His strong, brown hands shook as he gave her the papers, and her thin white hands trembled as she took them. A burning red spread over her countenance.
"Have you done this for me?" said she.
Lambert did not reply, and was greatly agitated as she immediately bowed down, caught his hands and pressed them against her weeping face and lips.
"Kind maiden--kind maiden! what are you doing?" stammered Lambert. "Don't weep. I was glad to do it. I am fortunate to have been able to render you this service. Were it possible I would do the same for all the other unfortunates here. But now let us away. I have but a few hours left. I must begin my homeward journey. I would be glad first to know that you are in safety. Do you know anyone in the city, or in its vicinity to whom I can take you?"
Catherine shook her head.
"Have you no friends among the immigrants who perhaps expect you to accompany them on their farther journey?"
"I have nobody--nobody!" said the girl. "You see everyone thinks only of himself, and alas! everybody has enough of his own to look after."
Lambert stood helpless. He thought for a moment about his old business friend, Mr. Brown. But, alas! Mrs. Brown was not a kind woman. To her, her husband's predilection for the Germans seemed very ridiculous. It did not very well please her to welcome strangers. He knew no other house in the city, except the inn where he had left his horse, and which in other respects was not desirable, especially as to the company which gathered there. He looked at Catherine as though advice must come from her, but her eyes had an anxious and strained expression.
"Do you mean to give me over to other people?" said she.
"What do you mean?" asked Lambert.
"Kind sir, you have already done so much for me, and are reluctant now to tell me that you can do no more for me. I will need a long, long time with my service to pay the heavy debt. I know it well. But I would cheerfully serve you and your parents as long as I live, and even give my life for you. Now you wish to take me to others. Speak freely. I will gladly bind myself for as many years as they desire and make good your recommendation." She smiled sadly and picked up a small bundle that lay near her. "I am ready," said she.
"Catherine!" said Lambert.
She looked inquiringly at him.
"Catherine!" said he again. His chest heaved and fell as though he was summoning up all his strength to speak calmly. "I live far from here, full twenty days' travel, on the utmost border, the farthest settler, in an impoverished region, open to the inroad of our enemies, and which last year suffered from them a dreadful visitation. But if you will go with me--"
A joyful perplexity showed itself in Catherine's wan face.
"How can you ask?" said she.
"Well may I ask," replied Lambert, "and well must I ask. It remains with you. Your evidence of indebtedness is in your own hands and I will never again take it in mine. You are free to come and to go. And so, Catherine Weise, I ask you once more, will you as a free maiden go with me to my home, if I promise you on the honor of a man that I will care for you, help and protect you as a brother should his sister?"
"I will go with you, Lambert Sternberg," said Catherine.
Breathing deeply, she laid her hand in his offered right hand.
Then they hastened over the deck. Catherine nodded tearfully to one and another. She could not speak. Her heart was too full for speech. No one returned her silent farewell, except with dumb and hopeless looks which cut her to the heart. On the long and terrible journey from her home until now, according to her strength and beyond her strength, she had tried to mitigate the boundless wretchedness around her. She could do no more than leave the hapless creatures to their fate. Alas! what a fate awaited those who were here cast on a strange shore like the scattered fragments of a wreck that has been the dreadful sport of the waves. Tears of pity dimmed her eyes. Her senses forsook her. When, holding her bundle of clothing in her hand, she felt her feet standing on solid ground, she knew not how she had got off the ship.
Catherine said nothing, but in her inmost heart she cried out again and again: "God be praised!"
CHAPTER III
The setting sun, which hung over the forest sea of Canada Creek, poured its purple beams over the travelers. They had just emerged from the woods through which they had been going the whole day by solitary, narrow Indian trails. At their feet lay the valley, filled with roseate evening mist, following the windings of the creek.
Lambert stopped the strong-limbed horse which he was leading by the bridle as they were ascending the valley, and said to his companion:
"This is Canada Creek, and that is our house."
"Where?" asked Catherine.
Leaning over the saddle and protecting her eyes from the sun with her hand she eagerly looked in the direction which the young man had indicated.
"There," said he, "toward the north, where the creek appears. Do you see it?"
"Now I do," said Catherine.
At this moment the horse, with expanded nostrils, snorted, and suddenly leapt sideways. The unprepared rider lost her balance and would have fallen off had not her companion, by a quick spring, caught her in his arms.
"It is nothing," said he, as she slid down to the ground. "Old Hans acts as if he had never before seen a snake. Are you not ashamed of yourself, old fellow? So--keep quiet, so!" He patted the frightened horse on his short, thick neck, stripped off the bridle and tied him to a sapling.
"You must have been terribly frightened," said he. His voice and hands shook while he buckled on the pillion which had become displaced.
"Oh, no," said Catherine.
She had seated herself on the root of a tree, and looked over the valley where now, over the luxuriant meadow which followed the course of the stream, a fog began to rise. Yonder the sun was just dipping into the emerald, forest sea, and the golden flames on the trunks, boughs and tops of the great trees were gradually fading away.
From above, the cloudless, greenish-blue evening sky looked down, while a flock of wild swans was flying northward up the valley. From time to time they uttered their peculiar, melancholy cry, melodiously softened by the distance. A deep, quiet stillness brooded over the primitive forest.
The young man stood leaning against the shoulder of the horse. There rested on his brown face a deep, sad anxiety. Often a shadow of restlessness and fear passed over it, widely differing from the usual expression of the smooth, manly features, and obscuring the light that commonly danced in the large blue eyes. He looked now at the swans, which shone as silver stars in the distant, rosy horizon--now at the maiden who sat there, partly turned away from him. At length, drawing a deep breath a couple of times, he approached her.
"Catherine," said he.
She raised her handsome face. Her large brown eyes were filled with tears.
"Are you sorry that you have come with me?" said the young man.
Catherine shook her head.
"No," said she; "how unthankful I should then be."
"And yet, you are weeping."
"I am not weeping," said Catherine, as she drew her hands across her eyes and tried to smile. "I was just thinking how happy my father would have been, had he, at the end of his wanderings, found this still place. Ah! just so had he wished and dreamed. Still it could not be so. How your parents will rejoice to see you again."
She was about to rise. Lambert