Mrs. Maxa had to agree with her brother who had said that she had her mother's large, speaking eyes, the same soft brown curls, and the same serious expression on her delicately shaped little face. Mrs. Maxa would have easily recognized the child even without knowing her name.

Leonore only looked more serious still; in fact, her glance was extremely sad and at that moment tears were hanging on her lashes, for she had been crying. The boy sitting by her got up and made a bow to the new arrival.

He had his father's gay blue eyes and his clear, open brow. After giving him her hand Mrs. Maxa stepped up to the bed to greet Leonore and was so deeply moved that she could barely speak.

"My dear child," she said, seizing both slender hands, "you resemble your mother so much that I have to greet you as my own beloved child. I loved her very much and we meant a great deal to each other. You remind me of both your father and mother, Salo. What happiness my friendship with your parents has brought me! I want you both to be my children now, for your parents were the best friends I ever had in the world."

This speech apparently met a response in the two children's hearts. As answer Leonore took Mrs. Maxa's hand and held it tight between her own, and Salo came close to her to show what confidence he felt. Then he said joyfully: "Oh, I am so glad that you have come; you must help me comfort Leonore. She is terribly afraid of the hospital and all the strange people there. She even imagines that she will die there alone and forsaken and was crying because she thinks that we won't see each other again. I have to go so far away and I can't help it. To-morrow they are coming to fetch me and then I have to go back to school. What shall we do?"

"As to that," Mrs. Maxa replied, "nothing can be done. But if Leonore has to spend a little while in the hospital, she won't be an absolute stranger there. I won't let you be lonely for I shall often go to see you, dear child, and it is not even quite certain that you have to go there."

"Oh, yes, they are going to take me there this morning, maybe quite soon," said Leonore. Listening anxiously, she again grasped Mrs. Maxa's hand as if it were her safety anchor.

Mrs. Maxa did not gainsay her, because she did not yet know what the doctor might decide. All she could do to calm Leonore was to tell her that she was not dangerously ill. She might recover very quickly if she only stayed quiet for a while. In that case she could soon see her brother again, for the ladies had promised to take her home as soon as she was well.

Mrs. Maxa had hardly said that when Leonore's eyes again began to fill with tears.

"But I don't feel at home there. We really have no home anywhere," she said with suppressed sobs.

"Yes, it is true; we have no home anywhere," Salo exclaimed pa.s.sionately.

"But, Leonore, you must have faith in me!" Fighting against his rising agitation, he quickly wiped away a tear from his eyes, which were usually so bright. "It won't be so long till I have finished my studies and then I can do what I please. Then I shall try to find a little house for us both, which will be our home. I am going to get that if I have to work for twenty years in the fields till it is paid for."

Salo's eyes had become sunny again during this speech. He looked as if he would not have minded seizing a hoe that very moment.

Rapid steps were now heard approaching, the door was quickly opened, and Miss Remke called out on entering: "The carriage is at the door. Let us get ready, for I do not want the gentleman to wait. I am sure you will be so kind as to help me lift Leonore out of bed and to carry her down stairs."

Leonore had grown as white as a sheet from fright.

"May I ask if it is my brother's carriage, or--" Mrs. Maxa hesitated a little.

"Yes, certainly," the lady interrupted, while she rapidly pulled some covers and shawls out of a wardrobe. "Your brother has come himself in order to see that the carriage is well protected. He also means to give the coachman the directions himself, but we must not keep him waiting.

What a kind friend he is!"

Mrs. Maxa had already lifted Leonore from her bed and was carrying her out.

"Please bring all the necessary things downstairs. I can do this easily alone, for she is as light as a feather," she called back to the lady who had hastened after her in order to help.

Going downstairs Mrs Maxa said, "Leonore, I am going to take you home with me now. The doctor is letting me do what I wished: you will stay with me till you are well again, and I shall take care of you. Shall you like to come with me? We know each other a little already and I hope you won't feel so strange with us."

Leonore, flinging both arms about Mrs. Maxa's neck, held her so tight that she could feel the little girl considered her no stranger any longer.

Suddenly Leonore called back in jubilating tones, "Salo, Salo, did you hear?"

Salo had heard her call but comprehended nothing further. Miss Remke had piled such heaps of shawls and covers on his arms that one always slid down after the other and he was obliged to pick them up again. As quickly as the circ.u.mstances allowed, he ran after his sister.

Arrived at the carriage, Mrs. Maxa immediately looked about for her brother. She wanted to hand Leonore to him while she prepared everything in the conveyance for the child's comfort.

He was already there. Understanding his sister's sign, he took the child into his arms, then lifted her gently into the carriage. His glance was suddenly arrested by the boy, who was standing beside the carriage with his burdens.

With the most joyful surprise he exclaimed, "As sure as I am born this must be a young Salo. It is written in his eyes. Give me your hand, boy. Your father was my friend, my best friend in the world; so we must be friends, too."

Salo's eyes expressed more and more surprise. This manner of being taken to a hospital seemed very odd to him. The strangest of all, however, was that Leonore sat in the corner of the carriage smiling contentedly, for Mrs. Maxa had just whispered something into her ear.

"Do we have to say good-bye now, Leonore," Salo asked, jumping up the carriage step, "and can't I see you any more?"

"Salo," Mrs. Maxa said, "I was just thinking that you could sit beside the coachman if you want to. You can drive to Nolla with us, for you will want to see where Leonore is going. I can have you brought back to-morrow in time to meet your friends. Do you approve of that, Philip?"

"Certainly, certainly," the brother answered, "but if that is the plan, I am going along. I thought at first that this trip would prove a very mournful one. It seems more like a festal-journey to me now, so I've come, too. Salo and I will sit high up and to-morrow I promise to bring him back here."

With shining eyes the boy climbed to the seat which the coachman had just relinquished. He understood now that the hospital was not to be their destination. With many hearty handshakes and good wishes the two Remke ladies at last let their friend and adviser go. After many more last greetings to all the party the carriage finally rolled towards the valley.

Leonore was so exhausted that, leaning against her companion, she fell asleep, but she staunchly held on to Mrs. Maxa's hand, which seemed to her that of a loving mother. It was the first time in her life that she had felt this.

On the high seat outside the conversation was extremely lively. Young Salo had to tell where and how he lived, and then his companion explained in turn the places they were pa.s.sing through and told him whatever unusual had happened in the neighborhood. The uncle found out that neither Salo nor his sister had the slightest remembrance of their parents. The boy's earliest memory went back to an estate in Holstein where they had lived with an elderly great-aunt, his grandmother's sister. They were about five or six years old when the aunt died, after which they were sent to Hanover to their present abode.

Twice a year a relation of their great-aunt came to see them, but he was such a stiff, quiet gentleman that they could not enjoy his visits. It was, however, this man who always decided what was to be done with them.

For the present they were to remain where they were till Salo had finished his studies. After that the choice where to settle was left to them.

"But I know what I shall do first of all," Salo added with sparkling eyes.

Just then the old castle came in view.

"Oh, what a wonderful castle with great towers!" Salo exclaimed. "It is all closed up; there can't be anybody living there. It doesn't seem to be in ruins, though. What is it called?"

"This is Castle Wildenstein," the boy's companion curtly answered, throwing a searching glance at the young Baron. The latter looked innocently up at the gray towers, remarking that anybody who owned a castle like that would simply be the happiest man in the world.

"He knows nothing about the castle of his ancestors and the whole tragic story. So much the better," said Uncle Philip to himself.

When the carriage drove up before Mrs. Maxa's door, everything was very quiet there, for the children were still in school. Kathy came running towards them with astonished eyes. She did not know at all what was going on, and that was a novelty for her.

Salo had the reins pressed into his hands before he knew it. With a bound his new friend had jumped to the ground and called back, "If you don't move, the horses will stay quiet, too." Quickly opening the carriage, he lifted Leonore out and carried her up to the little room which had been got ready for her. Mrs. Maxa followed at his heels. He then turned hurriedly back to his young subst.i.tute, for he felt a little uneasy at the thought of what might happen to the horses and carriage.

The boy might want to drive about and the horses might begin to jump.

But no; stiff and immovable, the boy sat at his post, firmly holding the reins.

Even now when a party of eight feet came running towards him, Salo did not move. The calls of "Uncle Philip, Uncle Philip!" sounded with more vigor than usual, because the children had not expected him back so soon, and therefore had to celebrate his coming with double energy. Uncle Philip was immediately surrounded, and eight arms held him so tight that there was no use in struggling.

"Just look at my young n.o.bleman up there," he said, vainly trying to get free. "He certainly knows what it means to remain firmly at his post and do his duty. If he had not held the reins tightly, your wild cries would have driven horses and carriage down the ravine long ago."

All arms suddenly dropped and all eyes were directed towards the figure on the coachman's seat. In the unexpected joy of their uncle's return n.o.body had noticed the boy. Uncle Philip, who was free now, let Salo get down and introduced him to the children.

Salo had a friendly greeting for every one and his eyes sparkled gaily when he shook their hands. His whole appearance was so attractive and engaging that the children immediately took a liking to him. With lively gestures they surrounded him like an old acquaintance, so that Salo quickly felt that he had come among good friends. Even the reserved Bruno, whom n.o.body had ever been able to approach, linked Salo's arm confidentially in his in order to conduct the guest into the house.

Here Bruno sat down beside Salo and the two were immediately immersed in the most eager conversation. Mea, Kurt and Lippo were hunting everywhere for their mother, for they had not the faintest idea where she had gone.

When Uncle Philip came back, he called them together and told them where their mother was and what she wished them to know through him. As she had brought a sick child with her, she could have no intercourse with the children for two or three days. The doctor had also forbidden them to go up to the sick-room, and they were to do the best they could during that time. If the sickness should get worse, a nurse was to come to the house and then the mother would be free again. If the illness was to be slight, on the contrary, the children would be admitted to the sick-room and make Leonore's acquaintance. They could even help a little in her care, for the mother would not then be obliged to keep them apart. Mazli was to be sent to Apollonie every morning and was to spend the day there.

Not to be able to have a glimpse of their mother for two or three days was depressing news indeed. The three children's faces were absolutely disconcerted, for the obstacles were clearly insurmountable.

"Well, is this so terrible?" Uncle Philip said cheerily. "Who needs to let his wings droop? Just think if you were in the place of the sick girl, who has no mother at all! Can't you let her have yours for a few days? No? Just think what is to follow. Your mother will come down then and bring you a new playmate. Leonore is friendly and charming and has sweeter manners than you have ever seen. Kurt is sure to make dozens of songs about her and Mea will be carried away with enthusiasm for her.

Lippo will find an affectionate protectress in her who will be able to appreciate his little-recognized virtues. Are you satisfied now?"

This speech really had splendid results. All three were willing enough now to let the sick Leonore have their mother, and they were anxious besides to do everything in their power to make Leonore's recovery speedy. The uncle's description of the new playmate had wakened such a lively sympathy in them that they were ready to a.s.sist him in many ways, and he was even obliged to cool their zeal. As their guest was to remain such a short while, Uncle Philip suggested a walk in order to show him the surroundings, but when they looked around for Salo, they could not find either him or Bruno.