I. How They Were Found
“What a long sigh! Are you tired, Amy?”
“Yes, and disappointed as well. I never would have undertaken this journey if I had not thought it would be full of novelty, romance, and charming adventures.”
“Well, we have had several adventures.”
“Bah! losing one’s hat in the Rhine, getting left at a dirty little inn, and having our pockets picked, are not what I call adventures. I wish there were brigands in Germany–it needs something of that sort to enliven its stupidity.”
“How can you call Germany stupid when you have a scene like this before you?” said Helen, with a sigh of pleasure, as she looked from the balcony which overhangs the Rhine at the hotel of the “Three Kings” at Coblentz. Ehrenbreitstein towered opposite, the broad river glittered below, and a midsummer moon lent its enchantment to the landscape.
As she spoke, her companion half rose from the low chair where she lounged, and showed the pretty, piquant face of a young girl. She seemed in a half melancholy, half petulant mood; and traces of recent illness were visible in the languor of her movements and the pallor of her cheeks.
“Yes, it is lovely; but I want adventures and romance of some sort to make it quite perfect. I don’t care what, if something would only happen.”
“My dear, you are out of spirits and weary now, to-morrow you’ll be yourself again. Do not be ungrateful to uncle or unjust to yourself. Something pleasant will happen, I’ve no doubt. In fact, something has happened that you may make a little romance out of, perhaps, for lack of a more thrilling adventure.”
“What do you mean?” and Amy’s listless face brightened.
“Speak low; there are balconies all about us, and we may be overheard,” said Helen, drawing nearer after an upward glance.
“What is the beginning of a romance?” whispered Amy, eagerly.
“A pair of gloves. Just now, as I stood here, and you lay with your eyes shut, these dropped from the balcony overhead. Now amuse yourself by weaving a romance out of them and their owner.”
Amy seized them, and stepping inside the window, examined them by the candle.
“A gentleman’s gloves, scented with violets! Here’s a little hole fretted by a ring on the third finger. Bless me! here are the initials, ‘S.P.,’ stamped on the inside, with a coat of arms below. What a fop to get up his gloves in this style! They are exquisite, though. Such a delicate color, so little soiled, and so prettily ornamented! Handsome hands wore these. I’d like to see the man.”
Helen laughed at the girl’s interest, and was satisfied if any trifle amused her ennui.
“I will send them back by the kellner, and in that way we may discover their owner,” she said.
But Amy arrested her on the way to the door.
“I’ve a better plan; these waiters are so stupid you’ll get nothing out of them. Here’s the hotel book sent up for our names; let us look among the day’s arrivals and see who ‘S.P.’ is. He came to-day, I’m sure, for the man said the rooms above were just taken, so we could not have them.”
Opening the big book, Amy was soon intently poring over the long list of names, written in many hands and many languages.
“I’ve got it! Here he is–oh, Nell, he’s a baron! Isn’t that charming? ‘Sigismund von Palsdorf, Dresden.’ We must see him, for I know he’s handsome, if he wears such distracting gloves.”
“You’d better take them up yourself, then.”
“You know I can’t do that; but I shall ask the man a few questions, just to get an idea what sort of person the baron is. Then I shall change my mind and go down to dinner; shall look well about me, and if the baron is agreeable I shall make uncle return the gloves. He will thank us, and I can say I’ve known a real baron. That will be so nice when we go home. Now, don’t be duennaish and say I’m silly, but let me do as I like, and come and dress.”
Helen submitted, and when the gong pealed through the house, Major Erskine marched into the great salle a manger, with a comely niece on each arm. The long tables were crowded, and they had to run the gauntlet of many eyes as they made their way to the head of the upper table. Before she touched her soup, Amy glanced down the line of faces opposite, and finding none that answered the slight description elicited from the waiter, she leaned a little forward to examine those on her own side of the table. Some way down sat several gentlemen, and as she bent to observe them, one did the same, and she received an admiring glance from a pair of fine black eyes. Somewhat abashed, she busied herself with her soup: but the fancy had taken possession of her, and presently she whispered to Helen,–
“Do you see any signs of the baron?”
“On my left; look at the hands.”
Amy looked and saw a white, shapely hand with an antique ring on the third finger. Its owner’s face was averted, but as he conversed with animation, the hand was in full play, now emphasizing an opinion, now lifting a glass, or more frequently pulling at a blond beard which adorned the face of the unknown. Amy shook her head decidedly.
“I hate light men, and don’t think that is the baron, for the gloves are a size too small for those hands. Lean back and look some four or five seats lower down on the right. See what sort of person the dark man with the fine eyes is.”
Helen obeyed, but almost instantly bent to her plate again, smiling in spite of herself.
“That is an Englishman; he stares rudely, says ‘By Jove!’ and wears no jewelry or beard.”
“Now, I’m disappointed. Well, keep on the watch, and tell me if you make any discoveries, for I will find the baron.”
Being hungry, Amy devoted herself to her dinner, till dessert was on the table. She was languidly eating grapes, while Helen talked with the major, when the word “baron” caught her ear. The speakers sat at a table behind her, so that she could not see them without turning quite round, which was impossible; but she listened eagerly to the following scrap of chat:–
“Is the baron going on to-morrow?” asked a gay voice in French.
“Yes, he is bound for Baden-Baden. The season is at its height, and he must make his game while the ball is rolling, or it is all up with the open-handed Sigismund,” answered a rough voice.
“Won’t his father pardon the last escapade?” asked a third, with a laugh.
“No, and he is right. The duel was a bad affair, for the man almost died, and the baron barely managed to get out of the scrape through court influence. When is the wedding to be?”
“Never, Palsdorf says. There is everything but love in the bargain, and he swears he’ll not agree to it. I like that.”
“There is much nobleness in him, spite of his vagaries. He will sow his wild oats and make a grand man in time. By the by, if we are going to the fortress, we must be off. Give Sigismund the word; he is dining at the other table with Power,” said the gay voice.
“Take a look at the pretty English girl as you go by; it will do your eyes good, after the fat Frauleins we have seen of late,” added the rough one.
Three gentlemen rose, and as they passed Amy stole a glance at them; but seeing several pairs of eyes fixed on herself, she turned away blushing, with the not unpleasant consciousness that “the pretty English girl” was herself. Longing to see which Sigismund was, she ventured to look after the young men, who paused behind the man with the blond beard, and also touched the dark-eyed gentleman on the shoulder. All five went down the hall and stood talking near the door.
“Uncle, I wish to go,” said Amy, whose will was law to the amiable major. Up he rose, and Amy added, as she took his arm, “I’m seized with a longing to go to Baden-Baden and see a little gambling. You are not a wild young man, so you can be trusted there.”
“I hope so. Now you are a sensible little woman, and we’ll do our best to have a gay time. Wait an instant till I get my hat.”
While the major searched for the missing article the girls went on, and coming to the door, Amy tried to open it. The unwieldy foreign lock resisted her efforts, and she was just giving it an impatient little shake, when a voice said behind her,–
“Permit me, mademoiselle;” at the same moment a handsome hand turned the latch, the flash of a diamond shone before her, and the door opened.
“Merci, monsieur,” she murmured, turning as she went out; but Helen was close behind her, and no one else to be seen except the massive major in the rear.
“Did you see the baron?” she whispered eagerly, as they went up-stairs.
“No; where was he?”
“He opened the door for me. I knew him by his hand and ring. He was close to you.”
“I did not observe him, being busy gathering up my dress. I thought the person was a waiter, and never looked at him,” said Helen, with provoking indifference.
“How unfortunate! Uncle, you are going to see the fortress; we don’t care for it; but I want you to take these gloves and inquire for Baron Sigismund Palsdorf. He will be there with a party of gentlemen. You can easily manage it, men are so free and easy. Mind what he is like, and come home in time to tell me all about it.”
Away went the major, and the cousins sat on the balcony enjoying the lovely night, admiring the picturesque scene, and indulging in the flights of fancy all girls love, for Helen, in spite of her three-and-twenty years, was as romantic as Amy at eighteen. It was past eleven when the major came, and the only greeting he received was the breathless question,–
“Did you find him?”
“I found something much better than any baron, a courier. I’ve wanted one ever since we started; for two young ladies and their baggage are more than one man can do his duty by, Karl Hoffman had such excellent testimonials from persons I know, that I did not hesitate to engage him, and he comes to-morrow; so henceforth I’ve nothing to do but devote myself to you.”
“How very provoking! Did you bring the gloves back?” asked Amy, still absorbed in the baron.
The major tossed them to her, and indulged in a hearty laugh at her girlish regrets; then bade them good-night, and went away to give orders for an early start next morning.
Tired of talking, the girls lay down in the two little white beds always found in German hotels, and Amy was soon continuing in sleep the romance she had begun awake. She dreamed that the baron proved to be the owner of the fine eyes; that he wooed and won her, and they were floating down the river to the chime of wedding-bells.
At this rapturous climax she woke to find the air full of music, and to see Helen standing tall and white in the moonlight that streamed in at the open window.
“Hush, hide behind the curtains and listen; it’s a serenade,” whispered Helen, as Amy stole to her side.
Shrouded in the drapery, they leaned and listened till the song ended, then Amy peeped; a dark group stood below; all were bareheaded, and now seemed whispering together. Presently a single voice rose, singing an exquisite little French canzonet, the refrain of which was a passionate repetition of the word “Amie.” She thought she recognized the voice, and the sound of her own name uttered in such ardent tones made her heart beat and her color rise, for it seemed to signify that the serenade was for them. As the last melodious murmur ceased, there came a stifled laugh from below, and something fell into the balcony. Neither dared stir till the sound of departing feet reassured them; then creeping forward Amy drew in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, roses, and great German forget-me-nots, tied with a white ribbon and addressed in a dashing hand to La belle Helene.
“Upon my life, the romance has begun in earnest,” laughed Helen, as she examined the flowers. “You are serenaded by some unknown nightingale, and I have flowers tossed up to me in the charming old style. Of course it is the baron, Amy.”
“I hope so; but whoever it is, they are regular troubadours, and I’m delighted. I know the gloves will bring us fun of some kind. Do you take one and I’ll take the other, and see who will find the baron first. Isn’t it odd that they knew our names?”
“Amy, the writing on this card is very like that in the big book. I may be bewitched by this mid-summer moonlight, but it really is very like it. Come and see.”
The two charming heads bent over the card, looking all the more charming for the dishevelled curls and braids that hung about them as the girls laughed and whispered together in the softly brilliant light that filled the room.
“You are right; it is the same. The men who stared so at dinner are gay students perhaps, and ready for any prank. Don’t tell uncle, but let us see what will come of it. I begin to enjoy myself heartily now–don’t you?” said Amy, laying her glove carefully away.
“I enjoyed myself before, but I think ‘La belle Helene‘ gives an added relish to life, Amie,” laughed Nell, putting her flowers in water; and then both went back to their pillows, to dream delightfully till morning.
II. Karl, the Courier
“Three days, at least, before we reach Baden. How tiresome it is that uncle won’t go faster!” said Amy, as she tied on her hat next morning, wondering as she did so if the baron would take the same boat.
“As adventures have begun, I feel assured that they will continue to cheer the way; so resign yourself and be ready for anything,” replied Helen, carefully arranging her bouquet in her travelling-basket.
A tap at the door, which stood half open, made both look up. A tall, brown, gentlemanly man, in a gray suit, with a leathern bag slung over his shoulder, stood there, hat in hand, and meeting Helen’s eyes, bowed respectfully, saying in good English, but with a strong German accent,–
“Ladies, the major desired me to tell you the carriage waits.”
“Why, who–” began Amy, staring with her blue eyes full of wonder at the stranger.
He bowed again, and said, simply,–
“Karl Hoffman, at your service, mademoiselle.”
“The courier–oh, yes! I forgot all about it. Please take these things.”
Amy began to hand him her miscellaneous collection of bags, books, shawls and cushions.
“I’d no idea couriers were such decent creatures,” whispered Amy, as they followed him along the hall.
“Don’t you remember the raptures Mrs. Mortimer used to have over their Italian courier, and her funny description of him? ‘Beautiful to behold, with a night of hair, eyes full of an infinite tenderness, and a sumptuous cheek.'”
Both girls laughed, and Amy averred that Karl’s eyes danced with merriment as he glanced over his shoulder, as the silvery peal sounded behind him.
“Hush! he understands English; we must be careful,” said Helen, and neither spoke again till they reached the carriage.
Everything was ready, and as they drove away, the major, leaning luxuriously back, exclaimed,–
“Now I begin to enjoy travelling, for I’m no longer worried by the thought of luggage, time-tables, trains, and the everlasting perplexity of thalers, kreutzers, and pfenniges. This man is a treasure; everything is done in the best manner, and his knowledge of matters is really amazing.”
“He’s a very gentlemanly-looking person,” said Amy, eying a decidedly aristocratic foot through the front window of the carriage, for Karl sat up beside the driver.
“He is a gentleman, my dear. Many of these couriers are well born and educated, but, being poor, prefer this business to any other, as it gives them variety, and often pleasant society. I’ve had a long talk with Hoffman, and find him an excellent and accomplished fellow. He has lost his fortune, it seems, through no fault of his own, so being fond of a roving life, turned courier for a time, and we are fortunate to have secured him.”
“But one doesn’t know how to treat him,” said Helen. “I don’t like to address him as a servant, and yet it’s not pleasant to order a gentleman about.”
“Oh, it will be easy enough as we go on together. Just call him Hoffman, and behave as if you knew nothing about his past. He begged me not to mention it, but I thought you’d like the romance of the thing. Only don’t either of you run away with him, as Ponsonby’s daughter did with her courier, who wasn’t a gentleman, by the way.”
“Not handsome enough,” said Amy. “I don’t like blue eyes and black hair. His manners are nice, but he looks like a gipsy, with his brown face and black beard: doesn’t he, Nell?”
“Not at all. Gipsies haven’t that style of face; they are thin, sharp, and cunning in feature as in nature. Hoffman has large, well-moulded features, and a mild, manly expression, which gives one confidence in him.”
“He has a keen, wicked look in his blue eyes, as you will see, Nell. I mean mischievously, not malignantly wicked. He likes fun, I’m sure, for he laughed about the ‘sumptuous cheek’ till his own were red, though he dared not show it, and was as grave as an owl when we met uncle,” said Amy, smiling at the recollection.
“We shall go by boat to Biebrich, and then by rail to Heidelberg. We shall get in late to-morrow night, but can rest a day, and then on to Baden. Here we are; now make yourselves easy, as I do, and let Karl take care of everything.”
And putting his hands in his pockets, the major strolled about the boat, while the courier made matters comfortable for the day. So easily and well did he do his duty, that both girls enjoyed watching him after he had established them on the shady side of the boat, with camp-stools for their feet, cushions to lean on, books and bags laid commodiously at hand.
As they sailed up the lovely Rhine they grew more and more enthusiastic in their admiration and curiosity, and finding the meagre description of the guide-books very unsatisfactory, Amy begged her uncle to tell her all the legends of picturesque ruin, rock and river, as they passed.
“Bless me, child, I know nothing; but here’s Hoffman, a German born, who will tell you everything, I dare say. Karl, what’s that old castle up there? The young ladies want to know about it.”
Leaning on the railing, Hoffman told the story so well that he was kept explaining and describing for an hour, and when he went away to order lunch, Amy declared it was as pleasant as reading fairy tales to listen to his dramatic histories and legends.
At lunch the major was charmed to find his favorite wines and dishes without any need of consulting dictionary or phrase-book beforehand, or losing his temper in vain attempts to make himself understood.
On reaching Biebrich, tired and hungry, at nightfall, everything was ready for them, and all went to bed praising Karl, the courier, though Amy, with unusual prudence, added,–
“He is a new broom now; let us wait a little before we judge.”
All went well next day till nightfall, when a most untoward accident occurred, and Helen’s adventures began in earnest. The three occupied a coupe, and being weary with long sitting, Helen got out at one of the stations where the train paused for ten minutes. A rosy sunset tempted her to the end of the platform, and there she found, what nearly all foreign railway stations possess, a charming little garden.
Amy was very tired, rather cross, and passionately fond of flowers, so when an old woman offered to pull a nosegay for “the gracious lady,” Helen gladly waited for it, hoping to please the invalid. Twice the whistle warned her, and at last she ran back, but only in time to see the train move away, with her uncle gesticulating wildly to the guard, who shook his stupid German head, and refused to see the dismayed young lady imploring him to wait for her.
Just as the train was vanishing from the station, a man leaped from a second-class carriage at the risk of his neck, and hurried back to find Helen looking pale and bewildered, as well she might, left alone and moneyless at night in a strange town.
“Mademoiselle, it is I; rest easy; we can soon go on; a train passes in two hours, and we can telegraph to Heidelberg that they may not fear for you.”
“Oh, Hoffman, how kind of you to stop for me! What should I have done without you, for uncle takes care of all the money, and I have only my watch.”
Helen’s usual self-possession rather failed her in the flurry of the moment, and she caught Karl’s arm with a feminine little gesture of confidence very pleasant to see. Leading her to the waiting-room, he ordered supper, and put her into the care of the woman of the place, while he went to make inquiries and dispatch the telegram. In half an hour he returned, finding Helen refreshed and cheerful, though a trace of anxiety was still visible in her watchful eyes.
“All goes excellently, mademoiselle. I have sent word to several posts along the road that we are coming by the night train, so that Monsieur le Major will rest tranquil till we meet. It is best that I give you some money, lest such a mishap should again occur; it is not likely so soon; nevertheless, here is both gold and silver. With this, one can make one’s way everywhere. Now, if mademoiselle will permit me to advise, she will rest for an hour, as we must travel till dawn. I will keep guard without and watch for the train.”
He left her, and having made herself comfortable on one of the sofas, she lay watching the tall shadow pass and repass door and window, as Karl marched up and down the platform, with the tireless tramp of a sentinel on duty. A pleasant sense of security stole over her, and with a smile at Amy’s enjoyment of the adventure when it was over, Helen fell asleep.
A far-off shriek half woke her, and starting up, she turned to meet the courier coming in to wake her. Up thundered the train, every carriage apparently full of sleepy passengers, and the guard in a state of sullen wrath at some delay, the consequences of which would fall heaviest on him.
From carriage to carriage hurried Karl and his charge, to be met with everywhere by the cry, “All full,” in many languages, and with every aspect of inhospitality. One carriage only showed two places; the other seats were occupied by six students, who gallantly invited the lady to enter. But Helen shrunk back, saying,–
“Is there no other place?”
“None, mademoiselle; this, or remain till morning,” said Karl.
“Where will you go if I take this place?”
“Among the luggage,–anywhere; it is nothing. But we must decide at once.”
“Come with me; I’m afraid to be locked in here alone,” said Helen, desperately.
“Mademoiselle forgets I am her courier.”
“I do not forget that you are a gentleman. Pray come in; my uncle will thank you.”
“I will,” and with a sudden brightening of the eyes, a grateful glance, and an air of redoubled respect, Hoffman followed her into the carriage.
They were off at once, and the thing was done before Helen had time to feel anything but the relief which the protection of his presence afforded her.
The young gentlemen stared at the veiled lady and her grim escort, joked under their breath, and looked wistfully at the suppressed cigars, but behaved with exemplary politeness till sleep overpowered them, and one after the other dropped off asleep to dream of their respective Gretchens.
Helen could not sleep, and for hours sat studying the unconscious faces before her, the dim landscape flying past the windows, or forgot herself in reveries.
Hoffman remained motionless and silent, except when she addressed him, wakeful also, and assiduous in making the long night as easy as possible.
It was past midnight, and Helen’s heavy eyelids were beginning to droop, when suddenly there came an awful crash, a pang of mortal fear, then utter oblivion.
As her senses returned she found herself lying in a painful position under what had been the roof of the car; something heavy weighed down her lower limbs, and her dizzy brain rung with a wild uproar of shrieks and groans, eager voices, the crash of wood and iron, and the shrill whistle of the engine, as it rushed away for help.
Through the darkness she heard the pant as of some one struggling desperately, then a cry close by her, followed by a strong voice exclaiming, in an agony of suspense,–
“My God, will no one come!”
“Hoffman, are you there?” cried Helen, groping in the gloom, with a thrill of joy at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Thank heaven, you are safe. Lie still. I will save you. Help is coming. Have no fear!” panted the voice, with an undertone of fervent gratitude in its breathless accents.
“What has happened? Where are the rest?”
“We have been thrown down an embankment. The lads are gone for help. God only knows what harm is done.”
Karl’s voice died in a stifled groan, and Helen cried out in alarm,–
“Where are you? You are hurt?”
“Not much. I keep the ruins from falling in to crush us. Be quiet, they are coming.”
A shout answered the faint halloo he gave as if to guide them to the spot, and a moment after, five of the students were swarming about the wreck, intent on saving the three whose lives were still in danger.
A lamp torn from some demolished carriage was held through an opening, and Helen saw a sight that made her blood chill in her veins. Across her feet, crushed and bleeding, lay the youngest of the students, and kneeling close beside him was Hoffman, supporting by main strength a mass of timber, which otherwise would fall and crush them all. His face was ghastly pale, his eyes haggard with pain and suspense, and great drops stood upon his forehead. But as she looked, he smiled with a cheery.–
“Bear up, dear lady, we shall soon be out of danger. Now, lads, work with a will; my strength is going fast.”
They did work like heroes, and even in her pain and peril, Helen admired the skill, energy, and courage of the young men, who, an hour ago, had seemed to have no ideas above pipes and beer. Soon Hoffman was free, the poor senseless youth lifted out, and then, as tenderly as if she were a child, they raised and set her down, faint but unhurt, in a wide meadow, already strewn with sad tokens of the wreck.
Karl was taken possession of as well as herself, forced to rest a moment, drink a cordial draught from some one’s flask, and be praised, embraced, and enthusiastically blessed by the impetuous youths.
“Where is the boy who was hurt? Bring him to me. I am strong now. I want to help. I have salts in my pocket, and I can bind up his wounds,” said Helen, soon herself again.
Karl and Helen soon brought back life and sense to the boy, and never had human face looked so lovely as did Helen’s to the anxious comrades when she looked up in the moonlight with a joyful smile, and softly whispered,–
“He is alive.”
For an hour terrible confusion reigned, then the panic subsided a little, and such of the carriages as were whole were made ready to carry away as many as possible; the rest must wait till a return train could be sent for them.
A struggle of course ensued, for every one wished to go on, and fear made many selfish. The wounded, the women and children, were taken, as far as possible, and the laden train moved away, leaving many anxious watchers behind.
Helen had refused to go, and had given her place to poor Conrad, thereby overwhelming his brother and comrades with gratitude. Two went on with the wounded lad; the rest remained, and chivalrously devoted themselves to Helen as a body-guard.
The moon shone clearly, the wide field was miles from any hamlet, and a desolate silence succeeded to the late uproar, as the band of waiters roamed about, longing for help and dawn.
“Mademoiselle, you shiver; the dew falls, and it is damp here; we must have a fire;” and Karl was away to a neighboring hedge, intent on warming his delicate charge if he felled a forest to do it.
The students rushed after him, and soon returned in triumph to build a glorious fire, which drew all forlorn wanderers to its hospitable circle. A motley assemblage; but mutual danger and discomfort produced mutual sympathy and good will, and a general atmosphere of friendship pervaded the party.
“Where is the brave Hoffman?” asked Wilhelm, the blond student, who, being in the Werther period of youth, was already madly in love with Helen, and sat at her feet catching cold in the most romantic manner.
“Behold me! The little ones cry for hunger, so I ransack the ruins and bring away my spoils. Eat, Kinder, eat and be patient.”
As he spoke Karl appeared with an odd collection of baskets, bags, and bottles, and with a fatherly air that won all the mothers, he gave the children whatever first appeared, making them laugh in spite of weariness and hunger by the merry speeches which accompanied his gifts.
“You too need something. Here is your own basket with the lunch I ordered you. In a sad state of confusion, but still eatable. See, it is not bad,” and he deftly spread on a napkin before Helen cold chicken, sandwiches, and fruit.
His care for the little ones as well as for herself touched her and her eyes filled, as she remembered that she owed her life to him, and recalled the sight of his face in the overturned car.
Her voice trembled a little as she thanked him, and the moonlight betrayed her wet eyes. He fancied she was worn out with excitement and fatigue, and anxious to cheer her spirits, he whispered to Wilhelm and his mates,–
“Sing, then, comrades, and while away this tedious night. It is hard for all to wait so long, and the babies need a lullaby.”
The young men laughed and sang as only German students can sing, making the night musical with blithe drinking songs, tender love-lays, battle-hymns, and Volkslieder sweeter than any songs across the water.
Every heart was cheered and warmed by the magic of the music, the babies fell asleep, strangers grew friendly, fear changed to courage, and the most forlorn felt the romance of that bivouac under the summer sky.
Dawn was reddening the east when a welcome whistle broke up the camp. Every one hurried to the railway, but Helen paused to gather a handful of blue forget-me-nots, saying to Hoffman, who waited with her wraps on his arm,–
“It has been a happy night, in spite of the danger and discomfort. I shall not soon forget it; and take these as a souvenir.”
He smiled, standing bare-headed in the chilly wind, for his hat was lost, his coat torn, hair dishevelled, and one hand carelessly bound up in his handkerchief. Helen saw these marks of the night’s labors and perils for the first time, and as soon as they were seated desired to see his hand.
“It is nothing,–a scratch, a mere scratch, I give you my word, mademoiselle,” he began, but Wilhelm unceremoniously removed the handkerchief, showing a torn and bleeding hand which must have been exquisitely painful.
Helen turned pale, and with a reproachful glance skilfully bound it up again, saying, as she handed a silken scarf to Wilhelm,–
“Make of that a sling, please, and put the poor hand in it. Care must be taken, or harm will come of it.”
Hoffman submitted in bashful silence, as if surprised and touched by the young lady’s interest. She saw that, and added gratefully,–
“I do not forget that you saved my life, though you seem to have done so. My uncle will thank you better than I can.”
“I already have my reward, mademoiselle,” he returned, with a respectful inclination and a look she could neither understand nor forget.