Part 31 (1/2)
Suddenly he paused: ”Here!”
He pointed to the wet ground, upon which, as Gotthold now also perceived, were the marks of footprints, a large one, with a smaller one beside it. The footprints came from the road they had just left, but had emerged from the forest sooner, and gone towards the marl-pit, and they had come upon it farther down at a right angle. The old hunter and the young man looked at each other; neither spoke--they knew the decisive moment had come.
Slowly and cautiously they followed the clew, which ran straight before them towards the marl-pit, on whose surface they already saw the rippling of the water, as the strong breeze blew it against the edges.
Only about fifty paces more, and all would be decided.
Gotthold's eyes rested fixedly upon the horrible water, which glittered spectrally in the last feeble glimmer of twilight; he saw her standing on the edge holding the child by the hand, gazing--
One of the old man's hands rested on his shoulder, the other pointed downwards. ”She took the child in her arms here.”
There was only one footprint, the larger one, and the mark was deeper--five, ten, fifteen steps--
”Stay!”
The old man had uttered the word, and waving Gotthold back with his hand at the same moment, he fell upon his knees. The footprints were confused, as if she had taken a few steps irresolutely to and fro, and then the trail became distinct again, going straight on, but parallel with the edge of the marl-pit, and then they turned back in the direction of the road, and remained in that course to the bank, from whose sharp edge a small piece of turf had been torn as she stepped upon the path with her burden.
The two men stood in the road once more; Gotthold felt as if the solid earth were reeling under him; he threw himself into the arms of the old man, who clasped him in a warm embrace.
”We may hope now, my dear son; but we are not yet at the end.”
”I will bear and risk everything, so long as I can still hope,” cried Gotthold.
The dark figures of men now emerged singly and in pairs from the gloomy forest, and approached the place where they stood. They had found nothing; and Statthalter Moller asked whether they should now search the marl-pit; they could probably do no more than that today; it had grown too dark, and the people were completely worn out.
”But if Herr Wenhof wants us to do anything, we will, won't we, men?”
asked Statthalter Moller.
”Ay, that we will,” they replied in chorus.
”I thank you,” said Cousin Boslaf, ”you can help me no more now; I will go on alone with this gentleman, as soon as Clas Prebrow comes with the carriage, and I now have a hope that I may find my great-grandchild alive.”
The old man's voice trembled as he p.r.o.nounced the last words, and the people looked at him in astonishment.
”Yes, my great-grandchild,” the old man began again, and his voice was now strong, and had acquired a strangely deep, solemn tone, ”for that she is--my great-grandchild, and the great-grandchild of Ulrica, the wife of Adolf Wenhof. You have aided me so faithfully to-day that I cannot help telling you the truth. There is no one living whom it can harm, but it may do you good to know that the truth must always be spoken, that an old man of ninety must speak it, for no other reason than that it is the truth. And now go home, children, and don't allow yourselves to be tempted to take vengeance on him who has driven my child from house and home--don't vent your anger on the house and farm.
Better men have lived there before him, and better ones will dwell there after him; and now once more I thank you, children.”
The men had listened in silence; one after another removed his cap--they did not exactly know why; and when the old man and Gotthold entered the carriage, which meantime had quietly driven up, all stood around it with bared heads, and even after the coach had gone on, and they had set out on their way home, it was long ere any one ventured to speak aloud.
But the coach drove on through the darkness towards the fis.h.i.+ng village of Ralow. It was a delightful road on a summer evening, and Cecilia had been fond of walking here with the child. Gotthold thought she would follow this direction, and the old man had a.s.sented. ”It is your turn now,” said he. ”We were seeking a dead body, and an old man is well suited for that; now that we are in search of a living woman, young blood may be better.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Two days after, Jochen Prebrow was standing before the door of his house, just after his second breakfast, looking out to sea through a long spy-gla.s.s, which with his left hand he rested against the tall flag-staff that stood before the house. Worthy Jochen might often be found in the same spot, engaged in the same occupation It was not that he sought or hoped to find anything unusual out at sea; but in leisure moments the spy-gla.s.s, which usually rested on two crooked bars close beside the door under the shelter of the projecting roof, afforded an excellent amus.e.m.e.nt, even if, as at this moment, there was nothing to be seen on the sea except the waves, here and there crested with foam, dancing merrily in the morning breeze.
But to-day the worthy Jochen did not even see the foam-crested waves; he saw absolutely nothing at all; yet when, at the end of five minutes, he put down and closed the spy-gla.s.s, his broad face wore an expression as anxious as if he had perceived a large s.h.i.+p, driven by a north-east storm on the Wiessow cliffs, and his neighbor Pilot Bonsak had said she could not be saved.
And the same anxious expression rested upon the plump face of his Stine, who had just appeared in the doorway, and with both hands, usually so busy, idly folded under her ap.r.o.n, began to gaze at the blue morning sky and s.h.i.+ning white clouds scattered over it, without even noticing her Jochen, who was standing scarcely six paces away.