Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 46, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 July 1894 — SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT. [ARTICLE]

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

BY BEATBICK HARRADEN.

/PART 1. — CHAPTER X— Continued.

And he told her what bp knew, and, amongst other things, about the avalanches. He was able to point out where some had fallen the previous year. He stopped in the middle of his conversation to tell her to put up her umbrella. ‘‘l can’t trouble to hold it for you, 1 ' be said; “but I don’t mind opening it. The sun is blazing to-day, and you will get your eyes bad if you are not rareful. That would be a pity, for you seem to me rather better lately.” “What a concession for you to make of any one !” said she, “Oh, I don’t mean to say that you will ever get well,’’ he added grimly. ’‘You seem to have pulled yourself in too many directions for that. You lave tried to be too alive: and now i'ou are obliged to join the genus caboage.” “I am certainly less ill than I was when I first came," she said, “and I ’eel in a better frame of mind altogether. lam learning a good deal ai sad Petershof.” ' “That is more chan I have done,” se answered. “Well, perhaps you teach instead,” she said. “You have taught ne several things. Now, goon tellng me about the country people. You like them?” “Hove them,” he said simply. “I snow them well, and they know me. You see I have been in this district »o long now. and have walked about so much, that the very woodcutters enow me. and the drivers give me lifts on their piles of timber.” —‘“““You are not surly with the poor aeople, then?” said Bernardino: ‘ though I must say I cannot imagine you being genial. Were you tver genial, I wonder?” “I don’t think has over been laid io my charge,” he answered. The time passed away pleasantly. The Disagreeable Man was scarcely rimself today; or was it that he was nore like himself? He seemed in a joyish mood: he made fun out of jothing. and laughed with such roung, fresh laughter that even August, the grave blue-spectacled triver, was moved to mirth. As for Bernardine, she had to look at Robert Allitsen several times to be sure bat he was the same Robert Allit;on she had known two hours ago in ?etershof. But she made no remark ind showed no surprise, but met his nerriment half way. No one could >e a cheerier companion than herself rhen she chosW" • At last they arrived at Loschwitz. Che sledge wound its way around ‘ he sloshy streets of the queer little ullage, and finally drew up in front ts the Gasthaus. It was. a black, mn burnt chalet, with green shutters, and steps leading up to a little (reen balcony. A fringe of sausages lung from the roof; red bedding was icorching in the sunshine; three cats cere dozing on the steps; a young voman sat in the green balcony knit•ing. There were some curious inscriptions on the walls of the chalet, md the date was distinctly marked, TG7O' .

An old woman over the way sat in ' ifir doorway spinning. She looked ; ip as the sledge stopped before the ] xasthaus; but the young woman in ] ;he green balcony went on knitting . ind saw nothing. A buxom elderly Hausfrau came >ut to greet the guests. She wore a laVurally kind expression on her old ace. but when she saw who the gen:leman was. the kindness positive ncreased to kindness superlative. She first retired and called out: “Liza. Fritz, Liza, Trudchen, come 1 (uickly!” Then she came back and cried: •‘Herr Allitsen. what a surprise!'’ She shook his hand times without lumber, greeted Bernardine with rrotheyly tenderness, and interipersed all her remarks with frantic •ries of “Liza, Fritz, Trudchen, nake haste!” She became very hot and excited, ind gesticulated violently. All this time the young woman sat cnitting, but not looking up. She lad been beautiful, but her face was vorn now, and her eyes had that va:ant stare which betokens the va:ant mind. The mother whispered to Robert Mlitsen: “She notices no one now; she sits ihere always waiting.” Tears came into the kind old eyes.Robert Allitsen went and bent iown to the young woman, and held >ut his hand. “Catharina,” he said gently. She looked up then, and saw him, md recognized him. Then the sad face smiled a welsome. He sat near her, and took her knitting in his hand, pretending to examine what she had done, chatting ,o her quietly all the time. He asked ler what she had been doing with aerself since he had last* seen her, “ »nd she said: “Waiting. lam always waiting.” He knew that she referred to her over, who had beeh lost in an avaanche the eve before their wedding Horning. That was four years Igo, but Catharine was still waiting. Allitsen remembered her is a bright young girl, clinging in the Gasthaus, watting cheerfully on the guests: a bright gracious presence. No one could cook trout as she could; many a dish of trout bad she served up for him. And now she sit in the sunshine knitting and

waiting, scarcely ever looking up. That was her life. “Catharina,” he said, as he gave her back his knitting, “do you remember how you used to cook me the trout?” Another smile passed over her face. Yes. she remembered. “Will you cook me some today?” She shook ber head and returned to her knitting. Bernardine watched the Disagreeable Man with amazement. “She could not have believed that his manner could have been so tender and kindly. The old mother standing near her whispered: “Re was always so good to us all: we love him, every one of us. When poor Catharina was betrothed five years ago. it was to Herr Allitsen we first told the good news. He has a wonderful way about him —just look at him with Catharina now. She lias not noticed any one for months, but she knows him, you see.” At that moment the other members of the household came: Liza. Fritz, and Trudchen: Liza, a maiden of nineteen, of the homely Swiss type; Fritz, a handsome lad of fourteen; and Trudchen, just free from school, with her school satchel swung on her back. There was no shyness in their greeting; the Disagreeable Mau was evidently an old and much loved friend, and inspired confidence, not awe. Trudchen fumbled in his coat pocket, and found what she expected to find there, soin e s wee ts, which she immediatel y began to eat, perfectly contented and self-satisfied. She smiled and nodded at Robert Allitsen. as though to reassure him that the s weets were not bad, .and that she was enjoying them. “Liza will see to lunch,” said the old mother. "You shall have some mutton cutlets and some forellen. But before she goes she has something to tell you.” “I am betrothed to Hans,” Liza said, blushing “I always knew you were fond of Hans,” said the Disagreeable Man. “He is a good fellow. Liza, and I’m glad you love him. But haven’t you just teased him!” -‘’That was good for him,” Liza said brightly. “Is he here today?” Robert Allitsen asked. Liza nodded. “Then I shall take your photographs,” he said. While they hud been speaking Catharina rose from her-seat, and passed into the house. Her mother followed her and watched her go into the kitchen. “I should like to cook the forellen,” ' she said very quietly. j It was months since she had done anything in the house. The old mother’s heart beat*with pleasure. “Catharina, my best loved child!” she whispered: and she gathered the poor suffering soul near to her. In about half an hour the Disagreeable Man and Bernardine sat down to their meal. Robert Allitsen had ordered a bottle of Sassella, and he was just pouring it out when Catlr ’ arina brought in the forellen. : “Why, Catharina,” he said, “you I don’t mean you’ve cooked them? ' Then they will be good!" j She smiled, and seemed pleased. 1 and then went out of the room. Then he told Bernardine her history. and spoke with such kindness and sympathy that yßernardine was” again amazed at him. But she made | no remark. | “Catharina was always sorry that ' I was ill.” he said. “When I stayed here, as I have done, for weeks together, she used to take every care lof me. And it was a kindly ■sympa- : thy which I could not resent. In i those days I was suffering more than J I have done for a long time now, and she was very pitiful. She could not bear to hear me cough. I used to tell her that she. must learn not to feel. But you see she did not learn her lesson, for when this trouble came on her, she felt too much. And . you see what she is.” , They had a cheery meal together, and then Bernardine talked with the old mother, whilst the Disagreeable Man busied himself with his camera. Liza was for putting on her best dress, and doing her hair in some wonderful way. £ut he would not i hear of such a thing. But seeing that she looked disappointed, he gave in. and said she should be photographed just as she wished; and off she ran to change her attire. She went up to her room a pictur- ’ esque, homely working girl, and she I came down a" tidy, awkward-looking I young woman, with all her finery on, and all her charm off. The Disagreeable Man grunted, but said nothing. Then Hans arrived, and then came the posing,' which caused much amusement, They both stood perfectly straight, just as a soldier stands before presenting arms. Both faces were perfectly expressionless. The Disagreeable Man was in despair. “Look happy!” he entreated. They tried to smile, but the anxiety to do so produced an expres - sion of melancholy which was too much for the gravity of the photographer. He laughed heartily. “Look as though you wern’t going to be photographed," he suggested. “Liza, for goodness sake look as though you were baking the bread, and Hans, try and believe that you

are doing some of ycur beautiful carving.” ' The patience of the photographer was something wonderful. At last he succeeded in making them appear at their ease. And then he told Liza that she must go and change her dress and be photographed now in the way he wished. She came down again, looking fifty times prettier in her working clothes. Now he was |in his element. He arranged Liza and Hans on the sledge of timber which had been driven up, and made a picturesque group of them all; Hans and Liza sitting side by side on the timber, the horses standing there so patiently after theirlong journey through the forest, the driver leaning against his sledge smoking his long china pipe. “That will look something like a picture,”.he said to Bernardine when the peformance was over. “Now I am going for about a mile’s walk. Will you come with me and see what lam going to photograph, or will you rest here till I come back?” She chose the latter, and during his abeenee was shown the treasures and possessions of a Swis peasant’s home. . She was taken to see the cows in the stalls, and had a lecture given her on the respective merits of Schneewitchen, a white cow, Kartoffelkuchen, a dark brown one, and Roselin, the beauty of them all. Then she looked at the spinning wheel and watched the old Hausfrau turn the treadle. And so the time passed, Bernardine making good friends of them all. Catharina had returned to her knitting and began working, and, as before, not noticing any one. But Bernardine sat by her side, playing with the cat, apd after a time Catharina looked up at Bernardino’s little thin face and. after some hesitation, stroked it gently with her hand. “Fraulein is not strong,” she said, tenderly. “If fraulein lived here 1 should take care of her.” That was a remnant of Catharina’s past. She had always loved everything that was ailing and weakly. Her hand rested on Bernardino’s hand. Bernardine pressed it in kindly sympathy, thinking the while of the girl’s past happiness and present bereavement. “Liza is betrothed.” she said, as though to herself. “They don’t tell me; but I know. I was betrothed once.” She went on knitting. And that was all she said to herself. Then after a pause she said: “Fraulein is betrothed?” Bernardine smiled and shook her heady and Catharina made no further inquiries. But she looked up from her work from time to time and seemed pleased that Bernardine still stayed with her. At last the old mother came to say that coffee was ready, and Bernardine followed her into the parlor. She watched Bernardine drinking the coffee, and finally poured herself out a cup, too. “This is the first time Herr Allitsen has ever brought a friend.” she said. “He has always been alone. Fraulein is betrothed to Herr Allitsen—is that so? Ah, lam glad. He is so good and kind. ” -- Bernardine stopped drinking her coffee. “No; I am not betrothed.” she said, cheerily. “We are just friends; and not always that, either. We quarrel.” “All lovers do that,” persisted Frau Steinhart, triumphantly. “Well, you ask him yourself,” said Bernardine. much amused. She had never looked upon Robert Allitsen in that light before. ‘'See, there he Comes,

Bernardine was not present at the court martial. but this iS 'whaFbccurred. Whilst the Disagreeable Man was paying the reckoning Frau Steinhart said in her most motherly tones: “Fraulein is a very dear young lady; Herr Allitsen has made a wise "vhnicr. Hv is betrothed at last. ” The Disagreeable Man stopped countingout the money. “Stupid old Frau Steinhart!" he said, good naturedly. “People like myself don’t get betrothed. We get buried instead.” “Na, na!” she answered. “What a thing to say —and so unlike you too! No, but tell me.” ‘‘Well, I am tellingwou the truth. ” he replied. “If you don't believe me, ask Fraulein herself.” “I have asked her,” said Frau Steinhart, “and she told me to ask you.” The Disagreeable Man was much amused. He had never thought of Bernardine in that way. He paid the bill and then did something which rather astonished Frau Steinhart, and half convinced her. He took the bill to Bernardine, told her the amount of her share, and she repaid him then and there. There was a t winkle in her eye as she looked up at him. Then the composure of her features and she laughed. He laughed too, but no comment was made upon the episode. Then began the good-byes, and the preparations for the return journey. Bernardine bent over Catharina ! and kissed her sad face. ■Fraulein will come again?” she whispered eagerly. And Bernardine promised. There was something in Bernardine’s manner which had won the poor fancy; some unspoken sympathy, some quiet geniality. Just as they were starting, Frau Steinhart whispered to Robert Allison : “It a little disappointing to me; Herr Allitsen. I did so hope yotji were betrothed.'* August,the blua-spectacled driver,

cracked his whip, and off the horses started homeward. For some time there was no . conversation between the two occupants of the sledge. Bernardine was busy thinking about the experiences of the dav, and the Disagreeable Man seemed in a brown study. At last he broke the silence by asking her how she liked his friends, and what she thought of Swiss home life; and so the time passed pleasantly. He looked at her once, and said she seemed cold. “You are not warmlj’ clothed,” he said. “I have an extra coat. Put it on; don’t make a fuss, but-put it on at once. I know the climate, and you don’t.’’ She obeyed, and said she was all the cosier for it. As they were, nearing Petershof, he said half-nervously; “So my friends took you for my betrothed, I hope you are not offended.” ■ “Why should I be?” she said frankly. “I was only amused, because there never were two people less lover-like than you and ] are.” “No, that's quite true.” he replied in a tone of voice which betokened: relief. “So that I really don’t see that we need concern ourselves further in the matter,” she added, wishing to put him quite at his ease. “I’m not offended, and you’re not offended, and there's an end of it.” “You seem to me to be a very sensible young woman in sonq? respects.” the Disagreeable Man remarked after a pause. He was now quite cheerful again, and felt he could really praise his companion. “Although you have read so much, you seem to me sometimes to take a sensible view of things. Now, I don't want to be betrothed to you. any more than I suppose you want to be betrothed to me. And yet we can talk quietly about the matter without a scene. That would be impossible with most women.” Bernardine laughed. “Well, I only know,” she said cheerily, “that I have enjoyed ray day very much, and I’m much obliged for your companionship. The fresh air and the change of surroundings will have done me good.” His reply was characteristic of him. “It is the least disagreeable dav I have spent for many months,” he said quietly. “Let me settle with you for the sledge now.” she said, drawing out her purse, just as they came in sight of the Kurhaus. They settled money matters, and wereijuits. Then he helped her out of the sledge, and he stooped to pick up the shawl she dropped. “‘■‘Here is the shawbwcf'ffte always dropping." he said. “You’re rather cold, aren't you? Here, come to the restaurant and have some brandy. Don’t make a fuss. I know what's the right thing for you." She followed him to the restaurant, touched by his rough kindness. He -himself took no thing, but. he paid for her brandy. That evening after d'hote, or rather after he had finished his dinner. he rose to go to his room as usual. He generally went off without a remark. But to-night he said: “Good night, and thank you for your companionship. It has been my birthday to-day, and I’ve quite enjoyed it."

CHAPTER XI. “if one has made the one great SACRIFICE.” There was a suicide in the Kurhaus one afternoon. A Dutchman, Vandervelt. had received rather a bad accoun tof himself from the dbeto r a few days previously, and in a fit of depression, so it was thought, he had put a bullet through his head. It had occurred through Marie’s unconscious agency, She found him lying on his sofa when she went as usual to take him his afternoon glass of milk. He asked her to give him a packet which was on the top shelf of his cupboard, “Willingly.” she said, and she jumped nimbly on the chair, and gave him the case. ' ‘Anything more?" she asked kindly, as she watched him draw himself up from the sofa. She thought at the time that he looked wild and strange; but then, as she patheti cally said afterward, who did not look wild and strange in the Kuril aus? “Yes,” he said. “Here are five francs for you.” She thought that rather unusual too; but five francs, especially coming unexpectedly like that, were not to be despised, and Marie determined to send them off to that Mutterli at home in the nut-bro<vn chaiet at Grusch.

So she thanked Mynheer van Vandervelt. and went off to the pantry to drink some cold tea which the English people had left, and to clean the lamps. Having done that, and knowing that the matron was busily engaged carrying on a flirtation with a young Frenchman, Marie took out her writing materials, and began a letter to her old mother. These peasants know how to love each other, too. Marie knew. And she told her mother of the gifts she was bringing home, the little nothings given her by the guests. She was very happy writing this letter; the. little nut-brown home rose before her. “Ach!" she said, “how I long to be home!” And then she put down her pen and sighed. “Ach!" she said, “and when I’m there, I shall long to be here. Da wo ich nicht bin, da ist 4as Gluck."

Marie was somothrug *if a philosopher. Suddenly she heard the report of a pistol, followed by a second report. She dashed out of her little pantry, and ran in the direction of the sound. She saw Warli in the passage. He was looking scared, and his letters /had fallen to the ground. He pointed at No. 54. It was the Dutchman s room. Help arrived. The door was forced open, and Vandervelt was found dead. The case from which he had taken the pistol was lying on the sofa. When Marie saw that, she knew that she had been an unconscious accomplice- Her tender heart overflowed with grief. Whilst others were lifting him up. she leaned her head against the .wall, and sobbed. “It was my fault, it was my fault!” she cried. "I gave him the case. But how was I to know?" They took her away and tried to comfort her. but it was all in vain. “And he gave me five francs," she sobbed. "I shudder to think of them." It was all in vain that Warli gave her'a letter for which she had been longing for many days. “It is from your Mutterli." he said, as he put it into her hands. “I give it willingly. I don't like the looks of one or two of the letters I have to give you, Mariecben. That Hans writes to you. Confound him!"’ But nothing could cheer her. Warli went a wav shaking his curly head sadly, shocked at the death of the Dutchman and shocked at Marie’s sorrow. And the cheery little postman did not do much whistling that evening. Bernardine heard of Marie’s trouble and rang for her to come. Marie answered the bell, looking-the picture of misery. Her kind face was tear stained, and her only voice was a sob. Bernardine drew the girl to her, "Poor old Marie." she whispered. "Come and cry your kind heart out, and then youTlfeol better. Sit by me here, and, don’t try to speak. And I will ybff some tea in true English fashion, and you must take it hot. and it will do you good.” The simple sisterly kindness and silent sympathy soothed Marie after a time. The sobs ceased and the tears also. And Marie put her hand in her pocket and gave Bernardine the five francs. (TO RE CONTINUED.)