Part 42 (1/2)

The old man looked thoughtful for some time, then said:

”It will be a great sorrow to me, Anna Sophia, for he is the last remaining light of my youth, and when he goes all will be dark and gloomy for me. It does me good to see his bright, handsome face; to hear his gay morning and evening song; and when you two are sitting beside me hand in hand upon the old bench at the front of our little hut, my youth comes back to me. I see myself sitting on the same bench with my dear old woman--it was our favorite seat when we were young. When Charles Henry leaves me, I not only lose him, but my whole past life seems to vanish away.”

”You would, therefore, prefer he should remain at home?” said Anna, anxiously.

”If it were possible,” said he, ”but it is not. His king has called him, he must obey.”

”But he may, perhaps, be allowed to stay, father, if you will declare that you are too old, too weak to support yourself, and wish the only prop of your old age to remain with you, the authorities at Cleve may, perhaps, grant your request.”

The old shepherd shook his head slowly and thoughtfully, and said:

”No, we will not make the attempt; it would be deception, and could bring us no honor. I am not too weak to earn my own living, and it would be a disgrace to Charles Henry if I bought him off from his duty. The world might then think he was a coward, and had not courage enough to fight.”

”Do you think it a disgrace for a man to be wanting in courage?” said Anna Sophia, gazing at him as if her life depended upon his answer.

”I think so,” said he, calmly; ”it is as bad for a man to be without courage as for a woman to be without virtue.”

Anna Sophia raised her dark, glowing eyes to heaven with an expression of deep thankfulness. Then giving way to her emotion, she threw her arms around the old shepherd, and, leaning her head upon his shoulder, she wept bitterly. He did not disturb her, but pressed her tenderly to his heart, and whispered occasionally a few loving, consoling words. He believed he understood her sorrow; he thought he knew the source of these tears. She was weeping because all hope of preventing her betrothed from being a soldier was now gone.

”Weep no more, my child,” said he, at last; ”your eyes will be red; it will sadden Charles Henry, and make it harder for him to say good-by.

See, there he comes to join us--do not weep, my child.”

Anna raised her head and dried her eyes hastily. ”I am not weeping, father,” said she. ”I entreat you do not tell Charles Henry that I have been crying--do not, if you love me. I will promise not to be sad again.”

”I will be silent, but you must keep your word and be cheerful, so as not to sadden the poor boy.”

”I will.”

Anna Sophia kept her word. She gave Charles Henry a bright, cheery welcome. While she was joking and laughing with the old man, evening came upon them, and as it cast its shadows about, Charles Henry became more and more silent and sad.

It was now time to drive home the fold, the sun had set, and Phylax had collected his little army. The old shepherd arose. ”And now, my children,” said he, ”take leave of one another. It is the last sunset you will see together for many a long day. Swear to each other here, in the presence of G.o.d and of his beautiful world, that you will be true to each other, that your love shall never change.”

Charles Henry looked timidly, beseechingly at Anna Sophia, but she would not encounter his gaze.

”We have said all that we had to say,” said she, quietly, ”we will therefore not make our parting harder by repeating it.”

”It will make parting much easier to me,” cried Charles Henry, ”if you will swear to be true, and always to love me. Though many years may pa.s.s, Anna Sophia, before we meet again, I will never cease to love you, never cease to think of you.”

”This will I also do, Charles Henry,” said Anna, solemnly. ”My thoughts will be with you daily, hourly; your name will be constantly upon my lips!”

Charles Henry turned pale. He understood the ambiguous meaning of this oath, and it cut him to the heart.

”And now, good-night, Anna Sophia,” said the old shepherd; ”to-morrow evening, when your work is done, I will await you here. We will have to love and console each other. Good-night once more!”

”Good-night, dear father,” whispered she, in a voice choked with tears, as she pressed a burning kiss on his brow.

The old man took her in his arms and embraced her tenderly, then whispered:

”To-morrow we will weep together, Anna Sophia.”