Chapter IX

"A long, long time since that voice was heard,
The only one my heart has stirred.
Nothing has thrilled it quite the same,
As the voice for which I long in vain."
--FROM THE GERMAN.

A young woman is hurrying with quick steps through the wintry streets. She has approached the Kahring mansion; but instead of ascending the broad, beautiful entrance, she glides through the garden and up the narrow, little steps in the rear, asking, upon answer to the bell:

"Is Fraulein Theodora Von Kahring at home?"

The servant bows assent, and the lady hastens forward as one to whom the place is familiar.

It is Sibylla who enters Theodora's room, evidently not for the first time, as her words of greeting plainly show that Theodora is an intimate friend. Hastily throwing off her wraps, she draws a low stool close to Theodora's sewing-table, and says without further ceremony:

"Do you think every girl should marry in order to be happy?"

Sibylla might have found the answer in Theodora's clear, pleasant face; but the latter looked up smilingly, and said:

"Are you happy in your present condition?"

"No."

"And do you think that an outward change would, of itself, make you so?"

"No."

"I have often," continued Theodora, "endeavored to answer your question, and I have come to the conclusion that an unmarried woman's life need not be joyless because she is single, any more than the life of a woman will be happy on account of having a husband."

"You also think," exclaimed Sibylla, "that the blame lies in myself if I am restless and dissatisfied?"

Theodora hesitated to reply; but Sibylla laid her head on her friend's lap, and said:

"You need not answer; I know all."

It was very still in the room. Did an angel's wings rustle through it?

Then Sibylla talked softly about experiences which her proud heart had never revealed; of her home life; of her mamma, who, although so old, could not pass a single day without some pleasurable excitement; of the throng of visitors that wearied her, and yet must be tolerated because solitude was worse, and they at least amused her; of her discernment of people's follies, which she despised while concealing it; of coming home evenings with a troubled conscience, reading Thomas á Kempis, and praying sometimes; concluding with:

"I can do no more, but it does not relieve me."

Theodora laughed:

"Can not you bring out of your company something better?"

"What then?"

"Discern the good," said Theodora; "for society people also have good, noble sides to their character, and a word is often only necessary to open to us these closed-up treasures."

Sibylla shook her head.

"Society people are all so superficial."

"Or appear so to you," interrupted Theodora. "How do you appear, and what do you give to them? I have heard that Fraulein Von Herbig is the loveliest, happiest of women to count many conquests among gentlemen as a reward for her coquetry. So, you see, there lies a mask upon every one in society, and even the best may not show very often his true self in this circle." After a pause Theodora continued: "Still another thing may be learned here--compassion for the weaknesses of people, compassion which strives to show itself in helpful deeds."

Sibylla winced. To do something--really to do, to bring sacrifice! That a Theodora might accomplish, whose most agreeable employment seemed to be able to supply a need. A flood of thoughts passed over Sibylla; feelings asserted themselves whose existence had always been disclaimed. Suddenly she asked Theodora:

"Have you ever loved?"

A slight blush suffused Theodora's face; she understood the question.

"Could you love?" pressed Sibylla.

"Never--or always," was the answer.

"Tell me your life-history," entreated Sibylla; and, to her own astonishment, the reticent Theodora complied with this wild girl's request, who, half kneeling before her, looked up with her great eyes full of expectation.

"This will be only for you to know," said Theodora.

Sibylla assented, as one that could be trusted.

"Do not expect any detailed story," began Theodora. "I will tell you in a few words how it happened that my life is so different from the rest of our fashionable family. I know you must have often wondered at it.

"I am my father's eldest child. I have never known my mother, as she died soon after my birth. My father traveled extensively, and I was intrusted to the care of a French _bonne_. When I was six years old my father married again; then there was a mamma, and after a time two children, Arnold and Eugenie. I can tell you very little about my childhood. I believe I was a kind of home-body, who continually bemothered her sister and brother. It is unnecessary to speak of our home-life, except that I often envied Arnold and Eugenie their mother's love; for while she was always good to me, I felt that I stood alone. I had my little troubles, but I need not weary you with them; suffice to say my life and prospects were not the happiest. There were questions I could never answer, since the things that most persons prized as the highest good were worthless to me, and my mind, guided by no careful hand, often struggled beyond the boundary restricted to women, and I knocked boldly at portals which opened only to the wisdom of men.

"Thus I grew to young womanhood. A keen thirst for action possessed me, and as it found no outlet in external channels, it reverted to study. I studied with a real burning hunger. I was soon distinguished as a scholar, although I did not deserve it, and more and more recognized how little I knew. But in spite of all my acquired knowledge, there was a longing in my soul which never was satisfied. Then came--you shall soon know all--a young tutor in the family to give me instruction in a particular branch. Mamma was always opposed to this; but papa wished to gratify me. Sibylla, this young man looked into my being, and saw there a poor soul, which, despite its struggles and acquisitions, cried out for a delivering answer. He gave this answer. We continued in our position of teacher and pupil; but suddenly there beamed forth from nature, as well as from science, an answer to my unexpressed queries: this answer was God.

"For the first time I learned that Christianity was not in dogmas and forms, but in its life. I learned that a deep Christ-like contemplation of the world elevates to god-like things, that it even awakens and nourishes spirituality in the most unattractive occurrences of every-day life. I recognized that Christianity holds out to us the highest prospect for the future, and that it also teaches us to be diligent in making a proper use of the opportunities afforded us in the present.

"Sibylla, I learned all this; but I learned still more. My youth spread her wings, and flew joyously heavenward. I loved, and I was beloved. Not a word had been spoken; but there was that secret outgoing of one soul toward another, in which we find the harmony of our deepest, innermost life. One day my parents informed me that my studies must be discontinued, as my teacher had asked for my hand. I declared simply that I loved him. He was poor, but his salary at the university would have amply supported us, if we had married; but it must not be.

"Let me pass over what followed. His teachings would have been in vain, if I had not learned to obey the Fifth Commandment. I did not see him again."

"Never?" cried Sibylla.

"Not for a long time. He resigned his position at the university, and accompanied a gentleman to Austria. I never heard from him. O, Sibylla! the conflict in my heart was a terrible one. I desired to do wholly what was my duty, and God helped me, and even gave me new love to my relatives. But one thing I have never done; in this point I could not obey my parents: I could never promise love and fidelity to any other man. But we will come to the end. Three years passed, when there came a letter from one of the city hospitals, it announced that I must hasten thither, as a dying patient desired to see me. I was at home alone. Leaving a note to my father, inclosing the one I had received, I wrote that I might not return home that night. I ordered the carriage. O, Sibylla! I was so restful, not morbidly so, but full of peace. I found my beloved, dying. He had been ill a long time, and had returned to Berlin to die--at home. Home? He had no relatives on earth; but where I was, there was his earthly home. I remained at his side all night. He never lost consciousness for a moment; could speak but little, but he kept his faith to the end, and I was permitted to see with my own eyes how faith in the only begotten Son of God is the victory that vanquishes even death.

"When morning dawned he was in his eternal home. Gladly would I have remained at the hospital to undertake the self-denying, self-sacrificing duties of a deaconess if it had been offered to me. It would have given a purpose to my life; but this was not to be. Still my parents allowed me, thereafter, to conform my life more in accordance with my own will, and I sought from without a mission which was denied me at home. One treasure I held in my hands. My beloved had bequeathed to me all his spiritual effects--such as essays, letters, his journal, etc.--and I learned much from these. He had a rich soul--rich in love toward every one that needed help.

"I was ill for a year after; no heart sickness--my soul had peace in God--but a physical ailment, which was followed by a painful surgical operation. This remaining scar, I bless God for it, excuses me from the burdens of society life, and I can live quietly here in my little sunny back room, and last Summer I was enabled to enter, as assistant, the hospital which is so full of associations to me. My life is now full of work, but it is also full of joy and happiness--O, full of deep and grateful heart-felt happiness!"

It had grown dark in the room. Sibylla's head lay in Theodora's lap. As she remained quiet and unresponsive, Theodora exclaimed playfully: "She is really asleep!" Lightly stroking her face, she felt it wet with tears.

When the lamp was lighted, Sibylla took a sudden leave, with a sincere "Thank you, thank you;" and before Theodora could hinder it, she imprinted a warm kiss on her hands.

Sibylla read late that evening Goethe's "Knowledge of a Beautiful Soul," and she could not help thinking that Theodora, really and truly, had just such a beautiful soul.