"Stay yet a moment, Catherine, I have--I must ask you something."
The anxiety that had already before showed itself in his face become still greater. His brows were contracted. His eyes had a stern, severe look.
Catherine looked up at him with astonishment.
"Had my parents meanwhile died and you and I, Catherine, must dwell alone in yonder house--"
"You must not speak so, Lambert Sternberg," said Catherine. "It is our duty to trust the Lord. They are doubtless alive and well--they and your brother. Why do we lose time? The evening is passing and I am fully rested."
Lambert wished to make a reply, but the words refused to pass his lips. He stared before him as if in uncertainty, and at length turned to the horse, and with a degree of violence thrust the bit between his teeth. Then he threw the rifle, which stood leaning against the trunk of a tree, on his shoulder and, leading his horse by the bridle, began to descend the rocky declivity. Silently Catherine followed, carefully looking where she could with confidence set her foot, casting many a glance at those going before. The path was very steep and the horse often slid. Lambert needed all his strength and carefulness, and it was manifest that he did not once look back, nor did he ask Catherine how she was getting along. Meanwhile Catherine's heart palpitated. It seemed as though the restlessness, the anxiety about his home that spoke in Lambert's words and looks, had also seized her. "Were they indeed dead--were they all dead--and were we two, he and I, to dwell in yonder house!"
They had reached the valley. Here, along the creek, which flowed in many windings between the meadow banks, there was an easier though narrower path. The horse thrust forward his ears, neighed and stepped along quicker. Lambert had to hold him by the bridle. Catherine walked a little to one side. It did not tire the slim, vigorous girl to come along. It was not the exertion that caused her to breathe with difficulty. The silence which Lambert had not broken for a long time pressed upon her more and more. She was not accustomed to it. On the other hand--this she now for the first time thought of--he had toyed with her during the journey of weeks, he had always talked with her in a way so kind and good. Now, however, in view of his nearer responsibilities he had become silent. He did not speak of those belonging to him. Indeed she would not have known that his parents were living had he not, when she asked him whether he thought that his mother would be satisfied with her, replied that she should give herself no uneasiness on that account. Had he not even now expressed a fear that he should not find his parents alive?
"The kind man," said she to herself, "did not wish to make the heart of the poor orphan heavy by telling me about his parents, and now he cannot wait for the time of meeting them."
"Catherine," said he at that moment.
"Lambert," replied she, coming to his side, glad that he had at last broken silence. As he said no more to her as she waited, she added, "You wished to say something?"
"We shall not live there alone," indicating the block-house with his eyes, standing but a few steps from them.
"No, surely not," she replied.
He gave her an unusual look.
"Do not be so anxious, kind Lambert, we are in God's care."
"No, certainly not," replied he.
He had not observed what she had last said, and only recalled her former words. But it affected her painfully when, through misapprehension, she had heard denied that which she believed, with all her heart, as her old father had believed in all need and trouble. "We are in God's care!" That was the text of his last sermon which, already himself dying, he had delivered between decks to his unhappy fellow sufferers. That was his last word as, a few hours later, he breathed out, in their arms, his pure spirit. Did not her pious childhood-faith approve itself to her in a wonderful manner? When all human help seemed impossible, did not a kind man, God-sent, come, and with a strong hand lead her out of the labyrinth, and carefully conduct her over hills and mountains, creeks and rivers, through endless forests and immeasurable prairies? Never, never, by the side of the good and strong one, had there come to her a feeling of anxiety or fear. Now, as she was nearing the end of her pilgrimage, should doubt find sly entrance? "I will protect and help you as a brother does his sister!" Had he promised too much? Why did he walk so self-absorbed, so still and dumb at her side, now that he was so near his own hearth and that of his parents? Did he, perhaps, fear that he would not be kindly received on account of the stranger he was bringing home? Why was the house there before them so still? No barking of dogs. No sign of those who at the next moment might be expected to rush into the arms of the home-comer. The solitary house on the little hillock, gently descending from it on all sides, and standing near the creek which, like a snake through the grass, was quietly winding among the rushes, was perfectly silent. Silent and still were the dark woods which here and there overlooked the valley from the heights along the shore.
As she now reached the house Catherine felt as though her heart would leap forth as she observed that the lower story, built of immense logs, had no windows but narrow slits like the portholes in the walls of a fortress, and that the upper story was surrounded by a low, massive breastwork, and that the shingle roof was quite high. Lambert tied the horse to a heavy ring which was near the door, cast searching glances about the house and surroundings, murmured something that she did not understand, and finally pushed slowly against the heavy door which opened inward.
He disappeared in the house, came out after a few moments and said: "There is nobody here. We are entirely alone. Will you go with me?"
They were the very same words that he had addressed to her on the deck of the emigrant ship, and she again answered him as then:
"I will go with you, Lambert Sternberg." She grasped the hand which he had extended to her and followed him into the forsaken house.
CHAPTER IV
While Lambert had been engaged within there came through the door a bright light, which Catherine now saw was produced by a large pine fagot burning in a corner of the room near a great stone-hearth. The room was half kitchen and store-room, and half living-room--such as the young woman had become acquainted with in many a farm-house where she had rested during her journey. It was fitted up with various utensils hanging on the walls and ceiling, standing in corners and lying on the floor. Near the hearth there were a couple of rough pine chairs, and, against the wall, a large four-cornered table, serving both for a dressing-table and for meals. There still stood on it a couple of earthen dishes on which were the remains of a meal to which a bear's ham, which had not again been hung upon its hook, contributed the principal part. The entire arrangement was planned on the basis of the simplest necessity. There was no trace of an endeavor after grace and beauty, or the merely agreeable. This observation, that the young maiden made with her first glance about the room, fell upon her heart even more heavily than the empty house. The house would fill up when the absent ones returned, but would she be happy in the company of those who lived here, who called it their home?
"I must look after my horse," said Lambert, "and after the rest of the things. You may meanwhile prepare the evening meal--you will probably find something. We will after that consider your sleeping apartment. It looks very bad here, but Conrad knows nothing about order. However, you can have a chamber upstairs. I will sleep below. I shall not go far, and will soon be back. Do not be afraid."
He said all this forcibly, in snatches, while prying into the corners, so that she scarcely understood him. Then he quickly left the house, and she heard him outside untie the horse and go away with it.
"Do not be afraid! Should I be so it would not be strange. How wonderful it all is! But he has been so heavenly kind to me, a poor girl; and surely his intentions are as honorable and true as ever. Where can they be? They must certainly be at some neighbor's." She had seen at a distance from the creek a couple of roofs. "Does he still expect them back? Now I will do what becomes a good maid who expects