The Lost Manuscript Part 19

"We do not know; the sun is going down and my people are weary and barefooted," replied the gypsy woman.

"You must not rest near the farm nor near the village houses. The bread you will receive at the gate of the farm-yard; you may send some one there to fetch it. If you light a fire in any of our fields, take care not to go too near the sheaves; we shall look after you. Let none of you stroll about the estate or into the village to tell fortunes to people, for we do not permit it."

"We do not tell fortunes," answered the woman, touching a small black cross which she wore around her neck. "None here below know the future, nor do we."

Ilse bent her head reverently.

"Well said," said she. "According to the meaning which seems conveyed in your words, you do not remind me in vain of the communion which exists between us. Come to the gate yourself, mother, and await me there; if you need anything for your little ones, I will endeavor to help you."

"We have a sick child, my pretty young lady, and the boys are in want of clothes," begged the gypsy woman. "I will come, and my people shall do as you wish."

She gave a sign, and the wild troop tramped obediently along the side-road that led to the village. The friends looked with curiosity after the band.

"That such a scene should be possible in this country I could never have believed," cried the Doctor.

"They were formerly quite a nuisance to us," replied Ilse, with indifference; "they are seldom about, now. My father keeps strict order, and that they know right well. But we must go back to the farm-yard, for there can be no harm in caution with this thievish race."

They hastened back to the farm-yard. The Doctor lamented heartily that his intended journey prevented him from obtaining information from the strangers respecting the secrets of their language.

Ilse called the Inspector, and the intelligence that there were gypsies in the neighborhood flew like wildfire over the farm. The stables were guarded, the poultry and families of fatted pigs were put in the charge of stout maids, and the shepherds and ploughmen received orders to keep watch at night. Ilse called the children and gave them their supper, but found it difficult to control their excitement. The youngest were given over to Mademoiselle, and under strong protest and many tears were consigned to the secure protection of their beds. Then Ilse collected old gowns and linen, gave a maid two huge loaves, and prepared to go to the gate of the farm-yard, where the gypsy woman was to await her. The Doctor, in his joy about the strangers, had cast off all anxiety concerning his friend.

"Allow us to witness the interview with the sibyl," he begged.

They found the gypsy woman sitting in the dusk before the gate. Near her was a half-grown maiden, with brilliant eyes and long tresses, but scanty dress. The woman rose and received with a distinguished air the bounty which Ilse handed to her.

"Blessings on you, young lady," she exclaimed, "and may all the happiness that you now wish be your portion. You have a face that promises good fortune. Blessings on your golden hair and your blue eyes. I thank you," she concluded, bending her head. "Will not the gentlemen also give my little girl a keepsake?" The wild beauty held out her hand. "Her face is burnt by the sun; be kind to the poor dark girl," begged the old one, looking furtively round.

The Professor shook his head. The Doctor got out his purse and placed a piece of gold in the hand of the woman.

"Have you given up fortune-telling?" he asked laughingly.

"Misfortune visits those who prophesy and those who ask," replied the gypsy woman. "Let the gentleman be on his guard against all that barks and scratches, for there is mischief in store for him from dogs and cats."

Ilse and the Professor laughed. Meanwhile the eyes of the gypsy woman peered restlessly into the bushes.

"We cannot tell fortunes," she continued. "We have no power over the future. And we make mistakes, like others. But we see much, my beautiful lady. And though you do not desire it, yet will I tell it you. The gentleman near you seeks a treasure, and he will find it. But he must take care lest he lose it. And you, proud lady, will be dear to a man that wears a crown, and you shall have the choice to become a queen. The choice and the torment," she added in a lower tone, and her eyes again wandered unquietly about.

"Away with you," cried Ilse, indignantly; "such gossip does not agree with your professions."

"We know nothing," murmured the gypsy woman humbly, grasping the talisman at her neck. "We have only our thoughts, and our thoughts are idle or true, according to a more powerful will. Farewell, my pretty lady," she cried out impressively, and strode with her companion into the darkness.

"How proudly she walks away," exclaimed the Doctor. "I have much respect for the clever woman. She would not tell fortunes, but she could not help recommending herself by a bit of secret knowledge."

"She has long ago learnt all about us from the laborers," replied Ilse, laughing.

"Where have they pitched their camp?" asked the Doctor, with curiosity.

"Probably beyond the village," answered Ilse. "You may see their fires in the valley. These strangers do not like people to come near their camp and see what they have for supper."

They descended slowly into the valley and remained standing on the border of the brook, not far from the garden. All around them the darkness of the evening lay on bush and meadow. The old house stood out on the rock, gloomy under the twilight gray of the heavens. At their feet the water murmured and the leaves of the trees were agitated by the night wind. Silently did the three look upon the vanis.h.i.+ng shadows of the landscape. The valley alongside the village lay invisible in the deep gloom of the night. Not one lighted window was to be seen.

"They have disappeared silently like the bats, which are even now flying through the air," said the Doctor.

But the others did not answer. They were no longer thinking of the gypsies.

Then through the still evening a low moan was heard. Ilse started and listened. Again the same weak tone.

"The children!" cried Ilse, in dismay, and rushed toward the hedge which divided the meadow from the orchard. Much alarmed she shook the closed gate, then broke through the hedge, and sprang like a lioness past the espaliers. The friends hastened after her, but could not overtake her. A bright light shone among the trees before her and something moved as she flew on. Two men rose from the ground; one encountered her, but Ilse threw back the arm which was raised to strike her, so that the man reeled and fell back over the weeping children who lay on the gra.s.s. Felix, who was behind Ilse, sprang forward and seized the man, while the Doctor the next moment struggled with another, who glided like an eel from under his hands and disappeared in the darkness. Meanwhile the first robber struck at the arm of the Professor with his knife, wrenched himself away from the hand which held him, and in the next moment broke through the hedge. One heard the crackling of the branches, and then all was quiet again.

"They live!" cried Ilse, kneeling on the ground, with panting breath, and embracing the little ones, who now uttered piteous cries. It was Riekchen, in her night-dress, and Franz, also nearly stripped. The children had escaped from the eyes of Mademoiselle and the protection of the bedroom, and slipped into the garden, to see the fire of the gypsies, of which they had heard their sister speak. They had fallen into the hands of some of the fellows belonging to the band, who were looking out for something to steal, and had been robbed of their clothes.

Ilse took the screaming children in her arms, and in vain did the friends try to relieve her of the burden. Silently she hastened with them into the house, rushed into the room, and, still holding them fast, knelt down by them before the sofa, and the friends heard her suppressed sobs. But it was only for a few moments that she lost her self-control. She rose, and looked at the servants, who thronged terrified into the room.

"No harm has happened to the children," she exclaimed. "Go where you have to keep watch and send one of the overseers to me."

The Inspector immediately came.

"A robbery has been committed on our estate," said Ilse, "and those who perpetrated it should be handed over to the law. I request you to seize their camp."

"Their fire is in the ravine behind the village," Replied the Inspector; "one may see the flame and smoke from the upper story. But, Miss Ilse--I say it unwillingly--would it not be more prudent to let the rogues escape? A large portion of the harvest still lies in sheaves; they may set it on fire in the night, out of revenge, or perhaps venture something still worse, in order to free their people."

"No," exclaimed Ilse; "do not hesitate--do not delay. Whether the vagabonds injure us or not will be decided by a higher will. We must do our duty. The crime demands punishment, and the master of this estate is in the position of guardian of the law."

"Let us be quick," said the Professor; "we will accompany you."

"Well, so be it," replied the Inspector, after consideration; "the farm bailiff shall remain here and we others will seek the band at the fire."

He hastened out. The Doctor seized a k.n.o.bbed stick that was in the corner of the room. "That will suffice for me," he said, laughing, to his friend. "I consider myself bound to show some forbearance toward these thievish a.s.sociates of my studies, who have not quite forgotten their old tongue." As he was on the point of leaving the room he stopped: "But you must remain behind, for you are bleeding."

Some drops of blood fell from the sleeve of the Professor.

The countenance of the maiden became white as the door against which she leant. "For our sake," she murmured faintly. Suddenly she hastened up to the Professor and bent down to kiss his hand. Felix restrained her.

"It is not worth speaking of Miss Ilse," he exclaimed. "I can move my arm."

The Doctor compelled him to take off his coat and Ilse flew for a bandage.

Fritz examined the wound with the composure of an old duellist. "It is a slight p.r.i.c.k in the muscles of the under part of the arm," he said, comforting Ilse; "a little sticking-plaster will be sufficient."

The Professor put on his coat again and seized his hat. "Let us start,"

he said.

"Oh, no; remain with us," begged Ilse hastening after him.

The Professor looked at her anxious countenance, shook her heartily by the hand and left the room with his friend.

The hasty tread of the men had died away. Ilse went alone through all the rooms in the house. Doors and windows were closed. Hans watched at the door opening into the court-yard, his father's sword in his hand.

And the housemaids overlooked the court-yard and garden from the upper floor. Ilse entered the nursery, where the two little ones, surrounded by Mademoiselle and their brothers and sisters, were sitting in their beds and struggling between their last tears and their sleep. Ilse kissed the tired little ones, laid them down on their pillows, then she hastened out into the yard and listened, now in the direction in which the band lay, now on the other side, where the clatter of horses' hoofs might announce the arrival of her father. All was quiet. The maids from above called to her that the fire of the gypsies was extinguished, and she again hastened up and down, listening anxiously and looking up to the starry heaven.