Chapter VI (3)

"It would almost appear that I really have been so fortunate, as to hit upon a humaner mood. If you would but listen to reason, adored Mamsell, you would find that the varmint, Peter Lars--"

At the same moment he found himself firmly seized by the collar, and thrust aside with a sudden jerk of a resolute woman's hand.

In the darkness, he fell over a chair, and got his feet entangled among the bed-curtains; foaming at the mouth with rage and hate, he freed himself, and rose; but the bolt had been withdrawn, and the girl had flown.

She flew downstairs, and went straight into her brother-in-law's room, waked him;--for as he lay on the sofa he seemed to have had the relief of a short nap;--and told him what had happened. He rose in agitated anger, took his burning candle, and went upstairs to her room with her. But the room was empty. The little miscreant had escaped; In the whole house there was not a trace of him to be found. The Meister called up old Christel, bid her search carefully in every nook and corner, and on no account whatever to open the door, if he should come back at a later hour. Next morning he should be dismissed in form. Then he asked after Walter, and growled when he heard that he had not yet come home; paced up and down with angry gesticulation, heavily dragging his lame leg after him, till at last he limped downstairs again, leaving his light behind him, without saying one word to Helen, who had been standing silent in the middle of the room.

As soon as ever she found herself alone again, she bolted herself in, with trembling hands, and sank upon a chair by her bedside, pressing her face into her pillows, that she might neither hear nor see a single object that reminded her of the disgraceful scene she had just gone through. After a time the dead stillness of the house brought more calm to her agitated spirit, and quieted the blood that coursed so wildly through her veins.

She rose and looked all through the room again, to convince herself that she really was by herself. There was a recess where she kept her dresses, closed by a curtain, and there he must have stood; she shivered again as she saw the crumpled folds. To rid herself of the odious recollection, she took down a book from her bookshelves, and settled herself with it in a corner of the sofa. But to read it was not so easy, she could not fix her scared ideas to the black letters before her.

She found it insufferably hot and close in that small room, but she feared to stir out of it in case of another ambush. She put down her book, took off the dress that confined her movements, and felt relieved as she walked up and down, with uncovered neck and arms, plaiting up her long dark hair for the night.

Her candle was placed so near the glass, that she might have seen herself quite easily; only her eyes were fixed upon the floor, and her thoughts were far away.

In this manner more than an hour elapsed, and her weariness began to warn her, that it was time to seek some rest, when the door of the adjoining room was cautiously opened, and she heard a light step cross it, and a knock at her bolted door. After the first thrill of momentary terror, the recollection came, that the house had been shut up, the miscreant flown, and Walter not come home.

"Is that you Christel?" she called through the door. A very subdued "yes" came back to her. The old servant often used to come to her before going to bed, to consult her in some kitchen dilemma. Without farther demur, Helen unbolted the door--It was Walter who stood before her in the darkness of the doorway.

"It is I;" he stammered, with a beseeching, almost frightened glance; both faces turned crimson in a moment.

"Helen!" he began again, and she started when she heard him call her by her Christian name. She felt his moody eager eyes upon her. In the dress in which she now stood before him, she might have appeared in any ballroom; only it had never so happened that he had occasion to see her in any other than in her dark high morning-dresses of almost conventual cut.

"What brings you here?" she asked in a tone of cool severity, that was to serve as a mask to the emotion within. "How could you so mislead me? Could not you have told me it was you? Go now, at once. This is no hour for conversation."

He did not move, but stood gazing at her white shoulders, as if they had been a vision. With ready tact, she felt that it was now too late to cover them with a shawl, while a retreat towards the darker part of the room, would have been an insult to herself.

"Do you hear me?" she repeated, in a tone he could not but obey; "I choose to be alone just now. Any thing you can have to say to me, must keep. I am more vexed than you seem to be aware of. To think that _you_ could deceive me! If it should happen again, we two are parted."

His eyes fell before her angry looks, and then she turned away abruptly, and went back to the table, as though he had been already gone, and he did go. She heard him gently shut the door, and slowly walk across the adjoining room.

Before the last lingering step had died away, she was already steeped in the bitterness of remorse and self-rebuke. She had condemned him without a hearing. She called up the mute reproach of those mournful eyes that had been gazing on her, and pictured to herself what he had felt, when she had dismissed him thus. That day had separated them more than they had ever been before. He had not been able to go to sleep without talking it over, as they had always done. Now he had come innocently to her door, and had answered her enquiry without thinking--certainly without meaning mischief, and he had been sent away like a detected culprit; expiating, unawares, the outrage of another man, an hour before.

She found it so intolerable to be alone with this remorse, that she fastened on her dress again, took up her light, and went into the sitting-room.

She would have liked best to go straight up to his garret-room, to excuse the flightiness of her temper, and to beg him to forget it and forgive her, but from this, on reflection, she desisted. She would rather go downstairs to old Christel, she thought, and speak to her about some household matters; for which, to be sure, there was no hurry, but she was yearning for the sound of some familiar human voice.

When she came to the landing place, she was not a little startled at seeing Walter sitting in the dark, on the upper steps, leaning his head upon both his hands. She could not be certain whether he was awake, or had fallen asleep; for he did not move when the door opened behind him. She set down her candlestick upon the top of the banisters, and in a moment she was seated by his side on the steps; he lifted up his head, and made a movement, as if he would have risen and taken flight.

"I beg your pardon," he said; "I hardly know myself, how I came to be sitting here; but I will go upstairs directly--"

"Stop one moment; pray do!" she whispered softly; "I am so glad to find you here; I had no peace after I had been so cross to you. Forgive me;--this has been an agitating day to me in many ways; there have been many things to pain me, and I made you suffer, poor dear, for what you could not help."

He did not answer, but looked straight before him over the dark staircase.

"Are you really angry with me?" she asked; he shook his head. "Angry with you, I never _could_ be, he said mournfully.

"What was it that made you come to me so late?" she began again, after a short silence. "You wanted something, that I saw by your face, only just then, I was in such perplexity about my own affairs, as to seem cross and indifferent to those of others. Would you like to talk to me now?"

"What good would that do? I shall hear it quite soon enough?"

"Hear what?"

Still no answer; only when she said: "I do believe you are seriously vexed with me," it came out at last. "Is it true," he murmured, with averted face; "is it true that you are going to be married to that man?"

She started; a new sensation, strangely sweet, thrilled to her heart. She laughed, as we do laugh, to ourselves, when we are quite alone, at the memory of some delicious moment in the past; of happy love--of brilliant triumph--of success in some feat of our boyish days. What it was that delighted her so much, she could scarcely have defined.

"What makes you think such silly things?" she asked, completely returning to their old footing; "don't you know I shall never be going to be married to any man? When one has had a great big boy to educate, and just got him out of the roughest rudiments, one really has no time for other people; and who would thank me for bringing them such an unruly step-son? Who put these fancies into your head?"

He told her; and they sate there side by side, for some minutes, without saying anything.

"No, indeed, my dear boy," she began at last, in a tone of singular solemnity; "I never mean to go and leave you, for the sake of any human creature living. It is no sacrifice on my part; and you owe me nothing for it. I should have to chain up my own heart first of all, were I ever to settle down to any other mode of life, _any_ life in which you were not the first and foremost. I have felt this for years, and shall never feel otherwise probably as long as I live. But for you, there must, of necessity, come a time, when the claims of your little mother will have to be reduced by half; when she will have to content herself with only a duty share in your thoughts and feelings; lucky if she does not fare worse, and be stowed away in the lumber-room of memory, like an antiquated piece of furniture. Don't you contradict me; I know well enough what I have to expect, and a true mother never thinks of herself. All mothers have to bear the same, and the best way to bear it, is with a brave face; and now, away with care! For the present, I am yours, and you are mine; and as far as I am concerned, nothing shall ever part us. I give you my word, and here is my hand upon it, and now--let us go to bed, and sleep upon it."

She rose, and he mechanically did the same. When she stood at the top of the staircase, and he a few steps lower, she just reached to the tall stripling's forehead; she threw her arms tenderly about his neck.

"You are not to get into the habit of that ugly frown, mind that!" she said caressingly; "frowns don't become you, and you have no reason to frown on life like any old grumpy misanthrope--such a spoiled creature as you may well afford to laugh,--smooth away, I pray, all these precocious wrinkles; and now, my son, good night!" She kissed him softly on the forehead, and passed her hand lightly over his tangling curls. Then, taking up her candle, she glided back into her own room.

* * * * *

The night that followed on such an eventful day, brought Helen both repose and sleep. She believed her difficulties to be overcome, and her troubles postponed for years at least. But she would hardly have looked so cheerfully after Walter, as he walked away to his day's work at the Burgermeister's Villa, had she known that he had not been able to close his eyes till morning.

In painting that saloon, he was destined to have no assistance but that of the two boys: the Meister being confined to his room, and Peter Lars nowhere to be found. It was rumoured that he had been seen at the "Star." It appeared to be his plan to stay away, and let himself be missed so long as to be received with thanks, and not with abuse, when he did come back at last. However the Meister seemed quite disposed to do without him, gave Walter his instructions, wrote to the capital for more assistance, and sent the truant's things after him to the Star, without wasting any words upon the subject.

Thus a few days elapsed. The atmosphere of the house was lowering; never a laugh now, nor a gay word. These three inmates--for Helen too, had begun to wear a graver face--lived on together, without exchanging more than a necessary word. When Walter came home in the evening--for he did not even leave his work for dinner--he would swallow down the food that had been kept for him, and then go straight to his room, on plea of fatigue, regardless of the questions asked by poor Helen's melancholy eyes. She well knew that if he left her, it was not to go to bed; for in the morning she always found his light burned down.

And if he left home weary, it was not from over-eagerness to get to his work. The villa was situated at about two miles' distance from the town, just where the forest began and the country became more undulated. It had originally been built as a ducal shooting-box. It had passed through the hands of numerous owners--through some very careless ones; and at last, in a farmer's, had been turned to more profitable purposes. When the Burgermeister bought it, he found it dignified to boast that he had a mere country-seat--a villa that cost so much and rented nothing; and so he decided on having it entirely renovated in the original style, and on opening the gardens to the admiration of the public in the summer season. The distance was no more than a pleasant walk for the townspeople. Yet Walter had been known to take two hours to it and more. The boy apprentices enjoyed a game of ball in the shell-gallery, or a little mischief in the gardens; while their young taskmaster, in his meditations, loitered about among the leafless glades, until the sun, darting into every nook and thicket, would rise so high, as to remind him that he had been sent there in some other capacity than that of overseer to the building of the birds'-nests.

Then he would hurry back to the house, scare the lads with a harshness they had never seen in him before, and fall as violently to work as though he meant to do in a day, or in half a day, what would be the work of weeks. But he would soon let his brush drop, and sit motionless upon the scaffolding, staring at some vacant spot on the opposite wall, where his fancy had conjured up a charming vision--a pensive face, and the turn of a graceful head resting on snowy shoulders, a pair of admirably moulded arms, of that smooth pearly white, which art so rarely renders, and is but too apt to turn the head of the artist who attempts it.

Almost half the week had been spent in this desultory way, when one morning the Meister called up Walter, and believing the ceiling of the shell-gallery to be finished, all except the centre-piece, he gave him an old engraving to sketch in with charcoal in the necessarily increased proportions. The Meister proposed to be there before twelve o'clock, to see if the sketch would do. It was an engraving after Claude Lorraine, with some architecture in the foreground, set off by a group of lofty trees. As for the sunrise in the background, that, the Meister thought, he should like to do himself.

Walter set off with far more alacrity than usual. His task allured him; frequent practice had made him quick at landscape-drawing, whereas he always preferred to leave the figures to his comrades.

The ceiling had been originally planned with a centre-piece of allegorical figures; but, of course, since Peter Lars' defection, that was not to be thought of now.

Walter was just thinking of this disagreeable personage, and rejoicing in his absence, when he heard a voice behind him, and looking round, he saw the very man coming after him at a brisk pace. He stopped, and waited for him with an instinct of vague curiosity. He wanted to discover why he had been so suddenly turned off--he had heard no particulars.

The black-faced little fellow, who was walking along in full travelling trim, with staff and knapsack, appeared to be in his happiest mood; his pursed-up lips wore their sliest sneer, with even more decided mischief in it than usual. His eyebrows were drawn up to his cap, and as he called after Walter, his voice sounded like the treble tones of a chaffing boy.

"You are the very man I wanted to see;" he began, even before he had come up with him. "Scheiden und meiden thut weh!--partings are grievous, you know; and though I could have done all my partings with my principal in writing, well enough, I wished to take leave of you, for I had a thing or two to tell you, that would not have done quite so well in a letter. So if your people did not forbid you to contaminate yourself with an outlawed miscreant like myself, I will walk your way with you a bit."

"As you please; but tell me what you did, Peter, to bring things to such a sudden crisis?"

"Did? pshaw! a piece of nonsense! I was a donkey, my very dear and very proper young friend, as, of course, you have heard--unless perhaps they did not tell you, lest evil communications should corrupt good manners."

"The chief thing, I suppose, I do know," said Walter reddening. He only knew what old Christel had told him; viz., that Peter had come home drunk, and been disrespectful to Helen.

"The chief thing!" sneered Peter; "a pretty chief thing to make a row about! I have done many such chief things, and more to the purpose, in my life, and not a cock crowed after me. If I had not been such a confounded ass as to let myself be found out too soon, and get kicked out like a mangy hound _before_ I had got what I came for, I could have laughed in my sleeve, even if they did kick me out _after_. As it is, I have made a fool of myself for nothing--got blown up and turned off, while others remain behind to laugh at me as I deserve. Eh! why don't you laugh. Propriety? You see _I_ laugh at my own clumsiness!"

"I don't see what there is to laugh at," said Walter coldly; for he bitterly repented of having suffered this little villain to walk by his side.

"Don't, then," he said jeeringly; "Milksop that you are!--You have a spirit that is as blond as your head, and as your mother's was, when she suffered herself to be so taken in--"

"Fellow!" cried Walter, flaring up with sudden passion; "if ever I hear my mother's name on your lips,--" and he held his strong fist in the wizened face of his tormentor, who stood still with a look of defiance.

"Softly, old boy, take it coolly," he said. "There are moments, I am aware, when even the sweetest milk is apt to turn sour; but never mind; I don't see what I should gain by quarrelling with you before I go. You always treated me fairly--like a gentleman, I may say; for our principal I was a mere machine; for our adorable Mamsell a toad; you were the only person in the house who treated me as a fellow-creature; and so, old fellow, I mean to do you a good turn before I go. When all the rest are abusing me, you can say: 'Well, poor devil, he was not so bad a fellow after all!'"

"Come to the point;" said Walter, losing patience; "I have work to do."

"Work, have you? Ah! poor dear, I dare say. Now you have to be first and last; man-of-all-work, and Jack-of-all-trades, until the Meister finds another Peter Lars--if he ever does--or ever looks for one. When the old screw took you in, out of Christian charity, of course he had no idea that you could ever grow up to be a man, and do the work of two, and earn him a mint of money. Oh, no!--not he! he never dreamed of such a thing! I say, has he ever increased your wages? or is my young gentleman too high for such low ideas?"

"What are you driving at? what do you mean by all this nonsense?" cried Walter, out of patience. "What can it signify to you, if my foster-father--"

"Foster-father!" echoed the other, while his eyes were dancing with malicious mirth. "Well, for a foster-father, perhaps, it might be fair enough; but when we come to think of what a real father will do for a son, we can't say much for what he has done for you--especially when we consider what he ought to have done for your mother, that he left undone."

Here he looked Walter full in the face. The young fellow stood before him with heaving chest and quivering nostril, in fearful agitation. He staggered back, and leaned against one of the trees that formed the avenue. With a shriek of sardonic laughter: "Ha! is it possible?" he cried, "just look at him! he really has no suspicion how things stand! Ha! sancta simplicitas!--well, it was your luck that made me stop a day or two at the 'Star', and lay hold of that old fellow of a porter, who used to be in the Meister's service. I made him tell me the whole story; and, but for me, this pretty pattern of a helpless orphan might have lived to threescore-and-ten, without being so wise as to know its own father!"

Walter still stood thunderstruck--his lips moved, but his voice failed him.

"What makes the boy stand there, turning to stone, as though he had just heard the trumpet sound for the judgment day? I say, don't you go on being the soft chap you are, that anybody can take and twist to their own purposes. You open your eyes, and look sharp, and take what rightfully belongs to you. Take my advice--maintain your place in the world in a proper manner, even if you did come into it in a manner that may be called less proper.

"Come, let us be walking. I have a long way to go, and feel a most desperate desire to get out of sight of that den of Philistines behind us."

"Peter!" said Walter, struggling painfully to recover his composure; "Is there more in what you have just been telling me, than mere talk and gossipping nonsense?"

"Ask the old one, if you don't believe me. Ha! shouldn't I like to see his face, when you come upon him unawares, and call him 'Dad!' And I tell you it is all as true, and as well proved as twice two. And if you had not been really as great a baby as they took such pains to make you, you would have put this and that together, and worked out your little reckoning years ago. I did, for one, as soon as ever I put my nose into the house. I sometimes tried to give you a hint; and just because you took no notice, 'Aha!' thinks I, 'he knows all about it, and makes believe not to; and of course he has his reasons.'

"Besides, one has only to look at you two together to say--that is the block, and this the chip. The same long limbs, the same build--put you in the same clothes, and look at you from behind, and not one man in ten could say which was which. Of course, what is grown dark and grey and grizzled in him, is carried out in pink and white and yellow with you--the colouring must have been your mother's; and a deuced pretty woman she was, the old porter says. He saw her once, not long before she died; he had to take some money to her--on the sly, of course; since then he has never been able to forget her, he says, and that his master felt so spooney about her, he can't wonder at; far rather, that he could give her up, and marry the wife he did--our charming Mamsell's sister, you know; the two sisters were totally different in everything--except the tin, which was the same. I rather think the Meister must have had a try at the younger sister first, and been rejected; she was a haughty 'Froelen' even then, you see; and so he turned to the other sister, who was neither haughty nor handsome, and so she took him. However, I suppose she wouldn't, if she had but known of your own sweet self--you were just beginning to run about in your first little boots--and had known that her precious husband used, as often as he could get away, to go and have a peep at his former family about three or four times a year, on his business journeys. It was all kept so cosy, that not a soul ever heard of it. A sly fox your governor was--excuse the candour of the remark. But sly he must have been in this business, if you really did live so long without ever having smelt a rat; and in other respects you are as quick a lad as may be. His wife, however, somehow or other, in time did smell it, and hunted it down, and there was the devil to pay and all, as you may fancy. She kept the keys of the strong box, so of course it lay in her power to stop his business-travelling, and she did. More fool she! for it could not tend to improve his temper, you know; and at last, when a letter came--was it a letter, or the porter?--to say that your mother was ill and dying, and past recovery, you can imagine that the governor was not disposed to stand on ceremony. He started off alone, and did not come back for three weeks and more; he had not written either--what could he have written about her illness to his wife? Of course, the worst news of the one, were the best to the other. However, he did come back at last; and she might have lived in peace now that the other woman was dead and buried; only she couldn't. And there was the greatest row of all when one day he came home and surprised her with a little present--orphan or foundling, or whatever he was pleased to call you,--she might be as fractious as she would, the child was there, and there was nothing to be done but to be cruel to it.

"And this she honestly did, to her heart's content, as you know best yourself. The governor was forced to let two and two make five; he was seldom at home, and you were a soft chap then, it seems, as you are now, and you made no resistance, nor ever even complained of her. At last the old porter could stand the thing no longer; and so he spoke up, and told her it was a shame, and not the poor brat's fault if his mother had pleased his father better than such a vixen could. Of course she made the house too hot to hold him, and he said he felt glad to go, for he could not bear to see a child so knocked about.

"It appears the Meister felt the same, and so he wrote to his sister-in-law to come and stay with them. His wife was ill with spite and rage, and things in the house went topsy-turvy. Well, and so our adorable Helen came, and what she did, I need not tell you. So there it is; and it is a special satisfaction to me"--and he gave a sneering laugh--"that I got hold of Johann, and warmed him with a bottle of Bordeaux, till he let the cat out of the bag. It was a fair trick to play to that old screw.

"You can act upon it as you please; but I know, if I stood in your shoes, I should not let myself be treated like a fatherless beggar, and fed on charity. I would speak up and take another tone. He should send me to travel, I know; with something in my pockets to chink as I went along, to do or to leave undone, what I pleased. What business had he to go and sell your mother for any amount of money-bags whatever? If he did, I should expect the money bags to pay me for it."

With this they had reached the forest Walter never spoke a word; breathing hard, he strode away as if Lucifer were at his heels. The dwarf kept up with him, waving about his stick, and gesticulating with grimaces so grotesque, as would have made any other companion laugh. Now he stood still at a spot where the roads diverged, lifted his cap, and turned round, for a last look at the little town he was leaving.

"I am truly thankful, that we definitively quarrelled, the Meister and I, and did not make it up. Do you know, I actually did demean myself so far as to write him a note this morning, with the conditions on which I would have consented to return to him. For that he must miss me sorely, no one can deny. So without ceremony, I wrote. I _may_ have been too free and easy, and thawed too fast. But he certainly gave me back as good as he got; for you know, when he is in the vein, he can write and talk like Buonaparte; let him!--If I did knock under, it was for the miserable reason that I could not find it in my heart to part from our charming Mamsell, for all her abuse and scorn.

"Bah! when once I am away from her; I shall come to my senses soon enough. But what I wanted to say to you, my boy, was this: follow my example, do as I do, and cut your chalks. You have no reason to fear that she will treat you ill; far more reason to fear the contrary.

"Do you know that she has given warning to her dangling lawyer?--and do you know why? I will tell you; simply because she is smitten by those two forget-me-nots of yours; and as you happen to be a spoon, you may take your oath that some fine day you will inevitably be sold--that is, married. You may stare if you like, and write me down an ass, if it be not as I tell you. It would be a pity; for, after all, she is your aunt; if not exactly, still she is old enough to be; and by the time you are a man in your prime, like me, she will be a withered old thing, and the very devil for jealousy, and you will have to sit by the chimney-corner all your life, instead of seeing the world and enjoying life while you are young, as every man ought to do.

"If I had been able to get her, I suppose I should have repented; but then I was madly in love with her, which you are not. With you it would have become a habit, if you go on as you are doing now.

"Well, well, no doubt you will cut your wisdom-teeth, at last. Think on my words, my boy, for I wish you well. Heavens and earth! what a face!--Have I upset you so by helping you to find a father?--and by no means, let me tell you, the worst father you could have;--not by a great deal, though I certainly have no reason to speak well of him. And now fare thee well! old boy, and carry back my compliments to those Philistines in their den. If we should chance to meet again somewhere or other, knocking about the world, I hope I shall find you a trump: give us a parting fist."

He held out his hand, but Walter did not take it; he continued staring vacantly before him and did not move a finger. With a volley of parting imprecations, half vicious and half facetious, Peter Lars twirled his stick, and went sauntering on his way, whistling.

The state in which this dark spirit left the blond, is not to be described. But the tumult of Walter's mind arose from such conflicting sources, that the one appeared to balance the other, and to produce a sort of silent stupefaction; only here and there, a word or two stood out from the chaos, and sounded after all, more strange than ominous.

He sometimes thought his comrade had amused himself by stringing together his own fanciful speculations, which in no way concerned him, and that the best thing he could do would be to laugh at and forget them.

He walked on, therefore, through the forest very cheerfully till he reached the villa; he entered the sunny gallery of which the great glass doors stood open to admit the mild spring-air, and having appointed the two boys their tasks, he climbed up to the scaffolding. He fastened the engraving before him, and proceeded without delay to sketch in the landscape on the white grounding. As before said, he was quick at architectural drawing, and very soon the temple stood out in correct proportions from the high elms and plane-trees that surrounded it.

Meanwhile, Peter Lars's disclosures had lain dormant in his mind, in a sort of unconscious twilight. But when he had finished his temple, and began to wonder whether the Meister would be pleased with it, he suddenly recollected that the Meister had promised to come out himself, and see what he had been doing. Yes, he would come--presently he would walk in by that door----how should he address him?--how call him?--Meister, as before?

The blood rushed to his forehead, and danced before his eyes. He sat down upon the ladder, and covered his face with his hands. He recalled his past life, and wondered what it would turn to now. Every one of those words of Peter Lars recurred to him--he could have put down every syllable in writing--in characters cut deep into his heart. He read them over again from beginning to end--and the end made him hesitate. What he had said of Helen appeared improbable--inconceivable--impossible! Yet what could he remember to oppose to it?--how much rather in corroboration of these conclusions?--

His blood was hammering violently at his temples, he dropped the charcoal, for he could not hold it The deep depression of the first few moments began rapidly to give way to a feeling of rapture, to which he had almost given voice in a shout of ecstasy.

He looked down from his scaffolding, away over the sunny gardens, where the discolored turf was rapidly changing to green velvet, and the young leaves, still folded in their opening buds, were only waiting for one drop of rain to burst forth full length. He heard the singing-birds warbling in the transparent air, and under the roof of the semicircle that formed the gallery, he saw the swallows busy about their nests.

His mood was glad and tender; he no longer thought how he should meet his father; or how he should act in furtherance of his darling wish to turn his back on paintpot and plaster.

He saw nothing but her earnest face, now with an unwonted look of tenderness; and those ivory arms and shoulders; and heard her voice with that accent in which she had said, as she had kissed him on the forehead; "so spoiled a creature can afford to laugh."

He could not tell how long he had been dreaming, until the two boys reminded him that it was time to eat his dinner. And he let them eat it, and remained where he was. He wanted neither meat nor drink.

Presently he started violently, on hearing the old pensioner who kept the gardens, say in answer to somebody's question: "You will find Mr. Walter in the shell-gallery. I scarcely think he means to leave his work to-day, so long as the light lasts."

His knees shook as he got up; and all his self-possession left him at the thought that he was about to see his father for the first time, consciously.

Only it was not the heavy uneven gait he expected that he heard coming up the steps, though the eyes that looked up through the tall windows in search of him upon his scaffolding were not less familiar to him.

"Helen!" he cried. "What brings you here?" and running down the steps, he was by her side in a moment.

Never had he seen her look so charming. A rose on her cheek with the air and exercise--her dark hair blown back in slight disorder under her little hat; her eyes radiant with gaiety, a crimson handkerchief loosely tied about her throat, and on her arm, a basket carefully closed.

"No, no;" she said, as Walter attempted to take it from her; "that is to come afterwards, and is only to be considered as an appendix to my real mission. So first of all I must deliver myself of that: know therefore, Claude Lorraine and his temple and his sunrise are all to be thrown over, and your laudable labours of the morning wasted. It will all have to be rubbed out and done over again. The Burgermeister has just sent to say that he has other projects wherewith to astonish the weak minds of his admiring friends. They are to have Naples and the Mediterranean above their heads, and Vesuvius spouting lava over them. Of coarse the Meister was indignant at any man's presuming to meddle with his business; but you know his worship has his peculiar ideas about the fine arts, and a not so peculiar intolerance of contradiction. And then a most impudent letter from Peter Lars came to make the measure full; and this shock seems to have fallen on the Meister's limbs, so that he is quite unable to walk, or to come himself to look after you, as he proposed; so I said I would come instead, and tell you what I could--and, to-night, he will tell you the rest.

"So there is a truce for you, meanwhile; that is, as far as regards the ceiling. But I don't see, young sir, that you have been so very busy all this time--one or two of those Cupids I see over there have scarcely a leg to stand on, and there are many gaps among the shells and wreaths."

While her bright eyes were roving over the walls, he stood mute before her, lost in contemplation.

"You are not communicative this morning; I rather think curiosity concerning the contents of my little basket must have struck you dumb. Know then, that my sense of my maternal duties was too strong to let me set out on my diplomatic mission without having made a previous raid into the store-room; for though art may profess to live on bread and water, I never saw that it had any particular objection to meat and wine. And as I don't deny that my walk has made me hungry, we will proceed to explore our basket without farther ado. Only you must find a breakfast-table for us--where it does not smell of plaster and fresh paint, but rather, more seasonably, of spring violets. Let us walk through the gardens till we find a shady spot and a bench. Every other essential of an idyll is here already."

He laughed, though he did not seem to have heard; he answered half shyly, half absently, in monosyllables.

As they walked down the steps of the gallery together, the greybearded pensioner doffed his cap and nodded, with a sort of complacency and paternal admiration of the handsome young couple, that made the young man flush to his temples, as though he had heard the most hidden secrets of his heart proclaimed from all the tree-tops.

He walked beside his companion without offering her his arm. He had silently possessed himself of the basket, in spite of her resistance; and she had slung her hat upon her arm in its place.

"It is not yet time for the sun to be dangerous," she said, and looked steadily upwards at it; her face was radiant with unwonted gaiety.

"Don't we feel as if we had broken loose from prison," she said, "when once we fairly escape from the town? A person who has always lived in such a place as this need never grow old, I fancy--or at least, never feel old, which would be the same thing. In fact, if I were not ashamed of myself in the face of that venerable warrior, I feel as if I could begin to dance, even at, my advanced age; the birds would make a charming band."

"Come then and try," he said; "what would be the harm of it?--The avenue is smooth enough."

She shook her head. "Breakfast first, and then, not play, but work; I have so much to do at home, and have done nothing; the house is an abomination to look at"--He did not press her farther, and hardly ventured to look at her as they walked along together under the high trees.

They did not meet a soul, the grounds were running wild; the Burgermeister had quarrelled with the gardener over the projected improvements, and dismissed him; so there had been a sudden stoppage, and there were traces of this stoppage everywhere. But this unbroken solitude made the place all the more enjoyable.

They came to a halt before a running stream that had been expanded to an artificial lake. A wooden bridge had led across it to a little island, where swans were kept, and a hermitage had been built beneath a group of tall ash-trees. This bridge was to have been carried away and replaced by a new one, but by the time the first half of his intentions had been carried out, his worship dispatched a counter-order; and at present there was no way of getting to the island but by a single plank loosely thrown across the bridge posts. Helen was perplexed.

"I don't trust myself to cross," she said; "though I think that plank would carry me; but I am afraid it would make me giddy."

"The swan is sitting;" he said, half to himself; "it is pretty to see her; and then her mate, how he flaps his wings, and flies at any body who comes too near."

"Have you been over?"

"Often; it is quite safe; come, let me carry you."

"We shall both fall in," and she laughed; "let us rather give it up."

"Don't; I want to shew you the hut; and there is a table in it, where we might have our breakfast. You take hold of the basket, and leave the rest to me."

He had her already in his arms--he hardly felt her weight; but the loose plank swung and shook under his feet, and she clung to him with both her arms round his neck. He stopped in the middle of the rushing waters. "Suppose,"--he said, and his tone was strange;--"one, two, three, eyes shut, and a jump, and it would be over."

"Don't talk so wickedly," she whispered; and he felt how her heart was beating.--

When he had carried her over, he still held her high above the ground. "I should like to try how long I could carry you without being tired," said he. And she: "I can't say I should like to try anything of the kind. I have had seats that were more comfortable, and I only wish I were safe over on the other side again;--but here we are at the Hermitage. Suppose all the people who ever walked about under these trees, were all to appear at once, what a curious masquerade it would be!"

"I had rather do without them;" he said between his teeth.

"Still, those must have been strange times," she continued, in a contemplative mood; "Pigtails and powder, and trumpery dress swords; and with these they played at being hermits and Arcadian shepherds: Nature is sure to avenge herself; turn her out as often as you please, and she always slips in again, in some disguise or other."

"There are the swans;" and he pointed them out at some distance. She thought it a pretty sight to see the brooding mother placidly sitting upon her eggs, while her mate, in jealous haste, was vigilantly swimming his patrol all round the nest.

"Do you hear him? how he hisses and threatens?" asked Walter.

"Yes, and it makes me feel disquieted; almost as if he were agitated by human passion; and the contrast with the soft snow of his plumage makes it still more curious.--I could stand here and watch these creatures for hours together. Now let us go and sit in the hut, there is rain coming in those clouds."

And in fact the first large drops were falling; pattering upon the bark roof of the hut; they heard the sweet spring rain, and smelt it, with the scent of a thousand blossoms wafted to them through the little cobweb-curtained window; and as they sat on the only bench, eating their breakfast off the roughhewn table, they looked through the open door over the surface of the water all fretted and rippled by the rain. The birds had ceased their song; and the two sat silent, listening to the splashing and streaming above their heads.

"We can't even see to the other side," she said; "the rain is falling like a thick veil; shutting us out from the rest of the world--which would not be so great a loss after all."

"It looks as if we really were upon some desert island in the deep sea;" he said, gazing on the water; "I only wish that shore were really farther off; and that we were floating far away out of sight."

"A pretty Robinson you would make, to be sure, spoiled boy that you are!"

"Why?--have I not all I want here with me?"

"Yes, till we come to the bottom of the basket, and have emptied our one bottle; after that perhaps we might do battle to the poor swans, and prey upon their eggs; and then the comedy would be over, and the tragedy would begin. I read one, once, about a Count Ugolino, whom they threw into a deep dungeon, with his children, to be starved to death. But I don't think I should like to see it acted; still less, to take a part in it."

He kept his eyes fixed on the little glass she had brought with her, and had now filled for him.

"What man cares to sate his body," he murmured, "if his soul be famished? I should prefer the reverse; should not you?"

"I don't think I always understand you now--you sometimes say odd things."

"Drink out of this same glass then; and then, you know, you will be able to guess my thoughts." He held it towards her; his whole face was glowing, his eyes avoided hers, as they looked at him with surprised enquiry. She took the glass, but held it in her hand, without drinking.

"I wish it could really help one to guess them. There is a certain young man of my acquaintance, who used to have no secrets from me, and of late he has been a mystery with seven seals; but I doubt if the truth be really in this wine. I rather think----"

She stopped short, for a sudden perception began to dawn on her mind, though she could hardly trust herself to admit it. He had raised his eyes now, and was looking at her with wrapt gaze.

"Helen," he said, "when a man feels choking it is too late to ask him what strangles him? All I know is, that I shall have to go away, and leave you--"

"Go away! why, what are you thinking of?"

"You may well ask," he said, in a tone of desperation, without venturing to look up. "I only know too well, I cannot live without you."

His words thrilled to her very marrow, she held the wineglass unconsciously, without seeing how she was spilling the wine.

"That is not what I meant," she said. "What makes you talk so strangely?"

She would have risen, but he seized her hand so eagerly, that she dropped the glass.

"Do not go," he cried. "Oh! stay and listen to me! You must. I must talk so, because it is what I feel, and you must hear it, or it will kill me. All this time I have felt as if my heart were dead within me. To me there is nothing in the whole wide world but you. If this island were to float away, and carry us away where nobody could reach us, you know you would be mine and I yours to all eternity--you cannot deny that; and therefore what difference should the world make to us? Can all the talking and the gossipping in the world, make us one jot more happy or one jot more wretched? You have nobody to consider; I am what I always was--a penniless, homeless orphan; for if I have a father living, I have no desire to see him. Why should we go back to those people? We might cross the seas together; to any wilderness, where there is nobody to ask for baptismal certificates, or parish registers; and there we might be all in all to each other and be happy, and then we might afford to laugh at a world that would have grudged us our happiness."

He held her hand tight between both his own, while the words fell from his lips in burning haste, and his devouring eyes were fastened on her downcast lashes, or watching the quivering of her parted lips.

She could not speak; her brain was reeling, and her ears ringing. She could not distinguish every word, but his meaning went straight to her heart.

"Helen!" he cried, and dropping her hand, he caught her all trembling to his heart; lifting her from the ground, and covering her face with passionate kisses.

The intoxication that had so carried him away lasted but a second. With a violent effort, she tore herself from his arms, and stood breathless, facing him with flaming eyes. "No more!" she said. "Not another word! thank God rather, that I have sense enough left for both, to take your words for what they are, for the vagaries of an idle brain. Were I so foolish as to take this nonsense for downright earnest, you should never look upon my face again. But even a mother's indulgence has its bounds, and if ever you are seized with such another fit of madness in my presence, the last word will have been spoken between us two. I shall take good care, however, that you do not so easily forget yourself again. Hitherto I have forgiven many things; I trusted to the natural candour of your disposition. But I am afraid you are not much better than most young men of your age. I am sorry to believe it of you, both for yourself and me. But it serves me right, for supposing that ten years could be enough to know a man; even when one has brought him up oneself!"

He stood before her without being able to utter a single word. If the earth had opened and swallowed him up, it would have been a relief to him. In the tumult of his ideas, he tried in vain to make her words agree with all that he had seen and heard within the last few days; had he ventured to look at her, he might have had some suspicion of the struggle in her soul, while she was uttering those annihilating words.

"The rain is over;" she said after a pause, in a tone of complete indifference, "I must go."

He prepared to follow her.

"I can find my way without you;" she said; "now that I know that the plank is safe. Good-bye, Walter, you can send the basket by one of the boys."