"Then I'd rather come some other time."

"I can't receive you for mere talk. Tell me now what you have to say."

"Well then. Doctor--Oh, dear me, to think that you don't even shake hands with me. I can't get over it. But I see, that's the way it is with great folk; it's all the same--thank G.o.d, I know where I'm at home!"

"Cease your empty talk!" said Gunther, interrupting her still more sharply. "What have you to tell me? Can I help you in any way?"

"Me? Thank G.o.d, nothing ails me. I only wanted to say that under-forester Steinga.s.singer lives out on the dairy-farm, and that his wife is my friend and companion, Stasi. Early last winter, she told me that the king was coming here this summer, and all I wanted to say was that if he cares to pay me a visit at the freehold, he's quite welcome.

I might have said something more, but I see I'd better not. I'd rather not break an oath."

Gunther nodded.

"If the king wishes to pay you a visit, I will tell him what you have said."

"And isn't our dear, good queen coming, too! I've often been kept awake at nights by anger and sorrow, when I thought that she doesn't concern herself about me. And she promised me so solemnly that she would. I can't understand how it is; but it's all right, I suppose. And how is the little prince? And is it true that you are not in favor and have been dismissed from the court? And is that why you are living here in this little house?"

Gunther gave her an evasive reply, and said that he had other matters to attend to.

Walpurga arose from her seat, but could not move from the spot. She could not understand why she should be treated thus, and it was only because she had previously made up her mind to do so, that she invited Gunther to visit her, and asked permission to see Madame Gunther for a few moments. She hoped that she, at least, would receive her kindly and afford her some explanation of the Doctor's repellant manner.

"Go to her," replied Gunther, turning away and taking up a book.

Walpurga left the room.

She stopped in the pa.s.sageway and asked herself whether she was not dreaming. She who had once been the crown prince's nurse was now treated as if they had never known her. She, the freeholder's wife--her pride rose, as she thought of her vast homestead--was sent away like a beggar.

She no longer cared to speak with Madame Gunther. Her lips trembled with grief at the thought of how wicked the great people were. And yet they could praise this house, and she, too, had once praised it, as though none but holy persons lived in it.

She left the house, and, while walking through the garden, met Madame Gunther, who started back when she recognized Walpurga.

"Don't you remember me?" asked Walpurga, holding out her hand towards her.

"Indeed I do," said Madame Gunther, without noticing the hand that was offered her. "Where do you come from?"

"From my farm. I'm the freeholder's wife, and if you, Madame, had come to me, I wouldn't have let you stand out of doors in this way; I'd have asked you to come inside, into my room."

"But I don't ask you," replied Madame Gunther, "I put nothing in the way of those who leave the straight path, but I do not invite them into my house."

"And when did I leave the straight path? What have I done?"

"I am not your judge."

"Anyone may judge me. What have I done? You must tell me."

"I must not; but I will. You will have to answer to yourself how all the money was earned with which you bought your great farm. Good-day!"

She went into the house.

Walpurga stood there, alone. The houses, the mountains, the woods, the fields--all swam before her, and her eyes were filled with bitter tears.

Gunther had been looking out of the window, during Walpurga's interview with his wife, and, by the manner of the latter, felt satisfied that the peasant woman had been told some unpleasant truths.

He now saw Walpurga walk away; she would stop now and then, and dry her tears with her ap.r.o.n. The woman repents, at any rate, thought he to himself, and she's only another proof of the far-reaching and all-corroding effects of evil.

It was long before Gunther could be made to believe that Walpurga had received a large sum of money in return for wicked services, but it had been judicially proven that the farm had been paid for in new coin, such as only pa.s.ses through princely hands. And just because Gunther had believed in Walpurga's simple true-heartedness, and had staked his word upon it, he was all the more embittered against her.

He was resolved to clear up the matter as soon as the opportunity offered.

CHAPTER IV.

Proud and happy as Walpurga had been when she left home in the morning, it was with a heavy heart that she returned at evening.

She might well be proud, for no farmer's wife could present a better appearance. Franz, the late cuira.s.sier, had broken in the foal. It was harnessed to the little Bernese wagon and looked around as if pleased when Walpurga came out, dressed in her Sunday clothes and accompanied by Burgei. Hansei helped his wife into the wagon and then gave her the child.

"Come back safe and sound," said he, "and Franz, take care of the horse."

"Never fear!" was Franz's answer, and the horse started off at a lively gait, as if it were mere child's play to draw such a load.

Hansei stood looking after his wife and child for a while and then turned about and went off to his work. He only nodded to Irma, who was looking out of her window and waving a farewell to Walpurga. Walpurga rode off, holding her hand to her heart, as if to repress the joy with which it was overflowing.

What was there better in the world than a well-arranged household like the one she was just leaving, and to feel, moreover, that the people she met would know that she was well-to-do in the world? But Walpurga was proud of something else which the people could not see.

She had, with great circ.u.mspection, arranged quite a difficult affair.--On the following morning, Irma was to go to the shepherd's hut, and all danger of discovery would be averted. It is no trifling matter to keep such a secret a whole winter, for Irma had judged rightly. Walpurga encouraged Irma's plan of spending the entire summer in deeper solitude. Stasi, whose husband had heard it from the chief forester, told her that the king intended to visit the neighboring village during the following summer. She feared for Irma, and now her fears had taken a still more decided shape. Stasi's husband had been removed to the dairy-farm and had been ordered to arrange the forest paths and drives, preparatory to the king's arrival.

Hansei was quite willing that his wife, instead of going to the neighboring village, should go to a more distant town, in order to purchase the articles of use and comfort which it would be necessary for Gundel and Irma to take with them to the shepherd's hut. This afforded her an opportunity to fulfill her promise to visit Stasi in her new home. He even consented that Burgei should go along. And thus Walpurga drove off, her heart full of happiness, and with a kindly smile of greeting for all whom she met on the road.

"I only wish," said Franz, "that we could drive along the lake, and by our old village, for we all came from there; you and I, Burgei and the horse."

Franz had bestowed especial care upon his appearance.

His face beamed with joy, for he, too, cherished a secret thought. He intended to buy a silver ring to place on Gundel's finger, before she went to the shepherd's hut.

"Be careful of that horse," replied Walpurga. "He's so very young. What a fine day it is. The cherries down here aren't in blossom yet, and the sapling we brought from home is blossoming to-day, for the first time.

Didn't you see it?"

"No."

They drove on in silence.

When they drew near to the village in which Stasi lived, Franz, who drove about the country a good deal, said:

"This pretty brook flows from up near our new meadow. It comes out of the rocks scarcely a rifle-shot from there."

Walpurga smiled at the thought that a stream that flowed far through the country, had its source on her own land. Yes, no one knows what fortune may have in store for him.

Stasi was delighted at Walpurga's arrival, and was lavish in her praise of all that belonged to her friend. She declared that the king himself had not a finer horse, a better-behaved servant, a lovelier child or a better wife, than Hansei had. Wherever she took Walpurga, the laborers who were clearing the roads, or building bridges, would stop for a while to look at the farmer's handsome wife and the child who, both in dress and feature, was the very picture of her mother.