SOMETHING more than a week after the scenes we have just related had occurred, the Daltons were seated round the fire, beside which, in the place of honor, in an old armchair, propped by many a cushion, reclined Hans Roeckle. A small lamp of three burners such as the peasants use stood upon the table, of which only one was lighted, and threw its fitful gleam over the board, covered by the materials of a most humble meal. Even this was untasted; and it was easy to mark in the downcast and depressed countenances of the group that some deep care was weighing upon them.
Dalton himself, with folded arms, sat straight opposite the fire, his heavy brows closely knit, and his eyes staring fixedly at the blaze, as if expecting some revelation of the future from it; an open letter, which seemed to have dropped from his hand, was lying at his feet. Nelly, with bent-down head, was occupied in arranging the little tools and implements she was accustomed to use in carving; but in the tremulous motion of her fingers, and the short, quick heaving of her chest, might be read the signs of a struggle that cost heavily to subdue.
Half-concealed beneath the projection of the fireplace sat Kate Dalton she was sewing. Although to all seeming intent upon her work, more than once did her fingers drop the needle to wipe the gushing tears from her eyes, while at intervals a short sob would burst forth, and break the stillness around.
As for Hans, he seemed lost in a dreamy revery, from which he rallied at times to smile pleasantly at a little wooden figure the same which occasioned his disaster placed beside him.
There was an air of sadness over everything; and even the old spaniel, Joan, as she retreated from the heat of the fire, crept with stealthy step beneath the table, as if respecting the mournful stillness of the scene. How different the picture from what that humble chamber had so often presented! What a contrast to those happy evenings, when, as the girls worked, Hans would read aloud some of those strange mysteries of Jean Paul, or the wild and fanciful imaginings of Chamisso, while old Dalton would lay down his pipe and break in upon his memories of Ireland, to ask at what they were laughing, and Frank look up distractedly from his old chronicles of German war to join in the mirth! How, at such moments, Hans would listen to the interpretation, and with what greedy ears follow the versions the girls would give of some favorite passage, as if dreading lest its force should be weakened or its beauty marred by transmission! And then those outbreaks of admiration that would simultaneously gush forth at some sentiment of high and glorious meaning, some godlike gleam of bright intelligence, which, though clothed in the language of a foreign land, spoke home to their hearts with the force that truth alone can speak!
Yes, they were, indeed, happy evenings! when around their humble hearth came thronging the groups of many a poet's fancy, bright pictures of many a glorious scene, emotions of heart that seemed to beat in unison with their own. They felt no longer the poverty of their humble condition, they had no memory for the little straits and trials of the bygone day, as they trod with Tieck the alley beneath the lindens of some rural village, or sat with Auerbach beneath the porch of the Vorsteher's dwelling. The dull realities of life faded before the vivid conceptions of fiction, and they imbibed lessons of patient submission and trustfulness from those brothers and sisters who are poets' children.
And yet what no darkness of adversity could rob them of the first gleam of what, to worldly minds at least, would seem better fortune, had already despoiled them. Like the traveller in the fable, who had grasped his cloak the faster through the storm, but who threw it away when the hot, rays scorched him, they could brave the hurricane, but not face the sunshine.
The little wooden clock behind the door struck nine, and Dalton started up suddenly.
“What did it strike, girls?” asked he, quickly.
“Nine, papa,” replied Kate, in a low voice.
“At what hour was he to come for the answer?”
“At ten,” said she, still lower.
“Well, you 'd better write it at once,” said he, with a peevishness very different from his ordinary manner. “They've remained here already four days isn't it four days she says? to give us time to make up our minds; we cannot detain them any longer.”
“Lady Hester has shown every consideration for our difficulty,” said Kate. “We cannot be too grateful for her kindness.”
“Tell her so,” said he, bitterly. “I suppose women know when to believe each other.”
“And what reply am I to make, sir?” said she, calmly, as having put aside her work, she took her place at the writing-table.
“Faith, I don't care,” said he, doggedly. “Nor is it much matter what opinion I give. I am nobody now; I have no right to decide upon anything.”
“The right and duty are both yours, papa.”
“Duty! So I'm to be taught my duty as well as the rest!” said he, passionately. “Don't you think there are some others might remember that they have duties also?”
“Would that I could fulfil mine as my heart dictates them!” said Ellen; and her lip trembled as she spoke the words.
“Faith! I scarce know what 's my duty, with all the drilling and dictating I get,” muttered he, sulkily. “But this I know, there 's no will left me I dare not budge this side or that without leave.”
“Dearest papa, be just to yourself, if not to me.”
“Isn't it truth I'm saying?” continued he, his anger rising with every word he spoke. “One day, I'm forbid to ask my friends home with me to dinner. Another, I 'm told I ought n't to go dine with them. I 'm tutored and lectured at every hand's turn. Never a thought crosses me, but it 's sure to be wrong. You din into my ears, how happy it is to be poor when one 's contented.”
“The lesson was yours, dear papa,” said Nelly, smiling. “Don't disavow your own teaching.”
“Well, the more fool me. I know better now. But what's the use of it? When the prospect of a little ease and comfort was offered to me, you persuaded me to refuse it. Ay, that you did! You began with the old story about our happy hearth and contentment; and where is it now?”
A sob, so low as to be scarcely heard, broke from Nelly, and she pressed her hand to her heart with a convulsive force.
“Can you deny it? You made me reject the only piece of kindness ever was shown me in a life long. There was the opportunity of spending the rest of my days in peace, and you wouldn't let me take it. And the fool I was to listen to you!”
“Oh, papa, how you wrong her!” cried Kate, as, in a torrent of tears, she bent over his chair. “Dearest Nelly has no thought but for us. Her whole heart is our own.”
“If you could but see it!” cried Nelly, with a thick utterance.
“'T is a droll way of showing affection, then,” said Dal ton, “to keep me a beggar, and you no better than a servant-maid. It's little matter about me, I know. I'm old, and worn out, a reduced Irish gentleman, with nothing but his good blood remaining to him. But you, Kate, that are young and handsome, ay, faith! a deal sight better-looking than my Lady herself, it's a little hard that you are to be denied what might be your whole fortune in life.”
“You surely would not stake all her happiness on the venture, papa?” said Nelly, mildly.
“Happiness!” said he, scornfully; “what do you call happiness? Is it dragging out life in poverty like this, with the proudest friend in our list an old toy-maker?”
“Poor Hanserl!” murmured Nelly, in a low voice; but soft as were the accents, the dwarf heard them, and nodded his head twice, as though to thank her for a recognition of whose import he knew nothing.
“Just so! You have pity enough for strangers, but none for your own people,” said Dalton, as he arose and paced the room, the very act of motion serving