Chapter XLII: Tobias Bachhuber (9)

"But believe me," continued the Sovereign, "we still are human beings; we would gladly give ourselves up to the impulse of the moment, and live without restraint with those whom we esteem. We must often sacrifice ourselves, and we experience moments when such sacrifices are very severe."

"But within the princely family itself these considerations do not apply," exclaimed Ilse. "The mutual intercourse of father and children, brothers and sisters,--these holy relations can never be disturbed."

A cloud came over the countenance of the Sovereign.

"Even they suffer in their exposed position. We do not live together; we see each other less alone, generally under the observation of others. Each has his special circle of interest, is influenced by those about him, who perhaps diminish his confidence in his nearest relations. You know my son; he has all the qualifications of a good, open-hearted man, but you will have observed how suspicious and reserved he has become."

Ilse forgot all caution, and again felt a little proud of being a confidante.

"Forgive me," she explained; "I have never found that. He is only bashful, and sometimes a little awkward."

The Sovereign smiled.

"You lately expressed an opinion with reference to what would be advantageous for his future. That he should for a time become acquainted with the management of a large family estate; it would undoubtedly be good for him to learn the work of a country gentleman by experience. Besides this, he is not happy at Court."

Ilse nodded.

"Have you also remarked that?" asked the Sovereign.

"I will give good advice for my Prince," thought Ilse, "even if it is not quite agreeable to him. May I venture to say," she said aloud, "that this is the best time of all. For he must learn, your Highness, the spring tilling, which is in full operation, so there must be no delay."

The Sovereign was much pleased with this zeal.

"It will not be easy to find a place," he said.

"Perhaps your Highness has an estate in the neighborhood where there is a small manor-house."

"Then he could come often to the city," replied the Sovereign sharply.

"That would not do," continued Ilse, eagerly. "He must first thoroughly know the work of the people, and for that be constantly in the fields."

"I could not find a better adviser," said the Sovereign, in excellent humor. "There is nothing in the vicinity that will answer; I have thought, however, of your father's estate."

Ilse started with surprise.

"But our mode of life is not adapted for the accommodation of a prince," she replied with reserve. "No, gracious Sovereign, the domestic arrangements of our family would not be suitable to the pretensions of the young man. I say nothing of other considerations which formerly never occurred to me, and which have first come home to me here. Therefore, if I may speak what I feel, I am of opinion that this, for many reasons, will not answer."

"It was only a thought," replied the Sovereign, good-humoredly. "The object may perhaps be attained without encroaching upon your father. It has been my wish," he continued, with chivalrous politeness, "to give you and your father a public proof of my esteem. I have special reasons for it." He looked significantly at Ilse, and she thought of the birthday of the Princess.

"I know the reason," she said softly.

The Sovereign drew his chair near.

"Your father has a large family?" he asked. "I have a vague recollection of having seen several rosy-cheeked boys about."

"They were my brothers," said Ilse, laughing; "they are handsome little fellows, gracious Sovereign, if I, as a sister, may praise them; they are at present somewhat uncouth, but good and clever. My Franz wrote to me only yesterday to beg me to greet your Highness for him. The little urchin thinks it is the right thing. Now, as I have the opportunity, I will show you the letter as he has written it; it is a stupid, childish message, but it comes from a good heart."

She felt in her pocket and brought forth a letter written in fair characters.

"See, your Highness, how well the child writes. But I must not show you the letter, for your Highness would find in it a confirmation of your opinion, that men have always selfish wishes in the background when they think of their princes. The poor boy also has his wish."

"Then let us have it," said the Sovereign.

Ilse showed him the letter; the Sovereign graciously took hold of the letter, and in doing so, his hand rested on hers.

"He is so barefaced as to ask your highness for an india-rubber ball. The ball is already bought."

She jumped up and brought a gigantic colored ball.

"This I shall send to him to-day, and I shall write to him that it is not seemly to beg of so great a personage. He is nine years old, but still very childish--your highness must forgive him."

Enchanted by this frank open-heartedness, the Sovereign said:

"Write to him, at the same time, that I wish to tell him he must endeavor to preserve through the dangerous paths of life the pure feeling and loyal spirit of his eldest sister. I also feel how great is the blessing of your character to all who have the happiness of breathing your atmosphere. In a course of life which is filled with harrowing impressions, in which hatred and suspicion take more from the peace of the soul than hours of repose can restore to it, I have still retained my susceptibility for the innocent freshness of a mind like yours. You give me genuine pleasure."

Again he laid his hand gently on hers; Ilse looked down confused at the praise of her dear Sovereign.

A hasty step approached; the Sovereign rose, and the Professor entered. He bowed to the Sovereign, and looked surprised at his wife.

"You are not ill?" he exclaimed. "Pardon, gracious Sir, I came in great anxiety about my wife. A strange boy rang the bell at the Museum, and brought a message that I must go immediately to see my wife, as she was ill; fortunately it was a mistake."

"I am thankful for the error," replied the Sovereign, "as it gives me the opportunity of saying to you what I was intending to mention to Madame Werner; orders have been given at the stable that a carriage shall be ready for you at any hour that you wish to take a journey in the neighborhood to pursue your mysterious investigations."

He took leave graciously.

* * *

The Sovereign opened the window of his study; the air was sultry, the sun had been shining long upon the earth; now it had vanished, heavy clouds rolled themselves, like great shapeless porpoises, over the city and castle. The Sovereign fetched a deep breath, but the heavy, sultry air forced the smoke from the chimneys of the castle down to his window, enveloping his head like a great mist. He hastily opened the door of the gallery which led to the reception-rooms, and walked out. Against the walls hung a row of oil pictures, the portraits of beautiful ladies whom he had once favored with his attentions. His look strayed from one to the other; at the end of the row was an empty place; he stopped before it, and his fancy painted a picture with blonde hair, and a true-hearted, frank light in the eyes, more touching than any of the other faces.

"So late," he said, to himself. "It is the last place and the strongest feeling. They are fools who tell us that years make us indifferent. If I had come across her at the other end," he glanced back along the gallery, "at the beginning of my life, when I yet looked longingly at the roses on the cheeks of maidens and was touched by the song of hedge-sparrows, would such a woman then have preserved in me what I have lost forever? Useless thoughts of the past! I must in the present keep firm hold of what has come within the reach of my hand. She is indifferent about the weak youth; but she feels herself uneasy here, and if she tries to escape me I have no power to keep her back. I remain alone; daily the same wearisome faces, whose thoughts one knows before they are spoken, whose wishes one knows before they open their mouths, and whom one sees to be prepared with feigned feelings. Whatever wit or will they have works secretly against me; what I receive from them is only the artificial glitter of life. It is sad to be a master before whom living souls turn into machines, and year after year to open the lid and examine the works. I myself have made them," he said, jeeringly, "but I am weary of my work."

"I know that the doubt arises often in my mind," the Sovereign murmured, "whether my unhappy skill has made them lies of human nature, or whether I myself am an automaton, which when wound up nods and repeats the same gracious words without thought. I know there are hours when I am ashamed of myself, when I strut about the stage as a clown or a bully; I see the wires that move my joints; I feel a desire to place my own head in the vice in order to improve what is faulty in it, and I see a large chest open into which I am thrown when my _role_ is played out."

"Oh," he groaned, from the depths of his heart. "I know that I am a reality, if not by day, yet at night. None of those about me are tormented in lonely hours as I am; their temples do not beat with fever heat when they lie down after their day's work.

"What pleasure have I amidst these dull tapestry-rooms, or among the old pictures of Mother Nature? Laughing without amusement, angry about trifles,--everything cold, indifferent, and soulless!

"It is only in rare moments, when I have been with her, that I feel like another man; then the warm blood courses through my veins. When in her honest simplicity she talks of all that she loves and takes pleasure in, a woman with a child's heart, then I become young again like her. She talked to me of her brother 'curly-head.' I see the boy before me, a lively lad, with his sister's eyes. I see the little simpleton eating his bread and butter, and it moves me as if I were reading a touching story. I long to catch up the boy in my arms as if he belonged to me.

"She herself is true and upright; it is a pure mind, and beneath her calm gentleness strong passion lies concealed. What a passion she fell into when my messenger offered her the patent of nobility! She is a woman to live with whom is worth some trouble, and to gain whom a man would do much.

"But what can I do? What I can give her will be of little value to her; what I take from her--how will she make up her mind to that?" He looked timidly at the empty place on the wall. "Another picture was to have hung there," he exclaimed; "why is it not there? Why does the remembrance of one long gone lie on my brain like a stone, the pressure of which I feel every day when mingling among men, and every night when I rest my weary head upon my hands? That woman slept many years ago in the same room where now the stranger reposes; she did not awake, as it would have been right for her to have done; when she did awake and came to consciousness, a spring broke in her weak mind, and she remained a soulless body."

A feverish shudder passed through him; he shook himself and rushed out of the gallery, looked shyly behind him, and closed the door.

"The violence of passion is extinguished," he continued, after a time; "with years one becomes more cautious. I will hold her fast, whatever may be the result; it is no longer the burning glow of youth, it is the heart of a ripened man that I offer to her. With firm patience will I await what time prepares for me; slowly will this fruit ripen in the warm sun. I shall persevere, but I will hold her fast. Her husband is becoming suspicious about her; it was an awkward excuse that he invented; he also is struggling out of my hand. I must keep her, and only childish means can be used for these childlike hearts."

The bell rang, the servant entered, and received an order.

Magister Knips appeared before the Sovereign; his cheeks were flushed, and vehement excitement worked in his features.

"Have you read the memorial which Professor Werner has written concerning the manuscript?" asked the Sovereign, carelessly. "What is your opinion of it?"

"It is a prodigious, astounding account, Most Gracious Prince and Sovereign. I may well say that I feel this discovery in all my limbs. If the manuscript should be found, the fame attending the discovery will be imperishable; it would be discussed in the preface of every edition in which the question of the manuscript occurred, to the end of the world; it would raise the learned man to whose lot this greatest earthly good fortune should fall, high above his fellow mortals. Your exalted Highness also, according to Act 22, Sec. 127, of the law of the country, would undoubtedly have the first right to the discovered treasure, and his Highness would be hailed among all people as the protector of a new era of knowledge concerning the Romans."

The Sovereign listened with satisfaction to the enthusiasm of the Magister, who in his excitement forgot his humble bearing, and pathetically stretched out his arm in the direction in which he saw the radiant crown hovering above the head of the Sovereign.

"All this would occur if one found the treasure," said the Sovereign; "but it is not yet found."

Knips collapsed.

"Undoubtedly it is presumptuous to think that such a happiness could fall to the lot of any human being, yet it would be a sin to doubt its possibility."

"Professor Werner seems to attach much value to the discovery," rejoined the Sovereign, indifferently.

"He could not be a man of sterling judgment who did not feel the importance of this gain as much as does your Highness's most humble servant and slave."

The Sovereign interrupted the speaker.

"Mr. Von Weidegg has proposed to you to remain in my service. Have you agreed to do so?"

"With the feelings of a rescued man," exclaimed Knips, "who ventures to lay at your Highness's feet thanks and blessing with unbounded veneration."

"Have you already engaged yourself?"

"In the most binding way."

"Good," said the Sovereign, stopping the stream of the Magister's respectful assurances by a motion of his hand. "It has been reported to me, Magister that you have a special good fortune in finding such rarities--good fortune," repeated the Sovereign, "or what comes to the same thing, skill. Do you seriously believe that these indistinct traces will lead to the lost treasure?"

"Who can now maintain that such a discovery is impossible?" cried the Magister. "If I might be allowed, with the deepest respect, to express my views, which burst forth from my heart like a cry of joy, it is, I dare not say probable, but yet not improbable, that an accident might lead to it. Yet if I may venture respectfully to express my experience, which perhaps is only a superstition, if the manuscript be found, it will not be found where one expects, but somewhere else. Hitherto whenever in my humble existence I have had the good fortune of making a discovery--I mention only the Italian Homer of 1848--it has always been contrary to all anticipations; and what your most exalted Grace calls my skill is--if I must explain the secret of my good fortune--really nothing but the circumstance that I have generally sought where, according to human probability, no treasure could be supposed to lie."

"The views which you entertain are certainly not solacing for an impatient person," said the Sovereign, "for that may last a long time."

"Generations may pass away," replied Knips, "but the present and the future will search until the manuscript be found."

"That is but poor comfort," said the Sovereign, laughing; "and I confess, Magister, you disappoint by these words the lively expectation which I cherished, that your dexterity and skill would soon obtain for me the pleasure of seeing the book in the hands of the Professor--the book itself, or at least some palpable proof of its existence. I am a layman in all these things, and can form no judgment of the importance which you attach to the discovery. To me at present it is only to play off a joke, or--to repeat the words which you lately used with respect to your miniatures--only for the sake of raillery."

The expression and manner of the Magister altered gradually, as if under the spell of an enchanter; he shrank into himself, laid his head on his shoulder, and looked with a terrified eagerness at the Sovereign.

"In short, I wish that Mr. Werner should soon be put upon a certain trace of the manuscript, if it is not possible to obtain the manuscript itself."

Knips remained silent, staring at the speaker.

"I desire you," continued the Sovereign, emphatically, "to employ the talent you have already shown for this object. Your help must, of course, remain my secret, for I should like Mr. Werner to have the pleasure of making the discovery himself."

"It must be a large manuscript," stammered out Knips.

"I fear," replied the Sovereign, carelessly, "it must long have been torn to pieces. It is not impossible that some scattered leaves may have been preserved somewhere."

The Magister stood thunderstruck.

"It is difficult to satisfy the Professor."

"So much the greater will be your merit and reward."

Knips remained silent, in a state of terror.

"Has your confidence vanished, Magister?" said the Sovereign, ironically. "It is not the first time that you have succeeded in such a discovery." He approached closer to the little man. "I know something of former trials of your dexterity, and I have no doubt of the comprehensiveness of your talent."

Knips started, but still he remained speechless.

"For the rest, I am contented with your activity," continued the Sovereign, in a changed voice. "I do not doubt that you will in many ways know how to make yourself useful to the officials of my Court, and thereby consult your own future interest."

"What high honor!" said Knips, pitifully, drawing out his pocket-handkerchief.

"As regards the lost manuscript," continued the Sovereign, "the stay of Mr. Werner will, I fear, be only temporary. The task of pursuing the investigations in our country would, in that event, fall upon you."

Knips raised his head, and a ray of pleasure passed over his troubled face.

"If the manuscript is, in fact, as valuable as the learned gentlemen seem to think, then in case, after the departure of the Professor, there is still something to discover, you will have found with us an occupation which is especially suited to you."

"This prospect is the highest and most honorable which my life can attain to," replied Knips, more courageously.

"Good," said the Sovereign; "endeavor to deserve this claim, and try first what your dexterity can do."

"I will take pains to serve your Highness," replied the Magister, his eyes cast on the ground.

Knips left the private apartment. The little man, who now descended the staircase, looked very different from the happy Magister who a few minutes before had ascended it. His pale face was bent forward, and his eyes wandered furtively over the faces of the servants, who watched him inquisitively. He seized his hat mechanically, and he, the Magister, put it on his head while still in the royal castle. He went out into the court; the storm swept through the streets, whirled the dust round him, and blew his coat-tails forward.

"He drives me on; how can I withstand him?" murmured Knips. "Shall I return to my proof-sheets in that cold room? Shall I all my life depend on the favor of professors, always in anxiety lest an accident should betray to these learned men that I once overreached them and derided them?

"But here I pass a pleasant life, and have opportunities of being the cleverest among the ignorant and making myself indispensable to them! I am so already; the Sovereign has shown himself to me as one comrade does to another, and he can, if I do as he wishes, as little part from me as the parchment from the writing on it."

He wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

"I myself will find the manuscript," he continued, more confidently. "_Jacobi Knipsii sollertia inventum_. I know the great secret, and I will search day by day where only a wood-louse can creep or a spider hang its web. Then it will be for me to decide whether I shall take the Professor as an assistant to edit it, or another. Perhaps I will take him and he will be thankful to me. He will hardly find the treasure, he is too dignified to listen and to spy out where the chests are concealed."

The Magister hastened his steps; the wind whistled in sharp tones behind him,--it tore from the trees the dry leaves of the last year, and scattered them on the hat of the little man. The dust whirled more rapidly round him; it covered the dark Court dress with a pale grey coating, it pursued and enveloped him, so that the foliage of the trees and the figures of men disappeared from his sight, and he hastened onward wrapped in a cloud of dust and dead leaves. Again he raised his pocket-handkerchief, sighed, and wiped the perspiration from his temples.

_CHAPTER XXXI_.

HUMMEL'S TRIUMPH.

There was a lowering sultriness in nature, and also in the busy world of men. The barometer fell suddenly; thunder and hail coursed over the country; confidence was gone, stocks became worthless paper; lamentation followed arrogance; water stood in the streets; and the straw hats disappeared as if wafted away by the storm.

Whoever in these changing times might wish to observe Mr. Hummel in a good-humored frame of mind must do so in the afternoon before three o'clock, when he opened his garden door and seated himself near the hedge. During this hour he gave audience to benevolent thoughts; he listened to the striking of the city clock, and regulated his watch; he read the daily paper, counted the regular promenaders, who daily walked at the same hour to the wood and back again to the city, and he accosted his acquaintances and received their greetings. These acquaintances were for the most part householders, hard-headed men, members of the city commissions, and councillors.

To-day he was sitting at the open door, looking proudly at the opposite house, in which some secret commotion was perceptible; he examined the passersby, and returned with dignity the bows and greetings of the citizens. The first acquaintance was Mr. Wenzel, a gentleman of means, and his sponsor, who for many years had taken a constitutional every day, summer and winter, through the meadows to get into perspiration. It was the one steady business of his life, and he talked of little else.

"Good day, Hummel."

"Good day, Wenzel. Any success to-day?" asked Mr. Hummel.

"Pretty fair, only it took a long time," said Mr. Wenzel, "but I must not stop. I only wanted to ask you how things are going with him over the way?"

"Why that?" asked Hummel, annoyed.

"Do you not know that his book-keeper has disappeared?"

"What!" exclaimed Mr. Hummel.

"They say he has speculated on the stock exchange, and escaped to America. But I must be off; good day."

Mr. Wenzel hastily departed.

Mr. Hummel remained in a state of great astonishment. He heard the voice of the city-councillor calling out:

"Good day, Mr. Hummel--a warm day--90 degrees in the shade. Have you heard?" he said, pointing with his stick to the neighboring house.

"Nothing," cried Hummel; "one lives in this place like in a prison. Whether it is fire, pestilence, or the arrival of high personages, it is only by pure accident one hears of it. What is all this about the absconding book-keeper?"

"It appears that your neighbor placed too much confidence in the man, and he has secretly used the name of his employer in some mad speculations, and fled last night. They say it is to the amount of forty thousand."

"Then Hahn is ruined," said Hummel, "irredeemably. I am not surprised at it; the fellow has always been impractical."

"Perhaps things are not so bad," said the councillor, as he left him.

Mr. Hummel remained alone with his thoughts. "Naturally." He said to himself, "It was inevitable. In everything, high-flown--houses, windows, and garden fancies--never any rest; the man is gone out like a candle."

He forgot the passers-by, and moved backwards and forwards on his main walk, looking sometimes with curiosity at the hostile house. "Out like a candle," he repeated, with the satisfaction of a tragic actor who endeavors to give the most terrific expression to the telling words of his _role_. He had vexed himself half a century about that man; before his disposition to corpulency had begun, he had despised this man's ways and business. This feeling had been his daily entertainment; it was one of his daily necessities, like his boot-jack and his green boat. Now the hour was come when fate paid off the man over the way for having injured Mr. Hummel by his presence in life. Hummel looked at the house and shrugged his shoulders; the man who had placed that deformed structure before his eyes was now in danger of being driven out of it. He looked at the temple and the muse; this toy of the poor devil would soon be torn down by some stranger. Hummel went to the sitting-room; there also he walked up and down, and told his wife of Mr. Hahn's misfortune in short sentences. He observed, out of the corners of his eyes, that Mrs. Philippine hastened, nervously, to the sofa, and frequently clasped her hands; and that Laura rushed into the next room, and could not refrain from bursting into tears; and he repeated, with dreadful satisfaction, the terrible words: "He has gone out like a candle."

He behaved in the same way at the factory; he paced slowly up and down the warehouse, looked majestically on a heap of hareskins, took one of the finest hats out of a bandbox, held it towards the window, gave it a stroke with the brush, and muttered again: "It's all up with him." To-day his book-keeper, for the first time in his life, was late at his desk: he had heard of the misfortune on his way; he related it in an excited manner to his principal, and finally maliciously repeated the unfortunate words: "It's all up with him." Hummel gave him a piercing look, and snorted so that the timid heart of the clerk sank within him.

"Do you wish also to become manager of my business like that runaway? I thank you for this proof of your confidence. I have no use for such bandit-like proceedings; I am my own manager, sir, and I object to every kind of secret dealing behind my back."

"But, Mr. Hummel, I have carried on no secret dealings."

"The devil thank you for that," roared out Hummel, in his fiercest bass. "There is no more confidence on earth: nothing is firm; the holiest relations are unscrupulously violated; one can no longer trust one's friends; now even one's enemies make off. At night you lie down to sleep quietly as a German, and in the morning you wake up as a Frenchman; and if you sigh for your German coffee, your hostess brings a dish of Parisian spinach to your bed. I should be glad to learn of you on what spot of this earth we are now settled."

"In Valley Row, Mr. Hummel."

"There the last remains of our good genius spoke out. Look through the window. What stands there?" pointing to the neighboring house.

"Park Street, Mr. Hummel."

"Indeed?" asked Hummel, ironically. "Since primeval times, since your ancestors sat on the trees here nibbling beechmast, this place has been called Valley Row. In this valley I laid the foundations of my house, and enclosed in the wall an inscription for later excavators: 'Henry Hummel, No. 1.' Now the machinations of yonder extinguished straw-man have upset this truth. In spite of my protest in court, we have become transformed into park denizens by a police ordinance. Scarcely has this happened, when that man's book-keeper transforms himself into an American. Do you believe that Knips, junior, this salamander, would have ventured on this misdeed if his own principal had not set him the example? There you have the consequences of everlasting changes and improvements. For twenty years we have gone on together, but I believe now you are capable of throwing up your place and entering into another business. Bah, sir! you ought to be ashamed of your century."

It was a sorrowful day for the Hahn family. The master of the house had gone to his office in the city at the usual hour in the morning, and had awaited his book-keeper in vain. When at last he sent to the young man's dwelling, the porter brought back word that the former had departed, and left a letter on his table for Mr. Hahn. Hahn read the letter, and sank down upon his desk with sudden terror. He had always carried on his business like an honest tradesman. He had begun with small means, and had become a well to do man by his own energy; but he had confided his money matters more to his clever clerk than was prudent. The young man had grown up under his eyes, and had gradually, by his pliant, zealous service, won full confidence, and had shortly before been granted the right of signing the name of the firm to financial obligations. The new manager had succumbed to the temptations of these turbulent times and had, unknown to his principal, ventured on rash speculations. In the letter he made open confession. He had stolen a small sum for his flight: but Mr. Hahn would on the following day have to meet his losses to the amount of about twenty thousand thalers. The thunder-bolt fell from a clear heaven into the peaceful life of the merchant. Mr. Hahn sent for his son. The doctor hastened to the police-office, to his solicitor, and to his business friends, and returned again to the office to comfort his father, who sat as if paralyzed before his desk, hopelessly looking into the future.

Dinner-time came, when Mr. Hahn must impart his misfortune to his wife, and there was lamentation within the house. Mrs. Hahn went distractedly through the rooms, and Dorothy wrung her hands and cried. In the afternoon the Doctor again hastened to his acquaintances and to money-lenders; but during this week there was a panic, every one mistrusted the other. Money was scarce, and the Doctor found nothing but sympathy, and complaints of the fearful times. The flight of the book-keeper made even confidential friends suspicious as to the extent of the obligations of the firm. Even by a mortgage on the house, with the greatest sacrifice, no sufficient sum could be obtained. The danger was more threatening every hour, the anguish greater. Towards evening the Doctor returned home to his parents after his last fruitless expedition. To his father he had shown a cheerful countenance, and comforted him bravely; but the thought was incessantly present to his mind, that this misfortune would divide him utterly from his loved one. Now he sat weary and alone in the dark sitting-room, and looked towards the lighted windows of the neighboring houses.

He well knew that one friend would not fail his father in distress. But the Professor was at a distance, and any help he could give would be insufficient; at the best it would come too late. There were only a few hours before the decisive moment. The intervening time, one of rest for all others, was one of endless torture to his father, in which he contemplated, with staring eyes and feverish pulse, a hundred-fold the bitterness of the ensuing day, and the son was terrified at the effect which the dreadful strain would have on the sensitive nature of his father.

There was a slight rustle in the dark room--a light figure stood beside the Doctor. Laura seized his hand and held it fast within hers. She bent down to him, and looked in his sorrowful countenance. "I have felt the anxiety of these hours. I can no longer bear solitude," she said, gently. "Is there, no help?"

"I fear, none."

She stroked his curly hair with her hand.

"You have chosen it as your lot to despise what others so anxiously desire. The light of the sun, which illumines your brow, should never be darkened by earthly cares. Be proud, Fritz; you have never had cause to be more so than at this hour, for such a misfortune cannot rob you of anything that is worth a pang."

"My poor father!" cried Fritz.

"Yet your father is happy," continued Laura, "for he has brought up a son to whom it is scarcely a sacrifice to be deprived of what appears to other men the highest happiness. For whom had your dear parents amassed money but for you? Now you may show them how free and great you rise above these anxieties for perishable metal."

"If I feel the misfortune of this day to my own life," said the Doctor, "it is only for the sake of another."

"If it could comfort you, my friend," exclaimed Laura, with an outburst of feeling, "I will tell you today that I hold true to you, whatever may happen."

"Dear Laura!" cried the Doctor.

Her voice sang softly in his ear like a bird:

"I am glad, Fritz, that you care for me."

Fritz laid his cheek tenderly on her hand.

"I will endeavor not to be unworthy of you," continued Laura. "I have long tried in secret all that I, a poor maiden, can do, to free myself from the trivial follies that trouble our life. I have considered fully how one can keep house with very little, and I no longer spend money on useless dress and such rubbish. I am anxious also to earn something. I give lessons, Fritz, and people are satisfied with me. One requires little to live upon, I have found that out. I have no greater pleasure in my room than the thought of making myself independent. That is what I have wished to express briefly to you to-day. One thing more, Fritz; if I do not see you, I always think of and care about you."

Fritz stretched out his arms towards her, but she withdrew herself from him, nodded to him once more at the door, then flew swiftly across the street back to her attic room.

There she stood in the dark with beating heart; a pale ray of light gleamed through the window and lighted up the shepherd pair on the inkstand, so that they seemed to hover illuminated in the air. This day Laura did not think of her secret diary, she looked towards the window where her loved one sat, and again tears gushed from her eyes; but she composed herself with quick decision, fetched a light and a jug of water from the kitchen, collected her lace collars and cuffs and soaked them in a basin--she could do all this herself too. It was another little saving, it might sometime be of use to Fritz.

Mr. Hummel closed his office and continued to rove about. The door of Laura's room opened, the daughter shrank within herself when she saw her father cross the threshold solemnly, like a messenger of Fate. Hummel moved towards his daughter and looked sharply at her weeping eyes.

"On account of him over the way, I suppose." Laura hid her face in her hands, again her sorrow overpowered her.

"There you have your little bells," he grumbled in a low tone. "There you have your pocket-handkerchiefs and your Indians. It is all over with the people there." He slapped her on the shoulder with his large hand. "Be quiet. We are not responsible for his ruin; your pocket-handkerchiefs prove nothing."

It became dark; Hummel walked up and down the street between the two houses, looking at the hostile dwelling from the park side, where it was less accessible to him, and his broad face assumed a triumphant smile. At last he discovered an acquaintance who was hastening out of it, and followed him.

"What is the state of the case?" he asked, seizing the arm of the other. "Can he save himself?"

His business friend shrugged his shoulders.

"It cannot remain a secret," he said, and explained the situation and danger of the adversary.

"Will he be able to procure money to meet it?"

The other again shrugged his shoulders.

"Hardly to-morrow. Money is not to be had at any price. The man is of course worth more; the business is good, and the house unencumbered."

"The house is not worth twenty thousand," interposed Hummel.

"No matter; in a sound state of the money market he would bear the blow without danger, now I fear the worst."

"I have said it, he has gone out like a candle," muttered Hummel, and abruptly turned his steps towards his house.

In the Doctor's room father and son were sitting over letters and accounts, the light of the lamp shone on the gilded titles of the books against the wall, and the portfolios containing the treasures industriously collected by the Doctor from all corners of the world, and bound up and placed here in grand array--now they were again to be dispersed. The son was endeavoring to inspire his despairing father with courage.

"If the misfortune cannot be prevented which has come upon us like a hurricane, we must bear it like men: you can save your honor. The greatest sorrow that I feel is that I can now be of so little use to you, and that the advice of every man of business is of more value than the help of your own son."

The father laid his head on the table, powerless and stupefied.

The door opened, and from the dark hall a strange form entered the room with heavy steps. The Doctor sprang up and stared at the hard features of a well-known face. Mr. Hahn uttered a shriek and rose hastily from the sofa to leave the room.

"Mr. Hummel!" exclaimed the Doctor, alarmed.

"Of course," replied Hummel; "it is I, who else should it be?" He laid a packet on the table. "Here are twenty thousand thalers in certified City Bonds, and here is a receipt for you both to sign. To-morrow you shall give a mortgage for it upon your house: the papers must be repaid in kind, for I do not mean to lose by it, exchange is too bad now. The mortgage shall run for ten years, in order that you may not think I wish to take your house; you can pay me back when you please, the whole at once, or by degrees. I know your business, no money can now be obtained upon your straw; but in ten years the loss may be recovered. I make only one condition, that no human being shall know of this loan, least of all your wife, and my wife and daughter. For this I have good reasons. Do not look at me as the cat looks at the king," he continued, turning to the Doctor. "Set to work, count the bonds and note their numbers. Make no speeches, I am not a man of sentiment, and figures of rhetoric are no use to me. I think of my security also. The house is scarcely worth twenty thousand thalers, but it satisfies me. If you should wish to carry it off I should see it. You have taken care that it should be near enough to my eyes. Now count, please, and sign the receipt, Doctor," he said, authoritatively, pushing him down on his chair.

"Mr. Hummel," began Hahn, somewhat indistinctly, for it was difficult for him to speak in his emotion, "I shall never forget this hour to the end of my life." He wished to go up to him and give him his hand, but the tears streamed from his eyes and he was obliged to cover his face with his pocket-handkerchief.

"Be seated," said Hummel, pushing him down on the sofa; "steadiness and stoicism are always the main thing; they are better than Chinese toys. I shall say nothing further to-day, and you must say nothing to me of this occurrence. To-morrow everything will be made smooth before the notary and the registrar, and interest must be punctually paid, quarterly; for the rest, our relation to each other remains the same. For, you see, we are not merely men, we are also business people. As a man, I well know what are your good points, even when you complain of me. But our houses and our business do not agree. We have been opponents twenty years, felt against straw, with our hobbies and our trellis-work fences. That may remain so; what is not harmonious need not harmonise. When you call me bristles and felt, I will be coarse to you, and I will consider you as a straw blockhead as often as I am angry with you. But with all that, we may have, as now, private business together; and if ever, which I hope will never happen, robbers should plunder me, you will do for me as much as you can. This I know and have always known, and therefore I am come to you to-day."

Hahn gave him a look of warm gratitude, and again raised his pocket-handkerchief.

Hummel laid his hand heavily upon his head, as with a little child and said, gently, "You are a visionary, Hahn. The doctor is ready now; sign, and do not either of you take this misfortune too much to heart. There," he continued, strewing sand over the paper carefully, "to-morrow, about nine o'clock, I will send my solicitor to your office. Stay where you are; the staircase is badly lighted, but I shall find my way. Good night."

He entered the street, and looked contemptuously at the hostile walls. "No mortgage?" he muttered. "H. Hummel, first and last, twenty thousand;" At home he vouchsafed some comforting words to his ladies. "I have heard that the people there will be able to pull through, so I forbid further lamenting. If ever, in conformity with miserable fashion, you should need a straw hat, you may take your money rather to the Hahns than to others; I give my permission."

Some days after Fritz Hahn entered the small office of Mr. Hummel. The latter motioned to his bookkeeper to withdraw, and began, coolly, from his arm chair, "What do you bring me, Doctor?"

"My father feels it a duty to meet the great confidence that you have shown him, by giving you an insight into the state of his business, and begs you to assist him in his arrangements. He is of opinion, that until this disastrous affair has passed over, he should do nothing important without your assent."

Hummel laughed. "What! I am to give advice, and that too, in the management of your business? You would put me in a position that is preposterous, and one against which I protest."

The Doctor silently placed before him a statement of assets and liabilities.

"You are a sharp customer," cried Hummel, "but for an old fox this trap is not cunningly enough laid." With that he looked at the credit and debit, and took a pencil in his hand. "Here I find among the assets five hundred thalers for books that are to be sold. I did not know that your father had this hobby also."

"They are my books, Mr. Hummel. I have of late years spent more money upon these than was absolutely necessary for my work. I am determined to sell what I can do without; a book-dealer has already offered to pay this sum in two instalments."

"The sheriff is never allowed to levy on instruments of trade," said Hummel, making a stroke through that entry in the ledger. "I believe, indeed, that they are unreadable stuff, but the world has many dark corners; and as you have a fancy to be an anomalous dick among your fellows, you shall remain in your hole." He regarded the Doctor with an ironical twinkle in his eye. "Have you nothing further to say? I do not mean with reference to your father's business, I have nothing further to do with that, but upon another subject, which you yourself seem to carry on; from your movements of late you evidently wish to associate yourself with my daughter Laura?"

The Doctor colored. "I should have chosen another day for the declaration which you now demand of me. But it is my anxious wish to come to an understanding with you concerning it. I have long entertained a secret hope that time would lessen your aversion to me."

"Time?" interrupted Hummel; "that's absurd."

"Now by the noble assistance which you have extended to my father, I am placed in a position towards you which is so painful to me that I must beg of you not to refuse me your sympathy. With strenuous exertion and fortunate circumstances it would now be years before I could acquire a position to maintain a wife."

"Starving trade," interposed Mr. Hummel, in a grumbling tone.

"I love your daughter and I cannot sacrifice this feeling. But I have lost the prospect of offering her a future which could in some measure answer to what she is entitled to expect; and the helping hand which you have extended to my father makes me so dependent on you that I must avoid what would excite your displeasure. Therefore I see a desolate future before me."

"Exactly as I prophesied," replied Mr. Hummel, "wretched and weak."

The Doctor drew back, but at the same time he laid his hand on his neighbor's arm. "This manner of language will serve you no longer, Mr. Hummel," said he smiling.

"Noble, but abject," repeated Hummel with satisfaction. "You should be ashamed, sir; do you pretend to be a lover? You wish to know how to please my daughter Laura, such an evasive, forlorn specimen as you? Will you regulate your feelings according to my mortgage? If you are in love, I expect that you should conduct yourself like a rampant lion, jealous and fierce. Bah, sir! you are a beautiful Adonis to me, or whatever else that fellow Nicodemus was called."

"Mr. Hummel, I ask for your daughter's hand," cried the Doctor.

"I refuse it you," cried Hummel. "You mistake my words. I do not think of throwing my daughter into this bargain also. But you must not misunderstand my refusal to give you my daughter; your duty is to pursue her more fiercely than ever. You must attack me, and force yourself into my house; in return for which I reserve to myself the right to show you the way out. But I have always said it, you are wanting in courage."

"Mr. Hummel," replied the Doctor, with dignity, "allow me to remark that you should no longer be on the offensive with me."

"Why not?" asked Hummel.

The Doctor pointed to the papers.

"What has happened in this matter makes it difficult for me to use strong language to you. It can be no pleasure to you to attack one who cannot defend himself."

"These pretentions are really ridiculous," replied Hummel. "Because I have given you my money must I cease to treat you as you deserve? Because you, perhaps, are not disinclined to marry my daughter, am I to stroke you with a velvet brush? Did one ever hear such nonsense?"

"You mistake," continued the Doctor, civilly, "if you think that I am not in a position to answer what you say. I therefore do myself the honor of remarking to you that your mockery is so wounding that even the kindness you have shown loses its value."

"Have done with your kindness--it was only kindness from revenge."

"Then I will as honestly tell you," continued the Doctor, "that it was a very bitter hour to me when you entered our house. I knew how oppressive the obligation which you then conferred upon us would be for the rest of my life. But I looked at my poor father, and the thought of his misery closed my mouth. For my own part, I would rather have begged my bread than taken your money."

"Go on," cried Hummel.

"What you have done for my father does not give you a right to ill-treat me. This conversation strengthens me in the conviction that I have had from the outset, that we must exert ourselves to the utmost to repay you the money we have received, as soon as possible. You have crossed out the item in which I credited my books, but I shall sell them."

"Nonsense!" exclaimed Hummel.

"I shall do it, however insignificant the sum may be in comparison with our debt, because the tyranny which you wish to exercise over me threatens to become insupportable. I at least will not be indebted to you in this way."

"Yet you wish it in another way that suits you better."

"Yes," replied the Doctor. "As you have so contemptuously rejected the greatest sacrifice I could make, I shall continue to woo your daughter, even against your will. I shall endeavor to speak to her whenever I can, and to make myself as acceptable to her as is possible in my position. You yourself have shown me this way. You will therefore be satisfied if I enter upon it, and if you are not, I shall pay no regard to your displeasure."

"At last," cried Hummel, "it all comes to light I see now that you have some fire in you; therefore we will talk quietly over this business. You are not the husband whom I could have wished for my daughter. I have kept you away from my house, but it has been of no use, for a cursed sentiment has arisen between you; I therefore intend now to carry on the affair differently. I shall not object to you coming to my house sometimes. I depend upon your doing it with discretion. I will ignore your presence, and my daughter shall have an opportunity of seeing how you compare with the four walls. We will both await the result."

"I do not agree to this proposal," replied the Doctor. "I do not expect that you should give me your daughter's hand now, and I only accept the entrance into your family on condition that you yourself will treat me as becomes a guest in your house, and that you will perform the duties of a friendly host. I cannot suffer that you should speak to me in the way you have done in our conversation to-day. Any insult, either by words or by neglect, I will not bear from you. I am not only desirous to please your daughter, but also to be agreeable to yourself. For that I demand opportunity. If you do not agree to this condition, I prefer not to come at all."

"Humboldt, do not undertake too much at once," replied Mr. Hummel, shaking his head, "for you see I esteem you, but I really do not like you. Therefore I will consider how far I can make myself pleasant to you; I assure you it will be hard work. Meanwhile, take these papers with you. Your father has bought the lesson, that he should himself look after his own money affairs. For the rest, matters are not in a bad state, and he will be able to help himself out of it; you do not need either me or another. Good morning, Doctor."

The doctor took the papers under his arm.

"I beg you to shake hands, Mr. Hummel."

"Not so hastily," replied Hummel.

"I am sorry for it," said the Doctor, smiling, "but I cannot be denied to-day."

"Only from innate politeness," rejoined Hummel, "not from good will."

He held out his large hand to him.

"Keep your books," he cried out, to the departing visitor. "I can see through that scheme, you will buy them again, and then I shall have to pay for them anyhow."

_CHAPTER XXXII_.

A CHAPTER FROM TACITUS.