“And was William convinced of the no-pain doctrine?” cried Sir Stafford, his cheek flashing with momentary anger.
“The ignorant creature actually screamed out every time he was touched; but Clarus said it would take at least two centuries to conquer the prejudices of the common people.”
“Not improbable, either!” said Sir Stafford.
“Dear me, how very late it is,” cried she, suddenly; “and we dine at six!” And with a graceful motion of the hand, she said, “By-by!” and left the room.
HAS the observant reader ever remarked a couple of persons parading the deck of a ship at sea, walking step for step through half a day, turning with the same short jerk, to resume the same short path, and yet never interchanging a word, the rhythm of the footfall the only tie of companionship between them? They halt occasionally, too, to look over the bulwarks at some white sail far away, or some cloud-bank rising from the horizon; mayhap they linger to watch the rolling porpoises as they pass, or the swift nautilus as he glides along; but yet never a sound nor token of mutual intelligence escapes them. It is enough that they live surrounded by the same influences, breathe the same air, and step in the same time; they have their separate thoughts, wide, perhaps, as the poles asunder, and yet by some strange magnetism they feel there is a kind of sociality in their speechless intercourse.
From some such cause, perhaps, it was that Colonel Haggerstone and Jekyl took their accustomed walk in the dreary dining-room of the “Hotel de Russie.” The evening was cold and cheerless, as on that when first we met them there, a drifting rain, mingled with sleet, beat against the windows, and the wind, in mournful cadences, sighed along the dreary and deserted corridors. It was a comfortless scene within doors and without. A chance glance through the window, an occasional halt to listen when the thunder rolled louder and nearer, showed that, to a certain extent, the same emotions were common to each; but nothing else betrayed any community of sentiment between them, as they paced the room from end to end.
“English people come abroad for climate!” said Haggerstone, as he buttoned his collar tightly around his neck, and pressed his hat more firmly on his head. “But who ever saw the like of this in England?”
“In England you have weather, but no climate!” said Jekyl, with one of his little smiles of self-approval; for he caressed himself when he uttered a mot, and seemed to feel no slight access of self-satisfaction.
“It's not the worst thing we have there, sir, I promise you,” rejoined Haggerstone, authoritatively.
“Our coughs and rheumatics are, indeed, sore drawbacks upon patriotism.”
“I do not speak of them, sir; I allude to our insolent, overbearing aristocracy, who, sprung from the people as they are, recruited from the ranks of trade or law, look down upon the really ancient blood of the land, the untitled nobility. Who are they, sir, that treat us thus? The fortunate speculator, who has amassed a million; the Attorney-General, who has risen to a Chief-Justiceship; men without ancestry, without landed influence; a lucky banker, perhaps, like our friend upstairs, may stand in the 'Gazette' to-morrow or next day as Baron or Viscount, without one single requirement of the station, save his money.”
“I confess, if I have a weakness, it is for lords,” said Jekyl, simperingly. “I suppose I must have caught it very early in life, for it clings to me like an instinct.”
“I feel happy to avow that I have none, sir. Six centuries of gentry blood suffice for all my ambitions; but I boil over when I see the overweening presumption of these new people.”
“After all, new people, like a new watch, a new coat, and a new carriage, have the best chance of lasting. Old and worn out are very nearly convertible terms.”
“These are sentiments, sir, which would, doubtless, do you excellent service with the family upstairs, but are quite thrown away upon such a mere country gentleman as myself.”
Jekyl smiled, and drew up his cravat, with his habitual simpering air, but said nothing.
“Do you purpose remaining much longer here?” asked Haggerstone, abruptly.
“A few days, at most.”
“Do you turn north or south?”
“I fancy I shall winter in Italy.”
“The Onslows, I believe, are bound for Rome?”
“Can't say,” was the short reply.
“Just the sort of people for Italy. The fashionables of what the Chinese call 'second chop' go down admirably at Rome or Naples.”
“Very pleasant places they are, too,” said Jekyl, with a smile. “The climate permits everything, even dubious intimacies.”
Haggerstone gave a short “Ha!” at the heresy of this speech, but made no other comment on it.
“They say that Miss Onslow will have about a hundred thousand pounds?” said Haggerstone, with an air of inquiry.
“What a deal of maccaroni and parmesan that sum would buy!”
“Would you have her marry an Italian, sir?”
“Perhaps not, if she were to consult me on the matter,” said Jekyl, blandly; “but as this is, to say the least, not very probable, I may own that I like the mixed marriages well enough.”
“They make miserable menages, sir,” broke in Haggerstone.
“But excessively agreeable houses to visit at.”
“The Onslows are scarcely the people to succeed in that way,” rejoined Haggerstone, whose thoughts seemed to revolve round this family without any power to wander from the theme. “Mere money, nothing but money to guide them.”
“Not a bad pilot, either, as times go.”
Haggerstone uttered another short, “Ha!” as though to enter a protest against the sentiment without the trouble of a refutation. He had utterly failed in all his efforts to draw Jekyl into a discussion of the banker's family, or even obtain from that excessively cautious young gentleman the slightest approach to an opinion about them; and yet it was exactly in search of this opinion that he had come down to take his walk that evening. It was in the hope that Jekyl might afford him some clew to these people's thoughts, or habits, or their intentions for the coming winter, that he had promenaded for the last hour and a half. “If he know anything of them,” thought Haggerstone, “he will be but too proud to show it, and display the intimacy to its fullest extent!”
It was, then, to his utter discomfiture, he learned that Jekyl had scarcely spoken to Lady Hester, and never even seen Sir Stafford or Miss Onslow. It was, then, pure invention of the waiter to say that they were acquainted. “Jekyl has done nothing,” muttered he to himself, “and I suppose I need not throw away a dinner upon him to tell it.”
Such were his reasonings; ana long did he balance in his own mind whether it were worth while to risk a bottle of Burgundy in such a cause; for often does it happen that the fluid thrown down the pump is utterly wasted, and that it is vain to moisten the sucker, if the well beneath be exhausted.
To be, or not to be? was then the eventful point he deliberated with himself. Haggerstone never threw away a dinner in his life. He was not one of those vulgarly minded folk who ask you, in a parenthesis, to come in to “manger la soupe,” as they say, without more preparation than the spreading of your napkin. No; he knew all the importance of a dinner, and, be it acknowledged, how to give it also, and could have distinguished perfectly between the fare to set before an “habitual diner out,” and that suitable to some newly arrived Englishman abroad: he could have measured his guest to a truffle! It was his boast that he never gave a pheasant when a poulet would have sufficed, nor wasted his “Chablis” on the man who would have been contented with “Barsac.”
The difficulty was not, then, how to have treated Jekyl, but whether to treat him at all. Indeed, the little dinner itself had been all planned and arranged that morning; and the “trout” from the “Murg,” and the grouse from Eberstein, had been “pricked off,” in the bill of fare, for “No. 24,” as he was unceremoniously designated, with a special order about the dish of whole truffles with butter, in the fair intention of inviting Mr. Albert Jekyl to partake of them.
If a lady reveals some latent desire of conquest in the coquetry of her costume and the more than ordinary care of her appearance, so your male friend may be suspected of a design upon your confidence or your liberality by the studious propriety of his petit diner. Never fall into the vulgar error that such things are mere accident. As well ascribe to chance the rotations of the seasons, or the motions of the heavenly bodies. Your printaniere in January, your epigramme d'agneau with asparagus at Christmas, show a solicitude to please to the full as ardent, and not a whit less sincere, than the soft glances that have just set your heart a-beating from the recesses of yonder opera-box.
“Will you eat your cutlet with me to-day, Mr. Jekyl?” said Haggerstone, after a pause, in which he had weighed long and well all the pros and cons of the invitation.
“Thanks, but I dine with the Onslows!” lisped out Jekyl, with a languid indifference, that however did not prevent his remarking the almost incredulous amazement in the colonel's face; “and I perceive,” added he, “that it 's time to dress.”
Haggerstone looked after him as he left the room; and then ringing the bell violently, gave orders to his servant to “pack up,” for he would leave Baden next morning.
SOMETHING more than a week after the scenes we have just related had occurred, the Daltons were seated round the fire, beside which, in the place of honor, in an old armchair, propped by many a cushion, reclined Hans Roeckle. A small lamp of three burners such as the peasants use stood upon the table, of which only one was lighted, and threw its fitful gleam over the board, covered by the materials of a most humble meal. Even this was untasted; and it was easy to mark in the downcast and depressed countenances of the group that some deep care was weighing upon them.
Dalton himself, with folded arms, sat straight opposite the fire, his heavy brows closely knit, and his eyes staring fixedly at the blaze, as if expecting some revelation of the future from it; an open letter, which seemed to have dropped from his hand, was lying at his feet. Nelly, with bent-down head, was occupied in arranging the little tools and implements she was accustomed to use in carving; but in the tremulous motion of her fingers, and the short, quick heaving of her chest, might be read the signs of a struggle that cost heavily to subdue.
Half-concealed beneath the projection of the fireplace sat Kate Dalton she was sewing. Although to all seeming intent upon her work, more than once did her fingers drop the needle to wipe the gushing tears from her eyes, while at intervals a short sob would burst forth, and break the stillness around.
As for Hans, he seemed lost in a dreamy revery, from which he rallied at times to smile pleasantly at a little wooden figure the same which occasioned his disaster placed beside him.
There was an air of sadness over everything; and even the old spaniel, Joan, as she retreated from the heat of the fire, crept with stealthy step beneath the table, as if respecting the mournful stillness of the scene. How different the picture from what that humble chamber had so often presented! What a contrast to those happy evenings, when, as the girls worked, Hans would read aloud some of those strange mysteries of Jean Paul, or the wild and fanciful imaginings of Chamisso, while old Dalton would lay down his pipe and break in upon his memories of Ireland, to ask at what they were laughing, and Frank look up distractedly from his old chronicles of German war to join in the mirth! How, at such moments, Hans would listen to the interpretation, and with what greedy ears follow the versions the girls would give of some favorite passage, as if dreading lest its force should be weakened or its beauty marred by transmission! And then those outbreaks of admiration that would simultaneously gush forth at some sentiment of high and glorious meaning, some godlike gleam of bright intelligence, which, though clothed in the language of a foreign land, spoke home to their hearts with the force that truth alone can speak!
Yes, they were, indeed, happy evenings! when around their humble hearth came thronging the groups of many a poet's fancy, bright pictures of many a glorious scene, emotions of heart that seemed to beat in unison with their own. They felt no longer the poverty of their humble condition, they had no memory for the little straits and trials of the bygone day, as they trod with Tieck the alley beneath the lindens of some rural village, or sat with Auerbach beneath the porch of the Vorsteher's dwelling. The dull realities of life faded before the vivid conceptions of fiction, and they imbibed lessons of patient submission and trustfulness from those brothers and sisters who are poets' children.
And yet what no darkness of adversity could rob them of the first gleam of what, to worldly minds at least, would seem better fortune, had already despoiled them. Like the traveller in the fable, who had grasped his cloak the faster through the storm, but who threw it away when the hot, rays scorched him, they could brave the hurricane, but not face the sunshine.
The little wooden clock behind the door struck nine, and Dalton started up suddenly.
“What did it strike, girls?” asked he, quickly.
“Nine, papa,” replied Kate, in a low voice.
“At what hour was he to come for the answer?”
“At ten,” said she, still lower.
“Well, you 'd better write it at once,” said he, with a peevishness very different from his ordinary manner. “They've remained here already four days isn't it four days she says? to give us time to make up our minds; we cannot detain them any longer.”
“Lady Hester has shown every consideration for our difficulty,” said Kate. “We cannot be too grateful for her kindness.”
“Tell her so,” said he, bitterly. “I suppose women know when to believe each other.”
“And what reply am I to make, sir?” said she, calmly, as having put aside her work, she took her place at the writing-table.
“Faith, I don't care,” said he, doggedly. “Nor is it much matter what opinion I give. I am nobody now; I have no right to decide upon anything.”
“The right and duty are both yours, papa.”
“Duty! So I'm to be taught my duty as well as the rest!” said he, passionately. “Don't you think there are some others might remember that they have duties also?”
“Would that I could fulfil mine as my heart dictates them!” said Ellen; and her lip trembled as she spoke the words.
“Faith! I scarce know what 's my duty, with all the drilling and dictating I get,” muttered he, sulkily. “But this I know, there 's no will left me I dare not budge this side or that without leave.”
“Dearest papa, be just to yourself, if not to me.”
“Isn't it truth I'm saying?” continued he, his anger rising with every word he spoke. “One day, I'm forbid to ask my friends home with me to dinner. Another, I 'm told I ought n't to go dine with them. I 'm tutored and lectured at every hand's turn. Never a thought crosses me, but it 's sure to be wrong. You din into my ears, how happy it is to be poor when one 's contented.”
“The lesson was yours, dear papa,” said Nelly, smiling. “Don't disavow your own teaching.”
“Well, the more fool me. I know better now. But what's the use of it? When the prospect of a little ease and comfort was offered to me, you persuaded me to refuse it. Ay, that you did! You began with the old story about our happy hearth and contentment; and where is it now?”
A sob, so low as to be scarcely heard, broke from Nelly, and she pressed her hand to her heart with a convulsive force.
“Can you deny it? You made me reject the only piece of kindness ever was shown me in a life long. There was the opportunity of spending the rest of my days in peace, and you wouldn't let me take it. And the fool I was to listen to you!”
“Oh, papa, how you wrong her!” cried Kate, as, in a torrent of tears, she bent over his chair. “Dearest Nelly has no thought but for us. Her whole heart is our own.”
“If you could but see it!” cried Nelly, with a thick utterance.
“'T is a droll way of showing affection, then,” said Dal ton, “to keep me a beggar, and you no better than a servant-maid. It's little matter about me, I know. I'm old, and worn out, a reduced Irish gentleman, with nothing but his good blood remaining to him. But you, Kate, that are young and handsome, ay, faith! a deal sight better-looking than my Lady herself, it's a little hard that you are to be denied what might be your whole fortune in life.”
“You surely would not stake all her happiness on the venture, papa?” said Nelly, mildly.
“Happiness!” said he, scornfully; “what do you call happiness? Is it dragging out life in poverty like this, with the proudest friend in our list an old toy-maker?”
“Poor Hanserl!” murmured Nelly, in a low voice; but soft as were the accents, the dwarf heard them, and nodded his head twice, as though to thank her for a recognition of whose import he knew nothing.
“Just so! You have pity enough for strangers, but none for your own people,” said Dalton, as he arose and paced the room, the very act of motion serving to increase his anger. “He was never used to better; he's just what he always was. But think of me! think of the expectations I was reared to, the place I used to hold, and see me now!”
“Dearest, best papa, do not say those bitter words,” cried Kate, passionately. “Our own dear Nelly loves us truly. What has her life been but self-denial?”
“And have I not had my share of self-denial?” said he, abruptly. “Is there left a single one of the comforts I was always accustomed to? 'T is sick I am of hearing about submission, and patience, and resignation, and the like, and that we never were so happy as now. Faith! I tell you, I 'd rather have one day at Mount Dalton, as it used to be long ago, than I 'd have twenty years of the life I spend here.”
“No, papa, no,” said Nelly, winding her arm around his waist, “you'd rather sit at the window yonder, and listen to a song from Kate, one of your own favorites, or take a stroll with us after sunset of a summer's evening, and talk of Frank, than go back to all the gayety of that wild life you speak of.”
“Who says so?” asked he, roughly.
“You yourself. Nay, don't deny it,” said she, smiling.
“If I did I was wrong, then,” rejoined he, pushing her rudely away. “It was because I believed my children were affectionate and fond, and that whatever I set my heart on they 'd be sure to wish just as much as myself.”
“And when has that time ceased to be?” said she, calmly.
“What! when has it ceased to be?” said he, sharply. “Is it you that asks that question, you that made me refuse the legacy?”
“Nay, papa, be just,” interrupted she, mildly. “The merit of that refusal was all your own. I did but explain to you the circumstances under which this gift it was no less was offered, and your own right feeling dictated the reply.”
Dalton was silent, a struggling sense of pride in his imputed dignity of behavior warring with the desire of fault-finding.
“Maybe I did!” said he, at last, self-esteem gaining the mastery. “Maybe I saw my own reasons for what I was going to do. A Daltou is not the man to mistake what 's due to his name and family; but this is a different case. Here 's an invitation, as elegant a piece of politeness as I have seen, from one our own equal in every respect; she calls herself a connection too, we won't say much about that, for we never reckoned the English relations anything, asking my daughter to join them in their visit to Italy. When are we to see the like of that again? Is it every day that some rich family will make us the same offer? It's not to cost us a sixpence; read the letter, and you 'll see how nicely it 's hinted that her Ladyship takes everything upon herself. Well, if any one objected it might be myself; 'tis on me will fall the heaviest part of the blow. It was only the other day Frank left me; now I 'm to lose Kate, not but I know very well Nelly will do her best.”
Slight as was the praise, she kissed his hand passionately for it; and it was some seconds ere he could proceed.
“Yes, I 'm sure you 'll do all you can; but what is it after all? Won't I miss the songs she sings for me; won't I miss her laughing voice and her sprightly step?”
“And why should you encounter such privations, papa?” broke Nelly in. “These are, as you justly say, the greatest sources of your happiness. Why separate from them? Why rob this humble chamber of its fairest ornament? Why darken our hearth by an absence for which nothing can requite us?”
“I 'll tell you why, then,” said he, and a sparkling gleam of cunning lit up his eye, as the casuistry crossed his mind. “Just because I can deny myself anything for my children's sake. 'T is for them I am thinking always. Give old Peter Dalton his due, and nobody can call him selfish, not the worst enemy he had! Let me feel that my children are benefited, and you may leave me to trudge along the weary path before me.”
“Then there only remains to see if this promise of benefit be real,” said Nelly.
“And why wouldn't it? Doesn't everybody know that travelling and seeing foreign parts is equal to any education? How many things haven't I seen myself since I came abroad, that I never dreamed about before I left home! Look at the way they dress the peas with sugar in them. See how they shoe a horse with a leg tied up to a post, as if they were going to cut it off. Mind the droll fashion they have of fastening a piece of timber to the hind wheel of a coach, by way of a drag! There 's no end to their contrivances.”
“Let us forget every consideration but one,” said Nelly, earnestly. “What are the dangers that may beset Kate, in a career of such difficulty, when, without an adviser, miles away from us all, she may need counsel or comfort. Think of her in sickness or in sorrow, or, worse than both, under temptation. Picture to yourself how dearly bought would be every charm of that refinement you covet for her, at the price of a heart weakened in its attachment to home, bereft of the simple faith that there was no disgrace in poverty. Think, above all,” cried she and for the first time her lips trembled, and her eyes swam “think, above all, we cannot give her up forever; and yet how is she to come back again to these humble fortunes, and the daily toil that she will then regard with shame and disgust? I ask not how differently shall we appear in her eyes, for I know that, however changed in her habits, how wide soever be the range of thought knowledge may have imparted, her fond, true heart will still be all our own; but can you risk her fortunes on an ocean like this; can you peril all her future for so little?”
“To hear you talk, Nelty, one might think she was going to Jerusalem or Australia; sure, after all, it's only a few days away from us she 'll be; and as for the dangers, devil a one of them I see. Peter Dalton's daughter is not likely to be ill-treated anywhere. I 'e were always a 'good warrant' for taking care of our own; and, to make short of it, I wish it, and Kate herself wishes it, and I don't see why our hopes should not be as strong as your fears.'
“You remember, too, papa, that Dr. Grounsell agreed with me, and spoke even more strongly than I did against the scheme?”
“And did n't I pay him off for his interference? Did n't I give him a bit of my mind about it, and tell him that, because a man was employed as a doctor in a family, he ought not to presume to advise them on their own affairs? Faith, I don't think he'll trouble another patient with his counsel.”
“We must not forget, sir, that if his counsel came unasked, his skill was unrequited; both came from a nature that wished us well.”
“The advice and the physic were about the same value both made me sick; and so you 're like to do if you worry me any longer. I tell you now, my mind 's made up, and go she shall!”
“Oh, papa, not if dear Nelly thinks—”
“What's that to me don't I know more of the world than she does? Am I come to this time of life to be taught by a slip of a girl that never was ten miles out of her home? Sit down here now, and write the answer.”
There was a stern determination in the way these last words were uttered that told Nelly how fruitless would be all further opposition. She had long since remarked, besides, how her father's temper reacted upon his health, and how invariably any prolonged excitement terminated in an attack of gout. Increasing age gave to these accesses of malady a character of danger, which she already began to remark with deep anxiety. Now she saw that immediate compliance with his wishes was the only alternative left.
She seated herself at the table, and prepared to write. For some seconds the disturbance of her thoughts, the mingled crowd of sensations that filled her mind, prevented all power of calm consideration; but the struggle was soon over, and she wrote on rapidly.
So silent was the chamber, so hushed was all within it, that the scratching noise of the pen alone broke the stillness. Speedily glided her hand across the paper, on which two heavy tears had already fallen, burning drops of sorrow that gushed from a fevered brain! A whole world of disaster, a terrible catalogue of ill, revealed itself before her; but she wrote on. She felt that she was to put in motion the series of events whose onward course she never could control, as though she was to push over a precipice the rock that in its downward rush would carry ruin and desolation along with it; but she wrote on.
At last she ceased, and all was still; not a sound was heard in the little room, and Nelly leaned her head down upon the table and wept.
But while she wept she prayed, prayed that if the season of trouble her thoughts foreshadowed should be inevitable, and that if the cup of sorrow must, indeed, be drained, the strength might be sent them for the effort. It might have been that her mind exaggerated the perils of separation, and the dangers that would beset one of Kate's temper and disposition. Her own bereavement might have impressed her with the misery that follows an unhappy attachment; and her reflective nature, shadowed by an early sorrow, might have colored too darkly a future of such uncertainty. But a deep foreboding, like a heavy weight, lay upon her heart, and she was powerless to resist it.
These instincts of our nature are not to be undervalued, nor confounded with the weak and groundless terrors of the frivolous. The closing petals of the flower as the storm draws nigh, the wild cry of the sea-bird as the squall is gathering, the nestling of the sheep within the fold while yet the hurricane has not broke, are signs that, to the observant instincts, peril comes not unannounced.
“Shall I read it, papa?” said she, as she raised her head, and turned towards him a look of calm and beaming affection.
“You need n't,” said he, roughly. “Of course, it 's full of all the elegant phrases women like to cheat each other with. You said she will go; that's enough.”
Nelly tried to speak, but the words would not come, and she merely nodded an acquiescence.
“And, of course, too, you told her Ladyship that if it wasn't to a near relation of the family one that had a kind of right, as I may say, to ask her that I 'd never have given my consent. Neither would I!”
“I said that you could give no higher proof of your confidence in Lady Hester's goodness and worth, than in committing to her charge all that we hold so dear. I spoke of our gratitude” her voice faltered here, and she hesitated a second or so; our gratitude! strange word to express the feeling with which we part from what we cling to so fondly! “and I asked of her to be the mother of her who had none!”
“Oh, Nelly, I cannot go I cannot leave you!” burst out Kate, as she knelt down, and buried her head in her sister's lap. “I feel already how weak and how unable I am to live among strangers, away from you and dear papa. I have need of you both!”
“May I never leave this spot if you're not enough to drive me mad!” exclaimed Dalton. “You cried two nights and a day because there was opposition to your going. You fretted till your eyes were red, and your cheeks all furrowed with tears; and now that you get leave to go now that I consent to to to sacrifice ay, to sacrifice my domestic enjoyments to your benefit you turn short round and say you won't go!”
“Nay, nay, papa,” said Nelly, mildly; “Kate but owns with what fears she would consent to leave us, and in this shows a more fitting mind to brave what may come, than if she went forth with a heart brimful of its bright anticipations, and only occupied with a future of splendor and enjoyment.”
“I ask you again, is it into the backwoods of Newfoundland is it into the deserts of Arabia she is going?” said Dalton, ironically.
“The country before her has perils to the full as great, if not greater than either,” rejoined Nelly, lowly.
“There's a ring at the bell,” said Dalton, perhaps not sorry to cut short a discussion in which his own doubts and fears were often at variance with his words; for while opposing Nelly with all his might, he was frequently forced to coincide secretly with that he so stoutly resisted. Vanity alone rose above every other motive, and even hardened his heart against separation and absence from his favorite child, vanity to think that his daughter would be the admired beauty in the salons of the great and highly born; that she would be daily moving in a rank the most exalted; that his dear Kate would be the attraction of courts, the centre of adulation wherever she went. So blinded was he by false reasoning, that he actually fancied himself a martyr to his daughter's future advancement, and that this inveterate egotism was a high and holy self-denial! “My worst enemy never called me selfish,” was the balm that he ever laid on his chafed spirit, and always with success. It would, however, have been rather the part of friend, than of enemy, to have whispered that selfishness was the very bane and poison of his nature. It was his impulse in all the wasteful extravagance of his early life; it was his motive in all the struggles of his adversity. To sustain a mock rank, to affect a mock position, to uphold a mock standard of gentility, he was willing to submit to a thousand privations of his children and himself; and to gratify a foolish notion of family pride, he was ready to endure anything, even to separation from all he held dearest.
“Lady Hester's courier has come for the answer to her note, papa,” said Nelly, twice over, before Dalton heard her, for he was deep sunk in his own musings.
“Let him come in and have a glass of wine,” said Dalton. “I 'd like to ask him a few questions about these people.”
“Oh, papa!” whispered Nelly, in a tone at once so reproachful, that the old man colored and looked away.
“I meant about what time they were to start on the journey,” said he, confusedly.
“Lady Hester told us they should leave this to-morrow, sir.”
“Short notice for us. How is Kate to have all her clothes packed, and everything arranged? I don't think that is treating us with much respect, Nelly.”
“They have waited four days for our decision, papa remember that.”
“Ay, to be sure. I was forgetting that; and she came every day to press the matter more and more; and there was no end to the note-writing besides. I must say that nothing could beat their politeness. It was a mighty nice attention, the old man coming himself to call here; and a fine, hale, good-looking man he is! a better figure than ever his son will be. I don't much like Mr. George, as they call him.”
“Somewhat colder, and more reserved, I think, than the other,” said Nelly. “But about this answer, papa?”
“What a hurry they're in. Is it a return to a writ, that they must press for it this way? Well, well, I ought to be used to all manner of interruptions and disturbances by this time. Fetch me a caudle, till I seal it;” and he sighed, as he drew forth his old-fashioned watch, to which, by a massive steel chain, the great family seal was attached', firmly persuaded that in the simple act he was about to perform he was achieving a mighty labor, at the cost of much fatigue.
“No rest for the wicked! as my old father used to say,” muttered he, in a happy ignorance whether the philosophy emanated from his parent, or from some higher authority. “One would think that at my time of life a man might look for a little peace and ease; but Peter Dalton has n't such luck! Give me the letter,” said he, querulously. “There is Peter Dalton's hand and seal, his act and will,” muttered he, with a half-solemnity, as he pressed the wax with his heavy signet. “'Semper eadem;' there 's the ancient motto of our house, and, faith, I believe Counsellor O'Shea was right when he translated it 'The devil a better!'”
He read the address two or three times over to himself, as if there was something pleasurable in the very look of the words, and then he turned his glance towards Hans, as in a dreamy half-consciousness he sat still, contemplating the little statue of Marguerite.
“Is n't it droll to think we 'd be writing to the first in the land, and an old toy-maker sitting beside the fire all the time,” said Dalton, as he shook his head thoughtfully, in the firm conviction that he had uttered a very wise and profound remark. “Well well well! Life is a queer thing!”
“Is it not stranger still that we should have won the friendship of poor Hanserl than have attracted the notice of Lady Hester?” said Nelly. “Is it not a prouder thought that we have drawn towards us from affectionate interest the kindness that has no touch of condescension?”
“I hope you are not comparing the two,” said Dalton, angrily. “What's the creature muttering to himself?”
“It 'B Gretchen's song he 's trying to remember,” said Kate.
said Hans, in a low, distinct voice. “'Was kommt nach,' what comes next, Fraulein?”
“You must ask sister Nelly, Hanserl,” said Kate; but Nelly was standing behind the massive stove, her face covered with her hands.
“Zum Fenster hinaus,” repeated he, slowly; “and then, Fraulein? and then?”
“Tell him, Nelly; tell him what follows.”
repeated she.
“Ja, ja!” cried Hans, delightedly,
“What does that mean?” said Dalton, with impatience. “It's Gretchen's song, papa,” said Nelly.
“His figure I gaze on,
“I hope it isn't in love the creature is,” said Dalton; and he laughed heartily at the conceit, turning at the same time his look from the dwarf, to bestow a most complacent glance at the remains of his own once handsome stature. “Oh dear! oh dear!” sighed he; “isn't it wonderful, but there isn't a creth or a cripple that walks the earth that hasn't a sweetheart!”
A cough, purposely loud enough to announce his presence, here came from the courier in the antechamber, and Dalton remembered that the letter had not yet been despatched.
“Give it to him, Nelly,” said he, curtly.
She took the letter in her hand, but stood for a second or two, as if powerless to move.
“Must it be so, dearest papa?” said she, and the words almost choked her utterance.
Dalton snatched the letter from her fingers, and left the room. His voice was heard for an instant in conversation with the courier, and the moment after the door banged heavily, and all was still.
“It is done, Kate!” said she, throwing her arms around her sister's neck. “Let us now speak of the future; we have much to say, and short time to say it; and first let us help poor Hans downstairs.”
The dwarf, clutching up the wooden image, suffered himself to be aided with all the submissiveness of a patient child, and, with one at either side of him, slowly crept down the stairs to his own chamber. Disengaging himself by a gentle effort as he gained his door, Hans removed his cap from his head and made a low and deep obeisance to each of the girls separately, while he bade them a good-night.
“Leb wohl, Hanserl, Leb wohl!” said Kate, taking his hand affectionately. “Be ever the true friend that thou hast proved hitherto, and let me think of thee, when far away, with gratitude.”
“Why this? How so, Fraulein?” said Hans, anxiously; “why farewell? Why sayest thou 'Leb wohl,' when it is but 'good-night'?”
“Kate is about to leave us for a short space,” said Nelly, affecting to appear at ease and calm. “She is going to Italy, Hanserl.”
“Das schone Land! that lovely land!” muttered he, over and over. “Dahin, dahin,” cried he, pointing with his finger to the southward, “where the gold orange blooms. There would I wander too.”
“You'll not forget me, Hanserl?” said the young girl, kindly.
“Over the great Alps and away!” said Hans, still talking to himself; “over the high snow-peaks which cast their shadows on our cold land, but have terraces for the vine and olive-garden, yonder! Thou 'It leave us, then, Fraulein?”
“But for a little while, Hans, to come back afterwards and tell thee all I have seen.”
“They come not back from the sunshine to the shade,” said Hans, solemnly. “Thou 'It leave not the palace for the peasant's hut; but think of us, Fraulein; think sometimes, when the soft sirocco is playing through thy glossy hair; when sounds of music steal over thy senses among the orange groves, and near the shadows of old temples, think of this simple Fatherland and its green valleys. Think of them with whom thou wert so happy, too! Splendor thou mayst have it is thy beauty's right; but be not proud, Fraulein. Remember what Chamisso tells us, 'Das Noth lehrt beten,' 'Want teaches Prayer,' and to that must thou come, however high thy fortune.”
“Kate will be our own wherever she be,” said Nelly, clasping her sister affectionately to her side.
“Bethink thee well, Fraulein, in thy wanderings, that the great and the beautiful are brethren of the good and the simple. The cataract and the dewdrop are kindred. Think of all that teaches thee to think of home; and remember well, that when thou losest the love of this humble hearth thou art in peril. If to any of thy childish toys thou sayest 'Ich Hebe dich nicht mehr,' then art thou changed indeed.” Hans sat down upon his little bed as he spoke, and covered his face with his hands.
Nelly watched him silently for a few seconds, and then with a gentle hand closed the door and led Kate away.