when john knew by violet's regular breathing that she was fast asleep, he rose gently from his seat beside the bed and went over to the little table, on which lay, amongst so many others of the child's treasures, the mother's bible and the gold-spotted book.
he took them up with quite a reverent, almost a guilty touch, and placed them with care upon the larger table at the foot of the bed. then he lit the lamp, shaded it, and having once more leaned over the bed to see that violet slept, he sat down to look at this new book in the pretty paper cover which seemed by its contents to have so excited and interested her.
he placed his finger in the page at which he found it open, and turned first to look at the title. he smiled rather sadly as he read the name, for it was a book that he remembered well having read himself when he was a youngster. he had forgotten the[pg 49] stories now, but he recognized the clumsy woodcut which had had the power not so long ago to thrill his own heart with a feverish excitement, and make it beat with a mixed enthusiasm and distress.
but it was with no mixed distress that his eye fell on the page where he had just placed his finger, and which had evidently been the centre point of poor little violet's interest. on one side of the open book was a plate, divided by the old-fashioned style into three consecutive pictures, one above, one in the middle, and one at the foot of the page. on the opposite side was a short poem, consisting of three verses, each verse explanatory of the plate opposite it.
it was called "the hunchbacked girl;" and as his eyes fell on the name and the pictures which accompanied it, he closed the book hurriedly, and said in a voice straining between anger and tears, "how wicked! they shall answer to me for this."
but by-and-by, making a strong effort over himself, he opened at the page again and stared at the plates and the print until he saw them no more.
the first picture represented a woman lying, evidently at the verge of death, in one of the garret rooms of a house situated in a large town; for one could see through the open window the roofs of houses opposite and the top of a church steeple. by[pg 50] her side knelt a man with a child in his arms, which he was holding up towards its mother to receive from her a last embrace; for her hands were outstretched also: and underneath were written the words, "auf wiedersehen" (to meet again).
the second picture represented a little child propped up in a chair at the same window, with its head resting on its hand and its eyes looking out desolately across the roofs and the steeple to the sky beyond. underneath, in small text, were printed these two words, pathetic in their simplicity, "ganz allein" (all alone).
in the third picture the room was the same, but the chair stood empty at the window. the little pallet in the corner was empty also; but in the centre of the apartment, with eyes steadfastly uplifted, and with a radiant smile upon its face, stood the little hunchbacked child. on either side was an angel, holding it by its hands; and from between its poor, weary shoulders had sprung up two shining wings, rising into the air behind it, and apparently stretching themselves out for flight. underneath was written, in the same small, close, old-fashioned printing, "keine thr?ne mehr" (no more tears).
john did not trust himself to look at the story. he laid his face down on the page and stretched out[pg 51] his hand on the table, while his fingers closed tightly on his palm.
"god help my little violet," he said bitterly to himself; "as long as i live she shall never be left alone."
but even as he spoke, while his head was still bowed over the open page before him, and his heart throbbed heavily against the wooden table, he was aware of an unusual stir in the street beneath, a hum of voices rising higher and higher, the trampling of many feet, and far off, near the barrack square, a bugle call, loud and shrill, which made him start up from his sitting posture and walk quickly to the window.
but what a sight it was his eyes fell upon! the street, so silent and peaceful a few minutes ago, and to all intents and purposes empty, was now a surging mass of human beings. all edelsheim seemed gathered together in this one narrow thoroughfare. every moment the voices were becoming louder, the excitement greater. it was with difficulty the lamplighter could force his way through the crowd to light the large lamp which hung in the centre of the street on a chain suspended across the roadway from the adlers' house to his own.
john opened the window for a moment, and looked[pg 52] out across the wooden box filled with violets which stood in the old mullioned embrasure.
"hist," he cried, leaning down and trying to catch the attention of some one immediately beneath the window, "what has happened?"
the question was heard, for a woman looking suddenly upwards to see who spoke, flung her arms high up into the air and cried out in a shrilly voice of anguish, "war is proclaimed."
he closed the window as suddenly as he had opened it, gave one glance towards the little bed to see that violet was still asleep, and then sank down upon the broad window seat with his face covered.
learning the news
learning the news. page 52.
war is proclaimed! only three words, and yet the whole town was already rocking with their import. bells were ringing, shouts were rising, men and women stood so closely packed beneath that one could have walked across their heads with safety. exultant youths, full of their young life and young blood, so soon to be given and spilt for god and fatherland, were flinging their caps in the air; men, too, with beards and grizzled hair, shouted and gesticulated frantically; others, grave and silent, turned their voices inward and cried aloud to the god of the fatherless and widow. fritz, in his night-dress, at the little gable window opposite, was blowing a shrill[pg 53] tin trumpet and screaming out, in his high, boyish voice, "war, war, war!" which was echoed by a still higher treble in the room beyond.
at last violet stirred. it was almost impossible that with such a din going on outside she could sleep on.
in a moment john had risen and was kneeling at her bedside. his hand had clasped the little fingers which lay so loosely upon the knitted counterpane. his bearded check was close to the white face on the pillow, barely discernible now in the closely-shaded light of the lamp which burned at the foot of the bed. he was ready with the word of love to quiet her alarms, and with a kiss to soothe her back to sleep, but they were not needed. she merely moved restlessly to and fro on her pillow, and muttered to herself in some dreamful excitement,—
"look! look out into the street! what dost thou see, father?"
john bent low over the child's face and touched it gently with his lips. he must have kissed her then, or his heart would have broken.
even in her sleep violet knew who was bending over her. "father," she said softly.
"yes, my heart's love, i am here beside thee."
"seest thou? is it not lovely?"
[pg 54]
"what? what?" he asked with a sob.
"the little hunchback has wings."
after this she gave a long, restful sigh, and turned her head against her father's arm. nor did the noise in the street disturb her any more, though the cries at times rose almost to shrieks, and though the lamp in her room burned on unextinguished until daylight had taken its place.
