A Noble Name Part 30

He turned away. "Whatever you please for your sake, but I cannot pray any more."

"He will learn how to again," Johanna interposed. "But now, Christine, you must not worry,--for Jakob's sake you must not. To lie still and be nursed is all you have to do. I am sorry I must go now, but I will come soon again, and send to you meanwhile--Jakob will let me send you something to strengthen you."

Again the terrified look appeared in Christine's eyes. "Dear Jakob, Hanna ought to make my gruel," she said. And when he had left the room to see that it was done, she seized Johanna's hand, and whispered, "Ah, it is such a pleasure to have you come, Fraulein, but please--don't take it amiss--please don't let Squire Otto bring me anything. It is best he should not come here; while I am sick, at all events. Jakob is so hasty, and I am so distressed."

Her hands trembled, and her breath came quick and short.

"He shall not come, be sure, Christine," Johanna replied.

"But please don't tell the Squire I said it. You will promise me this?"

the poor child went on; and before Johanna could reply, Jakob returned, and Johanna took her leave. To-day she shook hands with Jakob. She pitied the savage fellow as much as she did the weak little wife who loved him so tremblingly. What could have occurred between Otto and himself? Otto had spoken of his visits to the Forest Hermitage with the utmost frankness. Probably he had no suspicion of having aroused Jakob's anger; the poor embittered creature was so easily offended. Perhaps it might all be made right by a word from her, but it was just as likely that she might cause a fresh outbreak, and the invalid must not be exposed to such a peril; all explanations must be deferred, at least until her recovery.

Absorbed in thoughts such as these, Johanna pursued her way home through the forest. Suddenly she heard the Klausenburg clock strike eight. She was startled. If she would not spoil her grandfather's humour for the day, she must be ready for breakfast at half-past; and that seemed scarcely possible if she should continue upon this path, which wound in and out by long detours among the rocks. But here was a path to the left which seemed to lead directly down the steep declivity into the valley.

"Elinor, shall we venture?" Johanna asked, patting the mare's slender neck. The creature seemed by a proud toss of its head to answer yes, and the rider turned into the steep, slippery pathway. With the greatest caution, and perfectly sure of foot, Elinor performed her task, and at the end of ten minutes the borders of the forest in the valley were reached. "Brava, Elinor! Now for a gallop as a reward." And away flew horse and rider along the narrow road which, intersected by numerous ditches, led through the fields to the Donninghausen park.

The park on this side was bounded by a brook, which, rus.h.i.+ng from the mountains over its stony bed, united far below in the valley with the Donninghausen mill-stream. The little river there made a sudden turn to the south, while the village road, which up to this point wound along beside it, crossed it by a bridge, and, keeping on in its former direction, led straight to Klausenburg.

A carriage was crossing this bridge, coming from the village of Klausenburg; its occupants saw the rider bound forth from the forest and dash along the meadow-path, followed by Leo.

"By Jove, she can ride!" exclaimed a black-haired man sitting on the back seat. "She has her horse well in rein, and the brute is not to be despised either. Aha! see her take that ditch! And, by Jove, there she goes at another! Brava, brava!"

"That must be Johanna!" the woman beside him remarked. And the little girl opposite her leaned forward and cried, "Johanna! Oh, I want to go to her!"

The man did not hear her. The black eyes in his brown, eager face sparkled. "Now the brook!" he went on. "Aha! I thought so. The horse refuses to leap! The water tumbles and foams too much. But his rider chooses to do it. Hurrah! there she goes! Brava, bravissima!" he shouted, and waved his hat in the air. The little girl, too, waved her pocket-handkerchief, and joined her childish voice to the man's loud applause. Johanna did not hear them,--the wind and the rus.h.i.+ng water drowned their voices,--but she saw the hat and the handkerchief waved in the air, and, mortified at having made a show of herself, she rode on quietly to the castle.

She was in time for breakfast, and was doubly glad to be so, since her grandfather's mood was evidently not a cheerful one. Magelone had again put off her oft-postponed return to Donninghausen.

"There must be an end of it!" said the Freiherr, after he had informed his sister and Johanna of Magelone's letter. "I will write to her to-day. She will get the letter to-morrow,--to-morrow evening at the latest,--and the day after to-morrow she will please to come home. I cannot endure this modern habit of vagabondage! It's been hard enough not to be able to forbid it to the boys, but you women will please to stay where the Lord has provided still waters and green pastures for you!"

With these words he got up from table and walked to the door. At the same moment a servant brought Johanna a note. "The messenger is waiting for an answer," he said.

The Freiherr came back. "Read it, child," he said. "If Otto is going to Tannhagen to-day, we can meet him there."

Johanna mechanically obeyed, although, with a mixture of terror and delight, she had seen at a glance that the note was from her step-mother. She opened it and read:

"DEAR JOHANNA,--As I do not know whether we ought to come unannounced, we have stopped at the village inn, and beg you to let us know when you can see us. Do not keep us waiting too long. Lisbeth is crying with impatience. With much love, yours, HELENA."

Johanna summoned up all her courage. "The note is not from Otto, grandfather," she said, in a faltering voice. "My step-mother and my little sister are here. At the village inn," she added, as she observed the Freiherr's start.

He controlled himself with an effort. "At the village inn!" he repeated, after a pause. "Well, you can go to them there if you really wish to see them." With these words he turned to go; Aunt Thekla followed him. "Dear Johann," she said, in her low, pleading voice, "it looks so unkind.

Could not Johanna have the woman and the little girl in her own----"

Her brother's eyes flashed so that she paused in terror.

"Thekla!" he exclaimed, "think what you are saying. Rope-dancers and mountebanks here in my house! Never!" With these words he left the room, and the door crashed to after him.

CHAPTER XX.

AN EQUESTRIAN ARTIST.

Johanna accompanied Helena's messenger to the village. Her longing to see Lisbeth lent wings to her feet, and thrust into the background all questions as to how she should conduct herself towards her step-mother.

And when, as soon as the inn garden was reached, the pretty little figure came flying towards her, and Lisbeth's arms were round her neck, while she loaded her sister with caresses, calling her by all the old childish terms of endearment, Johanna forgot to be anything save grateful to Helena for affording her such a pleasure, and she held out her hand to her with emotion.

Helena clasped her in her arms. "Dear Johanna! how glad I am!" she said.

"But here is some one, too, who longs to see you. My husband. Receive him kindly, I pray you."

With these words she led Johanna into the inn parlour. "Dear Carlo, here she is," she added, with evident anxiety in her voice.

A broad-shouldered, middle-aged man, with a dark complexion, sparkling brown eyes, black hair, and a thick black moustache, arose from the window-seat. "Most happy, most happy!" he cried, in ringing tones, taking Johanna's hand and shaking it without more ado. "I have heard much that is fine about you, and have seen even more, for I think you were the horsewoman we watched this morning, eh?"

"And you were the spectator who waved his hat?" said Johanna.

"Rather say admirer," Carlo Batti interrupted her. "Admirer! By Jove!

you know how to manage a horse! Where in all the world, Fraulein, did you learn to ride so famously?"

"Dear Carlo, had we not better sit down before we plunge into an artistic discussion?" Helena asked, with some asperity. "Come, Johanna, there is a sofa. Although it is a hard one----"

"Yes, yes, come!" Lisbeth exclaimed, drawing her sister towards it. "We will sit down together, as we used to do in the twilight when you told me stories."

"Do you remember them still?" Johanna said, gently. "I thought you would forget me." And, seating herself on the sofa, she took the child into her lap, and the little head was laid, as formerly, upon her shoulder.

"Forget!" Helena repeated, as she sank down in the other corner of the sofa. "Forget you! That would be inexcusable, after all that you did for her. No; she is a good, grateful little thing. She has talked of you every day."

These were strange words from the lips of this woman. Lisbeth solved the riddle. "Yes, my dear, good old darling, I talked of you all the time; I wanted to come to you, and now I am not going away again. Mamma says that she and Uncle Carlo do not need me now, and will leave me with you."

Helena looked embarra.s.sed. "How naughty, Lisbeth!" she cried. "And why do you say 'Uncle Carlo'? He is papa."

The child sat upright in Johanna's lap. "But he is not my papa," she said, waywardly. "Is he, Johanna?"

"Be quiet, you little mouse," Carlo Batti interposed, having drawn up a chair beside Johanna and seated himself in it. "Dear Helena, do not tease her; we can be just as good friends if she calls me Uncle Carlo."

And turning to Johanna, he continued: "Permit me to repeat my question, 'Of whom did you learn to ride?' Here are not only strength, security, elegance, but also, if I do not mistake, a grand method----"

"Which I owe partly to my grandfather and partly to old Martin, his groom," was Johanna's smiling reply.

"Genius, then! pure genius!" cried Carlo Batti, and his bronze face flushed and his eager brown eyes sparkled. "I'll tell you what! Come to us; put yourself in my hands, and, by Jove! I'll promise that in a year you shall be as famous as--as----"

"Don't trouble yourself, dear Carlo," said Helena. "Johanna, as you know, is about to marry a Herr von Donninghausen."

"To be sure; I had forgotten. These infernal grand matches!" he exclaimed, with a comical expression of despair. "You might search the length and breadth of the country and not find such a talent as yours.

And you think of marriage, an irksome marriage! No, no! come to us. Just try it!" And he seized Johanna's hand in a clasp from which it cost her repeated efforts to withdraw it, and went on with enthusiasm: "I need not tell you what it is to have under perfect control a horse,--a strong, proud, n.o.ble creature; but you do not yet know what it is to feel a thousand eyes riveted upon you in admiration, to hear a thousand voices shouting applause. Try it; let me adjure you, try it! and I'll be d--d if you do not say Carlo Batti is right--'the world belongs to the artist, and it shall belong to me!' It belongs even more to a woman than to one of us, especially when she looks like----" He laughed, and his glance completed his sentence. "I cannot understand, Helena, how you could tell me that Fraulein Johanna was not beautiful. A brilliant apparition for the ring,--entirely too brilliant. It would outs.h.i.+ne all others."

Johanna laughed; the man's coa.r.s.e admiration was expressed with such good-humoured simplicity that she could not resent it.

But Helena said, half irritated and half confused, "You forget entirely that Johanna has arranged her future very differently." Then, smiling sweetly, she added, in a sentimental tone, "You men never appreciate the delight with which a true woman relinquishes art, even when she has tasted its raptures and its triumphs, for the sake of her love. You, indeed, dear Carlo, ought to know this."