Ottilie Aster's Silence.

Auckland Star, Volume XXI, Issue 237, 7 October 1890, Page 6

Ottilie Aster's Silence.

BY IDA BQYED.

CHAPTER XV.—(Continued.)

'One day, nob more than four weeks ago," said Francis, addressing Ottilie, " a young, slender, dark-haired girl attracted my attention on the street by a certain resemblance in figure to—l hardly know whom. I walked behind her for a short distance, trusting I might be able to catch a glimpse of her face, which I soon did, for ehe turned to look at a picture in a window. Aa I saw the dark eyes, the delicate white face and the beautiful eyebrows, a feelingcame over me that somehow I was looking at a countenance which I knew quite well. The girl carried a box of paints and was tastefully and modestly attired, just aa any other well-bred young girl would dress who did nob wish to be conspicuous on the street. 1 caw her enter the Royal Art Academy with her old and regpeetablelooking companion, in a quarter of an hour, I forgot all about her, but the next day I met her again at about the same place, Ifc was my hour for taking a walk, and evidently it was here for taking a leason. As she came toward me, along the sidewalk, threading her way among the multitude of promenaders, it suddenly occurred to me whom she was like. She reminded me of Ottilie. ,

Otbilie, who was eagerly drinking in every word, closed her eyes.

* The next day, I endeavoured deliberately to meeb her again, and, following her discreetly, I found out where she lived. The janitor told me that it was a young lady who was living as a boarder with a Herr Bb'bbcher, in a suite on the third etage. Herr Botbcher is a government official like myself, and the young lady had come to Berlin to study painting, bufc the janitor did not know her name. The old lady who always went out with her was Frau Bottpher. All that sounded very respectable and very discouraging. It ia easy to get an entrance into the fashionable world or into Bohemian society, bub the homes of these middle-class Germans are like enaila' houses ; there's no room there for any bub the occupants. For some days I watched her comings and goings, and the feeling of interest which I felb for her soon grew into one of deep love. She had noticed me, too, but made no sign except at first a sly glance and, later, a conscious flush on her cheeks. One day, she and her companion did not return homo as usual, bub went in another direction. Naturally, I followed. They stopped at Gurlitb's. Just as I entered the shop Sabine was handing a little water-colour to the dealer. The same picture which I have just given you, Ottillie. I stepped up at once before the picture and cried—l will admit before I had a chance to see what the picture was —"What a charming picture l ." Sabine coloured. The dealer smilod and agreed with me promptly. He,too,thought,he said, that it was well worthy of praise. I said I should like fco buy tho picture if it was for sale. The old lady beamed upon me and answered: "Of courae it's for sale. We have jusb brought it here to beg a place for it, in order that it might be sold." " W hat ia the price ?" I asked. The picture-dealer hesitated. He said the artist had named »o price as yet, and ho looked at her questioningly. Sabine whispered something to him; she Was very much embarrassed. The dealer took her to one side. He declared that the price which she had named was much too small, and he added that as he should beg her for more work,he wished to have a fair price put upon this first production of her brush. Sabiae knew little of prices, and finally left it to the shopman to decide, which he, with the assistance of Frau Botbcher, soon did. I paid, unquestionably, what they asked. And now, for the first time, I heard S.abine'sj name as she gave ib with her addroas. After a little idle conversation with the dealer, I left the chop. Naturally, I wenb at once to Herr Bottcher. The good man was, I could see, very much annoyed that I had been ushered into his presence a3 he sat sip. ping his coffee, comfortably attired in an old, red dressing-gown, with a little cap of the same colour op his bald head. The old man apologised for his ■wife's absence, and 3eamed to think ib necessary to make some remark to cover his embarrassiment. I said I knew she was out, because I had jusb left her at Gurlltt's, where I had purchased a picture by Sabine Qttmar, and that the ladies were coming immediately. Then I told hipa, without further parley, that I loved Sabine, and desired his permission to pay my addresses to her. I told him who and what I am, and where he could make Inquiries concerning mo. I expla.in.Qd. to him thab I am an English laod-Qwner, and gave addreasesof references in England, aa well. AH this, that he might understand that my attentions toward Sa.bine were honourable.'

*■ And the** •' asked Qbtilie. It was the feeblest whisper that came from hpr lipg. ?at frowning and silent;. * Then she came in with great;, frightened eye?, I can'fe tell you all that followed,' said Francis, with a bright smile ; * how I found her a thousand times sweeter and lovelier and gentler than I had pictured to myaelf j and when I found that? my love was returned, no wprds can describe how happy I was. , Q&tilie'a heart was almost bursting with its weight Qf sorrow and joy. Her poor, homejeaa child was loved, tenderly and devotedly, by this man, whose nobjliby of soul ehs fenQw so well,

She threw her anna around her brother-in-lr,w's neck, and her tears wove uaoisb on his cheeks.

• Then came the shadows,' he continued, while the light in his eyes died out. ' She told me ahe waa the child Qf mjaery, who must hide herself for ever from the eyes of the world and from love —that she had been reared and educated by a poor clergyman and his wife, now dead; and her mother was earning money for her some< where in Qernaany, under a strange name ■ —shQ did nob eye.n know her mother's name, nor did she know her address, for she very seldom saw her, and pqly held pammu.nication with her th.roug.h the medium of an old kinswoman, But she knew well that her own name was a curse upon her, for , it ha,d separated her frpm her mother who cqiili only support her where Sabine , ? very existence was, unknown. Sfaefett that if she could earn go much by painting one picture, 3he could soon earn enough to relieve her mother of alj necqesity to worli, and fchab th(;n they two could live happily together unnoticed by the world.' 'Oh !' sighed Ottilie, completely overwhe^iii^. • Does not that speak for her heart ? We decided, however, that before she should add this new burden of uncertainty to the many cares of the sorely-tried mother, I should first tell you, and theo, when" I had your blessing, we WQwW geek oufe the poor inofter iinj hw Sabine trembles at the 'thought of the moment when she shall tell her dear one of her happiness,' Conptodiad^Francia, 'And this'blessing we cannofa give, , said Aster, in gloomy, stern accents. ' Why not?' aeked Francis, paling. • I will resign my in Germany and return to England, my native country, as a citizen.' ' Still, it cannot be. A Counsellor Aster, who has accepted benefits from his sovereign, can never be allied with the daugfefjer of a man, even though his sovereign should bedeadj , said Bertrand. ' What do you mean: ? s Cried Francis ; • I should nob have believed it true that in

your great loving heart there was such an

ossified corner whence all feelings of humanity were excluded, and only the. jpriyy

counsellor reigned supreme. , * Francis !' cried Aster, ia bhreatening

tones. •And you, Ofctiiio ? Dearesb, best of sisters—my mother—are your tears nob the witnesses of your sympathy ? Have you no word for me ?' said Francis, beseechingly. ' Give Bartrand time,' she murmured. '- Yes, that is better. 1 will nob believe that the last word on this subject has been spoken, for before I leave you I shall strive to banish all scruples. Good night !' Ottilie threw her arms around his neck. Aster paced the room with impatient strides. ' Ottilie, , whispered Francis in hor ear, c Sabina is here with her old friend, Frau Bottcher. I beg you to see her and learn to know her.' Bub Ofctilie gave no answer. Heavy and lifeless, she sank to the floor. ' You have killed her ! ! cried Berfcrand, passionately. He kneeled by his wife atid took her head in his arms. He kissed her closed eyes and pale lips and called to her with tender voice. Francis stood over her, wringing his hands, the picture of despair. ' Call Minna.!' said Aster. Francis returned with the word that she was not there. Minna slept) in a back part of the house, and as it was long past midnighb, had gone to bed, regarding her day's labour as over. 'We had better lift her and carry her bo her bed,' said Aster, sofbly. Ib seemed to him that some life was coming back into her face. And the two men carried her slowly into her sleeping-room. Then Francis lefb them together. With earnesb and trembling hands, Aster unfastened his wife's clothes, and placed her in a more comfortable position. And a second later, with a deep, choking sigh, she regained consciousness. •My love ! My Ofctilie ! What is ib ?' •I am much betber now,' she gasped, giving him an earnesb glance. He did not know how it was, bub that glance reminded him of bho last ono his dying mother had given him. 'Do try to rest and nob think. I'll go now and bell Francis thab nob one word of this unfortunate affair is to be mentioned between us, to-morrow.' Obbilie moved her head and closed her eyes. Ib looked like an affirmative gesture. And Asber, in his anger, ordered his brobher most peremptorily nob to mention the subject on the morrow. Then, with a hesitating, uncertain hand-pressure, thoy separated for the night. When Asber returned to hi 3 wife's bedside, he found her apparently fast asleep. He stood by her for a long time, in order to observe her breabhing. She breathed regularly, bub every now and then a low, piteous moan came from the poor wife's lips, which told him thab sleep had nob broughb surcease of anguish to her aching

heart. Aster went to bed with a determination to stay awake all night, so that ho could answer his wife's faintest call oi , request. He had risen, however, at six o'clock on the previous morning, as was his habit, in order to take his wonted long walk before breakfast; now it was two o'clock, and he had had a wearisome day,, without a moment's rest. Three times he aroused himself, when he found his lids closing over his weary eyee. But Obtilie still appeared to sleep the quiet, deep sleep of exhaustion, and soon he, too, was so overcome with drowsines that he fell into a sound slumber, altogether forgabbing the duty of. nurse which he had assigned to himself. For another half-hour all was still in the room ; only the man's heavy breathing was to be heard. He had not extinguished the light, but had turned it low, and the pale image of the milk-white globe was reflected in the mirror before which it stood. Ottilie watched the shadows on the ceiling for an hour or more, and then, assured by her husband's heavy, regular breathing that he would nob easily be disturbed, she rose softly from her bed. Noiselessly she throw on a morning wrapper, then she took up the lamp, and, without waiting to cover her bare feet, silently lefb the room. The door creaked a little as she closed it. The lamp set the glasses on the buffet to sparkling as she crossed the dining-room. The curtains in the library had not been drawn on the previous evening, and, as she entered the room, she could see the light grey mist which lay on the windows, a sure forerunner of approaching day. Ottilie went at once to her writing tablo and set the lamp down on it. She took with brembling hands a sheet of paper , from it and wrote hurriedly : ' You must remain here. Francis loves Sabino. Sabine is under tlie same roof with you at thiJ| minute. I will come to you—perhaps by seven o'olock or later. . Gttilie. , She put the letter in an envelope, aoaled it, and addressed it) to Valentine Obhper. By this time, the first cold lighb of morning was. breaking into the room. Ottilie peered ©u> of the window and then turned out the lamp. It waa lighb enough now bo distinguish objects in the room. She wenb with her noiseless tread bo the door, and opened it softly; then she returned to bho, table, and book from a small drawer a coin, and lefb the room. A faint? light was burning in the hall, whioh to QMilie'a oyee seemed to grow brighter as she mounted the steps to the storey above, whore on the landing she stood still for a moment to gaze up at the large, coloured glass window which cast its light down from the roof. Before her were three doors, which led to upper storeys of the house. The middle one led to rooma belonging to them. She laid hor hand upon the black wooden latch. Jb was broken, .and as she opened it with a little click, the unoiled hinges of the door gave a hoarse creak. Ottilie crossed the long, uncarpeted hall and had to atop once to remove a large splinter which had broken off from the old flooring and stuck into her foot. She stooped, when she entered the atdc-room, to avoid the clothes-line, whioh stretched across ib, hung with a couple of Minna's dresses. The cpld morning air ooming in fresh and penetrating from an open roofdoor chilled her to the bone. Yonder in the corner behind a latticed partition stood the cradle in whiqh Axel and Mary had sjept, a red-and.white crumpled linen cloth cqverlng it. This latticed room had been the children's play-room for years. Mary's doll still lay on the cradle in a dilapidated condition, and Axel's hobby-horse stood nearby. Ib seemed to Obtilie that it w». s watching ber with its glass eyes. She turned her face away, and this, time ran against the clothes-line, which gave her an unpleasanb graze under the chin. A shudder ran through her body, and then setting another breath of the keen wind, she felt for the moment that she was going to have a severe chill. She went hurriedly into Minna's libtle room and up to the narrow bed by the wall, upon which her little servant waa sleeping soundly. «

' Minna!' Th& gkl turned on her side, gave some muttering reply, and was sound asleep again in a second, and it required repeated calls and shakes to finally arouse her. • I want you, Minna, to go at five o'clock to the "Crown Prince" and give this Thaler and letter to the nighb porter and tell him to deliver it at once to Herr Oth- ' mer. It is absolutely necessary that Herr Othmer should have it by five o'clock, as he thinks of leaving for Berlin ab six. So you had better go at half-past four.' Minna mumbled something, which gQunded like a sleepy affirmative. Obtilie picked up the little alarin-olock which stood oa the floor by the bed, and set the alarm at half-past four. tTh'en she placed it with the Thaler and letter close beside the bed. She felt sure that when the alarm aroused the girl, the sighb of the letter and money would bring her mistress* order again to her mind. 'Minna lopked at? her with, a, tfazgij glajHjp,

and then turned again on her pillow. Otbilie telb relieved. She lefb her maid's stuffy, little room, and felt refreshed by the spring wind coming in ab bhe atbic-window, to which she. turned.

She looked out over the sea of roofs, and then she kneeled down by the broad window-scab and rested her chin on her

hands.

The clear grey of morning had lighted up bhe old city with a silvery sheen. All objects appeared in thia light larger and nearer. Above the roofs rose the red and grey of the double towere of the old Thfeatiner Church. A moisture lay on all the bile projecbions. The elm brees, whose bops reached almosb up to. the window ab which Ottilie kneeled,, were bursting inbo leaf, encouraged by the sunshine and warmth of bhe pasb two days. No smoke cloud ascended bo bhe clear heavens, whose fainb blue was slowly changing to a rosy hue. The cold peace of this mellow spring morning seemed to freeze the very hearto in the lonely, wakeful wife. Suddenly there came a cry, a distant shrill cry. The whiatle of a locomotive, which was answered at once by one yet more disbanb, told of re-awakening life in bhe city, as surely as in bhe farm-yard the crowing of the cock heralds returning day. And now bhe heavens grew brighber and rosier, and the double towers stood oub like black sihouettes against the dawning day. Ib was the moment when the day frees herself from bhe night's embraces. It was to be a glorious day. Was ib nob Whibsunday ? Thousands have prayed for jusb such weather for tho festival.

But was the daylight a signal for the bearing again of burdens on the backs already eorely bent ? Was it not the end of rest; and j>eace —the beginning of toil and care? Dreams had folded the mantle of royalty around many ; bhe waking reality showed them their beggar's rags. Sleep said bo the poor starving wretch : *Bβ ol good cheer,' and hunger greeted him with the morning. Darkness hid no longer the skeletons of the rich, and with the clear day they must once more turn the key upon the closet.

CHAPTER XVI.

'BETTER FAB TO DIE!'

Aster arose ati six o'clock, as usual, to take his early morning walk. Obbilie was already awake ; she appeared very quiet and composed, bub was deabhly pale. Her husband urged her to accompany him, saying lhab' the morning air would do her good. Bub she refused, answering thab perhaps Bhe would go oub alone a little later. Berbrand knew she always liked to avoid conversation early in tho day.

Soon after his departure, she put on her cloak and hab, and wenb into the library, where IVlary was already busy watering the plants.

In this house, as many of the little daily duties were accomplished in the early morning hours as was possible.

Mary looked as pretty and as neat as ever, bub her little face was pale.

Yeb, when she saw her mofeher, an amiable smile crossed bhe youbhful counbenance, which wore bhe shadow ot ibs firsb disillusion ; and the voice with which she gave her mother a morning greebing sounded almost cheerful. She praised bhe lovely weabher, and hoped Francis would come early, so thab they mighb make up a morning party to bhe Brumbhal.

Obbilie was greatly relieved. She saw bhab this cheerful self-possession was in no way assumed, bub wa3 the natural appreciation of life by a young girl whose wounds were nob deep.

4 If papa returns before I do, only say that 1 have gone out; and if breakfast is ready ab eight o'clock do not waib for me. I'll meeb ypu ab church.'

How gay and bright everything seemed in the streeb, even ab this early hour. The clear blue sky, the vivid green of. the trees, and even the grey old houses lightened perceptibly in the spring s«nehine. Gaily-dressed women, with their more soberly clad escorts, were hurrying hither and thither, either going to church or to catch tho first morning trains out of town.

Obtilie crossed the Odeon Square, and turned into bhe Maximilian Strasse by tb-e Arch of Victory.

At tho hotel, she inquired for Herr Cthmer, and was shown by the servant into bho little salon on the second floor. Othmer was at breakfast.

She expected to find him very ■much excited, bub he greeted her quietly, and as he drew up a chair beside her, bogged her to take a cup of tea.

' Pardon me,' said Otbilie, nervously ; 'I see everything about mo swaying and tobtering—my very existence, and that of my children ; and you meet me wibh bhe air of a man who is receiving an ordinary morning visitor I'

'You expecb advice—more than than that, help—from me, dear Ottilie, and I think my cold-bloodedness should qv iet you. Tell mo all that has happened,' he said, as he broko a raw eg{* into his coffee, while Ottilie, becoming n?,o : re and more excited the while, related V& a t had occurred on the previous evening. Othraer finished his meal.

•Truly, it is an unexpected complication, , he said, soberly. 'Tha only thing that remains to be done now ia to tell Aster the truth.'

I would rather die !'.cried Ottilie, with anguish in her voice. < ou do not BQem to comprehend; he wfl?. nofc a ii ow his brother to marry the daughter of,a traitor ; what will he do if he l- a? ; Pnß that the wife of this regicide is novi' hi s o>V n wife? He would cast me off cvei . > • Seventeen yea x> . of u na n oye d happiness, so you told. me yesterday, have certainly been a ]U'^;ifi ea tion for your conduct, fehall not these, seventeen years speak for you with your 7 nus band? My dear Ottilie, you and yar iP husband are bobh such remarkably goo d people ; only, unfortunately, yoj'ir weakness and his weakness meet upon the same point. You are forgave me for saying it-—both, in a certain, ! de nse, cowards .- he, about what the world, 'gays an( j thinks ; -and you, likewise— fJ your world is whab his judgment of it 'is. Have courage to stand upon your own characters. Whab need to care what people think of Sabine's birth and your life ?'

'If you have no better advice than that to. give me, I am just as helpless as I was before, , moaned Obtilie.

They were both silent. From the street came the sounds of laughter and hurrying feeb. Horses' hoofs clattering over the old sbone pavements and the rumble of wheels. Sounds of.hejls through . the hotels as guest 3 arrived or hurried hither and thither thrcuffli the long corridors. • 'What do you say to this plan,' 'begun ?ml% f Bfe, 3 her a ahai P -ghmca : _ lo tell Saome the whole truth and 'chen induce her to renounce all. claim to Fraucis"' Ottilia paled. •No! , "she said with trembling lips No ; better far to die than have a riirild of • mine forego a life's happiness on mv account !' . ■-~--' j

(To'le. Cmitinyed.)