Only a Girl Part 24

"Now, Heaven be praised!" muttered the old woman, "that you are to see some one at last, and the gentleman is well worth a look. But you will bear the blame with your uncle, so that I may have no responsibility in the matter?"

"The responsibility is mine."

Frau Willmers hurried out and conducted the stranger into Ernestine's library.

A pleasant bluish twilight reigned in the room as he entered it, caused by the heavy blue damask curtains that draped the high bow-windows. It was a s.p.a.cious octagon apartment, in the style of the tower chambers of the Middle Ages, opening on to a balcony, which was likewise separated from the room by blue damask curtains. The aeolian harp, of which the peasant had spoken, hung in the balcony, and some loosened tendrils of a wild grapevine, growing outside, stirred by the breeze, touched the strings and called forth from them broken stray notes, which a stronger breeze would blend in harmony, as the fingers of a child, guided by its teacher, plays vaguely upon an instrument until the practised hand of its master produces a full, clear chord. In the dark boughs that overshadowed the balcony, birds were singing, and now and then hopping confidingly upon the rose-bushes with which it was decorated.

"She loves beauty," thought the stranger with a pleased glance around the cool, quiet apartment, which breathed only contentment and peace.

And it must be true peace of mind that the inhabitant of this room possessed,--wherever the eyes were turned, they fell upon the immortal works of the great thinkers of modern times,--a costly library was ranged upon shelves, in richly-carved oaken bookcases.

The stranger began to read the t.i.tles of the books, but the more he read the more thoughtful he became. If the contents of these books were, or were to be, crammed into one woman's brain, there could dwell there not peace, but only torturing unrest, strife. At last his eye rested upon a writing-table of dark oak, richly carved, as was all the rest of the furniture of the room. Around the edge of the table, cut in raised letters, he read the sentence, "Our life lasts seventy--perhaps eighty--years, and the delight of it is labour and trouble!" He gazed long and thoughtfully at this motto, so strangely grave for so young a girl. A shade of melancholy pa.s.sed over his handsome face as he turned away and noticed the scores of sheets of paper scattered here and there on the table, all containing either a few figures or written sentences, evidently hurried beginnings of scientific labour of all kinds, tossed aside, as it appeared, hastily and impatiently. Partly on the table, partly on a desk, and partly on the floor, were piles of open books, their margins filled with annotations, pamphlets, &c. Names like Helmholtz, du Bois, Ludwig, Darwin, &c. showed what ma.s.sive material this bold aspiring mind was calling to its aid, over what mountains of labour it was pursuing the path to its ambitious aims. "So much vital force wasted in fruitless energy--so much n.o.ble zeal expended upon a blunder. What a pity!" said the stranger with an involuntary sigh. Then he noticed just in front of the writing-table a small open drawer, in which Ernestine apparently kept her most precious and valuable books.

One of them was Mollner's latest work on Physiology; another, du Bois'

Eulogy upon Johannes Muller; and the third, _Andersen's Fairy Tales_.

The grave man's features showed signs of deep emotion at this sight.

Only a strong, true nature could so preserve the memories of its childhood. He could not help taking the book in his hand to examine it more closely. As he did so, he noticed a little marker of paper yellowed with age. It was placed in the last pages of the story of the Ugly Duckling, just where the children stand by the pond and cry, "Look! there comes a new swan!" Was it this, then, that had made the story so precious to her--the prophecy that the duckling would one day be a swan, and not the memory of what had been dear to her childhood?

He put the book back in its place with a look that showed that the question he had put to himself grieved him. Then he became so lost in thought that he was almost startled when a door behind him opened, and Ernestine approached him. As he saw the tall form, with its air of royal dignity, standing there calm and silent in the n.o.ble consciousness of mental superiority, he repeated involuntarily in thought the words, "Here is a new swan!" Yes,--the ugly duckling had unfolded its wings! For one moment his heart throbbed violently. It cost him an effort to preserve his composure.

"I crave forgiveness, Fraulein Hartwich," he began, "for venturing to offer my medical skill in place of his for whom you sent."

"If you come from Dr. Heim, you are welcome. Is he ill, that he sends me a subst.i.tute, or is he angry with me?" And Ernestine looked gravely and fixedly at the stranger.

"Neither the one nor the other, Fraulein Hartwich," was the reply. "He has merely permitted me to use his name as the talisman to unlock this enchanted castle."

"And why so?" asked Ernestine, regarding him still more attentively.

"Because I am convinced that I understand the treatment of your case better than Dr. Heim."

Ernestine started, and turned away from the arrogant speaker. Her face darkened with momentary displeasure,--but not long. She raised her large eyes to him again and said frankly, "No, you are not in earnest.

Heim would not have sent me a physician as vain and conceited as these words make you appear!"

Johannes offered her his hand with a smile. "Boldly spoken, Fraulein Hartwich,--I thank you! Nevertheless, I must rest under the charge of vanity and arrogance until you declare me innocent, for I only uttered Dr. Heim's honest conviction and my own. You shake your head, and do not comprehend me. I hope you will do so soon. How could I have had the courage to challenge your displeasure by so bold an a.s.sertion, had I not been sure that time would justify my pretensions?"

Ernestine motioned to him to be seated. "May I be permitted, sir, to request your name before speaking further with you?"

Johannes cast at her a glance of kindly entreaty. "I pray you allow me to suppress it for the present. I should so like to inspire you with confidence in me for my own sake, without the aid of a name perhaps not unknown to you. Such confidence would be so precious to me. Call it a whim, if you will, but I beg you to indulge me!"

"As you please, sir," said Ernestine with some constraint, looking keenly at him as she spoke. She seemed to be searching in his handsome face for something,--she scarce knew what,--it seemed to suggest some dim recollection to her mind. Then she dropped her glance, as if comparing what she saw with some image in her memory, yet without arriving at any satisfactory conclusion.

Johannes watched every expression of her countenance. No shade of thought pa.s.sing across that broad white brow escaped him. He gazed at her and almost forgot to speak, she was so wondrously beautiful, this shy, grave girl, pale and suffering from her devotion to the studies to which she was sacrificing herself with such religious zeal. The saddest error would be touching in such a form,--yes, we must bow before it, instead of laughing at it. So thought Johannes as he sat silent before her, and something of what was pa.s.sing in his mind must have been mirrored in his features, for Ernestine turned away with a shade of embarra.s.sment, and asked suddenly, "Well, sir, and what news do you bring me of Father Heim? Is he still vigorous in mind and body?"

The indifference of her tone rather nettled Johannes. "Yes, Fraulein Hartwich, he is indeed. Beloved and revered by his a.s.sociates, as well as by his patients, the evening of his days is calm and cheerful."

"I am very glad to hear it. I am bound to him by ties of grat.i.tude, he has done much for me, at one time he saved my life. Therefore I hoped for benefit now from his prescriptions. He is a great pract.i.tioner, although he has not quite kept pace in his old age with the march of modern science."

"He certainly is. But he can do nothing for your gravest malady, and therefore he has sent me in his place."

"You are, then, famous for some _specialite_. But how can Dr. Heim know that I need such a physician?"

"He does know it, for you were attacked as a child by the malady of which I speak, and Dr. Heim was powerless to effect a cure. Now that he is convinced that my method of cure is efficacious, he has adopted me as his a.s.sistant. Therefore I ask you frankly and openly, Will you have me for your physician? Yes or no!"

For a moment Ernestine made no answer, and then said firmly, "Yes, if Dr. Heim believes that you can restore me to health, it is sufficient, and I will follow your prescriptions implicitly."

"I thank you," said Johannes; "but I warn you beforehand, I am a strict physician, and my medicines are bitter!"

"Scarcely as bitter as disease?" said Ernestine inquiringly.

"Who can say? To speak with perfect sincerity, Fraulein Hartwich, the malady from which I come to relieve you, the disease that poisons your past and your future, is your uncle's influence!"

Ernestine stood up. "Sir!"

"Hear me before you condemn me! I a.s.sert nothing that I cannot prove."

"No, sir, I will not hear you. You do my uncle gross injustice; whatever proofs you may adduce. A life of self-sacrifice and devotion far outweighs the accusation of a stranger. What do I not owe to him?

What has he not done for me? I owe to him my scientific culture. He has made me what I am."

"And may I be so bold as to ask if you are so very sure that you are what you should be?"

A pause ensued. Ernestine retreated a step, and, offended and confused, cast down her eyes.

Johannes continued. "What if I were come to prove that you are not?"

Ernestine looked sullenly at him. "I certainly cannot answer you here; but your depreciation of me forces me to ask whether you have read anything that I have written, and so have come to form so poor an opinion of my abilities?"

"On the contrary, Fraulein Hartwich, your essay upon Reflex Motion is full of talent, and your article upon the Capacity of the Eye for Stereoscopic Vision has won the prize."

Ernestina started. Her face flushed, her eyes sparkled. "Why have you waited until now to tell me? My essay won the prize! Do I wake, or am I dreaming? Oh, how can I thank you for this intelligence? I have no words. But let your reward be the consciousness that you have given me the greatest happiness my life has ever known! And do not attempt to malign to me the man to whose disinterested care for my education I owe it."

"Poor girl, if this is your greatest happiness! You are betrayed indeed, if you owe no other enjoyment to your uncle!"

"Oh, sir, what can there be beyond fame and honour?"

Johannes looked gravely at her. "Something of which your uncle has never told you."

In the flush of her gratified ambition, Ernestine did not hear him. She walked a few steps to and fro, then seated herself again, and said with a beating heart, "Perhaps you also bring the answer to my application for admission to the lectures at the University."

"I do, but it has been rejected decidedly, Fraulein Hartwich."

Ernestine's arms dropped at her sides. "Rejected! Was it known, when they rejected it, that the prize essay was mine?"

"It was."

Ernestine stood for one moment as if stunned. At last she began slowly and dejectedly, "Ah, I understand it all! the gentlemen took the author of that treatise for a man, and awarded it the prize, but my application was refused because I am so unfortunate as to be a woman.

It is only natural, why should a woman be permitted to vie with the lords of creation?"

"Your disappointment makes you unjust," said Johannes. "Your essay received the prize because it accomplished what it aimed at. The application of the woman was rejected because in the University no woman can accomplish what should be her aim."

"How can you prove that?" asked Ernestine with bitterness.