Suddenly he paused: "Here!"

He pointed to the wet ground, upon which, as Gotthold now also perceived, were the marks of footprints, a large one, with a smaller one beside it. The footprints came from the road they had just left, but had emerged from the forest sooner, and gone towards the marl-pit, and they had come upon it farther down at a right angle. The old hunter and the young man looked at each other; neither spoke--they knew the decisive moment had come.

Slowly and cautiously they followed the clew, which ran straight before them towards the marl-pit, on whose surface they already saw the rippling of the water, as the strong breeze blew it against the edges.

Only about fifty paces more, and all would be decided.

Gotthold's eyes rested fixedly upon the horrible water, which glittered spectrally in the last feeble glimmer of twilight; he saw her standing on the edge holding the child by the hand, gazing--

One of the old man's hands rested on his shoulder, the other pointed downwards. "She took the child in her arms here."

There was only one footprint, the larger one, and the mark was deeper--five, ten, fifteen steps--

"Stay!"

The old man had uttered the word, and waving Gotthold back with his hand at the same moment, he fell upon his knees. The footprints were confused, as if she had taken a few steps irresolutely to and fro, and then the trail became distinct again, going straight on, but parallel with the edge of the marl-pit, and then they turned back in the direction of the road, and remained in that course to the bank, from whose sharp edge a small piece of turf had been torn as she stepped upon the path with her burden.

The two men stood in the road once more; Gotthold felt as if the solid earth were reeling under him; he threw himself into the arms of the old man, who clasped him in a warm embrace.

"We may hope now, my dear son; but we are not yet at the end."

"I will bear and risk everything, so long as I can still hope," cried Gotthold.

The dark figures of men now emerged singly and in pairs from the gloomy forest, and approached the place where they stood. They had found nothing; and Statthalter Moller asked whether they should now search the marl-pit; they could probably do no more than that today; it had grown too dark, and the people were completely worn out.

"But if Herr Wenhof wants us to do anything, we will, won't we, men?"

asked Statthalter Moller.

"Ay, that we will," they replied in chorus.

"I thank you," said Cousin Boslaf, "you can help me no more now; I will go on alone with this gentleman, as soon as Clas Prebrow comes with the carriage, and I now have a hope that I may find my great-grandchild alive."

The old man's voice trembled as he p.r.o.nounced the last words, and the people looked at him in astonishment.

"Yes, my great-grandchild," the old man began again, and his voice was now strong, and had acquired a strangely deep, solemn tone, "for that she is--my great-grandchild, and the great-grandchild of Ulrica, the wife of Adolf Wenhof. You have aided me so faithfully to-day that I cannot help telling you the truth. There is no one living whom it can harm, but it may do you good to know that the truth must always be spoken, that an old man of ninety must speak it, for no other reason than that it is the truth. And now go home, children, and don't allow yourselves to be tempted to take vengeance on him who has driven my child from house and home--don't vent your anger on the house and farm.

Better men have lived there before him, and better ones will dwell there after him; and now once more I thank you, children."

The men had listened in silence; one after another removed his cap--they did not exactly know why; and when the old man and Gotthold entered the carriage, which meantime had quietly driven up, all stood around it with bared heads, and even after the coach had gone on, and they had set out on their way home, it was long ere any one ventured to speak aloud.

But the coach drove on through the darkness towards the fishing village of Ralow. It was a delightful road on a summer evening, and Cecilia had been fond of walking here with the child. Gotthold thought she would follow this direction, and the old man had a.s.sented. "It is your turn now," said he. "We were seeking a dead body, and an old man is well suited for that; now that we are in search of a living woman, young blood may be better."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Two days after, Jochen Prebrow was standing before the door of his house, just after his second breakfast, looking out to sea through a long spy-gla.s.s, which with his left hand he rested against the tall flag-staff that stood before the house. Worthy Jochen might often be found in the same spot, engaged in the same occupation It was not that he sought or hoped to find anything unusual out at sea; but in leisure moments the spy-gla.s.s, which usually rested on two crooked bars close beside the door under the shelter of the projecting roof, afforded an excellent amus.e.m.e.nt, even if, as at this moment, there was nothing to be seen on the sea except the waves, here and there crested with foam, dancing merrily in the morning breeze.

But to-day the worthy Jochen did not even see the foam-crested waves; he saw absolutely nothing at all; yet when, at the end of five minutes, he put down and closed the spy-gla.s.s, his broad face wore an expression as anxious as if he had perceived a large ship, driven by a north-east storm on the Wiessow cliffs, and his neighbor Pilot Bonsak had said she could not be saved.

And the same anxious expression rested upon the plump face of his Stine, who had just appeared in the doorway, and with both hands, usually so busy, idly folded under her ap.r.o.n, began to gaze at the blue morning sky and shining white clouds scattered over it, without even noticing her Jochen, who was standing scarcely six paces away.

"No, no," sighed Stine.

"Yes, yes," said Jochen.

"Jochen, how you frightened me!"

"And it is frightful, when one thinks of it," said Jochen.

He had opened the spy-gla.s.s again, and was evidently about to resume his former occupation; but Stine took it out of his hands, put it in its place, and said in a somewhat irritated tone, "You do nothing but look through the old thing, and I so worried that I hardly know whether I'm on my head or my heels."

"Oh! but if you don't know, Stine"--

"How am I to know? Why are you my husband, if I, poor creature, am expected to know everything? And she has just asked me again whether the Swede is not yet here. Poor girl! To go all that long way in such a nutsh.e.l.l of a boat! And who knows whether the people over yonder will want her. They are only fourth or fifth cousins."

Stine had spoken with great emotion, but in a suppressed tone, and had drawn her Jochen out to the blackthorn hedge that divided the sandy little garden from the sandy village-street. Jochen had a vague perception that as a man and a husband, and moreover sole innkeeper of Wiessow, he must say something, so he replied: "You'll see, Stine, we sha'n't carry it through."

"Jochen, I wouldn't have believed you were so bad," exclaimed Stine, as, sobbing violently and pressing both red hands over her eyes, she turned away from her husband and went back to the house.

Jochen was left standing by the hedge, and raised his arms; but the spy-gla.s.s was resting quietly in its place, and, in consideration of his wickedness, he did not venture to take down the care-dispeller. So he let his arms fall again and thrust his hands into his pockets. Thank G.o.d, here was his pipe! It now had many idle hours, for Stine could not bear smoking, and if she should see him now when she was so angry, she probably would not make friends again.

Jochen let the pipe slide back into his pocket, and gazed at the sparkling sea like one who, without any optical instrument, still sees only too distinctly the spot where just now a majestic ship went down with all on board.

"Good-morning, Prebrow," said a voice close beside him.

Jochen slowly turned his blue eyes from the distant horizon towards the gentleman who, with the collar of his coat turned up over his ears, had just pa.s.sed along by the hedge with hasty strides.

"Good-morning, Herr In--"

"St--" said the gentleman, stopping and putting his finger on his lips.

Jochen nodded.

"To-night!" continued the gentleman; "I tell you, because, after everything has gone on well, until now, somebody might at the last moment get some suspicion, and inquire of you. Of course you don't know me."

"Heaven forbid!" replied Jochen.

The gentleman nodded and was about to continue his walk, but paused again as if struck by the troubled expression of Jochen's face, and added: "You needn't take it to heart, Prebrow; it serves the Rahnk right; their conduct is a disgrace to Wiessow and the whole region, and after all there is no one who would not be glad to have you get rid of the rascals. And when I come back next time, Prebrow, I shall of course lodge with you; this time I must keep out of the way."

The gentleman nodded, walked lightly away, and after casting a rapid glance around him, entered the pilot's house.

"A d.a.m.ned miserable business," muttered Jochen, without exactly knowing which of the two he meant, the one going on in his own house, or the other of which the Herr steuer-inspector had just spoken. It was probably the former; the second certainly did not concern him at all, but it was a secret the more, and he already had far too much trouble with one.

"Good-morning, Jochen."

This time Jochen was actually frightened. There was his brother Clas in the very spot where the Herr inspector had just been standing.

"Why, good Heavens, Clas, what brings you here?" he exclaimed.