XXII.

"Happy places have grown holy; If ye went where once ye went, Only tears would fall down slowly, As at solemn sacrament. Merry books once read for pastime, If ye dared to read again, Only memories of the last time Would swim darkly up the brain. --MRS. E. B. BROWNING.

A landscape so golden and bright spreads out before our gaze, it would seem that there were no sorrow in the world. We are at Larkow, the residence of Herr Bolton. It is the wonderfully beautiful month of May; birds sing, flowers bloom. Heart, poor heart, bloomest thou?

Sibylla had dreary months in the retrospect. When her husband brought her here, during this severe Winter, the icicles hung from the roof of their dwelling, twenty-four inches in depth. When her gaze rested on the vast snow-field, upon which here and there black crows searched eagerly for food, she closed her eyes. Every thing was so harmonious; without, all frozen; within, all frozen.

Her husband was, indeed, no sun whose mild, patient beams endeavored to thaw this frigidity. The death of Lady Von Herbig had somewhat calmed him; but he found it necessary to recall the same forcibly, in order to justify the sorrow of his wife. That Sibylla was even more buried than her mother, never entered his mind. She certainly ought to be very glad to enter here as mistress; and he wished she would relieve the dreariness a little for him, and permit herself to be admired in society. It was very unacceptable to him that she did not do the former, and very disagreeable that she made her mourning a pretext for avoiding the latter.

She had too much intuition to be deceived in her expectations concerning Herr Bolton. She only desired one thing, and that was to be left free and alone. That she had duties to fulfill, never occurred to her. It was enough, she thought, if she outwardly performed the obligations as mistress of the house, and if she were as little as possible annoyed by his presence.

Thus the Winter months had passed, monotonously and joylessly. Herr Bolton had shortened them by frequent journeys to Berlin; Sibylla employed her pencil, drew, and practiced music; but art did not exert over her its former attraction and power.

This was unfortunate; besides, conscience would not remain silent, but constantly reiterated that her life was more useless to others than that of her humblest maid-servant. But she desired no other life; only to live and satisfy self. Did life satisfy? In bitter mockery came the reply from her lips. Her heart leaped and cried aloud for happiness; but happiness only turned its back upon her, and would not be allured. Lost, forever lost!

Now Spring had come. The sun shone, the ice melted, and Sibylla had always been affected by nature. A rainy, gloomy day made her melancholy; a bright, sunny one had an enlivening influence. Her natural gayety returned, and the servants wondered to see their mistress so pleasant, while her husband emerged from his pouts, in order to sun himself in the beams of his wife's amiability.

Sibylla was an accomplished horse-woman, and it pleased Herr Bolton to show his wife all his fields and meadows, which were numerous and varied, if not very beautiful.

At first Sibylla rode out merely for the sake of the exercise. When she sat on a horse, there was a sense of freedom which her lively nature enjoyed. But gradually it became a pleasure to see the possessions which her husband pointed out with so much pride, and in time she began to be interested in them. Her husband, now, had something to talk about; they were mutually thawed, and, even if only upon the surface, there was a step forward taken.

Who would not rather see a cheerful face near than one of discontent? Who would not strive to please when she sees its beneficial result upon another? This feeling came over Sibylla. Happy she could not be, but she now desired to make her husband and those around her so. She would strive, through the "morning-door of the Beautiful," after true nobility and the faithful performance of duty, onward and upward to perfection.

Æsthetic culture should become the foundation of ethics. The effort to make her husband happy, which she had heretofore neglected, she would now consider as a paramount duty, and thus reach peace for herself.

"If one only learn to press the hand upon one's own heart," she said, "the exercise will not be too difficult."

Every body met her more than halfway; her husband treated her to discussions of his darling "art." Was it not easy to converse upon sheep-raising and the manufacture of beet-sugar?

One evening Herr Bolton returned from a business trip of several days to Berlin. Sibylla welcomed him pleasantly, although his absence was not at all irksome to her.

"I have two items of news for you," he said. "Guess!"

Sibylla begged for their communication.

"Well, first, Herr Von Lenkseuring and Olga Von Steinfels are betrothed; and, secondly, we may expect a visitor."

"Olga? O, that will be lovely!"

"No; she has promised to come later; but to-morrow I think Dr. Uhlhart will be here."

A blush of disappointment suffused Sibylla's face, while an inward terror convulsed her.

"Dr. Uhlhart! What will he do here?"

"Visit us. I have known him a long time, and find him a very amusing fellow. He knows something about every thing."

"Yes, he is clever," said Sibylla, reluctantly.

"Now, see, that is what I think. I have a foolish lawsuit which must soon appear. It is somewhat peculiar, and I should like to be directed to a cautious attorney. I do not trust mine wholly. You say yourself Uhlhart is clever."

"And yet I wish he would not cross our threshold. He will bring us no good fortune."

"Ah, foolish one!" exclaimed Herr Bolton; "what have you against him? I could scarcely do otherwise if I wished. It might have been unfortunate for me if he had not so kindly and nobly assisted me once; and he is welcome, for in my affair with you matters stood awry."

Sibylla scarcely heard this latter. Should she tell her husband of Uhlhart's proposal? She disliked to do so, since no such confidence had passed between them; and yet she would have waived this, if she could have gained the slightest concession thereby. But she was certain that the affair must be struggled with alone, and that she must open her eyes to discover Uhlhart's real aim; for Sibylla well knew he did not come to Larkow to gather flowers.

The doctor came. He was apparently a guest too inoffensive and ingenuous to harm a child. He was as amiable here as he had always been in society at Berlin. The knife in his eye, a fine cigar in his mouth, he could recline for hours on the sofa, and listen with undivided attention to his host's long-drawn-out conversation upon his worldly possessions, how he lived, and increased his fortune, etc. Toward Sibylla, whom he had not met since the eventful Erl-king scene at Kahrings', he was simply the old friend of the past, who had never overstepped the boundaries which his position gave him. But she perceived clearly the special attention he gave to her, and keenly detected his piercing, ardent glance beneath the polished surface, while his presence became hourly more and more offensive.

When neither he nor her husband gave any sign of departure after several days, and it seemed as if he expected to remain for weeks at Larkow, Sibylla overcame her scruples, and imparted the marriage proposal to her husband, adding her discomfiture at his insolence in entering her home, and intruding himself there so long under the guise of a friend.

Bolton laughed heartily: "My dear woman, do you think you have told me any thing new? That child's play Uhlhart confessed to me long ago. Besides, he never intended to be serious that evening; he had merely taken a glass too much."

Nothing can calm a woman's perturbed spirit sooner than the accusation of imagining herself to have been loved by a man who disowns the fact. When a young girl, Sibylla might have turned away without a reply, but as a wife she felt she must remain and defend herself.

"Pshaw!" she said; "and do you believe that?"

"He has given me proof which attests it. Know, my dear child, that when your mother lay ill and your giddy little head scorned me wholly, it was he who encouraged me to persevere, and enabled me to obtain final victory. You see I have good reason to be grateful to him."

Sibylla winced. A light dawned upon her. She saw that when Uhlhart found his own case hopeless, he had made every effort to unite her to a man who he well knew was to her as fire to water. But she controlled herself. It had always been a matter of surprise how well she was able to do this, and wear a mask upon her face. This art she would now exercise, and Uhlhart should not discover her unhappiness. She would be bright and alert, in order that he should not observe the deception.

It was, however, the torment of daily life to evince a happiness she did not feel, and her husband made the task so difficult. Many things she now permitted for the first time in order to conceal her annoyance from the watchful guest.

Herr Bolton's behavior was at no time very circumspect, and often wholly coarse. Cultivated manner is so indispensable to make life agreeable. It presents so many different grades that are often unobserved, but which are always felt; and Uhlhart, as well as Sibylla, had a fine appreciation for courtesies.

One day both gentlemen were enjoying a siesta. Sibylla withdrew, and gave orders to have the horse saddled, which she usually rode. The groom made excuses, and said his master had left word that this horse should not be taken from the stable, as it had been ridden in the morning. But Sibylla desired to be alone, and only rode comfortably upon this special horse. She concluded not to ride far; a short ride would not matter.

How delightful it was to be upon the back of this faithful creature, and to be away, far away, from here! She had suffered so many wrongs on this very day, of which her husband had no suspicion; and she saw with terror the influence Uhlhart exerted over his weak character. At times she was penetrated by the fear that he would use this unfortunate lawsuit in order to injure him financially. That he knew more of Herr Bolton's resources than she did, also disturbed and annoyed her. Wrapped in these thoughts, she rode farther and farther, before observing she was several miles from Larkow. She then perceived the horse to be slightly lame; and just as she had discovered it, he stumbled and fell with a broken knee.

She dismounted skillfully, and while the poor creature made desperate efforts to rise, they were in vain. Sibylla looked anxiously for aid, but found herself in a wood, a forester's hut in the far distance. She hastened there, but the forester shook his head gravely when he looked at the prostrate animal. "It will be necessary to kill him," he said, sadly; "the bone is broken, poor creature!"

Sibylla wept bitter tears, as she threw her arms around the neck of this faithful creature, which she had loved better than any thing at Larkow. The forester was ready to send his servant to Herr Bolton to announce the accident, and to have a carriage sent immediately for his wife. Added to the grief over the loss of her horse were self-reproaches. Her husband had forbidden its use on this day, and yet she had done so. What did it avail that she had not intended to ride so far? She had no desire to palliate her fault. She had done wrong, and was ready to answer for it honestly and openly, and to beg her husband's pardon: that was her nature.

The resolution was indeed difficult to carry out, when she entered her own yard, and was received by her husband and the doctor. How gladly she would have spoken to him alone, especially as she dreaded his reproaches. But after an instant's hesitation she approached him and said, entreatingly: "Edward, do not be angry; I have done wrong. I will in future have more regard for your wishes. I am very, very sorry."

"Well, the horse is worth, at a low estimate, three hundred dollars. I am vexed, but I have promised not to be severe toward you. I was terribly angry; but he, there"--pointing to Uhlhart--"has interposed a good word for you."'

Away flew all feelings of blame, all humility from Sibylla. She drew herself up haughtily, and said: "I scarcely thought to have needed his intercession with my husband----"

"Still, still," interrupted Bolton; "be thankful for it; you needed it."

Reaching her own room, Sibylla fell upon her knees, hid her face in her hands, and wept hot tears. She felt indescribably unhappy. This was one of similar scenes which were daily enacted. After some weeks the unwelcome guest took his departure; but the beautiful May that surrounded his arrival was gone, and hot Summer had come.

The relations between wife and husband also chilled after Uhlhart's leave. The tender buds which had trusted themselves to the daylight, had been blighted. Sibylla felt sick and wounded in heart, and Bolton treated his wife with distrust.

It seemed to Sibylla as though he were having more regard for his money. She saw stamped documents, and heard the ringing of coin. Upon inquiring what they meant, she received evasive replies; but she overcame her scruples, and asked again, as she felt sure Uhlhart was interested, and that much of her husband's business passed through his hands.

"Women don't understand; these are men's affairs," he said. "But when I borrow money and give five per cent for it, and invest in stocks which yield ten per cent, the advantage is apparent."

Sibylla was silent. She did not understand exchange speculations; but she knew that, while fortunes were sometimes easily made there, they were much easier lost. She asked herself whether Bolton had the shrewd perception, the fine calculation necessary to benefit by the constant rise and fall in stocks? And granted that Uhlhart possessed this ability, and directed every thing, would he use it for her husband's emolument, or exercise it in order to ruin him, and her with it?

This money-question scarcely permitted Sibylla to sleep.

"Edward," she ventured one day, "the overseer says we must have a new stable."

"That is my affair, and he has no business to speak to you about it," was the non-assuring reply.

"But you are here so seldom, always traveling, that you scarcely concern yourself with the farm."

"Do you concern yourself about your own business?" he asked sharply.

The question pierced. Sibylla realized that she had given offense, and decided to mend matters.

At another time, she said:

"Edward, we must have several new carpets; the old ones are threadbare. Let us get them before cold weather."

"To the devil with your eternal wants!" was Bolton's coarse reply. "I have no money;" and, slamming the door behind him, he passed out.

Sibylla had expected more from her cherished art in life. Things must be in a bad way for her husband to speak so. From this time forward a dense cloud hung over her young head, and she simply waited for the time when it should burst, and the lightning strike the roof of her dwelling. To be poor and alone had seemed very hard one year ago; but to share poverty with a man she did not love made her shudder.

She resolved, however, to trouble herself no more about money matters, but to economize in small ways, although she was not very efficient in bringing this about. She longed to find distraction in art, but she shrank from the vehement though mournful sound which the lightest call awakened. She could see and hear no prospect of relief. Ah! even to act nobly and conscientiously under these circumstances was difficult; nay, impossible.

Then came a distressing rumor that a cattle-plague had reached Larkow. Herr Bolton turned pale when it became evident that pneumonia had appeared in the midst of all the neat cattle. Skillful physicians were summoned by telegraph. They came, and shrugged their shoulders. The terrible disease was in his stables. Every body fled from his estate, and its vicinity. How easily this pest might be carried to the cattle in the village!

Horrible stillness reigned over all, unbroken save by the pitiful lowing of the creatures, who were sure to die. Men came from Berlin, who bought the finest of the herd at unheard-of low prices--cows perfectly sound, but they must be rapidly transported. And what precautions were taken to convey these splendid animals to the capital! A wide, roundabout way must be taken, as no one would permit a passage through his fields. Even on the railroad, upon which large, separate apartments were constructed in special cars, straw was burned behind them. Fear and dread had taken possession of all.

It was midnight. Sibylla could not sleep. She opened her window to see once more the beautiful creatures, so long the pride and joy of the farm. The servants ran to and fro with lanterns. Yonder stood the dear, patient beasts, lowing mournfully through the night-air. Once more the physicians made a careful examination, and separated those who presented the slightest symptoms, in order to have them immediately killed. Then the door opened, and the old housekeeper emerged in excitement and grief. She knew every animal. That rich milch-cow was her joy; that stately ox yonder, her pride; wringing her hands, she ran hither and thither, prophesying the ruin of the estate. It was like a mother about to be separated from her children.

Sibylla witnessed it all. The darkness of the night, the unearthly stillness with which the cattle were taken away on the straw, added to the grief-stricken old woman, filled her with dismay. It seemed also to her as if every thing was going to destruction, and a night should come when she, too, would just as silently turn her back on Larkow.

These impressions were no longer so vividly painful the next morning, but stood before her like a confused dream. That it had not been a dream was evident from her husband's pale countenance. She longed to comfort him, to direct him to a brighter hope; but she did not believe her own words, and how could she administer them as consolation to another?

The neat-cattle was a heavy loss to the estate, and Herr Bolton appeared to find, only at Berlin, some solace for the affliction.