CHAPTER IV.

“FAVOUR AND PREJUDICE.”

There was, however, a third person concerned in their wooing, a very important person too—the Burgomaster; and it was doubtful if he would look favourably on the plan the lovers had marked out for themselves. Sabina had her dower, and Conrad, at his father’s death, would inherit a modest fortune, but the day when that should fall into his hands, he hoped was far distant; beyond this, he had nothing but what his own exertions brought him. Truly, the incentive to work had now become, if possible, greater than ever, and the desire to gain money, hitherto a very secondary consideration, had grown very strong indeed, ever since that little _tête-à-tête_ he had had in the dining-hall with Sabina von Steinbach. All the money, however, which he was likely to earn, would not make anything like a fortune suitable for laying at the feet of the wealthy Burgomaster’s daughter. Still von Steinbach was not exactly a hard, money-grubbing man, and Conrad’s hopes ran high when he explained the state of things; but Niklaus said:

“Now look here, Conrad Dasipodius, you are the last man in Strassburg I should care to quarrel with. To the best of my belief, you’re a good fellow, and I know you’re a clever one, and some day I’ve no doubt you’ll be making a great name for yourself in the world. Meantime, what are your means for keeping my child?”

“Your daughter refuses to speak of leaving you just yet, Master Niklaus; and I am content to wait, until I can offer something worthy her acceptance.”

“That sounds all very well. Meantime, I am growing old. Supposing, for example, I should die?”

“We will suppose no such thing, Burgomaster.”

“Don’t interrupt; I say, supposing I should die, who is to take care of my Sabina then?”

“Who but I?” fervently said Conrad.

“And live on love, and nothing a year, paid quarterly! You’re crazed, Conrad Dasipodius; go back to your wheels and your coils, and forget my little maiden. It is best for you.”

Dasipodius, however, had no heart for work until the other matter was settled, and this he told Niklaus; and the old man’s eyes glistened with something of pride and pleasure, for he had a sincere liking and admiration for the young mathematician; still he laid his hand on his shoulder and said: “How can I blame you, boy? for this Sabina is the best and fairest girl in Strassburg, but your suit is in vain. Go, I have other views for her—go!” And if Dasipodius had pleaded all night, he would not have succeeded in extracting another word from the old man.

The truth was, that only that very morning, two offers of an eligible kind had been made to the Burgomaster for Sabina’s hand; one of these proposals was made by an offshoot of the great and noble house of Eberstein. This gentleman’s fortunes were, however, somewhat dilapidated, and he had a notion that Sabina von Steinbach’s dower might help to build them up again. The Burgomaster’s keen eye saw through all this; nevertheless, he thought it would be a fine thing to see his darling an Eberstein. The other proposal was from Otto von Steinbach. Now Otto at present was certainly no richer than his fellow-student, Dasipodius, but he had great expectations from an old great-aunt who idolized his handsome face; and this lady being very aged, and full of dolorous ailments and twinges, could not last many months. At least so Otto thought, and he represented as much to the Burgomaster.

“You know,” he said, “she herself is always saying: ‘Please God, I shan’t last long!’”

“And you say, Amen?” queried Niklaus.

“Well, look here, you know, I—I—well, it’s hard on a fellow, just because favour and prejudice——”

“My good Otto, go and tell your tale to Sabina in your own way.”

And Otto went. “Poor Otto!” said the Burgomaster, when he was gone, “he’ll never set the Rhine on fire; but there’s no harm in him, and if Sabina—well, well, we shall see. At any rate, there can be no favour and prejudice.”

This was true, for the Burgomaster did not interfere in his daughter’s choice between the two suitors; he permitted each to plead his cause in person, a permission which, by the bye, the careless Conrad had omitted to ask; but Niklaus was a little taken aback, when he found that his daughter had rejected both the one and the other. The scion of the noble house of Eberstein did not stay to tell the Burgomaster of his discomfiture, but hardly trusting his own ears, shook the dust of that ungrateful household from his feet, and mounting his jennet, rode off for ever and a day.

Neither could Otto von Steinbach grasp the fact that his cousin had refused him. “What, Sabina,” he had said to her, “you are mocking me! Have not I told you I think you the prettiest girl in Strassburg? and I say there is not one who would suit me so well for a wife——”

“Nay, nay, cousin, ’tis all a mistake——”

“A mistake!—_Himmelsdonnerwetter_, I swear——”

“No don’t, Otto. Pray hush.”

“I will not hush. I say, I do not care one pin what becomes of me, if you’re not my wife. Do you hear?”

“Yes, Otto, I hear; I am so sorry.”

“Sorry, _Aller Teufel!_” Then he paused, and his voice softened. “Look, Sabina, only see! I am on my knees before you—I, who have won favours from noble ladies. Yes, Sabina, I could whisper a tale or two——”

“Don’t, Otto, and get up. It is so foolish to see you there.”

“But when I say I love you, Sabina, you can not turn from me.”

Yet she had turned away, weeping. Her tender little heart, which shrank from seeing the smallest insect in distress, was sorely disturbed at sight of Otto’s face. He mistook those tears for signs of relenting; but soon the girl dashed them aside, and turning to him once more, said: “Otto, some day you will find one who will love you dearly. For me it is impossible, since I love already.”

Otto von Steinbach started to his feet. “So,” he said, “then I have been supplanted?”

“Yet—no,” proudly answered Sabina—“not supplanted; I never loved but him.”

“Him!—who?—who has dared——”

“Otto!” There was a world of reproof in Sabina’s voice; and Otto stood momentarily abashed. Soon, however, recovering himself, he demanded: “Whom is this you love?”

“Conrad.”

“Conrad who?”—there was only one Conrad in the world for Sabina—“not Dasipodius?”

Sabina flushed rosy red, and nodded gently. Otto, however, burst into a loud, mocking laugh, and said that if maidens chose to sigh for the moon, that was their affair; but that everybody knew Dasipodius had given all his heart to his profession, and had none of it to spare for love-sick girls.

“Nevertheless,” said Sabina, the red blood dyeing her brow crimson with indignation, “he loves me, and I love him. You had best go home, Otto von Steinbach.”

Furious with jealousy, Otto rushed from Sabina’s presence to the Burgomaster’s little room behind his workshop, where Niklaus was busy sorting a new consignment of rubies and pearls. “She has refused me!” he cried.

Niklaus looked up. “She has refused—rejected me, I say!”

“So?” interrogated the goldsmith. “Then my Lord Count has won the day.”

“What Lord Count? No; it is that—that automaton, Conrad Dasipodius.”

“But it cannot be, nephew. Only this very morning I explained to the child that it was out of the question.”

“I would have sworn,” burst forth Otto, “that there was favour and prejudice at the bottom of this. And you knew then, all the time.”

“Certainly I knew the two creatures said they loved each other; but I told them it could not be, and that they must think no more about it,” placidly answered the Burgomaster, laying a pair of pearl earrings in their velvet case.

“But they do think more about it. I tell you, Uncle, not five minutes since, Sabina declared her love for Conrad Dasipodius to me—to me!”

“And that satisfaction was more than you deserved, if you brayed at my little girl as you are braying at me now. D’ye think I’m deaf?”

“But you will not permit this folly. You will speak to Sabina.”

“It will not be in your favour, nephew; and were it not that I believe your love-fancies had stolen your manners, I would turn you out of my house.”

Otto stood silent, fidgeting at the smart gilt buckle on his hat. The Burgomaster knitted his brow, and tapped it thoughtfully with his finger.

“You think then,” he said presently, “that these two really love each other?”

“Ay. It would seem so,” said Otto chokingly.

“And no favour or prejudice about it?” continued Niklaus, with a half-smile. But Otto made no answer; he rushed out into the Dom-Platz, and tore home to retail the story of his wrongs to his sister Radegund.

Niklaus von Steinbach meanwhile locked up his jewels in his strong-room, and went in to dinner, his thoughtful mood still on him. Sabina looked pale and tearful.

“Poor little one!” said the old man to himself. “Now if she had but a dear mother to sigh out her pretty troubles to; but fathers are just lumps of wood in affairs of this sort. Sabina,” he said aloud—the young girl started—“what did the Count say to you this morning?”

“He asked me to marry him, Väterchen,” answered Sabina, growing pale.

“And you—what did you say?”

“I said it could not be.”

“And why, prithee?”

“I do not love the Count, Väterchen.”

“Humph! And what may Otto von Steinbach have been talking to you about this long while?”

Sabina looked up imploringly, but she knew her father’s humour, and she faltered: “He asked me to marry him, Väterchen.”

“And you—what did you say?”

“That it was impossible.”

“And why now, mistress?”

“I do not love Otto von Steinbach.”

“Love—what has that to do with it?”

No answer.

“Speak!” thundered the Burgomaster.

“It is everything,” said Sabina, looking down.

“Everything!—everything, is it? Oh these women! these women!” groaned Niklaus. “Child, I gave you credit for sense above the average of your kind, and positively you are crazier than the rest of them.”

And the Burgomaster, turning away, thrust his hands deep down into his coat pockets, and strode to the hearth, where he stood glaring into the logs, and crushing to powder the stray bits that fell smouldering. Sabina burst into tears. “Well, now, what have you to cry about, child?” he asked moodily, still staring at his logs.

“Oh! father dear—don’t. Leave me to myself!” sobbed Sabina.

But von Steinbach had no such intention; this was not at all the issue he wanted to arrive at. “Have you seen aught of Conrad Dasipodius this day or two?” he asked, and with his hands still in his pockets, he stole a keen glance at his daughter from beneath his eyebrows’ grizzled penthouse.

“No!” promptly answered the girl, but the bright blood flew to her cheeks, and in spite of her best efforts, her voice shook.

“That is strange! You have forbidden him the house belike, as you have your other swains?”

No, nor that neither; but she thought her father had; and a very grievous thought it was to her.

“Neither have I forbidden him; but he will not come again yet awhile. I know all about it, child; Conrad Dasipodius is an honourable man, but he is poor, and my Sabina has the dignity of our house to maintain; so I say it cannot be thought of for an instant. I respect this man—I think well of him—very well—I don’t mind saying I do; but he’s poor, poor as a rat, and I say it cannot be thought of for an instant.” Then Niklaus drew himself up, and looking very stern and adamantine; and gathering his gown about him, he strode majestically towards the door, and lifting the arras, said: “Now dry thy tears, child, and when I come back, let it be my own little Lily’s bright face again. There, kiss me then; but these love-nonsenses do so put me out. You’re happy enough with your old father? Hey, kiss me then—hey?” And so the Burgomaster, happy in the conviction that he had warded off a troublesome little domestic worry very successfully, went across the courtyard through the drizzling sleet back to his affairs.

Sabina listened until the last echo of her father’s footsteps died out, then she threw herself down beside the hearth, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping; but at last, when the kind tears would no longer flow, and only hard, cruel sobs shook her quivering frame, she sat and gazed thoughtfully into the fire; but no comfort came to her, the logs were damp and sputtered crossly, and the rude north wind outside whistled a discordant duet with the rattling sleet, and to the girl’s ears their refrain was: “It cannot be thought of for an instant!—It cannot be thought of for an instant!” until it made her head ache sadly, and she laid it down for rest on the old house-cat’s furry pillow of a body, moaning out:

“Oh! Mitte dear, but I love him! I love him so dearly!—what shall I do?”

Then Mitte, gathering her velvet paws still closer up under her comfortable self, began to purr out ever so loudly—“Courage, Sabina, Sabina! Dear heart—Courage!” and the great clock up in the corner began to burr (indeed he had been at it all the afternoon, only Sabina had not heard): “Wait-tic!—wait-tac!” and this so perseveringly, that presently the clock silenced the sputtering logs, until they began to warm through, and make themselves quite pleasant; and then, just for a moment before going to bed, the winter sun looked out good-humouredly, and smiled down the harsh north wind, and quenched the spiteful hail, and by the time night had set in, and the Burgomaster had come back, Sabina looked quite herself again; and Niklaus congratulated himself very highly on his tact. “Ah, these women and their fancies!” thought he. “See now, it has all blown over!” But it had in no wise blown over; only Sabina smiled as she listened to the advice of the steady old clock up in his dark corner: “Wait-tic—wait-tac!”