right, but I am not an eagle, I am only what my dear grandfather has often called me, 'a singing bird,' with nothing but my voice, and no strength to mount to dizzy heights. The critics have said before now that my acting lacked fire and strength, and I feel myself that I have little dramatic talent.

I can only sing, and I'd much rather do that at home in our own green woods, than here in a golden cage."

The girl's voice had a worn, discouraged ring, very unusual in one so full of vivacity. The recent occurrence had brought her unprotected position before her most forcibly, and unconsciously she opened her heart to the man who had s.h.i.+elded her so bravely. He listened in astonishment to her sad words, but instead of showing any pity, his face and eyes fairly beamed with happiness and joy at her sad admission. He asked abruptly, almost roughly:

"You long to get away from here? You will leave the stage?"

Despite her troubles, Marietta laughed out at this question.

"No, indeed, I have no such thought. What would I turn to then? My dear grandfather has sc.r.a.ped and saved for years in order that I might receive a musical education, and it would be but a poor return for me to go back to him now, a burden for his few remaining years. He shall never know that his 'singing bird' longs for her woodland nest, or that she has hards.h.i.+ps and insults to encounter here. I have more courage than that. I mean to fight it out, no matter how heavy the odds. So do not let them hear anything about my murmurings at Furstenstein. How soon are you going there?"

A shadow fell across the young heir's happy face, and his eyes sank to the floor.

"I am going at two this afternoon," he answered in a strange, depressed tone.

"O, then grant me one favor. Tell Toni everything--everything--you hear?

She has cause to blame us both. I shall write to her to-day, at once, and tell her about this unfortunate affair, and you will explain just how it happened, too, will you not?"

Willibald raised his eyes slowly from the ground and looked at the speaker.

"You are right, Fraulein, Toni must hear all, the whole truth. I had decided on that before I came here--but it will be a trying hour for me."

"Oh, no indeed, it will not," Marietta said hastily. "Toni is good and full of confidence; she will know that what we tell her is the exact truth, and that we were both quite guiltless in the matter."

"But I am not guiltless, at least toward Toni," said Willibald very earnestly. "Do not look so frightened, you would hear all later, so it is, perhaps, as well to hear it from my lips. I am going to Furstenstein to ask Toni"--he hesitated and sighed deeply--"to give me back my freedom."

"Heaven help us! and why?" cried the young maiden, seriously alarmed at this declaration.

"Why? Because, feeling as I do, knowing that Toni has no place in my heart, it would be wrong to lead her to the altar. Because I know now what is the one thing needful to make a happy marriage, because," he stopped and looked at Marietta so steadily and so expressively that she could not fail to understand him. Her face flushed painfully; she drew back and made a hasty motion as if to prevent further speech.

"Herr von Eschenhagen, tell me no more."

"I cannot help it," Willibald continued, almost defiantly. "I fought it over and over in my own mind when I was alone at Burgsdorf, and honestly tried to keep my word. I thought it might be possible; then I came here and saw you again--the other evening in 'Arivana'--and then I realized that all my struggling had been in vain. I had not forgotten you, Fraulein Marietta, no, not for an hour, even while I was trying to persuade myself you must be forgotten, and I should not have forgotten you my whole life long. I will tell Toni all this frankly, and my mother, too, when I see her again."

It was all out at last. The man who could not stand alone at Furstenstein, and for whom his mother had done all the talking and planning, spoke now, warmly and earnestly, from his very heart, as only a man can speak in such an hour. He had learned what liberty meant when his affections were aroused, and with this knowledge he had forever cast aside the dependence of habit and indifference.

He crossed the room to Marietta, who had gone back to the window.

"And now one question. You were very pale when you opened the door for me, and had been crying. Of course this affair was very painful to you.

I can understand that, but--but were you the least bit anxious--on my account?"

He received no answer. There was only a low, stifled sob.

"Were you anxious about me? Only a little 'yes;' you cannot know, Marietta, how happy it will make me."

He bent over the maiden whose head had sunk so low, but he could not see the gleam of happiness which lighted up her face as she said softly: "I have been so anxious that life has hardly been endurable the past two days."

Willibald gave a laugh of exultation, and tried to draw her into his arms; she gave him one long look, and then released herself.