But Jenny continued--"No, I will not keep silent, for you live in dreamland, and you must look a little at the realities of life that you may not fall too suddenly out of your fancied heaven. Perhaps you imagine that Frank Linden would have shown such haste if you had not been Gertrude Baumhagen? Most certainly he would not! I consider it my duty to tell you that mamma, as well as Arthur and I, are of the opinion that his first thought was of the capital our good father--" She stopped, for Gertrude stood before her, tall and threatening.

"You may comfort yourself, Jenny," she gasped out. "I believe in him, and I shall speak no word in his defence. You and the others may think what you please, I cannot prevent it, cannot even resent it, you--" She stopped, she would not utter the bitter words.--"Be so kind as to tell mamma that I will not break my word to him." She added, more calmly, "I shall be so grateful to you, Jenny--if any one can do anything with her it is you--her darling!"

CHAPTER VI.

The young wife left her sister's room almost in consternation. She could find nothing to say to Gertrude's unexpected reliance upon her.

The sisters had never understood each other. Jenny could not comprehend now how any one could be so blinded and so unwise, and she was startled as if by something pure and lofty as the clear girlish eyes rested on her, which could still discover poetry amid all the dusty prose of life. She sat down again beside the sofa.

"Mamma," she whispered, after a pause, during which she balanced her small slipper thoughtfully on the tip of her toe, "Mamma, I really believe you can't help it--will you have a little eau de cologne?--Gertrude is so madly in love with him. I am sure you will have to give your consent, notwithstanding it is so great a disappointment."

Gertrude remained standing in the middle of the room looking after her sister. She felt sorry for her. It must be dreadful when one could no longer believe in love and disinterestedness, and the image of Frank Linden's true eyes rose up before her as clear as his pure heart itself. Can a man look like that with ulterior motives? can a man speak so with a lie in his heart? She could have laughed aloud in her blissful certainty. Even though she were poor, a beggar indeed, he would still love her.

In the afternoon a great conference was held. At twelve o'clock an order was suddenly given from the sofa to have the drawing-room heated, the Dresden coffee service taken out, and some cakes sent for from the confectioner's. Madame Ottilie would hold a family counsel.

The aroma of Sophie's celebrated coffee penetrated even to Gertrude's lonely room. She could hear the doors open and shut, and now and then the voice of Aunt Pauline, and Uncle Henry's comfortable laugh. The day drew near its close and still no conclusion seemed to have been arrived at, but Gertrude sat calmly in her bow-window and waited. He would be calm too, she was sure of that--he had her word. Steps at last--that must be her uncle.

"Well, Miss Gertrude!" he called out into the dusky room--"he came, he saw, he conquered--eh? Fine doings, these. Your mother is in a pretty temper over the presumption of the bold youth. He will need all his fascinations to gain her favor as a mother-in-law. Well, come in now, and thank me for her consent."

"I knew it, uncle," she said, pleasantly. "I was sure you would stand by me."

He was a little old gentleman with a little round body, which he always fed well in his splendid bachelor dinners; always in good humor, especially after a good gla.s.s of wine. And as he knew what an agreeable effect this always had upon him, he never failed for the benefit of mankind, to make use of this means of making himself amiable and merry.

He now took the tall, slender girl laughingly by the hand as if she were a child, and led her towards the door.

"Live and let live, Gertrude!" he cried. "It is out of pure egotism that I made such a commotion about it. You need not thank me, I was only joking. You see, I can stand anything but a scene and a woman's tears, and your mother understands that sort of thing to a T. That always upsets me you know. 'Don't make a fuss, Ottilie,' I said. 'Why shouldn't the little one marry that handsome young fellow? You Baumhagen girls are lucky enough to be able to take a man simply because you like him.' Ta, ta! Here comes the bride!" he called out, letting Gertrude pa.s.s before him into the lighted room.

She walked with a light step and a grave face up to her mother, who was reclining in the corner of the sofa as if she were entirely worn out by the important discussion. By her side sat the thin aunt in a black silk dress, her blond cap reposing on her brown false front, in full consciousness of her dignity. Jenny sat near her while Arthur was standing by the stove. The ladies had been drinking coffee, the gentlemen wine. The violet velvet curtains were drawn and everything looked cosy and comfortable.

"I thank you, mamma," said Gertrude.

Mrs. Baumhagen nodded slightly and touched her daughter's lips with hers. "May you never repent this step," she said, faintly; "it is not without great anxiety that I give my consent, and I have yielded only in consequence of my knowledge of your unbending--yes, I must say it now--pa.s.sionate character--and for the sake of peace."

A bitter smile played about Gertrude's mouth.

"I thank you, mamma," she repeated.

"My dear Gertrude," began her aunt, solemnly, "take from me too--"

"Oh, come," interposed Uncle Henry, very ungallantly, "do have compa.s.sion, in the first place on me, but next on that languishing youth in Niendorf, and send him his answer. It has happened before now that dreadful consequences have followed such suspense; I could tell you some blood-curdling stories about it, I a.s.sure you. Come, we will write out a telegram," he continued, drawing a notebook from his pocket and tearing out a leaf, while he borrowed a pencil from his dear nephew Arthur.

"Well, what shall it be, Gertrude?" he inquired, when he was ready to write. "'Come to my arms!' or 'Thine forever!' or 'Speak to my mother,'

or--ha! ha! I have it--'My mother will see you; come to-morrow and get her consent. Gertrude Baumhagen.' 'And get her consent,'" he spelt out as he wrote.

"Thanks, uncle," said the young girl; "I would rather write it myself in my room; his coachman is waiting at the hotel opposite."

She could hear her uncle's hearty laugh over the poor fellow who had been sighing in suspense from eleven o'clock this morning till now, and then she shut her door. With a trembling hand she lighted her lamp and wrote: "Mamma has consented; I shall expect you to-morrow. Your Gertrude."

The old Sophie, who had been a servant in the Baumhagen house before the master was married, took the note. "I will carry it across myself, Miss Gertrude," she said, "and if it was pouring harder than it is, and if I got my rheumatism back for it, I would go all the same. I have the fate of two people in my hand in this little bit of paper. G.o.d grant that it may bring joy to you both. Miss Gertrude."

Gertrude pressed her hand and then went to the bow-window and looked through the gla.s.s to watch Sophie as she crossed the square. Her white ap.r.o.n fluttered now under the street-lamp near the old apple-woman, and then under the swinging lamp before the hotel. If the old man would only drive as fast as his horses could carry him! Every minute of waiting seemed too long to her now.

Then the white ap.r.o.n appeared again under the hotel lamp, but there was somebody before it. Gertrude pressed her hands suddenly against her beating heart. "Frank!" she gasped, and her limbs almost refused to support her as she tried to make a few steps; He had waited for the answer himself!

"There he is, there he is, my bridegroom!" escaped from the quivering lips. The whole sacred signification of that blessed word overpowered her. Then Sophie opened the door softly and he crossed the threshold of the dainty maiden's boudoir, and shut the door as softly behind him.

The faithful old servant could only see how her proud young mistress nestled into his arms and mutely received his kisses--"Oh, what a wonderful thing this love is!" she said, smiling to herself.

Then she turned towards the drawing-room, but when she reached the door she turned away with a shake of her head. They would all be rushing in and she would not shorten these blessed minutes for Gertrude. It would be time enough to go to "madam" in a quarter of an hour. And she busied herself in the corridor in order to be at hand at the right moment, in case they should both forget all about the mother in the multiplicity of things they had to say.

It was midnight before Linden finally drove home. The jovial uncle had gotten up a little celebration of the betrothal on the spur of the moment, and made a long speech himself. Then Mrs. Jenny had been very gay and had laughed and jested with her brother-in-law _in spe_. But Mrs. Baumhagen, after a private interview of half an hour with the young man, remained silent and grave, and played out her role of anxious mother to the end. She scarcely touched her lips to the gla.s.s of champagne when the company drank to the health of the young betrothed.

Frank Linden, however, had not taken offence at her coldness. She knew him so slightly, and he had come like a hungry wolf to rob her of her one little lamb.

It must be dreadful to give up a daughter, he thought, and especially such a daughter as Gertrude. He was touched to the heart; he thought of his own old mother, he thought how gloomy the future had looked to him only a few weeks ago and how sunny it was now; and all these sunny rays shone out from a pair of blue eyes in a sweet, pale, girlish face. He did not know himself how he had happened to speak to her so quickly of his love. He saw again that brilliantly lighted crimson room of yesterday, and the dim twilight in the bow-window room; there she stood in the wonderful light, a mingled moonlight and candle-light. The Christmas tree was lighted in the next room and the voices and laughter of the company floated to his ears. She had turned as he approached her and he had seen tears on her cheeks. But she laughed as she perceived his dismay.

"Ah, it is because Christmas always reminds me of papa. He has been dead seven years yesterday."

One word had led to another and at length they had found their hands clasped together.

"I would gladly have held this little hand fast that time in the church. Would you have been angry, Gertrude?" and she had shaken her head and looked up at him, smiling through her tears, trusting and sweet, this proud young creature--his bride, soon to be his wife!

He started up out of his dream. The carriage stopped at the steps and the house rose dark above him--only behind Aunt Rosa's windows was a light still shining. He went up the steps as if in a dream and entered the garden hall. He looked round as if he had entered the room for the first time, so strange it looked, so changed, so bare and cold. And he thought of the time when someone would be waiting for him here. He could not imagine such happiness.

The door opened softly behind him and as he turned he saw Aunt Rosa appearing like a ghost.

"I have been waiting for you, my dear nephew," she cried out in her shrill voice; "I have found that letter at last, thank Heaven! It is upstairs in your room, and it has taken a weight off my mind, I a.s.sure you, Frank." She nodded kindly at him from under her enormous cap. "You are late getting home. I am tired and am going to bed now. Goodnight, good-night!"

And she moved lightly like a ghost to the door.

"Auntie!" cried a voice behind her so loud and gay that she turned round in amazement. But then he was beside her and had clasped her in both arms, and before she knew what was happening to her, the shy old maiden lady felt a resounding kiss on her cheek.

"What on earth, Frank Linden--have you gone out of your mind?"

"O, auntie, I can't keep it to myself, I shall choke if I do. So don't be cross. If I had my old mother here, I should kiss the old lady to death for pure bliss. You must congratulate me. Gertrude Baumhagen will be my wife."

Aunt Rosa's half-shocked, half-vexed countenance grew rigid. "Is it possible," she whispered, in amazement, "she will marry into our old house? And the family have consented?"

"A Baumhagen--yes! And she will marry into this old house and the family have consented. Aunt Rosa."

"G.o.d's blessing on you! G.o.d's richest blessing!" she whispered, but she shook her head and looked at him incredulously. "I shan't sleep a bit to-night," she continued. "I am glad, I rejoice with all my heart, but you might have told me to-morrow. It is done now. Good night, Frank. I am glad indeed; this old house needs a mistress. G.o.d grant that she may be a good one." And she pressed his hand as she left him.

He too went to his room. The lamp was burning on the round table and a letter lay beneath it. Ah, true! the long-lost letter! He took it up abstractedly--it was in Wolff's handwriting. He put it down again; what could he want? Some business of course. Should he spoil this happy hour with unpleasant, perhaps care-bringing news? No, let the letter wait--till--but he had already taken it up and broken the seal.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "But he had already taken it up and broken the seal."]

It was a long letter and as he read, he bit his lips hard. "Pitiful scoundrel!" he said at length, aloud, "it is well this letter did not reach me sooner, or things would not have happened as they have." And as if shrinking with disgust from the very touch of the paper, he flung it into the nearest drawer of his writing-table.