Edelweiss Part 39

"That is true."

"Oh, if I and my child were but out of this place!" cried Annele, beginning her lamentations afresh.

"And do you care nothing for me?"

Without appearing to hear him she cried again, "O G.o.d, why must I die thus? What have I done?"

"What have you done? yet a little while and G.o.d himself will tell you.

My words are spent in vain."

Both were silent; a secret power seemed forcing Annele to speak, but she could not.

"Good G.o.d!" began Lenz; "here we two stand at the gates of death and with what feelings towards each other! If we should be saved, it would be only to renew the old pain and torment. My parents were three times snowed up. My mother always made provision against such an event, and kept on hand a plentiful supply of salt and oil. Of the first two times I know nothing, but the last is distinct in my memory to this day.

Dearly as my father and mother loved each other, I never before saw them kiss. When my father said: 'Mary, we are once more alone in the world, out of the world'; then for the first time I saw my mother kiss him. For those three days it was like living in eternity, in paradise.

Morning, noon, and night my father and mother sang together out of the hymn-book, and every word they spoke was more sweet and holy than tongue can tell. I remember my mother's saying once: 'Would we might die at such a moment as this; pa.s.s out of this earthly rest into the eternal, neither one left behind to grieve for the other!' Then and only then did I hear my father speak of my uncle. 'If I were to die now,' he said, 'I should leave no enemy behind. I owe no man anything.

My one grief is that my brother Peter dislikes me.'"

Lenz suddenly paused in his story. There was a scratching at the house-door, a whimpering and howling. "What is there? I must see what it is," said Lenz.

"No, no; for Heaven's sake!" cried Annele, sending a thrill through him by the touch of her hand on his shoulder. "Let it be, Lenz! It is a fox howling, or a wolf. I heard the howl of a wolf once, and it sounded just like that."

Whatever the creature was outside, it seemed to be roused to fresh exertion by the sound of voices within; the scratching and barking grew louder.

"That is no wolf; it is a dog. Hark! it is Hubby's bark. Great Heavens, it is Bubby! and where his dog is my uncle must be too. He must be buried in the snow."

"Let him lie there, if he is; it serves him right."

"Woman! are you mad? must you still spit out your poison?"

"I am full of poison up to my throat. For days and days I had nothing else to drink; it has been my only food."

Lenz went to the kitchen and returned with an axe.

"What do you mean to do?" screamed Annele, holding the child as a s.h.i.+eld before her.

"Out of my way!" he cried, and raising the axe brought it down with all his force against the door, which fell outward. It was indeed Bubby, who now sprang in howling, but in an instant was back again scratching in the snow, and uttering short, sharp barks.

Lenz began to shovel away the snow. A piece of fur soon came to view, and laying shovel and pick aside, he set carefully to work, digging with his hands, and bringing the snow into the house in order to clear a s.p.a.ce. When he found his uncle, the old man's consciousness was gone.

All Lenz's strength was required to drag his seemingly lifeless body out of the snow. He bore him into the chamber, stripped off his clothing, put him to bed, and began rubbing him with all his might, till he at last drew a deep breath.

"Where am I?" groaned Petrovitsch; "where am I?"

"In my house, uncle."

"Who brought me here? who took off my clothes? where are my clothes?

where is my fur? where is my waistcoat? it has my keys in it. So you have me at last, have you?"

"Be calm, uncle; I will find everything for you. See, here is your fur, and here is your waistcoat."

"Let me have them. Are the keys in the pocket? yes, there they are. Ha, Bubby, are you here too?"

"Yes, uncle, he saved your life."

"Ah, now I remember. We were buried by the snow. How long ago was it?

was it not yesterday?"

"Scarce an hour ago," said Lenz.

"Hear you no help coming?"

"I hear nothing. Keep quiet a few minutes while I go into the other room, and get you something to drink."

"Leave me the light; bring me something warm."

"Serves me right," said Petrovitsch when he was left by himself; "serves me exactly right. What business had I to go out of my accustomed way?"

He seemed revived by the brandy Lenz brought him, and caressing his dog, who had nestled close to his master's side, said: "Let me go to sleep now. What is that noise? Is there not a raven crying?"

"Yes, one was swept down the kitchen chimney by the snow."

"Very well; let me sleep now."

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

SMITTEN TO THE HEART.

Lenz and Annele sat without in the sitting-room, neither speaking a word. The child laughed and stretched out its little hands now towards the light, and now towards its father's eyes, that were broodingly fixed upon it. "If we must die, thank G.o.d our son is saved!" said Lenz.

Still Annele was silent. The monotonous ticking of the clocks was suddenly interrupted by one of the musical works beginning to play a hymn. For the first time the eyes of husband and wife met. Annele changed the child's position on her lap, and clasped her hands over its buoyant bosom.

"If you can pray," said Lenz, "you ought to be able to look into your heart and repent."

"I have nothing to repent of in my conduct towards you; whatever other sins I may have committed, I confess only to G.o.d. I have meant nothing that was not kind and honest towards you."

"And I?"

"You did right too, as far as you knew how. I am more just to you than you are to me. You would never put me in a position where I could earn anything."

"And your horrible words?"

"Pooh! words break no bones."

Lenz implored her to be kind and peaceable before his uncle. "Your uncle and the raven in the kitchen tell me we must die," she answered as in a dream.

"You are not generally superst.i.tious; I hope, for your sake, you are not going to be so now. It was you who threw the writing and the plant to the wind, and called on the storm to visit us."