"Gently, gently," said the Pastor, in an authoritative tone, "you two young people, follow me to my room."

He went first, and the two followed him.

"Sit down," said the Pastor, when they were in his study--then he continued: "Adam, probably because you are the richest man in all the country, and can help yourself out of a full purse, without even thinking. What will it cost? you may imagine that whatever you choose can be done at once; you are proud of your strength, because you can knock down a horse, or kill a wolf with your stick: do you suppose that you are, therefore, ent.i.tled to imagine that where you are concerned, there are no laws or sacred injunctions, that cannot be abrogated when you wish it?"--

The Pastor paused, and Adam began--

"Herr Pastor! no one in the world knows me as I really am--neither my father, nor my mother--no one but my Martina. You, Herr Pastor, do know something of me; but not everything. What you have just said is very true; I have been a wild fellow; always ready to hit every man--a word and a blow; and I fear it is true, that I had not, hitherto, entirely subdued this wild fellow within me; but, Herr Pastor, he is now down for ever, and you and my Martina ... only give me some penance to perform; I will submit cheerfully, for I deserve it. Desire me to hack off my fingers, that I may become as weak as a child, and I will not shrink from it."

Adam's emotion was so great that he could not say another word, and the Pastor resumed--

"The law is, that you must be proclaimed three Sundays following."

"Is it not enough that the perils of my child made my blood run cold in my veins? Tell me what to do, Herr Pastor, and I will do it."

"Oh! Herr Pastor," entreated Martina; "have we not been punished severely enough? Have we not repented long enough?"

"No! you conducted yourself very properly during your long trial, but your sin was no light one. It shall never be said that those who once set the law at defiance, shall do the same now."

"If we cannot help ourselves, we must submit, I suppose," said Adam.

Martina could not speak for tears. The Pastor let her remain for a time quiet, and then said:--

"Come with me to the next room."

"Is it all arranged?" asked the Pastorin.

Adam and Martina shook their heads, and Speidel-Rottmann came forward and said, "Herr Pastor, is it on account of the banns?"

"Yes, yes," answered Adam.

"If that is all," said Speidel-Rottmann with an air of importance, "Herr Pastor, I am willing to pay the fine it will cost."

"Truly, if rich farmers could smooth all obstacles with their money, there would be little difficulty for them in this world; but, Master Rottmann, there are some things which even your ten horses could not move from the spot. Has your wife given her consent?"

"Haspele declares she has," interrupted Edward. "He will be here presently."

Adam hurried away and brought Haspele back with him; he came in a great fright, and when the Pastor appealed to his conscience to say whether the Rottmannin had really given her consent, he said at length, after biting his lips till the blood came, "No, she did not."

"Very well then," said the Pastor; "I will on my own responsibility undertake to marry you, even without the Rottmannin's consent; but now I have something to say to you. Neither your pride, Adam, nor your humility--and I believe in your sincerity, and hope I shall have reason to do so henceforth--nor your swaggering, Speidel-Rottmann, as to paying the fine, but----"

"For the sake of little Joseph," the Pastorin could not help saying: "you give in on account of the boy. He is a precocious child. What would he think, if he heard that the banns of his parents were only published now? What battles he would have with his companions, and who knows what poisonous drops might fall into his heart, and what evil might be produced by them hereafter?"

"Exactly so," said the Pastor; "the child is now asleep, and utterly unconscious of all the perplexities and disorders of this wicked world; he has been in danger of death, and miraculously saved in search of his father, who proved himself a weak person, in spite of his strength; and his grandfather, who hitherto believed that everything could be purchased with money. So for little Joseph's sake I will marry you this night."

Martina rushed up to the Pastor, and knelt down and kissed his hand; Adam would evidently have gladly done the same, but in spite of his humility he could not quite bring himself to kneel yet; he only laid his hand on Martina's head, as if to testify that she was kneeling for him also.

All was still in the room, and the Pastor ended by saying, "We shall see each other again in church," and then went into his study. The Parsonage soon resumed its usual quiet aspect, but even before the wedding party left it, the news ran like wildfire from house to house in the village. "Adam and Martina are to be married to-night. Leegart said they would beforehand."

CHAPTER XIX.

A VOICE AT MIDNIGHT.

The bells were ringing out into the cold night air; a bright ray of light from the open church door streamed out on the graves, which were covered with snow. The whole community were a.s.sembled in the church, and each had a light beside them; the organ was pealing forth, and the congregation uplifted their voices in a hymn.

The sounds of the organ died away, the voices were silent, and the Pastor stood up in the pulpit and commenced thus:--"St. Matthew, 25th chapter, 40th verse. 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' These are words from a distant land, but they are verified this day, here in our woods; in this forest, where at that time no human foot followed the track of wild animals, either here or elsewhere." He then went on to describe that men cannot serve themselves better than by doing good to others; "and never," continued he, "never is the human face more bright than at the moment of doing a good action; a sacred halo overspreads such a man, and makes him soar above the sorrows of life." He then began to explain the signification of having service in the church at midnight.

"You are all voluntarily a.s.sembled here, and have broken in on your sleep; break in also on the sleep of your souls, and close not your eyes. How often have anxiety and sorrow kept you awake in the night, and you tossed about, no longer able to return to repose, and it was well for you if it was only anxiety, or care creeping intangibly in the darkness about your bed! Sad indeed would it have been for you, had it been the remembrance of an evil deed that made you wakeful! In one house a child keeps its mother waking; the father is far away, and she stands beside his sick bed, and says, 'Would to G.o.d it were morning!'

and asks, 'Is it not yet morning?'"

As the Pastor spake these words, Martina clung close to Adam, who was seated beside her on the foremost bench, and whispered:--

"That was the cry of our child during the past night."

And the Pastor continued. "She felt that if it were only day, if she could only see the light of the sun in the sky, she could better bear her burden--but still a bright star shone out in the night." The Pastor inculcated on his people, how good it was sometimes voluntarily to sacrifice a few hours of sleep, to watch the stars in the night sky; he then returned to the words of his text, and invoked a blessing on the heads of all those, who had this day made a good deed the porch through which they came to church.

Not a breath was heard; no coughing, no whispering was heard on this occasion--which at evening service is but too common, as if to protest against thus reversing the usual order of life. Every one seemed to hold their breath, and, when the singing recommenced, the old walls rung with the sounds of the hymn.

The Pastor then in few and simple words, performed the marriage ceremony between Adam and Martina, and the congregation quietly dispersed, amid the renewed ringing of bells. Some lads had loaded their guns, intending to fire them off after the wedding, but they were prevented doing so by those who were leaving church. All felt so solemnized in spirit, that they shrunk from any noisy demonstrations; the pious feelings which the Pastor had inspired in his congregation, rendered them averse to all clamour; and when the moon rose at one o'clock in the morning, dispersing the cold snowy fog, it shone down on a calm, sleeping village, where all slumbering hearts were at rest, and happy.

CHAPTER XX.

DAYLIGHT.

It was a happy waking hour to all next morning, every eye shone brightly, and each saluted his neighbour gaily, saying, "Good morning!

beautiful weather!" while in truth the most beautiful atmosphere was within their own hearts. The sun above was certainly most brilliant, and the snow covered hills and trees glittered in the rays of the morning light; but the best of all was, that there was something to gladden all hearts of a less changeable nature than the weather: a child had been saved, and parents and grandparents made happy; a delightful wedding had taken place, though there had been neither baking nor roasting, nor clattering of plates and dishes. And how admirably and faithfully did the Pastor expound the truth! What a sad thing it was that he persisted in leaving them, when they would gladly have kept him for ever!

In the attic in Schilder-David's house, Adam and Martina were standing by the bed of little Joseph, who was still fast asleep, though a bright streak of sunshine, as wide as the little garret window could admit, shone right on the face of the boy. There was an expression of saucy petulance on the features of the child; his head was thrown back, his lips curled and half opened, and his clenched fist lay close to his rosy cheek.

"I will wake him; it is time," said Martina.

"Do let him sleep on, to oblige me. I am just the same when I have undergone any great excitement, I could sleep on for three days and nights without stirring. How pretty a child looks asleep! I never saw him asleep before." Thus talked Adam and Martina, and looked fondly at their child.

Adam felt as if there was not room for him in the attic. He sat down on Martina's trunk, and, in such a gentle voice that it appeared to proceed from some one else, begged her to stand out of the light, that he might see Joseph, distinctly.

"I will remain here till he wakes," said he; and Martina told him again and again, how Joseph on the preceding night had called out "Is it not yet morning?" At the sound of these words the boy turned and moved restlessly, but continued sleeping.

His mother now, however, bent over him, and called out to him in a clear, ringing voice, "Mother, is it not yet light? The light is come, Joseph! wake up. Your father is here."

Joseph now looked up with a face of surprise and curiosity, but he began to cry bitterly from terror, when the gigantic form of his father stood upright in the small attic; he probably appeared to the child like some monstrous apparition in a dream, and when the large figure interposed like a gloomy cloud, between the bed and the sunlight, the attic seemed almost as dark as night. Martina had no little trouble in pacifying the boy. Adam was obliged to leave the room till Joseph was dressed, and during the few minutes that he was standing outside the attic, while the mother was soothing the child, feelings of remorse for his past transgression again smote him--but only for a moment; he was Adam Rottmann still, who could and would be master of all; he was angry with the boy, who did not seem to care for him, nor to clasp him round the neck as he expected; he was resolved to teach him by stern discipline, and that this very day, he must love and honour him as his father.

When Joseph came out of the room he ran down stairs quickly, past Adam.

"The boy must be taught differently; this is not proper conduct towards his father," said Adam to Martina, indignantly.