So they went, hand in hand, along the creek. Here and there a pair of summer-ducks came out of the reeds and flew, swift as an arrow, toward the woods. Fish sprang up in the crystal-clear water. The rushes waved.

The flowers and gra.s.s on the prairie swayed in the tepid wind. The sun poured down its golden rays. But it seemed to both as if there had fallen a veil over the clear, spring morning.

"I wish I had not told you this--at least not today," said Lambert.

"And I thank you that you did so," said Catherine. "The happiness would be too great were our good fortune without a shadow. Did you not find me helpless, forsaken, poor as a beggar, pressed to the ground by care and grief, and did you not, without a moment's hesitation, stretch out your hand to pick me out of the dust? So I will hold it fast--your dear hand--and help you carry the cares and burdens of life, and with you go into the battle, if it must be, as good Aunt Ditmar did, whom may G.o.d bless for her bravery, and whose pardon I heartily beg for the injury I did her in my feelings. Now I can see why she who has suffered so dreadfully cannot, like other good people, heartily rejoice over the good fortune which comes to them before her eyes. Poor soul! She no longer believes in good fortune."

"Perhaps it is also something else," said Lambert thoughtfully, and after a short pause proceeded: "See, Catherine, I love you so dearly, and have kept still so long, that I would like to tell you about everything that pa.s.ses through my mind. So I will also tell you this: I do not know, but I believe that my aunt would be better pleased were Conrad in my place. She has not forgotten that she carried the youngster, when a small and helpless creature, in her arms, and has always loved him as though she were his own mother. So Conrad has also hung to her; and, on account of the Ditmars, the difficulty arose between him and our father. Conrad wanted to go and live at Ditmar's, and father forbid it to the eleven-year-old youngster. The very Indian tribe to which Conrad fled had rescued the Ditmars. I believe he was himself present, though I do not know, since he has never said a word about it; nor has aunt, to whom he may have forbidden it. All this aunt has never forgotten."

"And shall not forget it," observed Catherine with animation. "See, Lambert, now that we have honorably acknowledged that we love one another, I am no longer so timid. We must now be equally honest toward the others. Your aunt knows it, you say, and she will adapt herself to the actual state of affairs. Conrad must also know it, and then he won't be angry at you any longer. It perhaps sounds a little bold, but if I am indeed pleasing to him, let me manage it, Lambert. I will tame the young bear for you."

Lambert shook his head, and had again to laugh as he now looked into the face of the beloved one, which beamed with happiness as before.

"Yes, yes, who could withstand you? Who would not willingly do what you wish?"

They had reached the block-house, and entered the open door. Lambert looked about the room with as much wonder as though he now saw it for the first time. About the hearth, on the shelves, there hung and stood kettles, pitchers and pots clean and burnished. They had heretofore always been in confusion. On the hearth itself the live coals glimmered under the ashes, and only needed to be uncovered and fanned again to start the fire. Near by lay the fire-wood carefully piled up. The table was brightly scoured. The chairs were set in order. The floor was sprinkled with white sand. The hunting and fishing apparatus neatly hung against the wall. The small mirror which, dusty and dull, had hitherto leaned in a dark corner, had found a suitable place between the silhouettes of his parents, while they were encircled with simple garlands.

"You best one!" said Lambert, as with deep emotion he locked the beloved one in his arms. "You will prove the good angel of us all."

"To that may G.o.d help me!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Catherine. "And now, Lambert, we must think about the obligations resting on us. While you go and feed Hans, I will prepare our noonday meal. After dinner we will start, for I suppose you mean to take me along. Now, no more talking; we have already trifled away too much time."

She drove out the beloved one with kisses and scolding, and then turned to her work, which she pushed forward in a lively manner, though she often pressed her hand on her heart, which it seemed would burst with sheer happiness. Wherever she looked, she, in imagination, saw the form of her beloved--the true, good, thoughtful eyes; the face embrowned by exposure, with its handsome, clear expression; the powerful frame, which moved with such calm a.s.surance. In the crackling of the fire; in the measured tick-tack of the old Swartzwald clock, she seemed ever to hear his deep, friendly voice; and she mentally recalled the words he had said to her, and trembled with pleasure as she thought how her name rang out from his lips: "Catherine!" So she had always been called. Her father, friends, neighbors, all the world had called her Catherine, and yet it seemed as though to-day she had heard it for the first time.

Oh! everything had turned out so different and so much better than she had dared to hope. How doubtingly she had looked toward the land with fixed eyes, which had already learned to weep on the torture-ship. What more could it bring her besides terrible, inconceivable misery? How unhappy she had yesterday felt on her arrival, and again this morning.

Could she then now be in reality happy, so very happy that her dear, dead father, were he still living, could wish for her nothing better--nothing more desirable?

Catherine bowed her head and folded her hands in prayer, and then looked up with brightened glances.

"Yes," said she softly, "he would have blessed our engagement with his fatherly, priestly blessing. I can call myself his before men, as I am before G.o.d and in my own heart. And though I have no friend, male or female, to rejoice with us and to wish us joy, I am on that account none the less his and he mine. But I will make friends of the whole world--the strange old aunt and the wild Conrad. I am no longer afraid of anybody--of anything."

So spoke Catherine to herself as she was setting the table, and yet she was badly scared as, at that moment, she heard the stamping of a horse before the house, and a loud human voice calling:

"He, holla! Lambert Sternberg!"

Trembling, she laid down the plates and stepped to the door to see the caller, who again and again screamed: "Lambert Sternberg! He, holla, Lambert Sternberg!"

CHAPTER VII

Before the house, on a long-limbed, lean horse, whose panting flanks and hanging head showed that he had just completed a long and rapid trip, a young man had stopped. On Catherine's appearance he forgot to shut the large mouth which he had opened in calling. His long, flaxen hair hung down in strands from under his large, three-cornered hat upon his narrow shoulders. The sweat poured from his freckled, saturated, long face, and his dull, water-blue eyes had a frightened look as Catherine, aghast, called out:

"For G.o.d's sake, what has happened?"

"Where is he?" stammered he on the horse, and turned his eyes in every direction.

"You are looking for Lambert Sternberg?" asked Catherine.

The rider bowed.

"I will call him. Dismount and rest yourself a moment. I will soon be back," said Catherine.

The rider did as the young girl had told him, climbed in a tired way out of the high saddle, and tied his horse to the iron ring. As Catherine turned to go, Lambert came around the house. He was leading Hans by the halter, and called out:

"G.o.d bless you, Adam Bellinger! What brings you here?"

"The French are here!" replied Adam.

Lambert started, and looked quickly toward Catherine, who on her part kept her large, questioning eyes fixed on him.

"What does that mean?" asked Lambert. "Where are they? What do you know, Adam? By the thousand, man, speak!"

"I know nothing," said Adam. "My father sent me."

"What for? What is to be done?"

"I was in the field." said Adam, "when my father came running up, saying that I must unharness and saddle the mare; that Herkimer had been there; that the French were on the march; and that I should report it everywhere, and that this afternoon all should come to his house to consult as to what was to be done."

"Then it cannot be so very bad," said Lambert, breathing more freely.

"Herkimer is a man of sense, and would not ask us to come to his house if there was very pressing danger to our own homes. But how did you learn that I had returned?"

"I was at Aunt Ursul's, who sent me here to tell you that she was going to the meeting, and that if you should not wish to leave the young lady, who may indeed be your bride, alone, you should take her along and leave her at Eisenlord's on the way, or at Voltz', where the women intend to remain at home, or at our house."

"It is well," said Lambert, as he took the hand of Catherine, standing by him still and pale. "Now come in, Adam Bellinger, and take a bite and a drink. You appear to need it, and the poor beast too. We will be ready in ten minutes."

Lambert shoved up the movable crib, while Catherine went into the house and brought out a loaf of bread which Adam cut in pieces for his horse.

Then they all went in and sat down to the hastily prepared meal, to which Adam addressed himself so earnestly that he had little time to answer Lambert's many questions.

Catherine learned enough, as she silently listened, to form a conception of the real situation. She had often heard Lambert speak of Nicolas Herkimer, one of the richest and n.o.blest German settlers, who owned a large farm and a castle-like house on the Mohawk, at the mouth of Canada Creek. The year before, during Belletre's raid, he had been of great service to the settlements. The governor had given him a captain's commission, and had intrusted him, for the future, with the defense of the neighboring German districts.

"He will already have formed his plans," said Lambert. "We on the creek will doubtless have to look out for ourselves, we are pushed ahead so far. There shall be nothing lacking with us, though I did not expect to have the murdering incendiaries here so soon again."

Out of Lambert's entire being spoke the settled courage of a man who well knew the threatened danger, but was resolved to defy it, come what would. His eyes sought Catherine's, who went quietly back and forth serving the men, and whose large, glistening eyes said: "You see, beloved, I am, like you, quiet and self-contained."

Adam seemed to have forgotten all his fear, while engaged in eating and drinking. He looked up at Catherine, when she filled his plate for the second time, bowing with a friendly grin. At last he slowly laid down his knife and fork and looked about him contentedly, as though he would say: "One sits here a good deal more comfortably than in the cursed high saddle of the mare, who threw me at every step from one side to the other."

"Are you ready, Adam?" asked Lambert, who had risen and had hung about him his rifle.

"Indeed," replied Adam, "but hardly the mare. The poor beast is not accustomed to anything like this."

"I will water her, and saddle Hans," said Lambert.

Catherine followed him to the door. Lambert caught her hand and said: "Catherine, I thank you, I thank you with my whole heart. I now know that I need cast no more reproaches on myself."

"You should not have cast any," said Catherine. "Your affairs are mine Your fate is mine. I live and die with you."

"And so will I give every drop of my blood for you," said Lambert, "but I hope to G.o.d that there are yet many good days appointed us. It cannot for the present have much significance. Conrad, who was up there for a week, and in the region from which they must come, surely knows more about our enemies than anyone else; and he told me that there is at least no immediate danger."