Chapter II: Part 2

The changed deportment of her prospective son-in-law was still more annoying to the high-spirited Frau Stadtrath, who had fancied that the long-awaited betrothal, for which she already had in readiness a touching and impressive speech, would take place at the earliest opportunity. The presence of the other ladies at this time seemed to her most undesirable; and as she continued to hope that Philip's evidently adverse humor proceeded from the fact that he could not meet Rosa alone, she made several awkward attempts to get rid of the company. As these were thwarted by the general curiosity to see more of the young doctor, she broke in at last with the words: "You never would have guessed, my dear Doctor, that during this last year, while you have been away, we could make such progress in all kinds of occult science and maintain such a lively intercourse with the world of spirit. Instead of the regular evening card-playing, we now question this round table about many things we wish to know; and even I, who at the beginning was quite incredulous, have been gradually converted. I see you shrug your shoulders; of course, modern natural science regards all spiritualistic experiments as so many humbugs, and as it is quite true that much deception does creep in, I will not allow any medium or hypnotist to cross my threshold. But a wooden table--what interest could that have in leading us astray, especially as we are able to control its oracles?"

"And have these ghostly revelations always been found reliable and correct by you?" inquired Philip--careful lest his words betray the scorn he felt.

"Not always; of course, sometimes the answers sound ambiguous, sometimes they are wide of the mark, and then again they hit it so exactly that no one could doubt their supernatural origin. Heaven knows, one cannot expect a departed spirit to be omniscient; and you know well that a fool--I beg the company's pardon--a fool can ask more questions than ten of the wisest tables can answer. But you shall judge for yourself, my dear Doctor. Rosa has already enjoyed anticipating the kind of face you would make if you were once to attend such a sitting."

"I beg you will leave me out of the game, Frau Stadtrath," said Philip, evasively. "I fear the tips of my fingers lack the necessary fluid, and I should only frustrate your design if I were to form one of the chain."

"No, no!" put in the daughter, hastily. "You must take part; otherwise you will think the thing is not done honestly and that each of us finds his sport in deceiving the rest. Come, now, and try for yourself to thwart the thing. You will see that the table will always have the last word."

The tea service and cloth were accordingly removed forthwith, and the seven or eight persons who sat around the circular table closed the magic chain with their outstretched hands, and waited with suppressed impatience the things which should come to pass.

Philip's little finger rested with a light pressure upon that of his fair young neighbor; but though, formerly, such a tender proximity would have sent a glow of warmth through his veins, to-day he remained quite cool as though he were merely waiting until the reputed magic fluid should stream from the slender hand near his own and animate the lifeless wood.

Now, it happened that on this evening our old acquaintance, Heinrich Mueller, had undertaken the spiritualistic duties in this house, although he usually reserved himself for commissions of a higher order. But upon the preceding evening his more ignorant colleague had been put to rout so ignominiously that he would not expose himself soon again to a like experience. At the request of the assembled company, the medium had called up the spirit of Napoleon, and had propounded to it all kinds of historical questions. Now, as Johann Gruber, in his former capacity of house-servant, had known nothing of the great Corsican, and, indeed, had only heard his name when the talk had turned upon Napoleon-players--of whom he had had occasion to eject several from the inn when in the service of its landlord--he gave such startling and distorted answers that the leading spiritualist was overcome with embarrassment, and finally bade him go to the devil, while he explained to the questioners that the spirit had played one of his scornful jokes upon them because he was very angry at being dragged down to earth again from his heavenly exaltation.

Heinrich Mueller, on the contrary, who had more culture and was never at a loss to furnish some ambiguous solution for difficult questions, responded to the summons from the Stadtrath's house the more willingly in that he had seen his rival enter it, and burned to play him a trick.

For this an opportunity was soon afforded. For, when he had slipped into the table and had announced his presence by raising one foot and stamping softly, the Fraeulein Rosa, after some inconsequential skirmishing, asked directly whether he knew that a strange guest had inserted himself into the chain.

"Yes," answered the table, to the great satisfaction of the believing.

Did he know his name?

"Philip," rapped the table foot.

Did he know where this Philip had been staying since he came to town?

"Ghost Lane," spelled the table, without reflecting that this would be a surprise to the company; for what should a young physician just returned home have to call him to that ill-omened street?

And so the Fraeulein, for she alone had noticed the strange flush mount to her neighbor's face, inquired promptly what had taken him thither; and forthwith the table-spirit stamping the foot by a violent motion, rapped out:

"A love affair!"

The impression which this word made was so strong that the chain at once parted, and all eyes were turned toward the young man, who concealed his embarrassment by a scornful laugh and remarked that such scandalous jokes proved to him plainly that they were bent upon teasing him, and the innocent table had been forced into the plot.

However, Fraeulein Rosa, who had kept a sharp eye upon him, grew crimson, not from shame, but from righteous indignation, that her heretofore obedient and submissive subject had allowed himself to be led into such a course of treachery. Accordingly she commanded the circle to form again instantly, and while her trembling little finger betrayed all her emotion to her neighbor at the table, she put the decided question: "For whom in Ghost Lane has Dr. Philip conceived a tender feeling?" The table answered immediately: "G-u-n-d-e-l-chen!"

"Gundelchen!" said the questioner, spelling the word after it, and she drew back her hand as though she had touched a wet frog. "Well, Herr Doctor, do you require any further evidence? And so it is really that frivolous little person, the daughter of that disreputable old woman!--you remember, mamma, don't you? our seamstress brought the little country girl to our house with her once to help with the sewing--a creature entirely without culture. And to her you have actually paid court, Herr Doctor, and have found her society so interesting that you have neglected your oldest friends for it?"

With flaming eyes she hurled these reproaches at him, in her rash excitement never stopping to consider that she thus disclosed the deep, hidden wound in her own heart. But the others divined it, and her mother made her a sign with her eyes that she should control herself. To Philip it was a matter of indifference whether his young friend, whose face at this moment appeared to him distorted by passion and almost hateful, thus laid bare her feelings in her jealous anger. His only concern was to refute the unfounded and malignant suspicions which had attached to the good woman in Ghost Lane.

He therefore exclaimed with quiet firmness that he would hear nothing against the mother and daughter. It was with gross injustice they had been termed "disreputable;" and whoever called the young girl "frivolous," clearly could not know her. Here he related with frank ingenuousness how he had made their acquaintance and come to be under obligations of gratitude to these good Samaritans.

When he had finished his recital, Fraeulein Rosa stood up and said with a trembling voice: "There is no disputing about tastes. I understand now that for this whole fortnight you had no wish to look up your nearest friends, because you were lost in admiration of these two pearls. As people of our own station can bear no comparison with them, I would prefer to withdraw, that you need not be too long detained from your evening visit to Ghost Lane."

Whereat, she curtesied with a very grand air to the young man, bowed to the others, and withdrew to the adjoining room.

The rest of the company sat, as if turned to stone, in the stillness which ensued. Finally, the Frau Stadtrath, in her dire dismay, said: "You must excuse this little burst of temper, my dear Doctor. She at one time conceived an antipathy for the little sewing-girl, and cannot understand how one of the dearest friends of her youth can feel otherwise. And besides, you, with your chivalric notions, put too much warmth into your defense. If you will go after our Rosa and say that you did not really mean--"

"I regret, gracious lady," interrupted Philip, rising, "that it is impossible for me to take back a word of what I have said in favor of the two so misunderstood. If your daughter cannot tolerate the society of a man who interests himself in two people, unjustly accused, I must renounce all further intercourse with this friendly household, from whom I was formerly the recipient of so much kindness. I have the honor to wish the ladies and gentlemen Good-evening."

With that he took his hat, bowed, and left the room.

When he found himself in the open air, such a feeling of relief came over him at his escape from the stifling atmosphere of this respectable Philistine house, that, forgetting his new professional dignity, he waved his hat, made a leap into the air, and hummed a student song to himself. A couple of the neighbors who knew him, and his status with the fair daughter of the Stadtraths, smiled, as he passed by them unheeding, and whispered to each other that it had probably just been settled between the young pair, and the gentleman was a trifle exhilarated by the betrothal wine. But Philip was eager to get out of the dark streets into open space, and drew a deep breath when he reached the shaded park which lay along the river, and was peopled in the daytime by the children of the town and their nurses. At this late hour, however, only solitary pairs of lovers walked here, and their shadows, as they glided past, moved the lonely wanderer to melancholy reflections. He seated himself on a bench and for a long time gazed upward through the gently swaying branches at the stars, from which a soft coolness flowed down upon him. With a hushed sound, the river rolled along at his feet. Philip could not but think how delightful it would be to let himself be carried away by the current, in a boat, with a certain being at his side, all through the night, only to land at the first flush of morning near some secluded little house, and there to set up his own hearthstone. The image of little Gundula came before him so lifelike, she appeared with all her gifts and graces in so bright a light, that he could not conquer his longing to take the fair form in his arms; and springing up, he set out in a straight line for the town again, resolved to make his way that very evening into the haunted house, cost what it might, and have a serious talk with Frau Cordula concerning the present and the future.

But when he had passed the outlying districts of the town, and was nearing his goal, he noticed an unwonted commotion in the streets--a running and shouting of men who at the hour of ten are usually sitting at home, or over their beer. He made inquiry and heard with alarm that a fire had broken out in Ghost Lane. And now he rushed on ahead of all the others, and as he reached the street and saw the glow of the fire lighting up the black houses, he made a way for himself by elbowing and pushing through the dense crowd that blocked the entrance. But the people stood idly by gaping at the spot whence the red blaze shot upwards, so that Philip had no difficulty in fighting his way through them to the seat of the mischief. His fearful surmise had not led him astray--the house of "The Unbelieving Thomas" was really on fire, and the flames, which until now had issued only from the porter's room, were just beginning to encircle the old entrance gate. The men who stood in front of it, in a half circle, pointed to the fiery spectacle with stupid indifference, or even with malicious grins. A few even gave vent to jeers: it was time that Satan at last laid hold of the old witchmonger by the collar; perhaps he had been trying to make gold, and a flame from hell had shot up out of the crucible and singed his head. It could not be expected that any good Christian would put out such a fire, and thus arrest the judgment of Heaven.

As soon as Philip reached the house, and took in the situation, he shouted to the bystanders to get axes and break in the door and rescue those who lived back in the court. Not a foot stirred; only a pair of saucy tongues gave it as their opinion that it would be no harm if the whole pack of witches were burned, too,--they had deserved a funeral pile this long time;--a sentiment which was greeted with general laughter. The young man heard this with a throb of rage; and casting about him for some implement with which he could burst open the door, he seized a beam which the pavers had left lying at the edge of the sidewalk, and with superhuman exertion dragged the burden to the entrance that with it he might batter in the woodwork of the door, which was already ignited; when the rotten lock, as of a miracle, yielded of itself in the sockets, and the door swung slowly inward on its hinges. In the dark opening appeared a strange pair of human figures. Gundelchen was carrying her mother pick-a-pack through the smoke and showering sparks out into the open air.

The child had gone to bed earlier than usual that night, weary with her day's work, and was awakened by a cry of terror from her mother, who had not yet fallen asleep. When she perceived the light from the fire, she put on a skirt, threw a shawl around her shoulders, and without stopping for shoes or stockings, with swift decision she lifted her mother, who could move but slowly, to her back and bore her down the little stairs and across the court, there to stand a few agonizing moments in the dark hallway until her guardian angel opened the house door.

As she stood now outside, bent under her living burden and looking around at the crowd as it fell back, she espied their young friend and guest, who, with a cry of joy, dropped the beam and sprang toward her. A happy smile crossed her flushed face and the fresh lips faltered: "Good evening; Herr Doctor"--simple words enough, but they sounded to him like sweetest music. He could only say: "Thank God! O Gundelchen! To think that you are alive!" and would have caught them both in his arms but for the eyes which were turned upon them.

She had not yet put down her burden, and seemed uncertain whither to turn with it. In vain did Philip conjure the people to fetch a wheelbarrow, or even a push-cart. They turned away, shrugged their shoulders and murmured imprecations.

"Well, we must get one ourselves, Gundelchen, since these pious Christians cannot summon this much of neighborly kindness," said the young man, as he set the woman gently down upon the pavement, and, crossing his hands with those of the girl, raised the mother again on this swinging litter, bidding her put her arms around their necks. So they carried her submissively obedient, through the parting throng, which fell back at their approach, down the street as far as the marketplace. There, as by accident, an empty cab came rattling sleepily along. Philip hailed it, put the two women into it, and swung himself up on the seat behind, telling the coachman to drive to a little inn by the river, a half mile distant, which served as the terminus for the summer evening walks of the better class families.

From Ghost Lane, which grew even ruddier with the glare of the fire, sounded a duller hum and tumult; and now they heard the roll of the hose-cart, which was at last on its way to the scene of the fire. From all sides, great and small were flocking to the ill-omened street; but soon they had left the last houses behind them and were driving along at a slow trot, through the star-lit night.

And now, for the first, the young doctor had time to regard the rescued pair more closely. The older woman, with closed eyes, lay back in one corner of the carriage as though she would collect her thoughts, and thank Heaven for the miracle of her deliverance. Her child sat beside her, a little ashamed of her own scanty attire, holding the shawl tightly about her shoulders and saying no word to the young man opposite. But the black eyes met his steadily, and only once, when the bare feet came into view beneath the short skirt, did the long lashes droop hastily. Philip asked if she were cold. She shook her head, but he drew his handkerchief from his pocket and wound it about her slender ankles. Then he stretched out his hand and she laid her own in it, with a charming look of confidence, and so they held each other's hands in a mute pledge until the carriage drew up before the little hostelry.

Here first the mother opened her eyes, but spoke no word and suffered Philip to lift her out and carry her into the house. Host and hostess were not a little astonished when they saw their singular guests, for whom the young man engaged a room in the upper story. He gave the landlord a gold piece and told him it would be to his advantage to attend carefully to the ladies, whom he had rescued from great peril by fire in the city.

The Frau Wirthin would help the Fraeulein out with her wardrobe. Then he himself mounted to the room where Frau Cordula sat in an arm-chair, looking dreamily before her. He went up to her and said gravely: "Dear mother, I must leave you now and go back to the city. But first I want to clear up an important matter. Your daughter and I have silently plighted our troth during the journey hither. I beg now that you will give us your blessing. I promise to be a faithful husband to your child and a loving son to you."

The mother had listened to him with no change of manner, quite as if she had been prepared for something similar. Now she shook her head gently and said: "Dear Herr Doctor, you are very good, and I believe that you are sincere in your request. Still, I am an old woman, and must keep a cool head when the fire of enthusiasm has so heated your young one that you regard as proper and practical what is, and must remain, an impossibility. You are a young man of education and wealth, and we are poor people. How could you answer your friends if they should ask you why you had played the fool over the daughter of a poor tailoress who is denounced as a witch?"

"That is _my_ affair," returned Philip with emphasis; "and I shall take care to express myself quite clearly and plainly on the subject. Moreover, I take delight in setting all my acquaintances to wondering and shaking their heads in a knowing way; indeed, I shall enjoy all the talk and sensation which will be created in the church when the announcement of our betrothal is made from the chancel. In three weeks, therefore, so it please you, the wedding will take place. I propose then to take the young Frau Doctor upon a tour, and we shall spend a whole year in travel. She will thus have time to become somewhat accustomed to society, and to receive that polish which even the costliest jewels must have in order that they may be estimated at their true value. In the meantime, our dear mother will remain quietly in the apartments which will be provided for her in my new home; and her daughter, let us hope, will keep her informed, by frequent letters, that she was not deceived when she thought proper to try her arts of witchery upon a certain Doctor Philip."

He bent down and kissed the mother upon both cheeks, down which two tears trickled silently. Then, drawing the radiant girl to his breast, he kissed her upon lips and eyes; and before either of them could breathe a word, he rushed downstairs, flung himself into the carriage and drove back to town.

The house of "The Unbelieving Thomas" was burned out so completely during the night that when morning dawned only the four black walls, like the sides of some deep shaft or well, remained standing; while the chestnut-tree lay, a heap of ashes, in the court, and only a few smoking ruins covered the site of the coach-house. In the porter's room were found a pile of blackened human bones, and among them four bits of copper which had bound the corners of the large Bohemian Bible, and had not been melted, despite the intense heat.

High above, on the pointed ridge of one of the neighboring houses, sat, in the early gray of the morning, the two former occupants of the coach-house, both in the worst possible humor.

Heinrich Mueller cast a savage glance at the wet debris of the charred timbers, from which rose an ill-smelling vapor.

"Well, the comedy is ended!" he said, shaking himself. "I am glad that no one suspected who was the author."

"Not you, after all, Herr Heinrich?" inquired his comrade, who was looking away over the roofs into one of the side streets.

"To be sure; I myself, and no other," returned the illustrious wine-seller. "You must know, Johann, that after I had played that base fellow, the Doctor, a trick, and had separated him and the well-bred daughter of, the Stadtrath, I flew towards home. There I saw the other one, who is like poison to me, the Bohemian, bending as usual over his book of magic; I slipped in, and then it occurred to me that I would spoil his broth for him. I overturned his lamp, the oil ran out over the table, there was an explosion, and as the old fool did not know how to save himself at once, the whole affair went up in smoke. So I have wreaked my vengeance on the wretched cobbler, and now I shall sail back to our upper world straightway. Of hell upon earth, I've had my fill. It may be confoundedly tedious, up there; but what of that? Doomsday cannot be far distant, if one may judge by the mad goings-on down here."

He raised himself a little, as though about to take flight.

"Do take me with you, Herr Heinrich!" said the poor soul of Johann Gruber. "I, too, am out of conceit with everything down here. I'm ready to give up the seance. For yesterday, when I went to look after my Rieka, I found her in--well, I will not say what company. It's accursedly mean business--playing this sort of a spirit--and I thought it would be such capital fun! Some one else can take his turn at it now, when stupid people are bent upon having communications. Look, Herr Heinrich, the sun is just flashing up from behind the mountain yonder. We must make haste and begone before it grows hot. When I was in the service of my former master I was always in the harness before daybreak. Hoop-la!" and he was off without waiting for his companion, who rose slowly after him, casting one more look of malicious satisfaction upon the smoking ruins, beneath which lay buried the poor victim of his revenge.

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