If worst came to worst, and he were taken, he should at least get home, if only to be put into the House of Correction. He felt the worst on his mother's account. He wanted Jost to write and tell him about things at home, and it was safest to send to the same address, as he always called for the letters himself.

Veronica hung upon every word that fell from Blasi's lips, and when he had finished, she walked silently by his side, deep in thought. Presently he asked her what he should do if Jost found out that he had opened his letter and hauled him up before a Justice of the Peace for it. Veronica said she believed that Jost would scarcely care to say anything about the letter. She advised Blasi to keep his own counsel, and to behave as usual, in a perfectly unconcerned manner, whenever he met Jost. She would take the rest in hand herself. Blasi was more than willing to leave it all to her; he had entire confidence in her ability to manage the affair. The letters of all the country round were collected at the central office in Fohrensee, to be forwarded together from there to the nearest city, where they were sorted and distributed. Veronica thought of this, and laid her plans accordingly. The next day as soon as she reached Fohrensee, she went to the post-office, and asked to see the address of a letter which had just been sent in, on its way to Hamburg. The post-master, who knew her well, did not think the request at all singular, supposing that it had something to do with the school business.

"A letter for Hamburg came in last evening;" said his daughter who was his a.s.sistant, "there it lies with the others that came with it."

The postmaster went to the table and found the letter, which he handed to Veronica. "The address is not very nicely written," he said.

The handwriting was either that of a person unused to the pen, or it was purposely disguised. The letter was addressed to a woman of the same name as that of the miller's widow. The name of the street was illegible, but the words "To be called for," were plainly written.

Veronica was convinced that the letter she was in search of lay before her. So Jost had written as she had expected he would do, the day before.

He had undoubtedly seen that Dietrich's letter had been opened. Did he write so promptly in order to frighten Dietrich into going farther away?

Had he suggested to him a new address now that the old one had been discovered? She felt sure that Jost was trying to prevent anyone but himself from having any communication with Dietrich. There was not a moment to lose. What would she not have given to be able to withhold the letter! But she did not dare. She returned it to the postmaster and asked for a piece of paper. Her hand trembled with excitement and her heart beat so loud, that she thought the post-master must hear it.

She wrote the following words:

"Dear Dietrich; your mother is very weak. Come home directly. You have nothing to fear. Veronica."

She enveloped it, and addressed it as Jost had done his, and handed it to the post-master.

"I thank you very much indeed," she said, "will you kindly see that this letter goes by this morning's mail?"

"Yes, yes, I understand; it's a thread-and-needle business," he said laughing, as he threw the letters down on the same pile. "They will travel side by side and reach Hamburg together."

All day Veronica's hand trembled at her work. Outwardly she was tranquil and composed; but within was a storm of conjectures, fears and hopes. What had Jost written to Dietrich about his mother; what about her? Jost had evidently let him believe that he had killed a man. What reason had Jost for deceiving him and keeping him at a distance? These questions brought the color to Veronica's cheeks as she suspected what the answers might be.

Did Jost think that she would marry him if Dietrich did not come back? or were there other reasons why he did not dare to let him come? All sorts of possible solutions flew through Veronica's head, and the conclusion she arrived at frightened her. She did not wish to suspect any one of being a rogue without good reason; yet the evidence seemed in this case to be irresistible. If Dietrich came home, everything would be cleared up. But if he did not come, what then? Would everything have to be allowed to go on as it was? She would talk it all over with Gertrude this very evening.

CHAPTER XI.

THE MOTTO PROVES TRUE.

Veronica for once did not carry out her plans. When she reached home she found Gertrude in a high fever. She spoke to Veronica as if she were still a child, and had just come in from school. Veronica sat quietly down by the bedside, and did what she could to soothe and refresh her, and when by degrees her mother's mind became more clear, she proposed to her to send for the doctor. But Gertrude did not want the doctor. She had no pain, she said; she was only weak. Veronica sat by her side all night, but of course it was no time to speak of the letter, and of the excitements of the day.

It would not do to arouse hopes that might never be fulfilled, and if Dietrich came, that was enough. All through the long hours of the night, the girl sat thinking over all the hopes and fears and perplexities of her life, while Gertrude lay still and seemed to doze. Only now and then she spoke some kindly words to the children, and Veronica knew that she thought they were both there sitting by her bed-side; again her little ones.

In the morning Gertrude was quite herself again. She would not hear of the doctor's being called, declaring that she needed nothing but a few days'

rest. Veronica would not leave her; but sent word to Sabina, to ask her to take her place for a few days, which she knew she could rely upon her to do gladly, for Sabina was extremely friendly, and very proud of her former pupil, who had been a great credit to her in the position for which she had recommended her.

That day and the next night Mother Gertrude remained quiet, and seemed to sleep most of the time. On the third day, it was evident that she was looking for something, whenever she opened her eyes, although she was not at all delirious; and she frequently exclaimed,

"Oh! if I could only see him once more!"

When the sunset light streamed through the window and illuminated the room, a happy smile lighted up her face. She murmured:

"He half in dreamland seemed to float Saying 'to-morrow will be fine.'"

After a while she turned towards Veronica and said,

"Veronica, sing it again, with him please; it is beautiful, and I like to hear you sing together: 'To-morrow will be fine.'"

"You have been dreaming, mother; we have not been singing," said the poor girl, wiping away her fast-flowing tears.

It was dark now and all was still. The little night-lamp threw a pale light upon the bed, where the mother lay in a half-sleep. Veronica sat by with big wide-open eyes. Her restless thoughts were busy with many questions. Had he received her letter? Would he come? How? When? and how would the mother be? Suddenly Gertrude rose up in bed with greater strength than she had shown for many days. "Go! go! Veronica," she said beseechingly, "Open the door for him! He ought not to stand there knocking like a stranger. Show him how glad we are to see him again!"

"No one is knocking, mother; you are only dreaming," said Veronica sadly shaking her head; but the longing in Gertrude's eyes was more than she could resist, and she rose and left the room, thinking to please her by compliance. She heard a step; but then the road ran in front of the house, and it might be any pa.s.ser-by. She opened the outside door--Dietrich stood before her!

"You summoned me, or I should not have come;" said the young man, half in excuse, and half rea.s.suringly, for Veronica stood dumb and motionless before him. "Will you not shake hands, Veronica?"

She gave him her hand, saying only,

"Come to your mother; she heard your step, and doesn't need to be prepared for you. But you must control yourself; you will find her very much altered."

Dietrich entered the room. His mother was still sitting up in bed, watching the door, in a strained, expectant att.i.tude. She was indeed changed. She looked so small and thin and wasted. Dietrich was completely unmanned at the sight. He sprang to the bedside, threw his arms about her, and between his sobs he cried again and again,

"Forgive me, mother, forgive me! I will never act so again! I will lead a different life! Everything shall be right! You must live to be happy, mother!"

"Thank G.o.d that you have come, Dietrich," said his mother, trembling with weakness and excitement. "I forgave you long ago. How could I have anything against you? But, my dear boy, why did you not write one word, one little word to tell me how you were and where? Didn't you know how unhappy you were making me?"

"What, mother! what do you mean? I wrote three times to you and twice to Veronica; and you sent me back word through Jost that you did not want to hear from me; that the disgrace was too much, and that no one dared to mention my name before Veronica, she was so angry with me. I had to send my letters through Jost, and he gave me the address of his old aunt to make all safe. It was better for you not to know where I was, because they were hunting for me on account of the man I killed. And you have never got one of my letters; not one?"

His mother could only shake her head in reply. She tried to speak, but she had already gone beyond her strength, and she sank back upon her pillows.

Veronica, who had been standing by in silence, started forward.

"I will run for the doctor," she said, "stay with her, Dietrich;" and she darted from the room. He hurried after her. "Let me go," he said, "it is too late for you to be out, and you can take better care of her than I can." He was off; and Veronica returned to the bed-side. He took the shortest road; the one that pa.s.sed the Rehbock. Loud shouts and cries were sounding from the inn. He hurried by. Presently he heard his own name called; some one came running after him, shouting:

"Wait, Dietrich, wait!" He turned round and saw Blasi, who had recognized him as he pa.s.sed the door, and rushed out after him. "Don't run away, Dietrich! Welcome home! Where did you come from? Have you seen her? Don't run away! Listen to me!" Dietrich stopped and shook hands with Blasi, and again started forward. Blasi detained him.

"There's been something going on that you ought to know about," he continued. "Don't think that I go to the Rehbock every evening, by any means! I heard there was some strange news, and so I went there to-night to hear it, and it was well worth while, I can tell you. The red fellow is found out! The cattle-dealer accused him of having stolen his money bag. The man denied it; there was a long investigation, and at last they found out that and a great many other things against him. He turns out to be a regular rascal. And when all this had been proved against him, he turned round and accused another man, who, he said, was really at the bottom of everything; but no one knows yet who it is. Don't run so fast; I can't keep up with you. Now you're out of it all right, Dietrich; but I suppose you know that they tried to make out that you took the money, and that was why you ran away. But I never believed it; I never did, on my honor. Do stand still; it's all right now, and you needn't run away any more."

"I'm not going to run away, Blasi, and I thank you for bringing me this good news. But it's not all right you know, on account of Marx."

"Marx!" cried Blasi, "what of Marx! it doesn't hurt a man to get a good beating. Marx is as lively as you or I, and still drinks more than enough to quench his thirst, when he can get it."

Dietrich stood still now, and drew a long breath. "Is that true, Blasi, really true? You wouldn't say it if it were not true? She wrote me that there was nothing to fear; but I didn't understand it. And I can't quite understand now, Jost wrote me that Marx was dead, and that I had better go away as far as I possibly could, because they were searching for me, high and low. I can't make it out. But I must go now for the doctor. Come and see me to-morrow, Blasi; and we will have a good talk. Now good-night."

Dietrich shook his old comrade by the hand and ran off. But Blasi could not so easily smother all the wonderful things he had to tell, and he called out at the top of his lungs,

"You don't know much of anything yet! I spend the whole day at your house; it's you that will have to come to me. I am working at your trade; you ought to see! there's many a fellow that would be glad to do as well as I do!"

But Dietrich had disappeared. It was past midnight, before he reached the doctor's house, and he knocked a good many times in vain. At last a maid came down and opened the door, saying as she did so,

"What a plague it is, that everything always comes at once! He has been called out once to-night, and has hardly got to bed again. It never rains but it pours!"

"I hope he will be so good as to come now;" said Dietrich, "it is very important or I would not ask him."

The maid knocked at the chamber door. It was some time before the doctor's voice answered from within, "Who's there?"