Ships That Pass in the Night Part 8

Tears came into the kind old eyes.

Robert Allitsen went and bent down to the young woman, and held out his hand.

"Catharina," he said gently.

She looked up then, and saw him, and recognized him.

Then the sad face smiled a welcome.

He sat near her, and took her knitting in his hand, pretending to examine what she had done, chatting to her quietly all the time. He asked her what she had been doing with herself since he had last seen her, and she said:

"Waiting. I am always waiting."

He knew that she referred to her lover, who had been lost in an avalanche the eve before their wedding morning. That was four years ago, but Catharina was still waiting. Allitsen remembered her as a bright young girl, singing in the Gasthaus, waiting cheerfully on the guests: a bright gracious presence. No one could cook trout as she could; many a dish of trout had she served up for him. And now she sat in the suns.h.i.+ne, knitting and waiting, scarcely ever looking up. That was her life.

"Catharina," he said, as he gave her back her knitting, "do you remember how you used to cook me the trout?"

Another smile pa.s.sed over her face. Yes, she remembered.

"Will you cook me some to-day?"

She shook her head, and returned to her knitting.

Bernardine watched the Disagreeable Man with amazement. She could not have believed that his manner could be so tender and kindly. The old mother standing near her whispered:

"He was always so good to us all; we love him, every one of us. When poor Catharina was betrothed five years ago, it was to Herr Allitsen we first told the good news. He has a wonderful way about him--just look at him with Catharina now. She has not noticed any one for months, but she knows him, you see."

At that moment the other members of the household came: Liza, Fritz, and Trudchen; Liza, a maiden of nineteen, of the homely Swiss type; Fritz, a handsome lad of fourteen; and Trudchen, just free from school, with her school-satchel swung on her back. There was no shyness in their greeting; the Disagreeable Man was evidently an old and much-loved friend, and inspired confidence, not awe. Trudchen fumbled in his coat pocket, and found what she expected to find there, some sweets, which she immediately began to eat, perfectly contented and self-satisfied. She smiled and nodded at Robert Allitsen, as though to rea.s.sure him that the sweets were not bad, and that she was enjoying them.

"Liza will see to lunch," said the old mother. "You shall have some mutton cutlets and some _forellen_. But before she goes, she has something to tell you."

"I am betrothed to Hans," Liza said, blus.h.i.+ng.

"I always knew you were fond of Hans," said the Disagreeable Man.

"He is a good fellow, Liza, and I'm glad you love him. But haven't you just teased him!"

"That was good for him," Liza said brightly.

"Is he here to-day?" Robert Allitsen asked.

Liza nodded.

"Then I shall take your photographs," he said.

While they had been speaking, Catharina rose from her seat, and pa.s.sed into the house.

Her mother followed her, and watched her go into the kitchen.

"I should like to cook the _forellen_," she said very quietly.

It was months since she had done anything in the house. The old mother's heart beat with pleasure.

"Catharina, my best loved child!" she whispered; and she gathered the poor suffering soul near to her.

In about half an hour the Disagreeable Man and Bernardine sat down to their meal. Robert Allitsen had ordered a bottle of Sa.s.sella, and he was just pouring it out when Catharina brought in the _forellen_.

"Why, Catharina," he said, "you don't mean you've cooked them? Then they will be good!" She smiled, and seemed pleased, and then went out of the room.

Then he told Bernardine her history, and spoke with such kindness and sympathy that Bernardine was again amazed at him. But she made no remark.

"Catharina was always sorry that I was ill," he said. "When I stayed here, as I have done, for weeks together, she used to take every care of me. And it was a kindly sympathy which I could not resent. In those days I was suffering more than I have done for a long time now, and she was very pitiful. She could not bear to hear me cough. I used to tell her that she must learn not to feel. But you see she did not learn her lesson, for when this trouble came on her, she felt too much. And you see what she is."

They had a cheery meal together, and then Bernardine talked with the old mother, whilst the Disagreeable Man busied himself with his camera.

Liza was for putting on her best dress, and doing her hair in some wonderful way. But he would not hear of such a thing. But seeing that she looked disappointed, he gave in, and said she should be photographed just as she wished; and off she ran to change her attire. She went up to her room a picturesque, homely working girl, and she came down a tidy, awkward-looking young woman, with all her finery on, and all her charm off.

The Disagreeable Man grunted, but said nothing.

Then Hans arrived, and then came the posing, which caused much amus.e.m.e.nt. They both stood perfectly straight, just as a soldier stands before presenting arms. Both faces were perfectly expressionless. The Disagreeable Man was in despair.

"Look happy!" he entreated.

They tried to smile, but the anxiety to do so produced an expression of melancholy which was too much for the gravity of the photographer. He laughed heartily.

"Look as though you weren't going to be photographed," he suggested.

"Liza, for goodness' sake look as though you were baking the bread; and Hans, try and believe that you are doing some of your beautiful carving."

The patience of the photographer was something wonderful. At last he succeeded in making them appear at their ease. And then he told Liza that she must go and change her dress, and be photographed now in the way he wished. She came down again, looking fifty times prettier in her working clothes.

Now he was in his element. He arranged Liza and Hans on the sledge of timber, which had then driven up, and made a picturesque group of them all: Hans and Liza sitting side by side on the timber, the horses standing there so patiently after their long journey through the forests, the driver leaning against his sledge smoking his long china pipe.

"That will be something like a picture," he said to Bernardine, when the performance was over. "Now I am going for about a mile's walk. Will you come with me and see what I am going to photograph, or will you rest here till I come back?"

She chose the latter, and during his absence was shown the treasures and possessions of a Swiss peasant's home.

She was taken to see the cows in the stalls, and had a lecture given her on the respective merits of Schneewitchen, a white cow, Kartoffelkuehen, a dark brown one, and Roslein, the beauty of them all. Then she looked at the spinning-wheel, and watched the old Hausfrau turn the treadle.

And so the time pa.s.sed, Bernardine making, good friends of them all.

Catharina had returned to her knitting, and began working, and, as before, not noticing any one. But Bernardine sat by her side, playing with the cat, and after a time Catharina looked up at Bernardine's little thin face, and, after some hesitation, stroked it gently with her hand.

"Fraulein is not strong," she said tenderly. "If Fraulein lived here, I should take care of her."

That was a remnant of Catharina's past. She had always loved everything that was ailing and weakly.

Her hand rested on Bernardine's hand. Bernardine pressed it in kindly sympathy, thinking the while of the girl's past happiness and present bereavement.

"Liza is betrothed," she said, as though to herself. "They don't tell me; but I know. I was betrothed once."

She went on knitting. And that was all she said of herself.

Then after a pause she said: