Villa Eden
Chapter 234 : "Come! come! I did not kill him, he gave the masonic sign--I dared not kill him--

"Come! come! I did not kill him, he gave the masonic sign--I dared not kill him--he's lying outside there."

"Who?"

"The man--the man."

I had great difficulty in getting him to speak the name. It was Sonnenkamp.

I took a physician with me, and we hurried past the wounded calling for help.

We came to a hill; there he lay. I could hardly get my breath as I stood there before him, but at last I cried,--

"Father!"

"Father!" screamed he. "Away! leave me!"

He stared at me with gla.s.sy eyes. He tore up the gra.s.s, and digging out the earth, he buried his face in the fresh mould, trying to inhale that peculiar odor which had always refreshed him; but he shook his head, appearing unable to perceive the earthy smell.

He now turned round and stared at me.

The physician made preparations to dress his wounds, from several of which the blood was flowing. He thrust the physician away with violence.

"I will not be bound! Off with the whole of you!"

I kneeled down, and said that he had not been fighting against his son; that Roland had, been missing for three months, and had evidently been taken prisoner.

"A prisoner! woe! woe! woe!" he shrieked. "A prisoner! Oh, she is to blame--she! she! I did not want to! I had to--she wanted to ride on horseback--she sits splendidly--to play the amazon."

He burst into a scornful laugh. "On the sea--on the ocean--" continued he, "there I wanted to be--I had to follow--I saw her fall--she was beautiful even in death--an enchantress--an enchantress!"

The physician beckoned to me; I knew what he meant. I asked him if he desired anything.

He stared at me.

"Yonder--give me that--give!"

He pointed to a beautiful heath-plant not far off. Adams had observed our look and the words. He tore up a whole bunch of ericas, and gave them into the hand of the dying man, who gazed at him with eyes almost starting out of his head. Then a smile came over his face; drawing himself up with a mighty energy, he fell back uttering one terrible shriek, and his limbs were straightened in death. He died with the heath-plants in his clenched hand.

Oh, how much I have gone through, how much I have been forced to suffer! Nothing harder can ever befall me.

As we buried him in the earth, and covered him over with heaths, I wept over a man whose vast powers had led him astray. What would have been his fate, if----

Here I was interrupted in the midst of my writing. Since those lines were penned, I have buried another corpse.

I was called to Adams, who had neglected having his wounds attended to, and now it was too late. He asked after me. I stood at his bed-side, and with a last exertion of strength, he asked me;--

"Herr Major, can any one steal a thing like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"Can a man like that belong to our order, and have the sign?"

"You see that he can."

"What do the brethren have swords for then? Why did I not--" cried he, gnas.h.i.+ng his teeth.

He clenched his fists, raised himself up, and then sank back. His savage nature, which had been only repressed and held in constraint, broke out in the last death-struggle.

Oh, I can write nothing more. I have been deceived in myself. I believed myself fortified against everything, but I am not. I beg you, dear Herr Weidmann, to inform my mother of the death of Manna's and Roland's father.

If I could only go to sleep, if I could only rest!

[Postscript in Manna's hand-writing.]

This letter, written thus far, was found in my Eric's pocket when he was drawn from under his horse's hoofs. In his excited, and, in fact, delirious state, he had mounted his horse, thinking he was going into battle. He was thrown. I send the letter. He does not yet recognize any one, and is still delirious, but the physician gives me some hope.

I shall keep the letter until I can give some more favorable tidings.

Three days later.

My husband says that he finds invigoration in thinking of you. I have also to-day written to the Mother.

[Manna to the Professorin.]

Mother, he is saved! All anxiety has fled. He is saved! He was down with a fever days and nights, and did not recognize me; he knew my dogs, Rose and Thistle, but not me. But once he exclaimed:--

"Oh, the harp-tones!"

I telegraphed at once to New York for my harp to be sent to me; the telegraphist told me of a woman in the place who had a harp; she lived alone, and her lot had been a hard one, as she had learned after her marriage that her husband had another wife living. I went to see the woman, and this woman is the mother of my Heimchen. The Superior had written to her of the love of her child for me, and I had to relate many things to the mother. And now--yes, we are always living in the midst of wonders! Heimchen gave to me the harp from which the tones are to come that will give my husband rest.

I stationed myself in the next room, and with the physician's consent, I played upon the harp. Eric went to sleep, and when he waked, said:--

"Why does not Manna come?"

The physician forbade my entering the room, as it was important he should receive no violent shock. And so I could see him only when his eyes were closed, until at last the surgeon gave his permission.

In the wanderings of fever he always saw me as I was in the convent when I had on the wings, and he spoke French and laughed at sister Seraphine. The shock of my father's death had affected Eric so deeply, that, as the physician told me, he had been for a long time without an hour's sleep.

Sedatives were given to Eric, but they seemed to be attended with some risk, and had to be discontinued. Then there was another battle. All besought him to keep quiet, as he had already distinguished himself so highly; but he mounted his horse and rode off. The horse stumbled and threw him headlong, and he was taken up for dead and carried into the hospital. I received the news and hastened hither. Everything is going on well now, but he is still very weak.

But he begged me, and it is just like him, to confer the pleasure upon the rest of the wounded, so I have to play the harp for hours together.

It is an unspeakable refreshment to the patients, and the surgeons a.s.sert that the wounds heal more rapidly, on account of the cheerful state of mind thereby induced. And when I come back to Eric, and the surgeon tells him how beneficial the music is to the sick, his countenance lights up. He speaks but little; he holds my hand silently, and only says that he has, during his life, talked too much. But, mother, you may feel easy.

Eric wants to be allowed to write a word to you.

(In a trembling hand was written as follows:)