Dame Care Part 42

"Well?" they asked.

"To-day, eight years ago, our barn was burned down!"

All were silent; only their father chuckled and sighed to himself....

It began to grow dark; over the heath there still streamed a streak of red light, which was reflected a fiery glow upon the white table-cloth.

The storm rattled at the shutters.

It was a good thing that the house-keeper now entered the room. She was a garrulous woman, who had always much news to relate.

"Well, Frau Jankus, what have you to tell us?" called out Kate to her, who was glad to shake off the nightmare of remembrance.

"Oh, dear madam," cried the old person, "don't you know yet? There are great goings-on in the church to-day. The whole village is making wreaths; over the altar they have hung a whole garland of rare tea-roses, and on each side the most beautiful oleander trees are placed."

"Why, what's the matter?"

"A wedding is the matter! Miss Douglas's wedding will be to-morrow!"

The two sisters started, exchanged a quick glance with each other, and then looked at Paul.

But he was rolling a crumb of bread between his fingers, and looked as if the story did not concern him in the least.

The sisters exchanged another glance and nodded significantly. Then, with the same impulse, they both seized his hands.

"Children, you tear me to pieces," he said, with a feeble smile.

"Ah, then there will be _polterabend_ there today?" asked their father, growing quite lively all of a sudden.

"Probably, probably!" answered the old housekeeper. "Not long ago I saw a troop of children go by quite laden with old flower-pots and rubbish."

"At our wedding they showed more moderation," said Greta, and both sisters looked at each other and smiled dreamily.

"That's a splendid coincidence," muttered the old man, and rubbed his hands.

"Why splendid?" asked Paul.

"Oh, I only meant ... coincidence--the same day that they burned down our barn. Just tell me, Paul--you were awake--what hour might it have been when you saw the flames rise?"

"It might have been one o'clock."

"Well, you ought to know. Though what the business really was that took you to Helenenthal that night pa.s.ses my comprehension, but it is all right quite right! now I know the exact hour."

Then you know a great deal! said Greta, laughing.

"So I do," he answered, sulkily. "You'll see, my little daughter, you'll see!"

Kate was about to come to her sister's a.s.sistance, but Paul made them a sign, secretly, to leave the old man in peace.

Soon after, the sisters took leave.

"You wanted to tell Paul that father has secrets behind the barn," said Kate, when they were both sitting in the dog cart.

"Yes that is true!" she answered, made the driver stop, and beckoned to Paul. But the old man, who, in his distrust, always liked to hear everything that was said, thrust himself in, and so they had to leave it unsaid.

When Paul, on his usual evening round, came into the kitchen, he saw how his father was negotiating with the house keeper for an earthen pot.

"What do you want the pot for, Mr Meyerhofer?" asked the old woman.

"I also am going to celebrate _polterabend_, Frau Jankus," he replied, with a hollow laugh. "Perhaps they will give me some of the wedding cake."

The old woman nearly died of laughing, and his father limped off to his bedroom with the pot, locking the door carefully behind him.

The whole house had retired to rest, only Paul still paced up and down in the dark yard.

"So to morrow will be her wedding," he thought, folding his hands "If I were a good Christian I ought to say a prayer for her happiness. But I am not such an inert fellow yet, by a long way I believe that I once loved her very much, more than I knew myself. How can it have been that I became a stranger to her?" He thought and thought, but could come to no right conclusion.

The moon rose over the moor--a great blood red disk--which spread an uncertain light all over the yard. The storm seemed to be augmenting. It whistled round the corners and howled through the trees.

"If a fire were to break out to day it would not content itself with the barn only," thought Paul and then it occurred to him that he must send a reminder to the agent, to hasten the insurance. "For one never knows what might happen during the night. I will go to sleep"--he concluded his reflections--"to morrow is another day, and a wedding day, too."

He went on tiptoe to the bedroom, which he had prepared for himself near that of his fathers, so as to be at hand if anything should happen to the old man. He lighted no candle, for the full moon, rising higher, already shone brightly into the room.

"I wonder if you will sleep to night? he thought an hour later. The shadows of the storm blown leaves led a wild dance on his counterpane, and in between the light of the moon quivered like little tongues of white flame.

"On that midsummer night the moon shone just as bright," and then he remembered how white Elsbeth's dressing gown had looked, peeping out underneath her dark cloak.

"That was the finest night of my life," he murmured, with a sigh, and then he decided to go to sleep! and drew his blanket over his head to strengthen his resolution.

Some time after, he thought he heard his father get up softly in the next room and limp out at the door. He could distinctly hear how the crutch clattered on the stone flags of the hall.

"He will come back directly," he thought, for it often happened that his father got up in the night.

With that he fell into an uneasy doze, in which all sorts of terrible dreams chased each other through his head. When he next came to full consciousness the moon was already high in the heavens, her beams now scarcely illumined his room at all, but the garden and yard lay bathed in light.

"Strange--it seems to me as if I had not heard father come back," he said to himself. He sat up and looked at the watch that was hanging over his bed.

"Light minutes to one." Two hours had elapsed meanwhile.

"I suppose I was fast asleep," he thought, and was about to lie down again. Then the house door, caught by the storm, slammed noisily to, so that the whole house shook.

He jumped up, terrified What is that? The house door open, father not back yet? The next moment he had thrown on his coat and trousers, and with bare feet and bare head rushed out.

The door which led from his father's bedroom into the hall stood wide open. Pale with anxiety, he stepped towards the bed--it had not been used, only on the foot of it there was an impression on the feather quilt So his father had been sitting there without stirring for more than an hour and a half--evidently waiting till he himself was asleep.

What in the name of Heaven did all this mean?

His look wandered searchingly round the room. The worsted slippers in which his father generally crept about the house were thrown in the corner, but the boots, which for months had been standing there unused, were gone.

What? Did his lame father want to go for a ramble in the middle of the night? His heart almost stopped beating He rushed out into the yard.