CHAPTER IX.

DOMESTIC SKETCHES.

H, sun, why do you shine so fiercely into the room? I shall just take the liberty of drawing down the blinds before your very nose.'

It was Elizabeth who, three days after the muchtalked-of ball which had terminated so sadly, addressed these words to the September sun as it shone into Emmy's room, and threw its kindly rays on her pretty fair head, that turned restlessly backwards and forwards on her pillow.

In the capacity of nurse, Elizabeth had taken up her abode in the sick room, and never was an invalid more carefully and tenderly nursed than Emmy by the young girl who was a sister to her, not only in name, but in affection.

'Now then, Physic, let us see whether Emmy will have anything more to say to you to-day than yesterday?' With these words she went up to the bed with a glass of medicine in her hand. But Emmy pushed her hand away, saying in a peevish voice, 'Do let me alone with that bitter stuff.'

'Bitter dem Mund ist zum Herzen gesund,' exclaimed Elizabeth, setting down the glass; but the next moment she was kneeling down by the bed, and taking Emmy's hand, she said in a tender voice of entreaty:

'Come, dear Emmy, do not be so obstinate; take the draught the doctor ordered for you. Who knows what good it may do you? I should so like to see you better again soon.'

'Physic won't do me any good, Elizabeth.'

I

What will do you good, then, dear?'

'If you will only answer the question I asked you three days ago What has happened to Mr Eversberg ? Don't you understand that I cannot rest till I am set at ease as to what has happened to my friends?'

'Oh, don't be always thinking of that, Emmy dear. Come, the matter must have its course. Dr Brewer says that you were frightened by what occurred that night at the ball, and that we must let it alone until you are better. Come, drink up the draught like a good child, and do not ask me any more questions about things which I am not to talk about.' And she again handed her the glass; but Emmy, raising herself up in bed, laid her feverish, burning cheek against Elizabeth's, and said in a beseeching tone:

'I will do as you wish, Elizabeth, and drink the whole bottle at one draught if you insist on it; but then you must tell me if Mr Eversberg is still in prison.'

Elizabeth hesitated a moment; she then simply said, 'No, Emmy, he is no longer in prison.'

Then he is innocent,' said Emmy with a deep sigh of relief. But Elizabeth shut her mouth with a kiss, and laid her head back on the pillow.

'I have kept my part of the contract,' she said playfully; now you must keep yours.'

And Emmy took the draught, and slept after it more tranquilly than she had done for some days.

Her illness had begun the day after the fête. She had held out well that evening till the very end. When Bruno was speaking those terrible words about his father, the room seemed to turn round; and when she understood clearly the sad fact which he announced, her instinctive sense of what would be unbecoming could hardly restrain her from obeying the impulse of her

heart, and hastening to Bruno as he stood there in the middle of the ball-room speaking to the crowd.

Of what happened afterwards she had but a confused recollection. She knew that she had walked home on Otto's arm; that he had taken her to her room; and that later Elizabeth, nervously laughing and crying, was undressing there, and was chattering about the events of the evening; and that still later, after Elizabeth had left her, she had gone to bed cold and shivering, and could not sleep on account of the painful possibilities which kept whirling through her head as to the cause of the arrest of Bruno's father.

Towards morning she had fallen asleep, but when she awoke the noonday sun shone into her room, and Mrs Welters and the doctor were standing by the bed, and she heard him say, 'Frightened-caught a chill-keep quite quiet and warm-I'll give you a prescription— better in a few days.'

And so they had quieted her with soothing words whenever she brought forward the subject of the Eversbergs, which, during the last two days, she had in vain attempted to do with innumerable diplomatic manœuvres; even Elizabeth, who in general did not make her heart a place of concealment, was on this subject as mute as a fish.

All this had, however, so increased Emmy's restlessness that she could no longer endure the uncertainty, and hence ensued the conversation we have just related.

From this moment Emmy grew better, and when, a day or two later, she was sitting up in her arm-chair as a convalescent, she took advantage of the opportunity, when Otto came to visit her, to send Elizabeth downstairs on some pretext or other. Elizabeth had no sooner left the room than Emmy exclaimed:

'And now, dear Otto, you must tell me all about it.' 'Tell you what, Emmy?'

Two great tears glistened in her eyes.

'Why may I not know what has happened to Mr Eversberg ?' she said in a sad, reproachful tone. Can none of you understand that this uncertainty makes me ill, and that otherwise I should have been well long ago? But I tell you what, Otto,' she continued in a decided tone, while a deep blush spread over her cheeks, if you don't tell me the truth, and the whole truth, I will go to the foundry, ill or well, and inquire for myself.'

There was an expression in Emmy's eyes which convinced Otto that it would be better for her to hear the truth from his lips; for without fulfilling her threat literally, she would be sure to come to know it in some way or other. But he answered her playfully,' Then I shall warn the police to keep a sharp look-out on all females escaping from their doctors.' Finding, however, that she only turned away from him impatiently, he said in a serious tone as he took her hand in his :

'Dear Emmy, if we have told you nothing of what has happened, you may be sure that we acted with the best intentions, for we thought that bad news would always come soon enough.'

'But Elizabeth assured me that he is no longer in prison,' said Emmy, interrupting.

There Elizabeth was right, Emmy; he is no longer in prison, but he is gone beyond the reach of all suffering and sorrow, and human justice.'

'Is he dead, Otto ?'

'Yes, dear child; on the morning after he was taken to prison he was found dead in his bed. At first it was thought that he had put an end to himself, but the

physicians have certified that he had a paralytic stroke, probably brought on by intense grief. He had spent the night in writing a long letter to Bruno, which was found on the table.'

'Was he guilty ?' The question was asked hesitatingly in a half whisper.

'Yes, Emmy; of that, alas! there is no possible doubt. Many years ago he, together with one of the clerks, must have murdered his master. Naturally there are many stories in circulation, which for the most part are exaggerated accounts of the affair. When you go out again you will hear more versions of it than you will like. I shall therefore confine myself to the main facts, which amount to this: that a certain Stellenburg, whom you may remember to have heard spoken of as the murderer of the former owner of the foundry, appears after the deed to have absconded to America, where, by a curious chain of events, he had lately come across the son of the murdered man, and had confessed the crime on his deathbed, and had betrayed the name of his accomplice. This son, Joseph Muller, must have brought the deposition of Stellenburg, signed by him and two witnesses, to Europe, and on the evening of the ball he came straight to Dilbury with the officer of justice from Arnheim, who arrested Mr Eversberg forthwith. There, Emmy, now you know the whole truth; take care that it does not agitate you more than is good for you.'

Emmy's only answer was a fresh burst of tears; but when the first outbreak of emotion was over, she quickly recovered herself.

'What a fearful thing it is for Aunt Johanna and Bruno!' she exclaimed. Oh, if only I were not ill just at this time! Will you tell them that I cannot go to them?'