"G.o.d is my witness," he said, "that I did all I could to avoid a breach with Hanover, and to save the king from the hard fate which now falls upon him. Believe me," he added, "my heart could make no greater sacrifice to Prussia, her greatness, and her calling in Germany, than in yielding to this necessity."

A moisture clouded the king's clear eyes.

"Decline to receive the letter!" he said with emotion, sorrowfully bending his head.

"G.o.d bless your majesty," cried Bismarck with kindling eyes, "for the sake of Prussia and of Germany!"

General von Moltke looked gravely at his royal commander with an expression of earnest love and admiration.

Silently the king motioned with his hand and turned to the window.

Count Bismarck and the general left the cabinet.

CHAPTER XX.

THE CRISIS.

Langensalza had grown very quiet after its days of storm and excitement. The Hanoverian army was disbanded, and had returned home.

The Prussian troops had advanced upon other enemies in the south and west, and the little town was now as placid and still as it had been for long years before, until Fate chose it for the theatre of so b.l.o.o.d.y a struggle.

But although the streets were as quiet and monotonous as ever in the hot sunshine of midsummer, within the houses a quiet life went on of inexhaustible love and mercy, that love and mercy which the tempest of war always calls forth so abundantly, and which is so lovely a witness of the eternal and indestructible connection between man's heart and the G.o.d of unconquerable love, of inexhaustible compa.s.sion.

Many of the severely wounded Prussians and Hanoverians could not be moved, and numerous hospitals were formed. All the private houses had received the poor sacrifices of war, and from Prussia and Hanover, besides the sisters of mercy and deaconesses, numerous relatives of the wounded had arrived, to undertake the care of those they loved.

When the sun was setting, and the twilight brought the coolness of evening, many women and girls in dark, simple dresses, with grave faces, walked silently through the streets, hastily breathing in a little fresh air, to obtain strength to continue their work of loving self-sacrifice; and the looks of the inhabitants followed them with quiet sympathy, as they sat before their doors after their day's work was over, talking in whispers about one group after another as it pa.s.sed.

Madame von Wendenstein, with her daughter and Helena, had been most kindly received into old Lohmeier's house, Margaret preparing two rooms in the well-to-do burgher house with every possible comfort, whilst the candidate found a lodging in a neighbouring hotel.

Trembling with anxiety, Madame von Wendenstein approached her son's bed, repressing by a powerful effort the convulsive sobs that threatened to choke her. The young lieutenant lay rigid and quiet, his low, regular breathing the only sign of life.

The mother took his hand, bent over him, and gently breathed a kiss upon his brow; and under the magnetic influence of a mother's kiss, the young man slowly opened his eyes, and gazed around with a vacant look.

But then a happy ray of recognition animated the senseless eyes, a smile came to his lips, and the mother felt an almost imperceptible pressure on her fingers.

The old lady sank on her knees beside the bed, laid her head on her son's hand, and, in silent unspoken prayer, besought G.o.d to preserve this life, dearer to her than her own.

The two young girls stood behind Madame von Wendenstein. Helena's large burning eyes were fixed on the image of the man, now so weak and fragile, who had left her so fresh and strong. His sister concealed her tears with her handkerchief; but Helena's eyes were dry and bright, her pale features composed and motionless. She stood with folded hands, and her lips trembled slightly.

Lieutenant von Wendenstein's widely-opened eyes fell on the young girl, when his mother sank down beside his bed. A gleam of happiness pa.s.sed over his face, his eyes brightened with a look of delight, his lips opened slightly, but a hard, rattling breath came from his mouth, and a red foam appeared on his lips. His eyelids closed again, and the face lay deadly pale and rigid on the white pillow.

Then the surgeon arrived, and brought uncertain comfort, and a time commenced of unwearied watching--that quiet work, so difficult in its simplicity and on which so rich a blessing rests, which raises the heart so high above all earthly things, to the Fount of love, the Eternal Lord of human life and human fate. How easy it seems to sit in a comfortable chair, and watch the sleep of the sick; how small the trouble of laying a cooling bandage on a wound, of placing a nourishing drink, a composing medicine to the lips!

But who can weigh the anguish and anxiety with which the loving eye hangs on each movement of the eyelash, on each quiver of the lip, on every breath! The life of the sick may be endangered by a minute's sleep, a forgotten order. Oh! how great these small, unimportant services are through the long nights, when the seconds, wont to fly so quickly, roll heavily, drearily into the sea of eternity; how small and colourless all the changing brilliant doings of the outer world appear, compared with the quiet sick-room and its holy work of preserving a human life, and staying the Fates' cold hands, with their pitiless shears, from severing a tender thread, on which hang joy and hope, love and happiness, work and success!

And when recovery slowly, slowly approaches the bed of pain, like a tender spring flower coyly raising its head, ever threatened by the rough hand of a wintry death, who hesitatingly and unwillingly gives up his prey, and with his cold flakes strives to stifle the bloom so unweariedly tended day and night; how the loving heart bows down in humble thanksgiving before the Almighty, in whose hand human life is but a breath, which in a moment can fail, and which yet is so carefully preserved, and adorned with such rich blessing. How small appear human wishes, human will; how resignedly the heart learns to pray, "Lord, not my will, but Thine be done!" with what trust and faith the soul rises to the Father beyond the stars, who says, "Ask, and it shall be given you."

Madame von Wendenstein pa.s.sed through all these phases of inner life beside the bed of her son; hoping and fearing, doubting and trusting, she always maintained her outward calmness, and performed all the duties of a nurse, a.s.sisted by the two young girls. Pale and quiet, Helena took her share of the work, her large, dreamy eyes, quickened by anxiety, watching every feature of the wounded man.

And hope had come, rejoicing every heart. The patient had pa.s.sed through the first fever from the wound. The ball had been satisfactorily extracted; only one crisis more had to be feared--the flow of blood which had filled the deep wound; then there was only the recovery of strength to the much-shaken nervous system.

The most complete quiet was ordered by the surgeon; no loud sound must be permitted to reach the patient's ear; no question must be answered, and smiling lips and friendly glances must be the only language between the sufferer and his nurses.

And how expressive was this language!

What pure, warm light flowed from Helena's eyes when they rested on the pale face of the sleeper; how they hung on every breath, how thankfully were they raised above when the regular breathing told of soft and gentle sleep!

And when the sufferer opened his eyes, and saw those glances, what bright, expressive looks, though weak from illness, replied. How wonderful is it that the eye can express so much, that small circle which yet can comprehend and mirror back the firmament, with its stars, the everlasting mountains, and the boundless sea; what no words can utter, what the most glowing poetry cannot express, is all said by the eye, with its fine shades of varied expression; and above all by the eyes of the sick, because, banished from the changing and distracting pictures of the world, they have grown clearer and more transparent, revealing more plainly all that pa.s.ses in the self-contained soul.

When the eyes of the wounded officer rested on the young girl, their deep eloquence telling whole volumes of poetry, recollections of the past, hopeful dreams for the future, her eyes fell, and a slight blush pa.s.sed over her brow, and yet she raised them again, and her answer sparkled through a veil of tears.

Once when Helena offered him some cooling drink, his long, thin, white hand, with its dark blue veins, was stretched out towards her, she gave him hers, and he clasped it, and held it for a long time, and his eyes rested on her so thankfully, so enquiringly, so longingly, that, with a sudden crimson blush, she withdrew her hand; but her look had answered his, and, smiling, he closed his eyes, to dream again in light and happy slumber.

And often since then, with an imploring look, he had held out his hand, and she had given him hers,--and then her hand had been gently pressed to his lips, and a kiss had been breathed on it with the hot breath of sickness, and again tremblingly she had withdrawn her hand, and again their eyes had met, and a happy smile had appeared upon her lips. And the dumb language between them had grown richer and clearer, and he had often opened his lips as if to make his feeble voice enforce the words his eyes had spoken; but with a sweet smile she had laid her finger on her lips, and his mouth had remained silent. At last his lips moved as she sat by his bed, and in the lowest whisper he said, "Dear Helena."

Then with a quick movement and a brilliant look she had held out her hand to him, and had not withdrawn it when he had pressed it long and fervently to his lips.

Madame von Wendenstein had seen much of this dumb language, and had understood it;--for what woman does not understand it? and what mother is indifferent when the heart of a beloved son turns with tender feelings to her who through the warfare of daily life may carry on a gentle woman's work, begun by the mother herself during the quiet years of childhood, that work of mild, consoling, gentle, forgiving love, without which man's strength is hard and unfruitful; without which man's work is without charm and graceful inspiration? Lost in these reflections she had often sat watching the movements of the two young hearts; whether it was pleasing to her, whether she saw with joy or grief that which was unfolded to her, and which she could not prevent, was hard to read in her pale, but calm and cheerful features; nevertheless she was deeply moved by the sight of this flower of love springing up from her son's bed of pain. And when one day the wounded man put out both hands, and taking her hand and Helena's at the same moment, silently implored that a mother's love might be given to his beloved, without speaking she pa.s.sed her arms round Helena, and imprinted a kiss upon her brow; then her daughter came, and tenderly pressed Helena to her heart; and the sick man with a look of happiness folded his pale hands together in thankfulness.

Thus in the chamber of sickness a rich, eventful life went on, a link between two hearts was formed, so pure, so tender, so delicate, so holy, that it scarcely could have been thus perfected amidst the distractions of the world; no words had been exchanged, but all was understood--all knew what had sprung up on the border land that divides life from death; they knew it had taken root strongly, and would grow up in the future life. Thus G.o.d, whilst ruling the terrible tempests that convulsed the world, and bringing forth a new order of things from the mighty struggle of the nations of Germany--seized with a gentle, tender hand the inner life of these two human hearts, imprinting deep and silent feelings as indelibly, as the gigantic characters in which His eternal judgments were graven on the tablets of history.

Fritz Deyke, with his clear, true eyes, saw plainly enough what was going on beside the sick-bed of his lieutenant; he had not said a word, but he had managed to express that he understood, and was perfectly satisfied, by his respectful attentions and hearty sympathy to the pastor's daughter, and when he saw Helena sitting beside the lieutenant's bed, he looked with a smile from one to the other, and gave an approving nod, as if applauding some satisfactory thought.

Since the ladies' arrival he only came to and fro to the sick room, bringing everything needful, and at night he insisted on undertaking the last and most weary hours of watching, driving away the ladies with good-natured brusqueness.

But he was unwearied in a.s.sisting the pretty Margaret in all her occupations, in her endeavour to make their quiet monotonous life as agreeable as possible to her guests, and in her efforts to provide them with every comfort; then he had almost taken old Lohmeier's place out of doors, in the stable and garden, a.s.sisting everywhere with skilful hand, lightening much of the old man's work, and relieving him entirely of the rest. And in the evening he sat before the door with his host and his daughter; the father listened well pleased and smiled approvingly at his daughter when the st.u.r.dy son of Wendland, who had long before thrown aside his soldier's coat, told stories of his home; the old man gave a nod of satisfaction when it appeared from these histories that old Deyke was a well-to-do man, and that a rich inheritance must one day descend to his only son and heir.

The candidate came several times daily to see the ladies. Sometimes in a quiet manner he helped a little in nursing. Sometimes he spoke a few well-chosen words of comfort to the old lady. He went in and out of all the houses where there were sick and wounded, offered spiritual consolation, and was unwearied in a.s.sisting and directing in the hospitals, so that he won the general respect and grat.i.tude of all the inhabitants of Langensalza, and all the relatives of the wounded.

Madame von Wendenstein was full of his praise, and took every opportunity of showing her esteem and grat.i.tude to the young clergyman.

Helena kept aloof from her cousin, and he did not seek her more than every-day intercourse required. But his eyes often rested on her with a strange expression, and an evil glance darted from them when he saw the young girl sitting beside the bed of the wounded officer, when her whole soul lay in her eyes, and the feelings of her heart were warmly reflected in her features; but no word, no sign betrayed that he guessed what had taken place in solitude and silence.

Late in the afternoon of one of the last days of July Madame von Wendenstein sat, with her daughter, in her room. The window was wide open to admit the cooler air that streamed in as the day declined. The door of the sick-room stood open, and Helena sat by the bedside, attentively watching the quiet slumberer as he lay with a smiling expression of happiness on his pale features.

The candidate sat with the ladies in his faultless black dress, a white necktie of dazzling purity carefully arranged around his neck, and his hair brushed smoothly down on each side of his forehead.

He spoke in a low voice as he told Madame von Wendenstein of the other sufferers whom he had visited.

"You have chosen a beautiful calling," said the old lady, smiling kindly on the young clergyman; "in such times as these especially, it must be a glorious satisfaction to bear the divine words of comfort to sufferers, and to raise and refresh their souls amidst bodily pain."

"But in such times as these," said the candidate, in a humble voice, casting his eyes to the ground, "I feel doubly what an unworthy instrument I am in the hand of Providence; when I speak to sufferers who have already stretched out their hands to eternity, who already behold the glories of a future world, I often ask myself whether I am worthy to tell them of their Lord, and I tremble beneath the weight of my office. But," he continued, folding his hands together, "the power of the divine word gives strength even to an unworthy instrument to work mightily; and I can say with joy that many a heart in health devoted to the world, has through my means, on the brink of eternity, received the faith, and obtained salvation."

"How many families will be grateful to you!" said Madame von Wendenstein warmly, as she held out her hand to him.

"They must not be grateful to me, but to Him who is mighty through me,"

replied the candidate, in a low voice, bowing his head.