The noise of the drums at this instant was deafening; the trumpets clanged in their fullest tones as they saluted Truchses, who how pa.s.sed by the musicians; and, according to the custom of those days, threw them some pieces of silver, which caused the trumpets to redouble their deafening sounds.

The whispered conversation of our two lovers was overpowered by the confounding noise of the instruments; but their eyes had so much the more to say to each other in this apparent shipwreck of their hopes, so that they did not notice the observations, which were pa.s.sed on them by the surrounding spectators, as being the handsomest couple in the room.

Marie's ear was not shut to the pa.s.sing remarks of the crowd. She was too kind-hearted to be envious of her cousin's praise, and consoled herself with the idea, that, were she in her place, beside the handsome young man, the couple would not be less attractive. But it was the animated conversation which Bertha kept up with her partner, that particularly attracted her attention. Her reserved cousin, who seldom or ever talked long with any man, now appeared to speak with even more earnestness than he did. The music and noise, however, hindered Marie from overhearing the subject of their conversation. This excited her curiosity to such a degree (a feeling--perhaps, not without justice--attributed specially to young ladies), that she drew her own partner nearer to them, for the purpose of listening; but whether it was by accident or design, that the conversation either dropped or was kept up in a subdued tone, the nearer she approached, she could not catch a word of it.

Marie's interest in the young man increased with these obstacles to her curiosity. Her good cousin Kraft had never appeared so great a bore to her as now, for all the pretty sayings with which he endeavoured to fix her attention, were only so many hindrances to her observing the others more closely. She was therefore glad when the dance was over. She hoped the next would be more agreeable, with the young knight for her partner.

Albert came and engaged her, when she sprang with joy to the hand which he offered; but she deceived herself in finding him the agreeable partner she had antic.i.p.ated. Indifferent, reserved, sunk in deep thought, giving short answers to her questions, it was too clear he was not the same person who had but a moment before conversed in so animated a manner with her cousin.

"Was this the courteous knight," thought Marie, "who had saluted them in so polite a manner, without ever having seen them before? Was it the same cheerful and merry person whom cousin Kraft had introduced? the same who had spoken with Bertha so earnestly? or could she--yes, it was too evident that Bertha had pleased him better than herself--perhaps, because she was the first to dance with him."

Marie had been little accustomed to see her reserved cousin preferred before her, which this apparent victory seemed to indicate. Her vanity was piqued, she felt herself estranged from Bertha, and conceived herself bound to exert her talents and winning arts to re-establish herself in her lost rights. She therefore, in her usual merry mood, carried on the conversation about the coming war, which she contrived to lengthen out till the end of the dance. "Well," said she, "and how many campaigns have you gone through, Albert von Sturmfeder?"

"This will be my first," he answered, abruptly, for he was annoyed that she kept up the conversation, as he wished so much to speak to Bertha again.

"Your first!" said Marie, in astonishment. "You surely want to deceive me, for I perceive a large scar on your forehead."

"I got that at the university," he replied.

"How? are you a scholar?" asked Marie, her curiosity still more excited. "Well, then, I suppose you have visited distant countries, Padua or Bologna, or perhaps even the heretics in Wittenberg?"

"Not so far as you think," said he, as he turned to Bertha: "I have never been further than Tubingen."

"In Tubingen?" cried Marie, surprised. This single word, like lightning, unravelled in a moment every thing in her mind which before had been obscure. A glance at Bertha, who stood before her with downcast eyes, her cheeks suffused with the blush of confusion, convinced her that, on that word, hung the key to a long list of inferences which had occupied her thoughts. It was now quite clear why the courteous knight saluted them; the cause of Bertha's tears could be no other, than that of finding Albert had joined the opposite party; the earnest conversation between them, and Sturmfeder's reserve to herself, were satisfactorily explained to her mind. There was no question of their having long known each other.

Indignation was the first feeling that ruffled Marie's breast. She blushed for herself, when she felt she had endeavoured to attract the attention of a young man whose heart was fully occupied by another object. Ill humour, on account of Bertha's secrecy, clouded her features. She sought excuse for her own conduct, and found it only in the duplicity of her cousin. If she had but acknowledged, she said to herself, the feeling which existed between her and the young knight, she never would have shown the interest she took in him; he would have been perfectly indifferent to her; she never would have experienced this painful confusion.

Marie did not deign to give the unhappy young man another look during the evening, and he was too much occupied with the painful sensations of his own mind, to be aware of her ill will towards him. He was also so unfortunate as to be scarcely able to say another word alone and un.o.bserved to Bertha. The ball ended, and left him in doubt as to what her future fate, or the intentions of her father were likely to be. She seized, however, a favourable moment to whisper to him on the staircase, when she was going home, begging him to remain in the town on the morrow, in the hope of finding an opportunity to speak with him.

The two girls went home, both ill at ease with each other. Marie gave short, snappish answers to Bertha's questions, who, whether it was that she suspected what was pa.s.sing in her cousin's mind, or whether she was overwhelmed by grief, became more melancholy and reserved than ever.

But when they entered their room, silent and cold towards each other, then it was that they both felt how painful was the interruption of their hitherto affectionate intercourse. Up to this eventful evening, they had always a.s.sisted each other in all those little services, which unite young girls in friendship. How different was it now? Marie had taken the silver pin out of her rich light hair, which fell in long ringlets over her beautiful neck. She attempted to put it up under her cap, but unaccustomed to arrange it without Bertha's help, and too proud to let her enemy, as she now called her cousin in her mind, notice her embarra.s.sment, she threw it away in a corner, and seized a handkerchief to tie it up.

Bertha, unconscious of having offended her cousin, could not fail noticing her change of affection towards her, and felt acutely the apparent sting of her ruffled temper. She quietly picked up the cap, and came to render her cousin her usual a.s.sistance.

"Away with you, you false one!" said the angry Marie, as she pushed away the helping hand.

"Dearest Marie, have I deserved this of you?" said Bertha, gently, and with tenderness. "Oh, if you but knew how unhappy I am, you would not be so harsh with me."

"Unhappy, indeed!" loudly laughed the other, "unhappy! because the courteous knight only danced with you once, I suppose."

"You are very hard, Marie," replied Bertha; "you are angry with me, and will not even tell me the cause of your displeasure."

"Really! so you do not know how you have deceived me? but you cannot keep your duplicity a secret any longer, which has subjected me to scorn and confusion. I never could have thought you would have acted so ungenerously, so falsely by me!"

The wounded feeling of being out-done by her cousin, and as she thought, despised by Sturmfeder, was again awakened in Marie's mind; her tears flowed, she laid her heated forehead in her hand, and her rich locks fell over and hid her face.

Tears are the symptoms of gentle suffering, they say: Bertha had experienced it, and continued her conversation with confidence. "Marie!

you have accused me of keeping a secret from you. I see you have discovered that, which I never could have divulged. Put yourself in my situation--ah! you yourself, cheerful and frank as you are, would never have confided to me your inmost secret. But I will conceal it no longer--you have guessed what my lips shunned to express. I love him!

Yes, and my love is returned. This mutual feeling dates much further back than yesterday. Will you hear me? and I will tell you all."

Marie's tears still flowed on. She made no answer to Bertha's last question, who now related to her the way in which they became acquainted with each other in the house of her good aunt in Tubingen; how she liked him, long before he acknowledged his love of her; and narrated many endearing recollections of the past--the happy moments they had spent together, their oath of fidelity at their separation.

"And now," she continued, with a painful smile, "he has been induced to join the League in this unhappy war, because we were in Ulm, thinking, very naturally, that my father was embarked in the same cause. He hopes to render himself worthy of me by the aid of his sword; for he is poor, very poor. Oh! Marie, you know my father--how good he is, but also how stern, when any thing runs counter to his opinion. Would he give his daughter to a man who has drawn his sword against Wurtemberg? Certainly not. This is the cause of all the trouble and grief I suffer. Often have I wished to unburden my heart to you, but an uncontrollable feeling closed my lips. But now that you know the whole truth, can you still be angry with me? shall I lose my friend also, as well as my beloved?"

Poor Bertha could contain her tears no longer, and wept aloud. Marie, overpowered by the grief of her friend, embraced her cousin with the warm affection of a tender heart sympathising in her painful situation, and all feeling of enmity was in a moment extinguished in her breast.

"In a few days," said Bertha, after a short silence, "my father will quit Ulm, and I must accompany him. But I must see Albert again, if it were only for a quarter of an hour. Marie, your ingenuity can easily find us an opportunity; only for a very short quarter of an hour!"

"But you do not wish to make him desert the good cause?" asked Marie.

"I know not what you call the good cause," replied Bertha. "The Duke's cause is, perhaps, not less good than yours. You talk thus because you belong to the League. I am a Wurtemberger, and my father is faithful to his Duke. But shall we girls decide upon the merits of the war? rather let us think of the means, whereby I may see him again."

Marie had listened with so much interest to the history of her cousin, that she quite forgot having ever entertained any ill-will towards her.

Besides which, being naturally fond of any thing involved in mystery, she was glad of an opportunity, such as the present, to exercise her wits. She felt all the importance and honour of being a confidant, and consequently determined to spare no pains in serving the lovers in their critical position.

After a few moments' thought, she said, "I have it; we'll invite him at once into our garden."

"In the garden!" asked Bertha, fearful and incredulous; "and by whom?"

"His host, good cousin Dieterich himself shall bring him," answered Marie. "That's a good thought! and he shall not know anything of the plot; leave that alone to me."

Though Bertha was strong and determined in matters of importance, she trembled for the result of this rash step. But her bold and cheerful little cousin knew how to combat her scruples and fears. With renewed hope, then, in the success of their scheme for the morrow, and their hearts being restored again to their former mutual confidence, the girls embraced each other with tender affection, and retired to rest.

CHAPTER VII.

As like a spirit of the air She hangs upon his neck, In falt'ring tones the lovely fair At last essays to speak; "And wilt thou, then, thy true love leave For ever?"--thus the fair Began, when, overcome by grief, Her words are lost in air.

SCHUBART.

Albert was sitting in his room, in the forenoon of the day after the ball, thoughtful and dejected. He had paid a visit to his friend Breitenstein, from whom he heard little that was consoling to his hopes. A council of war had been a.s.sembled early in the morning, and war was irrevocably decided upon. Twelve pages were despatched through the Goecklinger gate to convey the declarations of defiance of the Duke of Bavaria, the n.o.bility, and a.s.sembled states, to the Wurtembergers at Blaubeuren. This news was speedily spread from mouth to mouth through the streets, and joy at the prospect of marching at last into the field, was visibly depicted on every countenance. To one alone was the announcement a terrible blow. Grief drove him from the circle of the joyous mult.i.tude, who adjourned to the wine shops, to celebrate, by loud carousal, the birthday of the war, and to cast lots for the booty of antic.i.p.ated victory. Ah! his lot was already cast! A b.l.o.o.d.y field of battle was spread between him and his beloved; she was lost to him for a length of time, perhaps for ever.

Hurried steps ascending the staircase, roused him out of his melancholy mood. His friend the scribe put his head in at the door, crying out, "Good luck, my boy! the dance is about to commence in good earnest.

Have you heard the news? war is announced, and our messengers have been despatched an hour ago, with the declaration to the enemy."

"I know that already," said his gloomy guest.

"Well, and does not your heart jump more freely? Have you also heard--no, you could not," continued Dieterich, as he approached him in confidence--"the Swiss have withdrawn their aid from the Duke."

"How? Have they deserted him?" replied Albert. "Well, then, I suppose that will put an end to the war."

"I would not be quite certain of that," said the scribe, doubtfully.

"The Duke of Wurtemberg is young and bold, and has many knights and followers at his command. He will not, indeed, run the risk of fighting a battle in the field, but many fortified castles and cities remain faithful to his cause. Hollenstein, defended by Stephen von Lichow, Goppingen, which Philip von Rechberg will not give up at the first shot, Schorndorf, Rothenberg, Arsperg, but, above all, Tubingen, which he has strongly fortified, still hold faithful to him. Many a one will bite the gra.s.s before your steed drinks of the water of the Neckar."

"Well, well!" he continued, perceiving this news did not cheer up his silent guest, "if this warlike message does not please you, you will, perhaps, lend a willing ear to a more peaceful commission. Tell me, have you not a cousin somewhere or other?"

"A cousin, yes; but why do you ask?"

"Only think! now I understand the confused conversation I had with Marie a little while ago. As I came out of the town hall, she winked to me from her window to come to her, when she desired me to bring my guest this afternoon into her garden on the Danube. Bertha, who knows your cousin very well, has something of importance to send to her, and hopes you will be so kind as to be the bearer of it. Such secrets and commissions generally consist in mere trifles. I would bet, it is nothing but a little model of a weaver's loom, or a pattern of fine wool, or some mysterious secret in the art of cooking; perhaps a few seeds of some rare flower, for Bertha is a great florist. However, if these girls pleased you yesterday, you will have no objection to accompany me to-day."