The Breaking of the Storm

their long drive back to the studio, where Justus had to make some arrangements before spending the afternoon with Meta’s hostess, they were perpetually breaking into laughter again, although between whiles they were talking in all seriousness of the most weighty matters; Philip’s flight which was simultaneous with the breaking up of the company, and how with all the trouble which this break up had brought to so many people, it had done this good, that it had at last obtained consent to their marriage from Meta’s father, as Reinhold had foretold; and what effect the affair would have upon Reinhold and Elsa’s fate; and how poor Herr Kreisel, who had put his savings into Sundin-Wissows, had been quite off his head this morning from the shock, and trouble and anxiety for Cilli, whose future he now saw unprovided for, so that he had had to go to bed; and how foolish it was of the good old man, as he must know that his friends, and Uncle Ernst especially, would never forsake him or his dear Cilli.

On this topic they gradually became quite grave, especially Meta, who sat for some time quite still in her corner, till suddenly sitting up, she said:

“Do you know, Justus, we must take care of Cilli, for you know if she were not blind, dear thing, you would have married her, only that if she were not blind and could see what a dreadfully ugly old darling you are, she would not have been in love with you, for you know the poor thing is very much in love with you, as I am a little, you know.”

Herewith she threw herself into Justus’s arms, and cried as if her heart would break, and then laughed again as Justus suggested that she had better have both windows shut, so that he had much trouble in restoring her to anything like her natural self, as they crossed the court to the studio.

“For you see,” said Justus, “it is all nonsense, begging your pardon, though Reinhold did suggest something of the kind. You know better than other people that I am not overmodest, but as for Cilli, you see she is simply an angel. She has shown herself so more than ever lately, in the way she has borne with poor Ferdinanda, who really does not deserve it, as only an angel could. And it was not because she was blind that I did not fall in love with her, and would not have married her, but because I could only fall in love with and marry a human being, and you were the human being, and so⁠—”

They had by this time entered the studio.

“Hush!” said Meta. “Don’t speak so loud; it sounds as if we were in a church here, you know, like that time when Cilli⁠—oh! the poor dear is sitting there; I think she must be asleep.”

“Where?”

“There, under my bust.”

But Justus needed but one glance to see with his sharp artist’s eyes, that the sleep in which the pale angel form was lying, was the sleep that knows no waking.

His first idea was to spare Meta the sad sight, and he caught her hand to lead her away, but the shock which she saw expressed in his varying countenance had told her all more plainly than even the sight of the sleeping figure. She trembled all over, but she held fast the hand which he had given to her, and they went together up to the dead girl, and looked in solemn silence into the smiling face.

“She has been praying for us,” whispered Justus; “the last thought of her pure soul.”

Tears choked his voice. Meta threw herself sobbing on his breast.

“Oh! Justus, Justus, how we must love each other!”

A sound close by made them look up. It was Uncle Ernst, who had hastily entered by the open studio door, and seeing the strange group had been suddenly seized by a terrible misgiving of what had happened. He had come nearer to them, and stood now close behind them with his arms folded across his chest, and his eyes fixed upon the dead face.

Grollmann and Aunt Rikchen came next, Aunt Rikchen trembling, and often sobbing aloud, but valiantly struggling with her sobs and tears as often as they threatened to dim her eyes, proving the truth of what she had always maintained of herself, that in spite of everything she was a true sister of her brother, and that when there was any need for it, she would always be found at her post.

It was she who took all necessary measures with due forethought and decision; and only when the fair corpse had been laid upon a hastily-contrived bier to be carried into the other house, and she was about to follow, and her brother, who had let her do everything quietly, took her hand, and said with a long-drawn breath, “Thank you, Rikchen,” was the warm brave heart suddenly stirred to its depths, and she would have broken into loud weeping if Uncle Ernst had not said peremptorily, but in a kindly tone such as she had never heard from his mouth, “Let that be, Rikchen! There are so many things to be done still.”

“God knows there are!” thought Aunt Rikchen, but she did not say it, and followed the procession which was moving to the door.

But Uncle Ernst was standing again as before, with his arms folded across his breast, and looking fixedly at the spot where in his mind’s eye he still saw the same touching picture.

“Death was in her heart!” he murmured, “and she knew it. She said it so meekly, and I did not understand it. There are no more miracles, but there are signs given to those who have eyes to see. I asked for a sign!”

His arms relaxed their pressure, and two burning tears dropped from his eyelashes and rolled down his furrowed cheeks to his grey beard. He looked round timidly, but no one had seen him