The Lost Manuscript Part 5

"It lies somewhere here in the neighborhood," answered the landlord, with reserve.

"How long does it take to go to the manor?" asked the Professor, irritated by the short answers of the man.

"Do you wish to go there?" inquired the landlord. "Do you know the owner?"

"No," answered the Professor.

"Have you any business with him?"

"That is our affair," answered the Professor, curtly.

"The road leads through the wood, and takes half an hour--you cannot miss it;" and the landlord abruptly closed the conversation and left the room. The citizen followed him.

"We have not learnt much," said the Doctor, laughing. "I hope the pastor and magistrate will be more communicative."

"We will go direct to the place," said the Professor, with decision.

Meanwhile the landlord and the citizen consulted together. "Whatever the strangers may be," repeated the citizen, "they are not ecclesiastics, and they did not seem to care for the magistrate. Did you remark how they inquired about the monastery and the Manor?" The landlord nodded. "I will tell you my suspicion," continued the citizen, eagerly; "they have not come here for nothing; they are after something."

"What can that be?" asked the landlord, pondering.

"They are disguised Jesuits; that's what they look like to me."

"Well, if they intend to seek a quarrel with the people at the Manor, they will find their match."

"I am on my way now to the Inspector on business; I will give him a hint."

"Do not meddle with what does not concern you," said the landlord, warningly. But the citizen only held the boots he carried, tighter under his arm, and drove round the corner.

Our two friends left, disgusted with the lack of courtesy they encountered at the Dragon. They inquired the way to the manor of an old woman at the opposite gate of the city. Behind the town the path rose from the gravel bed of the brook to the woody height. They entered a clearing of underbrush, from which, here and there, rose up high oaks.

The rain of the last evening still hung in drops on the leaves--the deep green of summer glistened in the sun's rays--the song of birds and the tapping of the woodp.e.c.k.e.r above broke the stillness.

"This puts one in different frame of mind," exclaimed the Doctor, cheerfully.

"It requires very little to call forth new melodies in a well-strung heart, if fate has not played on it with too rough a hand. The bark of a few trees covered with h.o.a.ry moss, a handful of blossoms on the turf, and a few notes from the throats of birds, are sufficient," replied the philosophic Professor. "Hark! that is no greeting of nature to the wanderer," added he, listening attentively, as the sound of distant voices chanting a choral, fell softly on his ear. The sound appeared to come from above the trees.

"Let us go higher up," exclaimed the Doctor, "to the mysterious place where old church-hymns murmur through the oaks."

They ascended the hill some hundred steps, and found themselves on an open terrace, one side of which was surrounded by trees. In the clearing stood a small wooden church surrounded by a graveyard; some distance beyond on a ma.s.sive extent of rock rose a great old building, the roof of which was broken by many pointed gables.

"How all harmonizes!" exclaimed the Professor, looking curiously over the little church up to the Manor-house.

A funeral chant was heard more clearly from the church. "Let us go in,"

said the Doctor, pointing to the open door.

"To my mind it is more seemly to remain without," answered the Professor; "it is repulsive to me to intrude either on the pleasures or sorrows of strangers. The hymn is finished; now comes the pastor's little discourse."

Fritz meanwhile had climbed the low stone wall and was examining the church. "Look at the ma.s.sive b.u.t.tresses. It is the remains of an old building; they have repaired it with pinewood; the tower and roof are black with age; it would be worth our while to see the inside."

The Professor held in his hand the long shoot of a bramble bush which hung over the wall, looking with admiration at its white blossoms, and at the green and brown berries which grew in thick cl.u.s.ters. The sound of a man's voice fell indistinctly on his ear, and he bent his head involuntarily to catch the words.

"Let us hear," he said at last, and entered the churchyard with his friend. They took off their hats and quietly opened the church door. It was a very small hall; the bricks of the old choir had been whitewashed; the chancel, a gallery, and a few benches were of brown firwood. Before the altar lay open a child's coffin, the form within was covered with flowers. Beside it stood several country people in simple attire; on the steps of the altar was an aged clergyman with white hair and a kind face; and at the head of the coffin the wife of a laborer, mother of the little one, sobbing. Beside her stood a fine, womanly form in city dress; she had taken off her hat, and with folded hands was looking down on the child that lay among the flowers. Thus she stood, motionless; the sun fell obliquely on the waving hair and regular features of the young face. But more captivating than the tall figure and beautiful head was the expression of deep devotion that pervaded the whole countenance. The Professor involuntarily seized hold of his friend's arm to detain him. The clergyman made his concluding prayer; the stately maiden bowed her head lower, then bent down once more to the little one, and wound her arm round the mother, who leaned weeping on her comforter. Thus she stood, speaking gently to the mother, while tears rolled down from her eyes. How spirit-like sounded the murmurs of that rich voice in the ear of her friend! Then the men lifted the coffin from the ground and followed the clergyman, who led the way to the churchyard. Behind the coffin went the mother, her head still on the shoulder of her supporter. The maiden pa.s.sed by the strangers, gazing before her with an inspired look, whispering in her companion's ear words from the Bible: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away. Let little children come unto me." Her gentle accents were heard even by the friends. The mother hung broken-hearted on the arm of the girl, and, as if borne along by the gentle tones, tottered to the grave. Reverently did the friends follow the procession. The coffin was lowered into the grave, the clergyman p.r.o.nounced the blessing, and each one present threw three handfuls of earth on the departed one. Then the country people separated, leaving a free pa.s.sage for the mother and her companion. The latter gave her hand to the clergyman, and then conducted the mother slowly across the churchyard to the road which led to the Manor.

The friends followed at some distance, without looking at each other.

The Professor pa.s.sed his hand over his eyes. "Such incidents are always very touching," he said, sorrowfully.

"As she stood at the altar," exclaimed the Doctor, "she seemed like a prophetess of the olden time, with an oaken crown on her head. She drew the poor, woman on by her gentle accents. The words were from our good, old Bible; and now I understand the significant meaning in ancient times of the word 'whisper,' to which a magic power was ascribed. She took possession of the mourner body and soul, and her voice sank deep into my heart also. What was she, maid or married woman?"

"She is a maiden," answered the Professor, impressively. "She dwells at the Manor, and we shall meet her there. Let her go on, and we will wait at the foot of the rock."

They sat some time on a projecting stone. The Professor never seemed weary of contemplating a tuft of moss; he brushed it with his hand, laying it now on one side, now on the other. At last he arose quickly.

"Whatever may come of it, let us go on."

They ascended the hill some hundred steps. The landscape before them suddenly changed. On one side lay the manor-precincts with a walled gateway and a courtyard, in which stood large farm-buildings; before them, a wide plain of arable land sloped down from the height into a rich valley. The lonely woodland landscape had disappeared; around the wanderers was the active stir of daily life; the wind waved through the seas of corn; harvest wagons were pa.s.sing up the roads through the fields; the whip cracked and the sheaves were swung by strong arms over the rails of the wagons.

"h.e.l.lo! what are you looking for here?" demanded a deep ba.s.s voice behind the strangers, in an imperative tone. The friends turned quickly. Before the farmyard-gate stood a powerful, broad-shouldered man, with close-cut hair, and an expression of deep energy in his sunbrown face; behind him stood farm-employees and laborers, stretching their heads out with curiosity through the gate, and a large dog ran barking toward the strangers. "Back, Nero," called out his master, and whistled to the dog, at the same time scanning the strangers with a cold, searching look.

"Have I the honor of addressing the proprietor of this estate, a Mr.

Bauer?" inquired the Professor.

"I am that person, and who are you?" asked the Proprietor in return.

The Professor gave their names, and that of the place from which they came. The host approached and examined them both from head to foot.

"There are no Jesuits there, I suppose," he said; "but if you come here to find some hidden treasure, your journey is useless; you will find nothing."

The friends looked at each other; they were near the house, but far from the goal.

"You make us feel," answered the Professor, "that we have approached your dwelling without an introduction. Although you have already made a guess as to the object of our journey, yet I beg of you to permit us to make an explanation before fewer witnesses."

The dignified demeanor of the Professor did not fail to have an effect.

"If you really have business with me, it would be better certainly to settle it in the house. Follow me, gentlemen." He lifted his cap a little, pointed with his hand to the gate, and went ahead. "Nero, you brute, can't you be quiet?"

The Professor and the Doctor followed, while the farm hands and laborers and the growling dog closed in behind. Thus the strangers were conducted in a not very cordial manner to the house. In spite of their unpleasant position, they looked with curiosity at the great farmyard, the work going on in the barns, and a flock of large geese which, disturbed by the party, waddled cackling across the road. Then their eyes fell upon the dwelling itself, the broad stone steps with benches on both sides, the vaulted door, and the white washed escutcheon on the keystone. They entered a roomy hall, the Proprietor hung up his cap, laid hold with strong hand of the latch of the sitting-room door, and again made a movement of the hand, which was intended to be polite and to invite the strangers to enter. "Now, that we are alone," he began, "how can I serve you? You have already been announced to me as two treasure-seekers. If you are that, I must begin by plainly telling you that I will not encourage such follies. Apart from that, I am glad to see you."

"But we are not treasure-seekers," rejoined the Professor; "and as we have kept the object of our journey a secret everywhere, we do not understand how you could hear so erroneous a report concerning the occasion of our coming."

"The shoemaker of my steward brought him the intelligence together with a pair of mended boots; he saw you at the tavern in the town, and grew suspicious because of your questions."

"He has exercised more ingenuity than was called for by our harmless questions," answered the Professor. "And yet he was not altogether wrong."

"Then there is something in it," interrupted the Proprietor, gloomily; "in that case I must beg you, gentlemen, not to trouble yourselves or me further. I have no time for such nonsense."

"First of all, have the goodness to hear us before so curtly withdrawing your hospitality," replied the Professor, calmly. "We have come with no other aim than to impart to you something concerning the importance of which you may yourself decide. And not only we, but others, might reproach you if you refused our request without taking it into consideration. The matter concerns you more than us."

"Of course," said the host, "we are acquainted with this style of speech."

"Not quite," continued the Professor; "there is a difference according to who uses it, and to what purpose."