Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 August 1894 — SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT. [ARTICLE]

SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT.

BY BEATRICE HARRADEN.

PART L—CHAPTER XVII- Continued.

“May I ask one little question of you. which shall conclude this interesting subject," he said, ‘‘since we are already at the Gasthaus? To which type of learned woman do you lay claim to belong?" Bernardine laughed. “That l leave to your own powers of discrimination," she said, and then added, “if you have any." 1 And that was the end of the matter, for the word spread about that Herr Allitsen had arrived, and every one turned out to give the two guests greeting. Frau Steinhart smothered Bernardine with motherly tenderness, and whispered in her ear: “You are betrothed now. iiebes Fraulein? Ach, lam sure of it." But Bernardine smiled and shook her head, and went to greet the others who crowded around them: and at last poor Catharina drew near too, holding Bernardine’s hand lovingly within her own. Then Hans, Liza’s lover, came upon the scene, and Liza told the Disagreeable Man that she and Hans were to be married in a month’s time. And the Disagreeable Man, much to Bernardine’s amazement, drew from his pocket a small parcel, which he confided to Liza i s care. Every one pressed round her while she opened it, and found what she had often wished for, a silver watch and chain. “Ach,” she cried, “how heavenly! How all the girls here will envy me! How angry my dear friend Susanna will be!” Then there were photographs to be examined. Liza looked with stubborn disapproval on the pictures of herself in her working-dress. But she did not conceal her admiration of the portraits which showed her to the world in her best finery. *‘Ach!” she cried, “this is something like a photograph!” The Disagreeable Man grunted, but behaved after the fashion of a hero, claiming, however, a little silent sympathy from Bernardine. It was a pleasant, homely scene: and Bernardine, who felt quite at ease amongst these people chattered away with them as though she had known them all her life. Then Frau Steinhart suddenly remembered that her guests needed some food, and Liza was dispatched to her duties as cook; though it was some time before she could be induced to leave off looking at the photographs^— —--— . “Take them with you. Liza," said the Disagreeable Man. “Then we shall get our meal all the quicker.” She ran off laughing, and finally Bernardine found herself alone with Catharina. “Liza is very happy," she said to Bernardine. “She loves and is loved.” “That is the greatest happiness," Bernardine said half to herself. “Fraulein knows?” Catharina asked eagerly. Bernardine looked wistfully at her

companion. 1 — “No, Catherina," she said. “I have only heard and read and seen. " ‘'Then you cannot understand." Catharina said almost proudly. “But I understand.” She spoke no more after that, but took up her knitting, and watched Bernardine playing with the kittens. She was playing with the kittens, and she was thinking: and all the time she felt conscious that this peasant woman, stricken in mind and body, was pitying her because that great happiness of loving and being loved had not come into her life. It had seemed something apart from her; she had never even wanted it. She had wished to stand alone, like a littterock out at sea. And now? In a few minutes the Disagreeable Man and she sat down to their meal. In spite of her excitement, Liza managed to prepare everything nicely; though when she was making the omelette aux fines herbes, she had to be kept guarded lest she might run off to have another look at the silver whtch and the photographs of herself in her finest frock! Then Bernardine and Robert Allitsen drank to the health of Hans and Liza: and then came the time of reckoning. When he was paying the bill, Frau Steinhart, having given him the change, said coaxingly: 1 “Last time you and Fraulein each paid a share: to-day you pay ail. Then perhaps you are betrothed at last, dear Herr Allitsen? Ach, how the old Hausfrau wishes you happiness! Who deserves to be happy, if it is not our dear Herr Allitsen?” “You have given me twenty centimes too much," he said quietly. “You have your head so full of other things that you reckon properly." But seeing that she looked t roubled lest she might have offended him, he added, quickly: “When I am betrothed, good little old house-mother, you shall be the first to know." And she had to be content*, with that. She asked no more questions of either of them; but she was terribly disappointed. There was something a little comical in her disappointment; but Robert Allitsen was not amused at it, as he had been on a former occasion, As he leaned back in the sledge, with the same girl for his companion, he recalled his feelings. He had been astonished and amused, and perhaps a little shy, and a great deal re

lieved that she had been sensible enough to be amused too. And now. They had been constantly together for many months; he who had never cared, before for her companion ship had found himself turning more and more to her. Arid now he was going to lose her. He looked up once or twice to make sure that she was still by his side, she sat there so quietly. At last be spoke in his usual gruff way: “Have you exhausted all your ! eloquence in your oration about learned women?" he asked. “No. 1 am reserving it for a better audience." she answered, trying to be bright. But - she was not bright. “I believe you came out to the country to-day Io seek for cheerful ness,” he said after a pause. “Have you found it?" “I do not. know," she said. “It takes me some time to recover from shocks, and Mr. Reffold's death was a sorrow to me. What do you think about death? Have you any theories about life and death and the bridge between them? Can you say anything to help one?" “Nothing.” he answered. “Who could? And by what means?" “Has there been no value in philosophy?" she asked, “and the meditations of learned men?" “Philosophy!” he sneered. “What has it done for us? It has taught us some processes of the mind’s working; taught us a few wonderful things which interest the few; but the centuries have come and gone, and the only thing which the whole human race pants to know remains unknown; ourh’eloved ones, shall we meet them, and how?—the great secret of the universe. We ask for bread and these philosophers give us stone. What help could come from thenu or from any one? Death is sTmpTy ohe of tlfe hard facts of life. ” “And the greatest evil," she said. “We weave our romances about the next world," he continued, “and any one who has a fresh romance to relate, or an old one dressed up in new language, will be listened to and welcomed. That helps some people for a little while; and when the charm of the romance is over then they are ready for another, perhaps more fantastic than the last. But the plot is always the same:outbeloved ones, shall we meet them, and how? Isn't it pitiful? Why can not we be more impersonal? These puny? petty minds of ours! When will they learn to expand?" “Why should we learn to be more impersonal?" she said. “There was a time when I felt like that; but now I have learnt something better; that we need not be ashamed -of being human; above all, of having the best of human instincts, love, and the passionate wish for its continuance, and the unceasing grief at its withdrawal. There is no indignity in this, nor any trace of weak-minded-ness in our restless craving to know about the hereafter and the possibilities of meeting again those who we have loSt here. Ttts right, and natural, and lovely that it should be the most important question. I know that many will say that there are weightier questions(they say so, but do they think so? Do we want to know first and foremost whether we shall do our work better elsewhere: whether we shall be endowed with wisdom; whether, as Mr.Reffoid said, we shall be glad to behave less like curs and more like heroes?These questions come in, but they can be put aside, The other question can never be put on one side. If that were, to become possible, it would only be so because the human heart had lost the best part of itself, its own humanity. We shall goon building our bridge be tween life and death, each one for himself. When we see that it is not strong enough

we shall break it down and build another. We shall watch other people building their bridges. **’We shall imitate, or criticise, or condemn. But as time goes 'on we shall learn not to interfere: we shall know that one bridge is probably as gdod as the other, and that the greatest value of them all has bgpn in the building of them. It does not matter what we build, but build we must: you and I. and every one.” “I have since ceased to build my bridge,” the Disagreeable Man said. “It is almost an unconscious pro cess,” she said. “Perhaps you are still at work, or perhaps you are resting.” He shrugged his shouldersand the two comrades fell into silence again. They were within two miles of Petershof, when he broke the silence; there was something wonderfully gentle,in his voice. “You little thing.*" he said, “we are nearing home, and I have something to ask you. It is easier for me to ask here in the free open country, Where the space seems to give us breathing room for our cramped lungs and minds.” “Well,” she said kindly: she wondered what he could have to say. “I am a little nervous of offending you,” he continued, “and yet I trust you. It is only this: You said you had come to the end of your money, and that you must go home. It seems a pity when you are getting better. I have so much more than I need. 1-don't offer “it to you as a gift, but I. thought if you wished to stay longer a loan from me would not be quite impossible to you. You could repay as quikly or as slowly as was convenient to you, and I should only be grateful and —”

He stopped suddenly. The tears had gathered in Bernard djne's eyes; her hand rested for one moment on his arm. "Mr. "you did weh to trust me. But I could not borrow money of any one, unless I was obliged. If I could of any one, jtywquld have been you. It is not a month ago since I was a little anxious about money: my remittances did not come. I thought then that if obliged to ask for temporary help I should come to you; so you see if you have trusted me, I. too, have trusted you." A smile passed over the Disagreeable Man's face, one of his rare, beautiful smilesyui- ' . = “Supposing that you change your mind.” liesaid quietly, “you will not find that I have changed mine." Then a few imputes brought them bark to Petershof. CHAPTER XVIIi. .. A BETROTHAL. tie had loved her so patiently, and now he felt that he must have her answer. It was only fair to her. and to himself, too. that he should know exactly wh(>rehc stood in her affections. She had certainly given him little signs here and there, which had made him believe that she was not indifferent to his admiration. Little signs were*all very well for a short time: but meanwhile the season was coming to an end; she had told him that she was going back to her work at home. And then perhaps he would lose her altogether. It would not be safe now for him to delay a single day longer. So the little postman armed himself with courage. Warli's brain was muddled all that day. He who prided himself upon knowing the names of all the guests in Petershof, made the most absurd mistakes about people and letters too. and received in acknowledgement of his stupidity a series of scoldings which would have unnerved a stronger person than the little hunchback postman. In fact, he ceased to carp how he gave out the letters: all the envelopes seemed to have same name on them—Marie Truog. Every word which he tried to decipher turned to that ; so finally he tried no more, leaving tlm destination of the letter to be decided by the impulse of the moment. At last he arrived at that quarter of the Kurhaus where Marie held sway. He heard her singing in the, pantry. Suddenly she was summoned down stairs by an impatient bell-ringer, and on her return found AVarti in the passage. “What a goose you are!" she cried, throwing a letter at him: “‘you have left the wrong letter at No. 82." Then some one else rang, and Marie hurried She came back with another letter in her hand and found Warli sitting in her pantry, “The wrong letter left at No. 54. " she said, “and Madame in a horrid temper in consequence. What a nuisance vou are today. Warli! Can't you read? Here, give the remaining letters to me. I'll .sort them." " __ Warli took off his little round hat and wiped his forehead. “I can't read today, Marie,” he .said;., ‘“something has...gone. wrong with me. Every name I look at turns to Maria Truog. I ought to have brought every one of—the letters to you. But I knew they could not be likely to write at the same time, to catch the same post. ' “It would be very dull if they did,” said Marie, who was polishing some water bottles with more diligence than was usual or even necessary. “But 1 am the one who loves you, Mariechen." the little postman said. “I have always loved you ever since I can remember.- I am not much to look at, Mariechen; the binding of the book is not beautiful, but the book itself is not a bad book.” Marie went on polishing the water bottles. Then she held them up- to the light to admire their unwonted

“1 don't plead for myself,’’ continued Warli, “If you don’t love me that is the end of the matter. But if you do love me. Mariechen. and will marry me,‘■you won’t be unhappy. Now I have said all." Marie put down the water bottles and turned to Warli. “You have been a long time in telling me,” she said .poutingly. “Why didn’t you tell me so three months ago? It’s too late now.” “Oh, Mariechen!" seizing her hand and covering |t with kisses; “you love some one else—you are already betrothed? And now it’s too late; and you love some on'e else!” “I never said I loved some one else,” Marie replied; “I only said it was too late. Why, it must be nearly five o’clock, and my lamps are not yet ready. I haven’t a moment tp spare. Dear me, and there is no oil in the can; no, not one little drop!”

“The devil take the oil!” exclaimed Warli, snatching the can out of her hands. “What do I want to know about the oil in the can? I want to know about the love in your heart. Oh, Mariechen, don’t keep me waiting like this! Just tell me if you love me, and make me the merriest soul in all Switzerland.” “Must I tell the truth,” she said, in a most melancholy tone of voice; “the truth and nothing else? Well, Warli, if you must know . . . how I grieve to hurt you— —” Warli’s heart sank, the tears came into his eyes. “But since it must be the Truth, and nothing else," continued the torturer, “well Fritz . . . I.love you!” A few minutes afteward. the Disagreeable Man, having failed to attract iny attention by ringing, descended to Marie’s pantry, to fetch

his lamp. He discovered Warli embracing his betrothed. “1 am sorry to intrude.” he said grimly, and he retreated at once. But directlv afterward he came back. “The matron has just come upstairs;*' he said, and he hurried a wav. ’ -u~

CHAPTER XIX. “ships that speak each other IN PASSING.” Many of the guests in the foreign quarter had made a start downward into the plains: and the Kurhaus itself, though still well filled with visitors. was e veryweek-losingsomeof its invalids. A few of the tables looked desolate, and some were not occupied at all. the lingerers having chosen, now that their party was broken up, to seek the refuge of another table. So that many stragglers found their way to the English din-ing-board, each bringing with him his own national bad manners, and causing much annoyance to the Disagreeable Man. who was a true John Bull in his contempt of all foreigners, The English table was, so he saidl like England herself: the haven, of other nation’s offscourings. There were several other signs, too, that the season was far advanced. The food had fallen off in quality and quantity. The invalids, some- of them better and some of them worse, had become impatient. And plans were being discussed, where formerly temperatures and coughs and general symptoms were the usual subjects of conversation. The caretakers, too, were in a state of agitation; some few keenly anxious to be off to.new pastures; and others, who had perhaps formed attachments. an occurrence not unusual in Petershof, were wishing to hold back time with both hands, and wore therefore delighted that the weather, which had not yet broken up, gave no legitimate excuse for immediate departure. Pretty Fraulein Muller had gone, leaving her Spanish gentleman quite disconsolate for the time being. The French Marchioness had returned to the Parisian circles where she was celebrated for all the domestic virtues from which she had been taking such a prolonged holiday in Petershof. The little French dansuese and her poodle had left for Monte Carlo. M. Liebinsky and his mother passed on to the Tyrol, where Madame would no doubt have plenty of opportunities for quarreling; or not finding them, would certainly make them without any delay, by this means keeping herself in good spirits and her son in bad health. There were some, too, who had hurried off without paying their Doctors; being of course those who had received the greatest attention, and who had expressed the greatest gratitude in their time ol trouble, 'but who were of opinion that thankfulness would very well take the place of franks; an opinion not entirely shared by the Doctors themselves. (to be continued.)