XXIV.

"The night seems long, my Father; shadows rise, And dark across my pathway fall; There is no light of dawn in Orient skies, And sorrow shrouds me like a pall; The stars of Faith and Hope so dim have grown. O, rift the gloom, and send their radiance down!"

The severe Winter, the early Spring, the hot Summer, were followed by a glowing Autumn. Like coals of fire the sun lay on the fields and meadows of Larkow, day after day, singeing what still held up its head there, and what would make efforts to ripen its fruit. Herr Bolton shook his head despairingly at the prospect. "Every thing comes at once," he groaned, "cattle-plague, failure of crops, lawsuit. Urlhart is right: I must try to gain in some other way what I lose here. If my stocks only go up, I can bear it. Heda!" he called to his coachman, "has the newspaper come yet?"

With intense impatience he awaited the _Stock Journal_. His first glance fell upon the gold-market, and with its rise and fall fluctuated his every-day humor.

Sibylla moved restlessly through her large house. Was there nowhere therein a cozy corner where good spirits were concealed, who could deliver her, and allure the sunshine to this unattractive home, where she could find no brightness? Would they not reveal themselves to conquer, and dwell as victors by this hearth? Was there nothing home-like to be discovered here? Alas! no. Home is only truly found where love and good-nature reign.

Good nature! That characteristic had always been insufferably tiresome to Sibylla. Her mind climbed higher! But now she was always so fearful and anxious, she would have been glad to summon the most tediously good natured being in the world, if he were only true, in order to seek help and direction, she was so terribly alone. The servants trembled before the capricious humor and frequent angry outbursts of the master. The misfortunes which had befallen the estate seemed to have fallen like a weight on his better nature. The old housekeeper kept up a lamentation in the cellar, and wandered through the house like a grim Cassandra. Herr Bolton was constantly perturbed. Usually kindly toward his wife, he nevertheless gave her no glimpse of his business affairs. "Women don't understand money matters," he would say, positively, being wholly influenced by the presence of Uhlhart.

"That is your work," Sibylla's eyes flashed upon the hateful interloper.

"That is my work," gave back his villainous eyes, vindictively.

O, how Sibylla repented that she had not invited her husband's confidence in the first months of their married life, when he would have gladly interested her in his wool-sacks and money? She would now have been able to advise him; for her practical judgment was more alert than one would have suspected in a spoiled, giddy girl, and Uhlhart could never have obtained the supremacy which he now exerted over her weak husband.

"What was the wily doctor's real desire? For what was he working? What was his aim?" These questions revolved in Sibylla's mind night and day.

Undoubtedly, first, he desired to triumph over her--to sting her with a thousand needles. He knew her capacity for suffering, how exceedingly proud her heart was. But he had already accomplished this. Whither did he drive her husband further? Would he ruin him, and reduce him to beggary? That was devilish. But what of that, if he "feathered his own nest?" Sibylla knew he was not rich; that he worked little, but required much. He enjoyed the best wines, he loved to be surrounded with luxuries and mingle in the best society, besides having all kinds of exalted notions, which he pursued when so disposed.

She trembled; she felt herself in his power; she saw her husband tottering to the ground without being able to help him. Her imagination had been given full play during this desolation, and pictured the worst. She detested Uhlhart's presence, and yet she entered into it because her husband could at least be free from harm while she was at his side.

Uhlhart knew her fear of poverty and dread of work. Ha! Should he make her poor, and compel her to labor? Should she even be obliged to accept aid from his hand?

"Never!" she exclaimed, inwardly; "die rather!"

Die? And yet she feared death so much. How she had always banished from her mind the gloomy guest, was angry and resentful when he drew his fatal scythe in the circle of her butterfly life! And was not mythology on this very account so beautiful because it did not preach death and corruption, but only eternal youth, eternal beauty, eternal happiness? She who had so often sung, "This beautiful world still rules, with joy for its leading-strings"--this same Sibylla now cried: "Die rather!"

She had now been married one year. To-morrow would be Christmas Eve, and she wished to surprise her husband pleasantly. She had also provided for the enjoyment of her household, and had left nothing undone for the occasion. Sibylla's deeds were always far better than her words. She hesitated to begin work; but when once entered upon, she engaged in it so heartily that the pleasure of accomplishing something made the exertion forgotten. She ran up and down stairs, stopping here, and arranging there. When she saw the large hall so festively adorned, with its great fir-tree in the center, the beauty of her position, which enabled her to do so much for the pleasure of others, came upon her with great force. O, perhaps she might yet become a good housewife and faithful mistress to all those around her! All sinister thoughts vanished, as they must ever pale before happy employment. No; every thing could not be completed this day. How fortunate there was still another!

She was confident her husband would return at six o'clock; then every thing would be ready, and she would lead him into the gay, bright hall. Perhaps, when he found his home so pleasant, he would be more amiable and remain longer.

Promptly at the time the carriage was at the station. As soon as Sibylla heard the rolling of the wheels she lighted up the tree. She was as happy as a child. For the first time she was enabled to present so many gifts, and it was like the elixir of new wine in its effects. Now she stood waiting at the door.

"Come in, dear Edward; see what the Christ-Child has brought!"

"Yes," he replied; "but see first what he brings to you--a guest."

Standing in the light hall Sibylla was unable to recognize the form in her husband's rear. But to-day any thing was possible. Could----she was greeted by the sarcastic tones of Uhlhart.

That man again! Just when she had been occupied with the thought of providing pleasure for her husband, he had been moved to do what should embitter her most! This time, however, she wronged him. It had not been his intention to bring Uhlhart; the impudent doctor had invited himself, and Herr Bolton was now too much dependent upon him not to present a cheerful face over a bitter pill.

Sibylla controlled herself; but her happiness was fled. She was scarcely able to say a pleasant word to any one.

"My dear madame," said Uhlhart, "your kind hand has provided something for every one but me. Please follow the example of Him who maketh the rain to fall on the unjust and just alike. Have you not something for me?"

For an instant Sibylla was silent. Her heart throbbed wildly.

"Yes, I have something for you--something very wonderful," she replied.

She seated herself at the piano and ran her fingers over the keys.

"You have often expressed a desire to hear me sing. Heretofore I have not found myself in condition to gratify you; but to-day, on account of the festival, I shall sing."

She softened the tones somewhat, and gave that grand aria with frightful, terrible force and expression:

"He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh; the Lord shall have them in derision.... Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter's vessel."

As the words were repeated again and again, it was no longer Sibylla flinging them in her power upon the unbidden guest, but a prophetic voice. Even to herself the true meaning of the aria entered her soul as never before, and it was like the defense to her of an Omnipotent One who ruled and triumphed over all godlessness.

Uhlhart understood Sibylla perfectly. For a moment he shrank from the power whose aid she invoked, and upon which she relied; but only for a moment. "There is no God," he said to himself; "even this God is only a clever man." He had sunken from step to step. There had been a time when he waged an unsuccessful battle between pleasure and duty; but the claims of life and the commands of Christ had never entered the threshold of his selfish heart, and he threw them aside, and endeavored to harmonize, at all hazards, his own desires with what might be regarded as duty, and-he desired no inward monitor to suggest any thing else. Religion is something primordial, and when its innermost germ is wickedly and wantonly eliminated by a person, it sometimes reappears faintly, as the dead body may be momentarily quickened by chemical processes.

From this time, Uhlhart renewed the battle more energetically than ever before. These new allies on Sibylla's side animated him to still greater triumphs. Soon after the festival he left Larkow; but Herr Bolton became daily more distrustful. He had burdened his estate with mortgages in order to obtain cash to purchase stocks which promised extraordinary gain. After these stocks had held a dizzy height for a time, they suddenly fell. He hastened, full of terror, to Berlin, to consult Uhlhart, who advised him to sell in order to escape further loss. Bolton hoped for a rise, but they fell persistently day after day. He consoled himself that as he did not actually need their conversion into money, he would allow them to lie even for years, until better times came.

His lawsuit followed, and was lost, including an expensive fine as well as the costs. What should he do? He had nothing to dispose of but the depreciated stocks, yet he must be glad if he realized half the investment. Even this was uncertain. Distracted in heart, ruined in fortune, he returned to Larkow.

Uhlhart himself was alarmed. It had come so suddenly. He had not desired this. To hold Bolton in his hand, to rule him, to make a profitable business out of him in the course of time, to annoy Sibylla continually, was his aim. But now--what could he do against pestilence and crop-failure? Could he be blamed if the fire he had enkindled in this weak Bolton, instead of climbing up lightly, broke out suddenly in clear flames? He had, indeed, induced him to speculate, but never so rashly and precipitously. He had advised him to give up some of his acquisitions in order to increase his fortune, but he had not contemplated the whole sacrifice of his farm business. Cunning man! did you not know that when a feeble spirit destroys old fetters without gaining some mastery, it is only brought to ruin?

Uhlhart, however, showed himself as a friend. He came to comfort Bolton, and endeavor to make him forget his misfortunes--the easiest and best way, in his opinion, in a bottle of wine. There was nothing else to do but keep him in a room under its influence. How would Sibylla feel when she should see her husband enter her room intoxicated, with Uhlhart in his rear, in cutting sarcasm repeating: "My dear madame, be lenient with your husband!"

This was repeated, two, three, four times, until at length she listened to his coming with dread, exhausting every means to lead him from this dangerous way. How the minutes of such waiting resolved themselves into hours, the hours into eternity!

How much Sibylla would have liked to show Uhlhart the door, but he remained a fixture by her husband's authority.

It was now the latter days of the period for deer-hunting, and great vigilance was required from the foresters to prevent acts of violence. Night after night their faithful servant lay on the watch to keep injury from his district. Sibylla stopped one evening at his cottage just as his wife was giving him her farewell kiss and parting injunction. She said:

"Are you not anxious for your husband?"

"O no; it is his business," replied the young woman.

"But just now he is in constant peril," argued Sibylla.

"What can I do? I can only pray for him."!

"Pray for him!" The words struck Sibylla forcibly. Had she done this, as yet, for her husband? She desired, she longed for a helping hand. But difficult as it is for a tender plant to pierce the hard, dry earth, in order to reach the light, even more difficult is it for the obdurate heart to pray for the first time.

Necessity teaches supplication. Sibylla now learned to pray, even to cry, out of her dire need.

She yearned for Church privileges; not for a pile of beautiful architecture, but for a house of God, where she might hear God's Word.

Farther and farther drifted poor Bolton; deeper and deeper he sank, while Uhlhart drank even more heavily.

They went together to undertake some new business ventures at Berlin. Sibylla was filled with forebodings; for when the protecting wand of his home was absent, her husband became hopelessly lost. She felt she must go to him, and remain there. She was his wife; marriage is sworn fidelity. She hurried to Berlin.

There she lived in a tavern. O, what a life! She recalled her girlish assertions that when she should be married she should never be burdened with household cares, but would board at a hotel, because one is so free there. "O God, thou hast punished me for these silly expressions!" she cried. What would she not have given now for the comforts of a home? Here every barrier which restrained her husband vanished. In the morning it was business on the 'Change; then followed dinner, supper, wine-drinking, and card-playing. What a life!

"May God end this! I can do no more," murmured Sibylla.

And he made an end of it, very different from what she had thought. One morning her husband was too ill to rise; a nervous fever had taken possession of him. The physician came, and pronounced him unable to be removed.

Herr Bolton was now alone with his wife. Friends disappeared, but his misery remained. Sibylla attended him with daily renewed fidelity. We shall not follow the disease in its course. On the ninth day the crisis was reached, and on the tenth Larkow no longer had a master. He had recognized no one; his mind wandered continually upon stocks and bonds, and his last words were, "Eighty-eight and a half."

There are some people whose future life is indeed a mystery to us. What is lost by the discontinuance of such uselessness on earth, or what place they shall occupy in another world, is unknown. Sibylla returned with her husband's body, and he was buried at Larkow.

The weary period of suffering had matured her. The Sibylla who, fifteen months previously, had entered here as a wife in mourning garments, was very different from the one now standing by the open grave in somber garments. After a short time she permitted a competent notary to take an inventory of all the papers. Creditors came forward. There remained at Larkow nothing to sell. The most favorable result which the careful notary endeavored to bring about, the net proceeds, barely covered the debts; in any case there was absolutely nothing left for Sibylla. She had entered this house poor, and poor she must depart. But she had learned something there. It was not with hanging head she left Larkow. Although a violent storm had raged and shaken her, it had not stricken the young woman, and better principles only stood the firmer, and struck their roots the deeper.