Part 17 (1/2)
Whilst Barbelle was occupied at her spinning wheel, Albert remarked that she was not so cheerful as usual, that there was a cast of seriousness on her countenance, which he had never observed before. Her mind appeared occupied with a thought that distressed her; nay, he even perceived a tear in her eye. He was so much struck by the change, as to wish to know the cause of it. ”What have you at heart, girl?” he asked, just after her mother had left the room. ”What makes you all at once so silent and serious? you even moisten your thread with tears!”
”And can you be gay, sir?” asked Barbelle, and looked at him inquisitively in the face. ”I think I saw something once fall from your eye also, which moistened that scarf. I am sure it was given you by your love; and I was just thinking how much I grieved that you were not by her side.”
Albert was taken by surprise at this remark of his young friend, and blushed deeply, which satisfied her she had made a better guess about the mysteries of the scarf than her mother had. ”You are not far wrong,” he answered, smiling; ”but I am not uneasy on that account, as I hope to see her again very shortly.”
”Ah! what joy there will be at Lichtenstein when that happy event comes to pa.s.s,” said Barbelle, whose countenance had now resumed its wonted gaiety.
What could be the meaning of this, thought Albert? could her father have made known to her the secret of his love? ”In Lichtenstein, did you say? what do you know about me and Lichtenstein?”
”Ah! I rejoice to think of the happiness the n.o.ble lady will have when she sees you again. I have heard how miserable she was when you were ill.”
”Miserable, did you say?” cried Albert, springing upon his feet, and approaching her; ”was she aware of my state? O speak! what do you know of Bertha? Are you acquainted with her? What has your father said of her?”
”My father has not said a single word to me; and I should not have known there was such a person as a lady of Lichtenstein, if my aunt was not her nurse. But you must not be offended at me, sir, if I listened a little; look ye, this is the way I know it.” She then related how she became acquainted with the secret; and that her father was probably gone to Lichtenstein to give the lady comforting intelligence of his recovery.
Albert was painfully affected at this news. He had all along cherished the hope that Bertha would have heard of his misfortune and recovery at the same time, and have been spared much anxiety on his account. He well knew how the cruel uncertainty of his being safe from the vigilance of the enemy's patroles, even had his health been restored, would wear upon her spirits; perhaps affect her health also. Truly his own misfortune appeared nothing, when he compared it to the distress of that dear girl. How much had she not gone through in Ulm! how painful the separation from him! and now scarcely had she enjoyed the thought of his having quitted the colours of the League, scarcely had she been able to look forward to a more cheerful futurity, when she was terrified by the news of his being almost mortally wounded. And all this she was obliged to suffer in secret, to conceal it from the looks of her father--without possessing one single soul as a friend, to whose sympathy she could confide the secret of her heart--and from whom she might seek consolation. He now felt more than ever how necessary it became to hasten his departure for Lichtenstein; and his impatience was inflamed into anger, that the fifer of Hardt, otherwise a cautious and clever man, should just at this moment remain so long absent.
The maiden guessed his thoughts: ”I plainly see you long to be away--oh, were but my father here to shew you the way to Lichtenstein!
It would be imprudent in you to go alone, for there would be no difficulty in detecting your not being a Wurtemberger by your speech.
Do you know what? I'll run to meet my father, and hurry him home.”
”You go to meet him?” said, Albert touched by the proposal of the good-hearted girl; ”do you know whether he be in the neighbourhood? he may be still some distance from home; and it will be dark in an hour.”
”And were it so dark, that I should be obliged to grope my way blindfolded to Lichtenstein, I'll wager you could not go faster to your----.” Blus.h.i.+ng, she cast her eyes down; for although her good heart induced her to proffer her services as a messenger of love, she felt confused when she touched upon the tender subject, which had been made so clear to her this day, and which confirmed her in her former suspicions.
”But if you volunteer to go to Lichtenstein out of regard for me, there is no reason why I should not accompany you, rather than remain behind, to await the arrival of your father. I'll saddle my horse immediately, and ride by your side; you can shew me the way until I am far enough not to mistake the rest of it.”
The girl of Hardt scarcely knew which way to look, when Albert made this proposal; and playing with the ends of her long plaits of hair, said, almost in a whisper, ”But it will be so soon dark.”
”Well, what does that signify? So much the better, because I shall then be able to arrive in Lichtenstein by c.o.c.k-crow,” answered Albert; ”you yourself proposed finding the way through the darkness.”
”Yes, to be sure, so I could,” replied Barbelle, without looking up; ”but you are not strong enough yet to undertake the journey; and he who has just risen from a sick bed, must not think of travelling six hours in the night.”
”I cannot pay any more attention to that,” said Albert; ”my wounds are all healed, and I feel as well as ever I was; so get ready, my good girl, we will start immediately; I'll go and saddle my horse.” He took the bridle, which hung on a nail on the wall, and went to the door.
”But, sir! hear me, good sir!” cried the girl, in a beseeching tone, after him: ”pray do not think of going now. It would not be proper for me to travel alone with you in the dark. The people in Hardt are very censorious, and they would certainly say some ill-natured thing of me if----; better stay till to-morrow morning, when I will willingly go as far as Pfullingen with you.”
The young man respected her reasons, and replaced in silence the bridle on the nail. It would certainly have been much more agreeable to him, if the folks of Hardt had been less inclined to think evil of their neighbours; but he could not do otherwise than meet the well-meant scruples of Barbelle in their proper light. He therefore determined to remain the night waiting the arrival of the fifer of Hardt; should he not then come, he would mount his horse by daybreak, and set out for Lichtenstein, under the conduct of his young friend.
CHAPTER XVI.
The whispering breezes fan the day, And gently blow around; With fragrance pa.s.sing sweet they play, And break with dulcet sound.
Now, my poor heart, be not oppress'd by fear, Those breezes will a better fortune bear.
L. UHLAND.
But the fifer of Hardt did not return home that night; and as Albert could no longer restrain his desire to prosecute his journey, he saddled his horse at break of day. His good hostess, after no small struggle, allowed her daughter to accompany him. She was afraid lest such an extraordinary event should furnish conversation, perhaps not to the credit of her child, for many an evening's gossip in the spinning occupations of her neighbours, and therefore reluctantly gave her consent. Upon the consideration, however, of the interest her husband must have taken in the welfare of the young knight, having treated him like a son in concealing him in his house, she thought she could not well refuse him this last piece of service. She accordingly permitted her daughter to go as his guide, upon the sole condition, that she was to proceed a quarter of an hour's distance in advance, and wait for him at a certain milestone.
Albert was affected in taking leave of the kind-hearted matron, who, out of respect for him, had decked herself out in her best Sunday's attire. He had placed a gold ducat in the carved chest, as a mark of grat.i.tude for the attention he had received from her; a considerable present in those days, and a large sum out of the travelling purse of Albert von Sturmfeder. It would appear that the fifer of Hardt never knew a word about this deposit whether it was, that his wife did not find the piece of gold, or that she did not like to inform him of it, fearing lest he might return the present to the donor, and thereby affront him. But so much is certain, that the musician's wife was shortly after seen in church dressed in a new gown, to the astonishment and envy of all the women of the neighbourhood, and her daughter Barbelle wore a beautiful bodice of the finest cloth, trimmed with gold, which had never been seen before, at the next feast, kept in commemoration of the dedication of the church. She was always seen to blush, also, whenever any of her companions felt the texture of the new bodice and congratulated her upon the acquisition of it. Such was the effect which a single piece of gold produced in the village of Hardt, in those good old times!