Villa Eden Part 128

When Roland was left alone with his sister, he urged her to visit his grandmother and aunt that very day; but Manna reproved him for giving such names to persons not really related to him.

"Ah, but you must love them too," said Roland.

"Must? One can love n.o.body upon compulsion. Let me tell you, Roland-- but no; there is no need."

She yielded at last to his persuasions, and went with him through the new gateway in the garden wall, along the meadows by the sh.o.r.e.

"There goes Eric; I will call him. Eric! Eric!" cried Roland in a loud voice.

The figure did not turn, however, but kept on, and presently disappeared among the shrubbery.

Roland and Manna found the Professorin waiting for them upon the steps, and Manna received a hearty welcome.

"He gave me no peace till I consented to come to you," said Manna.

"So he makes you mind like the rest of us, does he?" said the lady with mock severity. "Let me tell you, my dear child, that I know this wild boy has said a great deal to you about me, and would like to force you to love me; but even the best intentioned urgency in such matters should be avoided. Glad as I shall be if we can be good friends, we yet will not be forced upon each other."

Manna looked in amazement on the Mother, who asked a great many questions about the convent, and advised her to remain much alone, as the sudden change from a life of seclusion to one of excitement might injure her habits of thought, as well as her health.

Manna felt herself cheered by intercourse with this quiet, composed, harmonious nature; only the room looked strange to her with no images of saints about. Her attention was attracted by the sewing-machine, and the Mother had readily consented to instruct her in the use of it when Aunt Claudine entered, whose dignified bearing interested Manna even more than the Mother had done.

"You and Aunt Claudine," exclaimed Roland, "have two things in common.

She is a star gazer like you, and plays the harp as you do."

Aunt Claudine did not require much urging, but willingly played Manna a piece on the harp.

"I shall be very grateful if you will accept me as a pupil," said Manna offering her hand; and the beautiful nervous hand which grasped hers gave her more pleasure by its touch, than she had found in the soft little plump one of the Professorin.

When it grew evening, the Mother and Aunt set out with Roland and Manna towards the villa, Manna walking with the Aunt, and Roland with the Professorin. On the way Eric met them.

"At last!" cried Roland. "Now, Manna, here he is; here you have him."

Manna and Eric exchanged formal bows.

"Why don't you speak? Have you both lost your tongue? Eric, this is my sister Manna; Manna, this is my friend, my brother, my Eric."

"Don't be excited, Roland," said Eric, and there was a ringing tone in his voice that made Manna involuntarily raise her eyes to him. "Yes, Fraulein, this is the second time I have met you in the twilight."

Manna almost began to say that she had seen him once in broad daylight, when she had not spoken to him, but had heard inspiring notes from him; but she checked herself and pressed her lips together. Roland broke the pause that ensued, by saying urgently:--

"Come into the house; then you will see one another by lamplight. It is just a year ago, this hour, since I ran away; can it be only a year?

Ah, Manna, you cannot imagine how many hundred years I have lived through in this one. I am as old as the hills, as old as that laughing Sprite the groom told me about."

He repeated the story to his two willing listeners. When he had ended, Eric announced his intention of staying till the next day with his mother, for every one who was not a blood relation was a stranger at such a time as this. Roland would hear nothing of his being a stranger, but Manna's eyes as they gleamed in the darkness seemed to grow larger.

At the new gateway the party divided, Roland and his sister going to the villa, and Eric returning to the green cottage with his mother and aunt. For the second time he had seen Manna, and for the second time she had seemed nothing but eyes.

How strange that this man should look like the picture of Saint Anthony, thought Manna, when she was alone in her room; there seemed to me no point of resemblance between them; some pa.s.sing look of his, an expression of his eyes, must have reminded Roland of the picture; she too had seen nothing of Eric but his tall figure and his eyes.

She knelt long in prayer, and as she took off her clothes afterwards, she drew more tightly round her waist a girdle--only a little cord it was, which one of the nuns had given her--so tightly that it cut into her flesh.

CHAPTER XIV.

A MORNING GIFT.

Before daylight Roland was at Eric's bedside, and waked him, saying:--

"I will go with you to-day."

Eric could not think what the boy meant, till he reminded him of his having said that he ought, at least once every year, to go up on some hill and see the sun rise. Eric remembered saying so, and, hastily putting on his clothes, they walked together up a neighboring eminence.

A year ago that morning, Roland said he had for the first time seen the sun rise; then he was alone, now with a friend.

"Let us keep silent," advised Eric. They looked towards the east, and saw the light gradually appear. A new light dawned in Roland's mind; he saw that all the splendor and glory of the world is nothing, compared with the light which belongs alike to all. The richest can make for himself nothing higher than the sunlight, which s.h.i.+nes for the poorest in his hovel; the fairest and the highest belongs to all mankind.

Roland fell into a sort of ecstasy, and Eric with difficulty refrained from pressing him to his heart. He was happy, for the sun had risen in Roland, the sun of thought which can never set; clouds may obscure it, but it stands and s.h.i.+nes for ever.

The two descended to the river, and bathed joyfully in it under the early light, and to each the water was as a new baptism. The bells were ringing as they returned to the villa, and in the distance they saw Manna going to church.

Herr Sonnenkamp also had risen early, and paid a morning visit to the Professorin.

"I have followed your good advice," he said, "and made Roland no present to-day. Your account of the way in which royal children keep their birthday was charming; they are not to receive, but to give. I have followed your suggestions in every particular, and given Roland nothing but the means and opportunity of bestowing upon others; I owe you double thanks for allowing me to take the entire credit of the idea. Any approach to untruthfulness is distasteful to me, but for my son's sake, I venture to practice a little deception to-day."

The lady pressed her lips together. Here was this man, whose whole life was a lie, trying to pa.s.s himself off for a man of truth! But she had already taught herself not to be always inquiring too closely into the motives of good deeds. She asked about the presents that Roland was to distribute, and finally yielded to Sonnenkamp's desire that she should accompany him to the villa.

As they approached the door, a carriage drove up from which jumped Pranken. He had come, he said, because it was Roland's birthday, and expressed great pleasure at hearing that Manna also had arrived: Fraulein Perini's telegram he thought it needless to mention. As he stood upon the terrace overlooking the Rhine, he saw Manna walking up and down not far off with a little book in her hand, and could perceive the motion of her lips as she repeated the words from it.

Fraulein Perini soon appeared, and exchanged a few whispered words with Pranken. Great was her pride at having frustrated the cunningly woven plans of this Professor's family, which so plumed itself on its lofty sense of honor. There was no doubt in her mind that the idea of bringing Manna from the convent had originated with Eric, and she saw further evidence of his plotting, in the girl's having been taken to the green cottage on the very evening of her arrival, and returning delighted with the whole family, especially with Aunt Claudine. With a knowing look at Pranken, Fraulein Perini slyly remarked that the Aunt was kept as a reserve to be brought to bear upon Manna, but she hoped that Pranken and herself would be able to hold the field.

At last Manna herself came upon the terrace, and again offered her left hand to Pranken, as in the right she held her prayer-book. She thanked him cordially for his congratulations that this beautiful spring morning found no blossom wanting on the family tree, and, as he undertook to read what was in her mind, and interpret her feelings at finding herself once more under her father's roof, she said quietly:--

"It is a tent which is spread and folded again."

With great tact Pranken seized upon the expression; he was sufficiently familiar with the ecclesiastical manner of speaking, to be able to construct the whole contingent of meditation and reflection, from which this single remark had been thrown like a solitary soldier on a reconnoissance. He talked with no little eloquence of our pilgrimage through the desert of life, until we reached the promised land, adding that the old man in us must die, for only the new man was worthy to possess the land of promise.

There was a certain conversational fluency in Pranken's manner of speaking which at first repelled Manna, but she seemed pleased, upon the whole, to find this carefully trained, versatile man at home in this sphere of thought. The fact of his belonging to the church, and therefore living among the same ideas with herself, seemed to form a bond of attraction between them. When at length he drew out of his pocket the Thomas a Kempis she had given him, and told her that to that he owed whatever of good was in him, she cast down her eyes, and, laying her hand upon the book, said hurriedly, as she heard the voices of the Professorin and the Major approaching: "Pray put the book back, away."

Pranken obeyed, and while his eyes were fixed upon Manna, kept his hand pressed on the book, which lay against his heart. This common secret established a degree of intimacy at once between himself and the pure, reserved girl.

The Major examined Manna as he would have done a recruit, making her turn round and round, and walk this way and that, that he might judge of her way of moving, all which evolutions Manna went through with great good humor.

"Yes, yes," he said at length, extending the forefinger of his left hand, as he always did when about to bring forth a piece of wisdom; "yes, yes; when it works well, it is all right. Yes, yes; Herr Sonnenkamp, when it works well, it is right, this sending a young man into the army and a young woman into a convent, for a while. When it works well, it is all right."

All nodded a.s.sent, and the Major was enchanted at having begun the day by saying a good thing. But he soon changed his tone to one of complaint at Roland's absence; he did not deserve his happiness, keeping out of the way on such an anniversary as this, such a beautiful spring day, too, that if they had ordered it expressly it could not have been finer. He was just about to relate the fearful adventure in the special train, which took place just a year ago that very day, when Roland and Eric at last appeared.