The Lost Manuscript Part 26

The day after the reception of the student's package, on arriving at the bench, she saw a small nosegay lying on it; she picked it up with curiosity; a delicately folded note of rose-colored paper was appended to it, with this inscription: "A greeting from B." After this as many stars as there were letters in the name of her father's country-place.

Surprised, she handed the note to the Professor. He opened it and read these unpretentious lines:--

The little dwarfes in their stone-built bower, Have written the rhyme on this card.

They send from thy father's home a flower, With their heart-felt, innermost regard.

"That is meant for you," he said, in astonishment.

"How delightful!" exclaimed Ilse.

"The '_dwarf_' must certainly be a joke of the Doctor," decided the Professor; "truly, he has well disguised his handwriting."

Ilse, delighted, pinned on the nosegay.

"When the Doctor comes this evening he shall not find out that we have discovered him."

The Professor dilated upon the droll idea of his friend and Ilse, who before had looked upon the Doctor with secret distrust, heartily agreed.

But when, in the evening, the Doctor feigned the greatest nonchalance, he was jestingly scolded for his art of dissimulation and loaded with thanks. When, however, he firmly declared that the nosegay and verse did not come from him, fruitless discussion arose as to the author, and the Professor began to look very serious.

A few days later the offering in the wood was repeated; another nosegay lay on the bench with the same address and a verse. Again did Ilse endeavor gently to maintain, that there had been collusion on the part of the Doctor, but the Professor rejected that and put the rose-colored note in his pocket. Ilse took the nosegay with her, but this time did not place it in her girdle. When the Doctor came the adventure was again discussed.

"It can be no one but the little student," said Ilse, much distressed.

"That I fear, also," said the Professor, and related to the Doctor Ilse's annoyance at the confidential package from the devotee of the muses. "Harmless as the thing appears in itself, it still has a serious aspect. These addresses imply close watching, which is anything but agreeable, and such activity and a.s.siduity may lead the adorer to still greater daring. He must be checked. I will endeavor to-morrow to convince him of his error."

"And if he should deny the act," interposed the Doctor. "You should at least make this impossible. As the nosegay has escaped the observation of others pa.s.sing by, it has probably been laid there the last moment before your appearance, which would not be difficult to do, as you always pa.s.s at the same hour. We must endeavor to surprise the daring man."

"I will go alone to-morrow," said the Professor.

"You ought not to watch a student in the wood," said the Doctor, decidedly. "Besides, if your wife remains at home the nosegay will probably not lie on the bench. Leave the affair to me. Go out as usual to-morrow and the following days and I shall watch the place from some other point."

This being settled, the Professor took both the small nosegays from the gla.s.s and threw them out of the window.

On the following day, a quarter of an hour before his friends started, the Doctor went to the wood, disguised in a grey coat and dark hat, in order to fall upon the presumptuous versifier from his hiding-place; he undertook to chastise the offender so that the Professor would be spared any personal interference. He found a good place just opposite the bench, where the dense beech foliage would conceal the hunter from his game. There he placed himself in a good position, drew a large opera-gla.s.s from his pocket and fixed his eyes attentively on the bench in question. The bench was still empty; the few pedestrians pa.s.sed it by with indifference; the time seemed long; the Doctor looked for half an hour through the gla.s.ses, until his eyes began to ache, but he persevered. His place was well chosen; the offender could not escape.

Suddenly, just as his eyes accidentally glanced toward Mr. Hummel's house, he saw the garden gate open; something dark pa.s.sed out between the trees and came toward the bench out of the thicket, looked cautiously round, pa.s.sed by the bench and disappeared again among the trees and through the hostile garden gate. An expression of infinite astonishment was depicted on the countenance of the Doctor; he closed his opera gla.s.s and laughed quietly to himself; then adjusted the gla.s.ses again, and peered after the vanished figure. He shook his head and fell into deep thought. He listened and heard the quiet steps of two promenaders. The Professor and Ilse came out of the wood. They stopped a few steps from the bench and looked at the fatal nosegay which lay there so innocently. The Doctor burst out from the copse, laughing, took up the nosegay, and, offering it to Ilse, said:

"It is not the student."

"Who then?" asked the Professor, uneasily.

"That I cannot tell," replied the Doctor; "but the affair is harmless--the nosegay is from a lady."

"Seriously?" asked the Professor.

"You may depend upon it," replied Fritz, convincingly. "It is from some one whom we both know and your wife need not hesitate to accept the greetings. It is given with the best intentions."

"Have the townspeople so many verses and secrets?" asked Ilse, curiously, taking the flowers with a light heart.

Again there was guessing: they could not find any one on whom they could fix it.

"I am glad that the mystery is thus solved," said the Professor; "but tell your poetess that such missives might easily fall into bad hands."

"I have no influence over her," replied the Doctor; "but whatever may have put it into her head to do this, it will not always remain a secret."

At last came the long-wished-for hour in which Laura was to have a private meeting with the distinguished stranger, as Ilse up to this day was designated in the private memoirs. Her mother had gone out when Ilse entered the sitting-room to ask a household question. Laura gave the information, gained courage and at last ventured to request Ilse to go with her into the garden. There they sat together under the last rays of an October sun and interchanged opinions concerning the boat, the Chinese temple and the pa.s.sers-by. Finally, Laura respectfully took Ilse's hand and drew her into a corner of the garden to show her a great rarity--the abandoned nest of a hedge-sparrow. The birds had long flown away and the remains of the nest still hung on the half bare branches.

"Here they were," cried Laura, impressively; "charming little creatures; there were five speckled eggs there and they reared their little ones successfully. I was in mortal terror all the time on account of the cats that prowl about here."

"You have never lived in the country," said Ilse. "People here in the city are delighted if they can only keep one poor little sparrow in their garden. At home they chirruped, sang and flew about in all the trees; and unless there was something unusual about them, one took no particular notice of them. Here each little creature is valued and cared for, even the sparrows. The first morning I was here I was shocked at the sight of these poor creatures; they are not to be compared to their brothers in the country, their feathers are bristly and uneven, and their whole bodies are black and sooty, like charcoal-burners. I would gladly have taken a sponge to wash the whole lot."

"It would be of no use; they would become black again," said Laura, despondingly. "It is caused by the soot in the gutters."

"Does one become, so dusty and is one so roughly handled in the city?

That is sad. It is certainly much more beautiful in the country." As Ilse softly acknowledged this, her eyes moistened involuntarily with the thought of the distant woody hills. "I am only a stranger here,"

she added more cheerfully. "The city would be very pleasant if there were not so many people: they annoy me with their staring, whenever I go out alone."

"I will accompany you if you like," said Laura, delighted; "I shall always be ready."

This was a kind offer and was thankfully accepted. Laura, in her great joy, ventured to ask Ilse to go with her into her private room. They ascended to the upper story. There the little sofa, the ivy screen, the shepherd and shepherdess, were duly admired, and finally the new piano.

"Will you play something for me?" asked Ilse. "I cannot play at all. We had an old piano but I learnt only a few tunes from my dear, mother for the children to dance to."

Laura took a piece of music, the first leaf of which was beautifully ornamented with gilded elves and lilies, and played the "Elfin Waltz,"

secretly trembling, but with great execution; and she explained, laughingly, with a shake of her black locks, the pa.s.sages where the spirits came fluttering in and mysteriously chattered together. Ilse was highly delighted.

"How quickly your little fingers fly," she said, regarding Laura's delicate hand with admiration. "See how large my hand is in comparison and how hard the skin--that comes from doing housework."

Laura looked entreatingly at her. "If I might only hear you sing."

"I can sing nothing but hymns and some old country songs."

"Oh, do sing them," begged Laura. "I will endeavor to accompany you."

Ilse began an old melody and Laura tried a modest accompaniment and listened with transport to the rich sound of Ilse's voice; she felt her heart tremble under the swelling tones and ventured to join in the last verse.

After this she searched for a song which was known to both, and, when they succeeded tolerably in singing together, Laura clapped her hands enthusiastically, and they determined to practice some easy songs to surprise the Professor.

In the course of conversation Ilse confessed that she had seldom heard a concert, and occasionally when visiting in the neighborhood, had seen a play, but only one opera.

"The piece was called the _Freischutz_," said Ilse; "the heroine was the forester's daughter, and she had a friend just as merry, with beautiful locks and frank eyes like yours; and the man whom she loved lost his faith in the gracious protection of heaven, and in order to obtain the girl he denied G.o.d and surrendered himself to the Evil One.

That was fearful; her heart became heavy and a foreboding came over her; but she did not lose her strength of mind, nor her trust in help from above; and her faith saved her lover, over whom the Evil One had already stretched out his hand."

Then she accurately described the whole dramatic course of the action.

"It was enchanting," she said. "I was very young, and when I came back to our hotel I could not compose myself and my father was obliged to scold me."

Laura listened, sitting on a footstool at Ilse's feet; she held her hand fast and heard her account as a child listens to a tale she already knows.