To. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT 
 
 CransIatciJ fram tht German of (Lnistab #ircDtag 
 
 BY LC.C. 
 
 WITH A PREFACE 
 
 BY CHKISTIAN CHARLES JOSIAS BUNSEN 
 
 D.D., D.C.L., D.PH. 
 
 VOL II. 
 
 EDINBURGH: THOMAS CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO., LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCLVII. 
 
EDISBl'RGU: T. CONSTABLE, TRINTER TO HER MAJESTT. 
 
CHAPTER 1. 
 
 AN a cold October day, two men were seen driving 
 through the latticed gate of the town of Rosmin on 
 towards the plain, which stretched out before them mono- 
 tonous and boundless. Anton sat wrapped in his fur coat, 
 his hat low on his forehead, and at his side was young 
 Sturm, in an old cavalry cloak, with his soldier's cap cocked 
 cheerily on one side. In front of them a farm-servant, 
 squatted on a heap of straw, flogged on the small horses. 
 The wind swept the sand and straw from the stubble-fields, 
 the road was a broad causeway, without ditches or hedges, 
 the horses had to wade alternately through puddles and 
 deep sand. Yellow sand gleamed through the scanty her- 
 bage in all directions, wherever a field-mouse had made 
 her way to her nest, or an active mole had done what he 
 could to diversify the unbroken plain. Wherever the ground 
 sank, stagnant water lodged, and there hollow willow-trees 
 stretched then- crippled arms in the air, their boughs flap- 
 ping in the wind, and their faded leaves fluttering down into 
 
 VOL. II. A 
 
2 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the muddy pool below. Here and there stood a small dwarf 
 pine, a resting-place for the crows, who, scared by the pass- 
 ing carriage, flew loudly croaking over the travellers' heads. 
 There was no house to be seen on the road, no pedestrian, 
 and no conveyance of any kind. 
 
 Karl looked every now and then at his silent companion, 
 and said at last, pointing to the horses — " How rough their 
 coats are, and how pretty their greymouse skins ! I 
 wonder how many of these beasties would go to make up 
 my sergeant's horse ! When I took leave of my father, the 
 old man said, ' Perhaps I shall pay you a visit, little one, 
 when they light the Christmas-tree.' 'You'll never be 
 able,' said I. 'Why not?' asked he. 'You'll never trust 
 yourself in any post-chaise.' Then the old boy cried, ' Oho ! 
 post-chaises are always of a stout build, I shall be sure to 
 trust myself in one.' But now, Mr. Anton, I see that my 
 father never can pay us a visit." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " It is possible that he may reach Rosmin. But as soon 
 as he sees these horses and this road, he will instantly turn 
 back. ' Shall I trust myself,' he'll say, ' in a district where 
 sand runs between one's legs like water, and where mice 
 are put into harness ? The ground is not firm enough 
 for me.'" 
 
 " The horses are not the worst thing here," said Anton 
 absently. " Look, these go fast enough." 
 
 " Yes," replied Karl ; " but they don't go like regular 
 horses, they entangle their legs like two cats playing in a 
 parsley-bed. And what things they have for shoes — 
 regular webbed -hoofs, I declare — which no blacksmith can 
 ever fit." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 3 
 
 " If we could only get on," returned Anton ; " tlie wind 
 blows cold, and I am shivering in spite of my fur." 
 
 " You have slept but little the last few nights, sir," said 
 Karl. " The wind blows here as if over a tlueshing-floor. 
 The earth is not round hereabouts as elsewhere, but flat as a 
 cake. This is a complete desert ; we have been driving for 
 more than an hour, and there is not a village to be seen." 
 
 " A desert indeed," sighed Anton ; " let us hope it may 
 improve." They relapsed, into profound silence. At 
 length the driver stopped near a pool, unharnessed the 
 horses, and led them to the water's edge, without noticing 
 the travellers. 
 
 "What the deuce does this mean ?" cried Karl, jumping 
 down from the carriage. 
 
 " I am going to feed," replied the servant sulkily, in a 
 foreign accent. 
 
 "I am anxious to know how that will be done," said 
 Karl. " There is not the shadow of a bag of provender." 
 
 The horses, however, soon proved that they could live 
 without com ; they stretched down their shaggy heads, 
 and began to pull the grass and weeds at the edge of the 
 pool, sometimes taking a draught of the dii'ty water. 
 Meanwhile, the servant drew a bundle from under his seat, 
 settled himself under the lee of an alder-bush, and taking 
 his knife, cut his bread and cheese without even glancing at 
 the travellers. 
 
 " I say, Ignatius or Jacob," cried Karl sharply, " how 
 long will this breakfast of yours last ?" 
 
 " An hour," replied the man, munching away. 
 " And how far is it from here to the estate 1 " 
 " Six miles, or maybe more." 
 
4 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " You can make nothing of him," said Anton ; " we 
 must put up with the customs of the country." And leaving 
 the carriage, they went to look on at the horses feeding. 
 
 Anton is on his way to the Polish property. He is now 
 the Baron's agent. Anxious months have the last proved 
 to him. The parting from his principal and the firm had 
 been painful in the extreme. For some time before it, 
 indeed, Anton had found himself alone in the midst of his 
 colleagues. The quiet Baumann still remained his friend, 
 but the others considered him a castaway. The merchant 
 received his resignation with icy coldness ; and even in the 
 hour of parting, his hand lay impassive as metal in Anton's 
 grasp. Since then, our hero had undertaken several jour- 
 neys to the capital and to creditors, in the family's behalf, 
 and now he was on his way to set the new estate in order, 
 accompanied by Karl, whom he had induced to become the 
 Baron's bailiff. 
 
 Ehrenthal had, by the authority conferred on him, taken 
 possession of the property from the time of the sale by 
 auction, and hired the Polish bailiff for the Baron. There 
 had been unfair dealings between them at the time ; and it 
 was well known in Rosmin, that the bailiff had sold off a 
 good deal, and been guilty of all sorts of frauds since. So 
 that Anton had even now no prospect of a quiet life. 
 
 "The hour is come when I may execute my com- 
 mission," cried Karl, groping in the straw under the seat. 
 He drew out a large japanned tin case, and carried it to 
 Anton. " Miss Sabine gave me this in charge for you." 
 He then joyously opened the lid, produced the materials for 
 an excellent breakfast, a bottle of wine, and a silver goblet. 
 Anton took hold of the case. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 5 
 
 " It has a very knowing look," said Karl. " Miss 
 Sabine planned it herself." 
 
 Anton examined it on all sides, and placed it carefully on 
 a tuft of grass ; then he took up the goblet, and saw his 
 initials engraved on it, and underneath the words — "To 
 thy welfare ! " Whereupon he forgot the breakfast and 
 all around him, and stood gazing at the goblet, lost in 
 thought. 
 
 " Do not forget the breakfast, sir," suggested Karl 
 respectfully. 
 
 " Sit down by me, my faithful friend, eat and drink with 
 me. Leave off your absurd politeness. We shall have but 
 little either of us, but what we have, we will share like 
 brothers. Take the bottle if you have no glass." 
 
 " There's nothing like leather," said Karl, taking a small 
 leathern diinking-cup out of his pocket. "As for what 
 you have just said, it was kindly meant, and I thank you. 
 But there must be subordination, if it were but for the 
 sake of the others ; and so, sir, be kind enough to let me 
 shake hands with you now, and then let things be as they 
 were before. Only look at the horses, Mr. Anton. My 
 faith ! the creatures devour thistles ! " 
 
 Again the horses were harnessed, again they threw out 
 their short legs in the sand, and again the carriage rolled 
 through the barren district. First through an empty plain, 
 next through a wretched fir-wood, then past a row of low 
 sand-hills, then over a tumble-down bridge crossing a small 
 stream. 
 
 " This is the property," said the driver, turning round, 
 and pointing with his whip to a row of dirty thatched roofs 
 that had just come into sight. 
 
6 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 Anton stood up to look for the group of trees in which 
 the Hall might be supposed to stand. Nothing of the sort 
 to be seen. The village was deficient in all that adorns 
 the home of the poorest German peasant. No orchard, 
 no hedged-in gardens, no lime-trees in the market-place ! 
 
 " This is wretched," said he sitting down again ; " much 
 worse than they told us in Rosmin." 
 
 " The village looks as if under a curse," cried Karl ; 
 " no teams working in the fields — not a cow or a sheep to 
 be seen." 
 
 The farm-servant flogged his horses into an irregular 
 gallop, and so they passed through the rows of mud-huts 
 which constituted the village, and arrived at the public-house. 
 Kfirl sprang from the carriage, opened the tavern door 
 and called for the landlord. A Jew slowly rose from his 
 seat by the stove, and came to the threshold. " Is the 
 gendarme from Rosmin come ?" He is gone into the 
 village. " Which is the way to the farm-j'-ard ? " 
 
 The landlord, an elderly man with an intelligent counte- 
 nance, described the way in German and Polish, and re- 
 mained standing at the door — bewildered, Karl declared, by 
 the sight of two human beings. The carriage turned into 
 a cross-road, planted on both sides with thick bushes, the 
 remains of a fallen avenue. Over holes, stones, and puddles, 
 it rattled on to a group of mud-huts, which still had a 
 remnant of white- wash upon them. "The bams and 
 stables are empty," cried Karl, " for I see gaps in the roofs 
 large enough to diive our carriage through." 
 
 Anton said no more, he was prepared for everything. 
 They drove through a break between the stables into the 
 farm-yard, a large irregular space, surrounded on three 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 7 
 
 sides by tumble-down buildings, and open to the fields on 
 the fourth. A heap of debris lay there ; lime and rotten 
 timber, the remains of a ruined barn. The yard was 
 empty, no trace of farm implements or human labour to be 
 seen. "Which is the inspector's housed' inquired Anton 
 in dismay. The driver looked round, and at last made up 
 his mind that it was a small one-storied building, with a 
 straw thatch and dirty windows. 
 
 At the noise of the wheels a man appeared on the thresh- 
 old, and waited phlegmatically till the travellers had dis- 
 mounted, and were standing close before him. He was a 
 broad-shouldered fellow, with a bloated, brandy-drinking 
 face, dressed in a jacket of shaggy cloth, while behind him 
 peered the muzzle of an equally shaggy dog, who snarled at 
 the strangers. " Are you the steward of this property?" 
 
 " I am," replied the man in broken German, without 
 stirring from where he was. 
 
 " And I am the agent of the new proprietor," said 
 Anton, 
 
 " That does not concern me," growled the shaggy man, 
 turning sharp round, entering the house, and bolting the 
 door within. 
 
 Anton was thoroughly roused. " Break the' window in, 
 and help me to catch the rascal," cried he to Karl, who 
 coolly seized a piece of wood, struck the panes so as to make 
 the rotten framework give way, and cleared the opening at 
 one leap. Anton followed him. The room was empty, so 
 was the next, and in it an open window — the man was gone. 
 
 " After him !" cried Karl, and dashed on in pursuit while 
 Anton looked about the house and out-buildings. He soon 
 heard the barking of a dog, and saw Karl capture the 
 
8 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 fugitive. Hurrying to his help he held the man fast, while, 
 with a kick, Karl sent the dog flying. They then con- 
 trived to force the steward back to the house, though he 
 kept striking out violently all the way. 
 
 "Go to the tavern and bring the gendarme and the 
 landlord," cried Anton to the driver, who, undisturbed by 
 all that had been going on, had meanwhile unpacked the 
 carriage. The man accordingly drove leisurely off, and the 
 fugitive being got into the room, Karl found an old cloth, 
 and with it bound his hands behind his back. " I beg 
 your pardon, sir," said he, " it is only for an hour or 
 so, till the arrival of the Rosmin gendarme, whom we have 
 appointed to meet us." 
 
 Anton then proceeded to examine the house, but there 
 was nothing to be found but the merest necessaries, no 
 books nor papers of any kind. It had doubtless been 
 emptied already. A bundle projected from the coat-pocket 
 of the prisoner, which turned out to be receipts and legal 
 documents in Polish. In time, the driver returned with the 
 landlord and the armed policeman. The landlord stood at 
 the door in some perplexity, and the policeman explained 
 in a few words what remained to be done. " You must 
 make a statement to the local judge, and give the man up 
 to me. He shall go back in your carriage to Rosmin. You 
 will do well to get rid of him, for this is a wild country, and 
 it will be safer for you to have him at Rosmin than here 
 where he has friends and accomplices." 
 
 After a long search, a sheet of paper was found in a 
 cupboard, the statement made and submitted to the police- 
 man, who shook his head a little over the Polish composi- 
 tion, and the prisoner lifted into the carriage, the gen- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 9 
 
 darme taking bis seat beside him, and saying to Anton : 
 " I have long expected something of the kind. You may 
 often have occasion to want me again." The carriage then 
 drove away, and thus the property came under Anton's 
 administration. He felt as if cast on a desert island. 
 
 His portmanteau and travelling effects were leaning 
 against a mud-wall, and the Polish landlord was the only 
 man who could give him and Karl any information or advice 
 in their forlorn condition. 
 
 Now that the steward was fairly gone, the landlord 
 grew more communicative, and showed himself serviceable 
 and obliging. A long conversation ensued, and its purport 
 was what Anton had apprehended from the warning given 
 by the Commissary Walter, and other Eosmin officials. 
 The inspector had, during the last few weeks, done all he 
 could in the way of spoliation, rendered daring by a report 
 which had found its way from the town to the village, that 
 the present proprietor would never be able to take posses- 
 sion of the estate. At last Anton said : " What that 
 wretched man has done away with he will have to account 
 for ; our first care must be to preserve what is still to be 
 found on the property. You must be our guide to-day." 
 
 They then examined the empty buildings. Four horses 
 and two servants — they were gone into the wood — a few 
 old ploughs, a pair of harrows, two wagons, a britschka, a 
 cellar full of potatoes, a few bundles of hay, a little straw 
 — the inventory did not take much time in drawing up ! 
 The buildings were all out of repair, not through age, but 
 neglect. 
 
 " Where is the dwelling-house 1 " inquired Anton. The 
 landlord led the way out of the yard to the meadow — a broad 
 
10 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 plain, gradually sloping down to the level of the brook. 
 It had been a great pasture. The cattle had trodden 
 it down into holes — the snouts of greedy swine had rooted 
 it up, grey mole-hills and rank tufts of grass rose on all 
 sides. 
 
 The landlord stretched out his hand. " There is the 
 castle. This castle is famous throughout the whole country," 
 he added reverentially ; " no nobleman in the district has 
 a stone house like that. All the gentry here live in wood 
 and mud buildings. Herr von Tarow, the richest of them, 
 has but a poor dwelling." 
 
 About three hundred yards from the last out-building 
 rose a great brick edifice, with a black slate roof, and a 
 thick round tower. Its gloomy walls on this treeless pas- 
 ture-land, without one trace of life around, rose beneath 
 the cloudy sky like a phantom fortress which some evil 
 spirit had evoked from the abyss — a station from which to 
 blight all the surrounding landscape. 
 
 The strangers approached it. The castle had fallen into 
 ruins before the builders had finished their task. The 
 tower had stood there for ages. It was built of unhewn 
 stone, and liad small windows and loop-holes. The former 
 lords of the land had looked down from its summit on the 
 tops of the trees, which then stretched far into the plain. 
 They had then ruled with a rod of iron the serfs who culti- 
 vated their land, and toiled and died for them. Many an 
 arrow had sped through those loop-holes at the enemy 
 storming from below, and many a Tartar horse had been 
 overthrown before those massive walls. Years ago, a despot 
 of the district had, in expiation of former sins, begun to 
 add to the grey tower the walls of a holy monastery. But 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 11 
 
 the monastery never got finished, and the useless walls had 
 already stood there long, when the late Count took it into 
 his head to convert them into a lordly dwelling for his race, 
 and to raise a house unparalleled for magnij&cence in the 
 whole country. 
 
 The front of the house was added on to both sides of 
 the tower, which projected in the middle. The intention 
 had been to have a high terrace-road up to the castle ; and 
 the principal entrance had been made in the tower, and 
 arched over ; but the terrace never having been formed, the 
 stone threshold of the main door was quite inaccessible 
 without the help of ladders, and the wide opening was 
 left. The window-spaces of the lower floor were merely 
 closed up with boards, while on the second storey were some 
 window-frames of beautifully carved wood, in which large 
 panes had once been placed, but they had got broken. In 
 other windows were temporary frames of rough deal, with 
 small panes of muddy glass let into them. A company of 
 jackdaws sat on the top of the tower, looking down in 
 amazement on the strangers, and every now and then one 
 flew off", screaming loudly, to contemplate the intruders 
 from a new point of view. 
 
 " A house for crows and bats, not for human beings," 
 said Anton. " At least I see no way of getting into it." 
 
 The landlord now took them round the building. Behind, 
 where the two vrings made a sort of horse-shoe, there were 
 low entrances to the cellars and offices ; beneath which 
 again were stables, great arched kitchens and small cells 
 for the serfs. A wooden staircase led to the upper storey. 
 The door turned creaking on its hinges; and a narrow pas- 
 sage took them through a side wing to the front part of 
 
12 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the house. There all was at least magnificently planned. 
 The circular entrance hall — an arched room of the old 
 tower — was painted in mosaic ; and through the great 
 doorway-opening was seen a wide expanse of country. A 
 broad staircase, worthy of a palace, led up to another round 
 hall, with narrow windows, the second storey of the tower. 
 On each side lay suites of apartments : large, lofty, 
 desolate rooms, with heavy oak folding-doors, and dirty 
 plastered walls ; the ceiling made of fir branches arranged 
 in squares. In some rooms colossal green tile stoves, in 
 other rooms iio stoves at all. In some, beautiful inlaid 
 floors, in others rude deal-boards. An immense saloon, 
 with two gigantic chimney-pieces, had merely a provisional 
 ceiling of old lathes. The castle was fitted for a wild 
 Asiatic household, for hangings of leather and of silk 
 from France, for costly woodwork from England, for mas- 
 sive silver services from German mines, for a proud 
 master, numerous guests, and a troop of retainers to fill 
 the halls and ante-rooms. The builder of the castle had 
 looked back to the wealth of his wild ancestors when 
 he devised the plan ; he had had hundreds of trees cut 
 down in his woods, and his hereditary bondsmen had 
 kneaded many thousand bricks with their own hands and 
 feet ; but Time, the inexorable, had raised his finger against 
 him, and none of his hopes had been realized. His ruin 
 first, and then his death, occurred during the progress of 
 the building; and his son, brought up among strangers, 
 had, as fast as one fool could, hurried on the ruin of his 
 house. Now the walls of the Slavonic castle stood with 
 doors and windows gaping wide : but no guest spoke his 
 good wishes as he entered ; only wild birds flew in and out, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 13 
 
 and the marten crept over the floors. Useless and unsightly 
 the walls stood there, threatening to crumble and fall, like 
 the race that had raised them up. 
 
 Anton passed with rapid step from room to room, vainly 
 hoping to find one in which he could even imagine the two 
 ladies, who were looking forward to this house as their 
 asylum. He opened door after door, went up and down 
 creaking steps, disturbed the birds who had flown in through 
 the open archway, and still clung to their last summer's 
 nest; but he found nothing save uninhabitable rooms, with 
 dirty plastered walls, or without any plaster at all. Every- 
 where draughts, gaping doors, and windows boarded up. 
 Some oats had been shaken out in the large saloon ; and a 
 few rooms looked as if they might have been temporarily 
 made use of, but a few old chairs and a rude table were all 
 the furniture they contained. 
 
 At length Anton ascended the decayed staircase in the 
 tower, and foimd himself on its summit. Thence he saw 
 the whole pile of building below him, and looked far into 
 the plain. To his left, the sun sank down behind grey 
 masses of cloud into the depths of the forest ; to his right, 
 lay the irregular square of the farmyard, and beyond it the 
 untidy village; behind him ran the brook, with a strip of 
 meadow-land on either side. Wild pear-trees, the delight 
 of the Polish farmer, rose here and there in the fields, with 
 their thick and branching crowns ; and under each was an 
 oasis of grass and bushes, gaily coloured by the fallen leaves. 
 These trees, the dwelling-places of countless birds, alone 
 broke the monotonous surface of the plain — these, and at 
 the verge of the horizon, on all sides, the dark forest men- 
 tioned above. The sky was grey, the ground colourless, 
 
u 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the trees and bushes that bordered the brook were bare, and 
 the forest, with its promontories and bays, looked like a 
 wall that separated this spot of earth from the rest of 
 humanity, from civilisation, from every joy and charm of 
 life! 
 
 Anton's heart sank. " Poor Lenore ! poor family !" he 
 groaned aloud ; " things look terrible, but they could be 
 improved. With money and taste everything is possible. 
 This house might, without prodigious expense, be metamor- 
 phosed by the upholsterer into a gorgeous residence. It 
 would be easy to level the pasture land around — to sow it 
 with fine grass — to intersperse it with a few gaily-coloured 
 flower-beds — and to plant out the village. Nothing is 
 wanting to change the whole face of the district, but capital, 
 industry, and judgment. But how is the Baron to procure 
 these 1 To make anything of this place should be the task 
 of some fresh and active life, and the Baron is broken 
 down ; and thousands of dollars would be needed, and 
 years would pass away before the soil would do more than 
 pay the expenses of its culture, or yield any interest what- 
 ever on the capital sunk in it." 
 
 Meanwhile Karl was contemplating two particular rooms 
 in the upper storey with a knowing eye. " These take my 
 fancy more than any of the others," said he to the land- 
 lord j " they have plastered walls, floors, stoves — nay, 
 even windows. To be sure the panes are a good deal 
 broken, but, till we can get glass, paper is not to be de- 
 spised. We will settle ourselves here. Could you get me 
 somebody who knows how to handle a broom and scrubbing- 
 cloth ? Good, you can ; and now listen, try to bring me a 
 few sheets of paper — I have got glue with me — we will 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 15 
 
 first get some wood, then I will heat the stove, melt my 
 glue, and paper up broken panes. But above all, help me 
 to carry up our luggage from the yard — and let us be 
 quick about it." 
 
 His zeal communicated itself to the landlord ; the lug- 
 gage was got up-stairs ; Karl unpacked a case full of tools 
 of every kind ; and the host ran to call his maid from the 
 public-house. 
 
 Meanwhile horses' hoofs rang on the court-yard, and 
 some well-dressed men stopped before the late steward's 
 dwelling, and knocked loudly at the closed door. At a 
 call from Anton, Karl hurried up to them. 
 
 " Good morning," said one, in rather laboured German, 
 "is the steward at home V 
 
 " Where is the steward 1 — where is Bratzky V cried the 
 others, impatient as their prancing horses. 
 
 " If you mean the former steward," replied Karl drily, 
 " he will not run away from you though you do not find 
 him here." 
 
 " What do you mean '?" inquired the nearest horseman ; 
 " I beg that you will explain yourself" 
 
 " If you wish to speak to Mr. Bratzky, you must take 
 the trouble of riding to the town. He is in custody." 
 
 The horses reared, and their riders closed round Karl, 
 while Polish ejaculations were heard on all sides. "In 
 custody ! On what account V 
 
 " Ask my master," replied Karl, pointing to the door- 
 way in the tower, where Anton stood. 
 
 " Have I the pleasure of speaking to the new proprietor ?" 
 inquired one of the party, taking off his hat. Anton looked 
 down in amazement. The voice and face reminded him of 
 
16 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 a wliite-gloved gentleman whom he had met once before in 
 a critical hour. 
 
 " I am the Baron Rothsattel's agent," replied he. The 
 horse was pulled back, and the rider spoke a few words to 
 his companions, upon which an older man with a fox-like 
 face cried, " We are anxious to speak on private business 
 with the late steward. We hear that he is in custody, and 
 beg you Avill tell us why." 
 
 " He tried to evade by flight the surrender of the pro- 
 perty to me, and he is suspected of dishonest dealings," 
 
 " Are his effects confiscated f asked one of the riders. 
 
 " Why do you inquire ?" returned Anton. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said the other, " but the man 
 happens accidentally to have some papers that belong to 
 me in his house, and it might embarrass me if I could not 
 get possession of them." 
 
 " His effects are gone with him to town," replied Anton. 
 Once more there was a consultation, and then the riders, 
 bowing slightly, galloped off to the village — halted a few 
 minutes at the public-house — and disappeared where the 
 high road turned into the wood. 
 
 " What can they want, Mr. Wohlfart?" inquired Karl. 
 " That was a strange flying visit." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," replied Anton ; " I have reason to 
 think it remarkable. If I am not much mistaken I have 
 met one of the gentlemen before in very different circum- 
 stances. Perhaps that fellow Bratzky knew how to make 
 himself friends through the mammon of unrighteousness." 
 
 The evening now wrapped castle and forest in its dark 
 mantle. The servants returned with the horses from the 
 wood. Karl led them into Anton's presence, made them a 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 17 
 
 short Polish oration, and received them into the service of 
 the new proprietor. Next came the landlord to look after 
 them, bringing oats and a bundle of wood, and saying to 
 Anton, " T recommend you, sir, to be watchful during the 
 night ; the peasants sit yonder in the bar and discuss your 
 arrival ; there are bad men about, and I would not be sure 
 that one of them might not stick a match into the straw 
 yonder, and burn down the farm buildings for you." 
 
 I am sure enough that they will do nothing of the 
 kind," said Karl, throwing another log into the stove. " A 
 fresh breeze is blowing right on to the village. No one 
 would be such a fool as to set his own barns on fire. We 
 shall take care to keep the wind in this point as long as we 
 are here. Tell your people that. Have you brought me the 
 potatoes I asked for ? " 
 
 Anton appointed the landlord to return the next morning, 
 and the travellers were left alone in the desolate house, 
 
 " You need not heed that hint, Mr. Anton," continued 
 Karl. " All over the world drunken rascals have a trick 
 of threatening fire. And after all, with reverence be it 
 said, it would be no great harm. And now, Mr. Anton, 
 that we are by ourselves, let us think as little as pos- 
 sible about this Polish affair — let us set to and be 
 comfortable." 
 
 " I'm all right," said Anton, drawing a chair to the 
 stove. The wood crackled in the gTeen tiles, and the red 
 glare threw a warm light over the floor, and flickered 
 pleasantly on the walls. 
 
 " The warmth does one good," said Anton ; " but do 
 you not perceive smoke ?" 
 
 " Of course," replied Karl, who was boring round holes 
 
 VOL. II. B 
 
18 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 in the potatoes by the fire light. " Even the best stoves 
 will smoke at the beginning of winter, till they get accus- 
 tomed to their work ; and this great green fellow has pro- 
 bably not seen fire for a generation, so it is not to be 
 expected that he should draw kindly at once. Be so good 
 as to cut a bit of bread and hold it to the fire. I am 
 getting our candles ready." He took out a great packet 
 of candles, stuck one into each potato, cut off" the lower 
 half, and placed them on the table, and then produced the 
 japanned case. " This is inexhaustible," said he ; " it 
 will last till the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " That it will," said Anton cheerily. " I am wonder- 
 fully hungry. And now let us consider how we shall 
 manage our housekeeping. What we absolutely want we 
 must get from the town ; I will make a list at once. We 
 will put out one candle though — we must be economical." 
 
 The evening was spent in plans. Karl discovered that 
 he could make part of the necessary furniture out of the 
 boxes and boards about ; and the laughter of the two 
 companions sounded cheerfully through the rooms of the 
 Starost's dwelling. At last Anton proposed that they 
 should go to bed. They shook down straw and hay, 
 unbuckled their portmanteaus, and produced some blankets 
 and coverlets. Karl fastened a lock that he had brought 
 with him into the room-door, examined the loading of his 
 carbine, took up his potato, and said, with a military 
 salute, " At what time does major-general the agent wish 
 to be called to-morrow ?" 
 
 "You good fellow!" cried Anton, reaching out his hand 
 from his straw bed. 
 
 Karl went into the next room, which he had chosen 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 19 
 
 for himself. Soon both candles were extinguished — the 
 first signs of life which had shone for years in the forsaken 
 dwelling. But in the stove the little Kobolds of the castle 
 lingered long over the newly-kindled fire ; they hovered in 
 the smoke wreaths, they knocked at doors and windows in 
 amazement at the proceedings of the strangers. At length 
 they assembled in a corner of the old tower, and began to 
 dispute as to whether or not the flames lighted this evening 
 would continue to burn, and to cast henceforth their cheer- 
 ful glow on meadow, fields, and woods ; and as they 
 doubted whether the new order of things had strength 
 enough to endure, the smoke drove the bats from their 
 home in the chimney, and they came flapping down stupified 
 on the summit of the tower, vrhile the owls in its crevices 
 shook their round heads and hooted in the new era. 
 
20 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 TTE who has always trodden life's macadamized ways, 
 hedged in by law, moulded by order, custom, form, 
 handed down from generation to generation habits a thou- 
 sand years old, and who finds himself suddenly thrown 
 among strangers, where law can but imperfectly protect him, 
 and where he must assert by daily struggles his right to 
 exist — such a one realizes for the first time the full blessing 
 of the holy circle woven round each individual by his 
 fellow-men, his family, his companions in labour, his race, 
 his country. Whether he lose or gain in foreign parts, he 
 must needs change. If he is a weakling, he will sacrifice 
 his own maniere d'etre to the external influences around 
 him ; if he has the making of a man m him, he will be- 
 come one now. The possessions, perhaps the prejudices, 
 that he has grown up with, will wax dearer to him than 
 ever ; and much that once he looked upon as things of 
 course, like air and sunshine, will become his most prized 
 treasures. It is in foreign countries that we first enjoy the 
 dialect of home, and in absence that we learn how dear to 
 us is our fatherland. 
 
 Our Anton had now to find out what he possessed and 
 what he wanted. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 21 
 
 The following morning they proceeded to view the entire 
 property. It consisted of the mansion-house, with the 
 lands and buildings adjacent, and of three farms. About 
 half the land was arable, a smiill part laid down in meadow ; 
 about half was wood, bordered with barren sand. The 
 castle and the village lay about the middle of the great 
 clearing ; two of the farms were at opposite points of the 
 compass, east and west, and both were hid by projections 
 of the forest. The third farm lay towards the south, and 
 was entirely divided by a wood from the rest of the estate. 
 It joined on to another Polish village, had its own farm 
 buildings, and had always been separately cultivated. It 
 occupied about a quarter of the plain, had a distillery on it, 
 and had been rented for many years by a brandy-merchant, 
 well to do. His lease had been extended by Ehrenthal, 
 but the sum he paid was low. However, his occupancy 
 was at present a good thing for the property, as it insured 
 some return for one portion of it, at least. The devastated 
 wood was under the care of a forester. 
 
 The first walk through the portion adjacent to the castle 
 was as little cheering as possible : the fields were, gene- 
 rally speaking, not prepared for winter-sowing; and wherever 
 the marks of the plough appeared, the land had been taken 
 possession of by the villagers, who regarded the neglected 
 property as their perquisite, and looked morosely at the 
 foreign settlers. 
 
 For years they had done none of the work tliat their 
 feudal tenure required of them, and the village bailiff 
 plainly told Anton that the community would resent any 
 return to old customs. He pretended that he did not un- 
 derstand a word of German, and even Karl's eloquence 
 
22 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 failed to conciliate him. The soil itself, neglected and 
 weedy as it was, turned out generally better than Anton 
 had expected, and the landlord boasted of his crops ; but 
 in the vicinity of the wood it was very poor, and in many 
 places quite unfit for culture. 
 
 " This is a serious sort of day," said Anton, putting up 
 his pocket-book. " Harness the britschka ; we will drive 
 to see the cattle." 
 
 The farm where the cattle were quartered lay to the 
 west, about a mile and a half from the castle. A miserable 
 stable and the cottage of a farm-servant was all they found 
 there. The cows an^l a pair of draught oxen were under 
 his charge, and he lived there with his wife and a half- 
 witted herdsman. None of these people understood much 
 German, or inspired any confidence : the wife was a dirty- 
 woman, without shoes and stockings, whose milk-pails looked 
 as if long unwashed. The farm-servant, and sometimes the 
 herdsman, ploughed with the yoke of oxen wherever they 
 chose ; the cattle fed on the meadow land. 
 
 " Here is work for you," said Anton ; " examine the 
 cattle and see what you can find of winter provender. I 
 will make an inventory of the building and implements." 
 
 Karl soon came to report. " Four and twenty milch 
 cows, twelve heifers, and an old bull ; about a dozen 
 cows at most are in profit, the rest mere grass-devourers. 
 The whole of them are a poor set. Some foreign cows, 
 probably Swiss ones, have been brought over and crossed 
 with a much larger breed, and the result is ugly enough. 
 The best cows have evidently been exchanged ; for some 
 TVTetched creatures are running about, the rest keeping 
 aloof from them : they can't have been here long. As to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 23 
 
 fodder, there is hay enough for Avinter, and a few bundles 
 of oat straw. No wheat straw at all. 
 
 " The buildings are out of order, too," cried Anton in 
 return. "Drive now to the distillery. I have carefully 
 examined the conditions of the lease, and am better up in 
 it than in most things." 
 
 The carriage rolled over a shaky bridge that spanned 
 the brook, then through fields and an expanse of sand, 
 scantily covered with arenaceous plants, in whose roots a pine- 
 seed had nestled here and there, stretching dwarf-branches 
 over the waste. Then came the woods, with many a gap, 
 where lay nothing but yellow sand ; and on all sides, stumps 
 overgrown with heath and brambles. Slowly the horses 
 waded on. Neither of the strangers spoke, as both were 
 engaged in observing every tree that a fortunate chance had 
 allowed to grow and sjoread better than the rest. 
 
 At length the prospect widened, and another plain lay 
 before them, monotonous and forest-bounded like the rest. 
 Before them rose a church. They drove past a wooden 
 crucifix, and stopped at the courtyard of the farm. The 
 tenant had already heard of their arrival ; and perhaps he 
 was better acquainted with the Baron's circumstances than 
 Anton could have wished, for he received them in a patro- 
 nizing and self-sufficient manner, hardly taking the trouble 
 to lead them into an unoccupied room. His first question 
 w^as " Do you really believe that Rothsattel will be able to 
 take possession of the estate? There is much to be done 
 on it, and from all I hear, the poor man has not got the 
 capital required." 
 
 This cool demeanour exasperated Anton not a little, but 
 he answered with the composure that habits of business 
 
24 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ^ve, " If you wish to ask me whether the Baron Rothsattel 
 will undertake the management of the estate, I have to say 
 in reply that he will be all the better able to do so, the 
 more conscientiously his tenants and dependants perform 
 their duties. I am here at present to ascertain how far you 
 have done this. I have authority given me, by the terms 
 of your lease, to examine your inventory. And if you 
 value the Baron's goodwill, I recommend you to treat his 
 representative more civilly." 
 
 " The Baron's goodwill is perfectly immaterial to me," 
 said the inflated tenant. " But since you speak of autho- 
 rity, perhaps you will show me your credentials." 
 
 " Here they are," said Anton, quietly drawing the docu- 
 ment in question from his pocket. 
 
 The tenant read it carefully through, or at least pretended 
 to do so, and rudely replied, " I am not very sure after all 
 whether you have a right to look over my premises, but I 
 have no objection to it ; so go and inspect as much as you 
 like." And putting on his cap, he turned to leave the 
 room, but Anton at once barred the way, and said in his 
 quiet, business voice, " I give you the choice of conducting 
 me over your premises at once, or having an inventory 
 drawn out by a lawyer. This last measure will occasion 
 you unnecessary expense. I would besides, remind you that 
 the goodwill of the proprietor is necessary to every tenant 
 who wishes for an extension of his lease, and that yours 
 will be out in two years' time. It is no pleasure to me to 
 spend two hours in your society ; but if you do not fulfil 
 your contract, the Baron will of course take advantage of 
 it to break your lease. I give you your choice." 
 
 The tenant looked for a few minutes with a stupified ex- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 25 
 
 pression at Anton's resolute countenance, and at last said, 
 " If you insist upon it, of course. I did not mean to 
 offend." He then reluctantly touched his hat, and led the 
 way into the courtyard. 
 
 Anton took out his tablets once more, and the survey 
 began. — 1. Dwelling-house : the roof out of order. 2. 
 Cow-house : one side of the lower wall fallen ; and so on. 
 The survey was, on the whole, unsatisfactory ; but Anton's 
 business-like demeanour, and Karl's martial aspect, were 
 not without their influence over the tenant, who gradually 
 relaxed, and muttered out a few excuses. 
 
 When Anton got into the carriage again, he said to him, 
 "I give you four weeks to rectify what we have found 
 amiss, and at the end of that time I shall call again." 
 
 To which Karl added, " Will you have the kindness to 
 raise your hat as you now see me do This is the right 
 moment for the ceremony. That's it ! You will learn the 
 proper thing in time. Drive on, coachman." 
 
 "When you return," continued Karl to Anton, "this 
 man will be as obsequious as possible. He has grown 
 bumptious on the farm." 
 
 " And the estate has grown the poorer because of him," 
 said Anton. " Now then for the new farm !" 
 
 A poor dwelling-house on one side, a long row of sheep- 
 pens on the other, a stable, and a barn. 
 
 "It is remarkable," said Karl, looking at the buildings 
 from a distance, " the thatch has no holes, and in the 
 corner there is a stack of new straw. By Jove, they have 
 mended the roof !" 
 
 " Here is our last hope," replied Anton. , 
 
 As the carriage drew up, the heads of a young woman 
 
26 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 and a flaxen-haired child appeared for a moment at the 
 window, then rapidly retreated. 
 
 " This farm is the jewel of the estate," cried Karl, jump- 
 ing over the side of the carriage. "There are actually 
 signs of a dunghill here ; and there go a cock and hens. 
 Something like a cock too, with a tail like a sickle ! And 
 there is a myrtle in the window. Hurra ! here is a house- 
 wife ! here is the fatherland ! here are Germans ! " 
 
 The w^oman came out — a neat figure — followed by the 
 curly pate, who, at the sight of strangers, put his fingers in 
 his mouth, and crept behind his mother s apron. 
 
 Anton inquired for her husband. 
 
 "He can see your carriage from the field; he will be 
 here immediately," said the wife, blushing. She invited 
 them in, and hastily rubbed two chairs bright with her 
 apron. 
 
 The room was small, but whitewashed ; the ftiniiture 
 painted red, but kept very clean ; the coffee-pot was sim- 
 mering on the stove; a Black-forest clock ticked in the 
 comer; on some hanging shelves stood two painted China 
 figures, a few cups, and about a dozen books; and behind 
 the little looking-glass on the wall there was a fly-flap, 
 and a birch rod carefully bound round with red ribbon. It 
 was the first comfortable room that they had seen on the 
 estate. 
 
 " A song-book and a rod," said Anton good-naturedly. 
 " I do believe you are a good woman. Come here, flaxen- 
 hair." He took the scared, stolid child on his knee, and 
 made him ride there — walk — trot — gallop — till the little 
 fellow at last got courage to take his fingers out of his 
 mouth. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 27 
 
 " He is used to that," said his mother, much pleased. 
 "It is just what his father does when he is a good boy." 
 
 " You have had a hard time of it here," suggested Anton. 
 
 "Ah, sir!" cried she, "when we heard that a German 
 family had bought the estate, and that we had to keep 
 things together for them, and thought they would soon 
 come and perhaps drive over here, we were as glad as chil- 
 dren. My husband was all day just like one who has been 
 in the public-house, and I wept for joy. We thought that 
 at last there would be some order, and we should know 
 what we were working for. My husband spoke seriously to 
 the shepherd — he is from our part of the country — and 
 they both resolved that they would not allow the steward 
 to sell any more away. And so my husband told him. 
 But weeks passed, and no one came. We sent every day to 
 the village to inquire; and my husband went to Rosmin 
 and saw the lawyer. But it seemed they were not coming 
 after all, and that the estate would be sold again. Then, a 
 fortnight ago, the steward came over with a strange butcher, 
 and wanted my husband to give him the wethers; but he 
 refused. At that they threatened him, and wanted to force 
 their way into the sheep-pens; but the shepherd and my 
 husband were too much for them ; so off they went cm'sing, 
 and declaring they would have the sheep yet. Since then 
 a man has watched every night ; there hangs a loaded gun 
 which we have boiTOwed; and when the shepherd's dog 
 barks, I get up, and am dreadfully frightened about my 
 husband and child. There are dangerous men about here, 
 sir, and that you will find." 
 
 " I hope things will improve," said Anton ; " you lead a 
 solitary life here." 
 
28 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " It is solitary, indeed," said the woman, " for we hardly 
 ever go to the village, and only sometimes on Sunday to 
 the German village, where we go to church. But there 
 is always something to be done about the house ; and," 
 continued she, somewhat embarrassed, " I will just tell you 
 all, and if you don't approve, we can give it up. I have 
 dug a little space behind the barn, we have hedged it in, 
 and made a garden of it, where I gTOw what I want for 
 cooking ; and then," with increased embarrassment, " there 
 are the poultry and a dozen ducks ; and if you won t be 
 angry, the geese on the cjtubble-fields, and," wiping her 
 eyes with her apron, " there is the cow and the calf" 
 
 " Our calf ! " cried the child in ecstasy, slapping Anton's 
 knees with his fat hands. 
 
 " If you do not approve of my having kept the cow for 
 myself," continued the weeping woman, we will give it 
 up. My husband and the shepherd have had no wages 
 since the last wool-shearing, and we have been obliged to 
 buy necessaries ; but my husband has kept an account of 
 everything, and he will show it you, that you may see that 
 we are not dishonest people." 
 
 "I hope it will so appear," replied Anton soothingly ; 
 " and now let us have a look at your garden ; you shall 
 keep it if possible." 
 
 " There is not much in it," said the woman, leading them 
 to the enclosed space where the beds were all prepared for 
 their winter's rest. She stooped down, and gathered the 
 few flowers remaining, some asters, and her especial pride, 
 some autumn violets. Tying them together, she gave the 
 nosegay to Anton, "because," said she with a pleasant 
 smile, "you are a German." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 29 
 
 A quick step was now heard in tlie yard, and in came 
 the tenant with reddened cheeks, and made his bow to 
 them. 
 
 He was a fine young man, with a sensible countenance, 
 and a trustworthy manner. Anton spoke encouragingly, 
 and he readily produced his accounts. 
 
 " We will look over the stock now," replied Anton ; 
 " the books I will take with me. Come to me to-morrow 
 at the castle, and we can arrange the rest." 
 
 " The horses are in the fields," said the tenant ; " I 
 drive one plough myself, and the shepherd's lad helps with 
 the other. We have only four horses here ; once there 
 were twelve in the stable. We have of late cultivated 
 little more than was necessary for ourselves and the cattle. 
 There is a want of everything." 
 
 However, the survey turned out cheering on the whole ; 
 the buildings were in tolerable repair, and the crops lately 
 got in promised to keep the flocks through the winter. 
 Last of all, the farmer, with a pleased smile, opened a door 
 in his dwelling-house, and pointed out a heap of pease* 
 " You have seen the straw and hay already," he said, " but 
 here are the pease which I hid from the steward, thinking 
 they belonged to you. Indeed, there was some selfishness 
 in it," continued he candidly ; " for we were so placed that 
 we got nothing, and I was obliged to think of some way 
 of keeping the farm going, in case the winter brought no 
 help." 
 
 " Very good," said Anton, smiKng ; " I hope we shall 
 understand each other well. And now to the sheep. 
 Come with us, farmer." 
 
 The carriage rolled slowly along the fields — the tenant 
 
30 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 eagerly pointing out their condition. Not the fourth part 
 of the land belonging to the farm was ploughed; the rest 
 had been in pasture for many years past. 
 
 As they approached the flocks — the only living creatures 
 of any worth on the estate, Karl impatiently jumped 
 out. 
 
 The shepherd slowly came to meet the strangers, accom- 
 panied by his two dogs, one an old experienced character, 
 who walked at the same pace as his master, and looked 
 with as much intelligence and discrimination at the new 
 authorities ; the other, a young fellow, a pupil, who vainly 
 attempted to maintain the aspect of calm dignity becoming 
 his responsible calling, but kept mnning with youthful eager- 
 ness ahead of his master, and barking at the strangers, till 
 a growl of rebuke from his wiser companion brought him 
 back to propriety. The shepherd took off his broad- 
 brimmed hat with all civility, and waited to be addressed. 
 As a man of intuition and reflection, he perfectly knew who 
 he saw before him, but it would have ill become one whose 
 whole life had been spent in restraining precipitation 
 on the part of sheep and dogs, to have evinced undue 
 curiosity. 
 
 The farmer introduced the strangers to him with a cir- 
 cular movement of his hand, and the shepherd made several 
 bows in succession, to show that he perfectly understood 
 who they were. " A fine flock, shepherd," said Anton. 
 
 " Five hundred and five-and-twenty head," replied the 
 shepherd. " Eighty-six of them lambs, forty fat wethers." 
 He looked round the flock for a sheep, who deserved to be 
 presented as a specimen, and suddenly stooping, caught up 
 one by the hind legs, and exhibited the wool. Karl was 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 31 
 
 intent in the examination. They were great strong sheep, 
 well fitted for the country, and far exceeded, both in con- 
 dition and wool, what might have been looked for. " If 
 they get plenty of food, they give wool," said the shepherd 
 proudly. " It is first-rate wool." 
 
 A yearling was at that moment thoughtless enough to 
 cough. The shepherd looked disapprovingly at it, and said, 
 " The whole flock is perfectly healthy." 
 
 "How long have you been in service here?" inquii-ed 
 Anton. 
 
 "Nine years," was the reply. "When I came, the 
 creatures were like the poodles in town, all bare behind. 
 It has taken trouble to bring them round. No one else 
 has ever seen after them, but they have not fared the 
 worse for that. If I could only always have had pea- 
 straw for them j and this winter, common pease for the 
 mothers." 
 
 " We must see what can be done," said Anton ; " but 
 ■we shall have to be sparing in our management this 
 winter." 
 
 " True," said the shepherd ; " but, however, this is good 
 pasture." 
 
 " I can well believe," said Anton, smiling, " that your 
 sheep have nothing to complain of. There are few fields 
 here which your dog has not barked over for years. I have 
 been delighted to hear how bravely you have defended the 
 property of your new master. Have the people about often 
 behaved ill to you 1 " 
 
 " I can hardly say, sir," replied the shepherd ; " men 
 are everywhere alike — they are not to be depended on. I 
 would rather bring up a colly than a man." He leant 
 
32 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 upon his staff, and looked with satisfaction upon his dog, 
 who, true to his post, had been barking round the flock, 
 and now came back to give his master's legs a confidential 
 flap with his tail. " Look at this dog ! When I have had 
 a dog in training for two years, he is either good or not. 
 If not, I send him away, and have done with him ; if good, 
 I can trust him as I do myself, so long as he lives ! That 
 boy yonder with the wethers, I have had three years with 
 me, and I can never tell the hour that some confounded 
 freak or other may not come into his head, or that, instead 
 of driving my sheep to the right, he may not run off to the 
 left. That's why I say there's not much i-eliance to be 
 placed upon men." 
 
 "And on whom do you rely in this world?" asked 
 Anton. 
 
 " First of all on myself, for I know myself, then on my 
 dog Crambo, for I know him too, and, besides, I trust as I 
 ought" — he looked up for a moment, then gave a low 
 whistle, and Crambo set out again on his rounds. "And 
 you, sir," continued the shepherd, " shall you remain with 
 the Baron V 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " May I ask as what ? You are neither steward nor 
 bailiff, for you have not yet looked at the wethers. The 
 wethers should be sold, it's high time for it. So may I ask 
 what you are to the new landlord 1 " 
 
 " If you want a name, you may call me his account- 
 ant." 
 
 " Accountant," said the shepherd thoughtfully ; " then 
 I am to discuss my allowance with you." 
 " You shall do so the next time we meet." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 33 
 
 *' There is no hurry," said the shepherd ; " but one likes 
 to know how one stands. There is a pane broken in my 
 room, the glazier will be coming to the castle, and I hope, 
 Mr. Accountant, you will remember me." 
 
 Karl and the farmer now joined them. " To the 
 forester !" cried Anton to the driver. 
 
 " You mean to go to the forester's ? " inquired the 
 farmer. 
 
 " To the forester's ! " repeated the shepherd, drawing 
 nearer. 
 
 " Why does that surprise you ?" inquired Anton from 
 the carriage. 
 
 " Only," stammered out the farmer, " because the forester 
 is a strange man. If the Baron himself were to come, he 
 would not surrender." 
 
 " Does he live in a fortress then 1 " inquired Anton, 
 laughing. 
 
 " He locks himself up," said the tenant, " and lets no 
 one enter ; he has a way of his own." 
 
 "He is a wild man of the woods," said the shepherd, 
 shaking his head. 
 
 " The Poles say that he is a magician," continued the 
 farmer. 
 
 " He can make himself invisible !" cried the shep- 
 herd. 
 
 " Do you believe that ?" asked Karl, much amazed. 
 
 " Not I, but there are plenty in the village who do." 
 
 "He is a good sort of man at bottom, but he has his 
 oddities," affirmed the farmer. 
 
 " I hope he will respect my position," rejoined Anton ; 
 " it will be worse for him if he does not." 
 
 VOL. II. c 
 
34 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " It would be better that I should speak to the forester 
 first," suggested the tenant. " Will you allow me to 
 drive thither with you? He is on friendly terms with 
 me." 
 
 " With all my heart ; take the reins and we will leave 
 the servant to manage the plough till we set you down 
 again on our way back. And now then for this dangerous 
 character." 
 
 The carriage turned into a road bordered with young- 
 firs, and leading into the wood. The ground was again 
 sandy, and the trees poor. They went on over stones and 
 stumps till at length the wood stopped altogether at a plan- 
 tation apparently about fifteen years old : here the tenant 
 fastened the reins round the trunk of a tree, and begged the 
 gentlemen to dismount. They walked on through a thicket 
 of young trees, whose long spikes brushed their clothes as 
 they passed, and filled the air with a strong resinous perfume. 
 Beyond this the ground sank, green moss spread a soft 
 carpet round, and a group of giant pines reared their dark 
 crowns high in the air — there stood the forester's house, a 
 low wooden building surrounded by a strong wooden fence, 
 and further guarded by a triple hedge of youug fir-trees. 
 A little spring trickled under the fence, and gurgled amongst 
 a few large stones, overshadowed by giant ferns. 
 
 Altogether it was a picture that could not fail to please 
 in this district of sand and heath. No one was to be seen 
 about, and there was not a trace of a footstep on the moss 
 — it was only the barking of a dog from within that 
 announced the dwelling to be inhabited. They went round 
 the hedge till they came to a narrow door, which was firmly 
 bolted. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 35 
 
 " His bullfinch sits above the window," said the tenant ; 
 " he is at home." 
 
 Call him, then," desired Anton. 
 
 " He knows already that we are here," replied the man, 
 pointing to a row of small openings in the hedge ; " look 
 at his peep-holes. He is watching us, but this is always 
 his way. I must give him a signal, or he will never open." 
 Accordingly he put two fingers in his mouth and whistled 
 three times, but there was no reply. " He is a cunning 
 fellow," said the tenant, perplexed, whistling again so shrilly 
 that the dog's bark changed into a howl, and the bullfinch 
 began to flap his wings. 
 
 At last a rough voice sounded on the other side of 
 the fence. " Who the deuce are you bringing with 
 you?" 
 
 " Open, forester," cried the tenant ; " the new gentry are 
 come." 
 
 " Go to the devil with your gentry; I am sick of the 
 whole race." 
 
 The tenant looked in perplexity towards Anton. " Open 
 the door," said the latter authoritatively ; " it will be better 
 for you to do of your own accord what I can force you 
 to do." 
 
 " Force ! " said the voice. " How will you manage that, 
 pray?" The double barrel of a gun now made its appear- 
 ance through a hole in the door, turning conveniently to one 
 side, then the other. 
 
 " Your gun will not help you," was the reply ; " we 
 have that on our side which will henceforth be stronger 
 in this forest than brute force, and that is law and our 
 right." 
 
36 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Indeed ! " asked the voice. " And who, then, are 
 you ? " 
 
 " I am the agent of the new proprietor, and command 
 you to open the door." 
 
 " Is your name Moses or Levi ?" inquired the voice, 
 " I will have nothing to do with an agent. Whoever comes 
 to me as an agent, I set down for a rogue." 
 
 " A plague upon your hard head !" cried Karl in a 
 towering passion. " How dare you speak so disrespect- 
 fully of my master, you crazy Jackboots you !" 
 
 " Jackboots !" said the voice. " I like that, that sounds 
 more like fair dealing than any thing I have heard for a long 
 time." The bolts were shot back, and the forester appeared 
 at the door, which he shut behind him. He was a short 
 broad-set man with grizzled hair, and a long grey beard, 
 which hung down on his breast ; a pair of keen eyes shone 
 out of his furrowed face, he wore a thick shaggy coat, out 
 of which sun and rain had expelled every trace of colour, 
 carried his double-barrel gun in his hand, and looked 
 defiance at the strangers. "Who is buUying here?" 
 said he. 
 
 " I am," answered Karl, stepping forward ; " and you 
 shall get something besides hard words if you continue in 
 your insubordination." 
 
 " What sort of a cap is that you wear V asked the old 
 man, looking hard at him. 
 
 " Have you grown into a mere fungus here in your wood 
 that you do not know it ?" replied Karl, settling his soldier's 
 cap more firmly on his head. 
 
 " Hussar V asked the forester. 
 
 " Invalid," was the reply. 
 
DEBIT AND CflEDIT. 
 
 37 
 
 The old man pointed to a small strip of ribbon on his 
 coat. " Militia," said he ; "1813 and 1814." 
 
 Karl made a military salute. " All honour to you, 
 old boy, but you are a rough one, notwithstanding." 
 
 "WeU, you are not much like an invalid," said the 
 forester ; " you look wild enough, and know how to rap 
 out an oath. So you are neither tradesman nor steward 
 said he, turning to Anton. 
 
 " Now, do behave like a sensible man," said the farmer. 
 " This gentleman has been empowered to take possession of 
 the estate, and to manage everything till the family come. 
 You will get yom'self into sad trouble with your obstinate 
 ways." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the forester. " Don't be anxious 
 about me, I shall manage well enough. So you are an 
 agent, are you ?" said he, turning to Anton. " Of late 
 years I have had enough of agents ; and I'll tell you what," 
 he went on, coming a few steps nearer ; " you'll find 
 neither books nor accounts with me. This is the state of 
 things : — For five years I, as the forester in charge of this 
 wood, have been quarrelling with agents. Each agent has 
 put ever so much timber into his pocket, and at last the 
 villagers have come from all the country round and carried 
 off whatever they liked, and when I held my gun under 
 their nose, they thrust a rascally bit of paper under mine, 
 in which, forsoothj they had got leave from the agent. I 
 had nothing more to say, and so I have just taken care of 
 myself. There is but little game, but what I have shot I 
 have eaten, and have sold the skins — for one must live. 
 It's five years since I have touched a farthing of salary — I 
 have paid myself Every year I have taken fifteen of these 
 
38 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 trees. As far as to the clearing yonder, tlie wood is ninety- 
 years old. I reckon that they will last me about three 
 winters longer. When the last is felled, I will shoot my 
 dog, and choose out a quiet spot in the forest for myself." 
 He looked down darkly at his gnu. "I have lived here 
 thirty years, I have buried my wife and my children in the 
 German churchyard, and I don't trouble myself about what 
 is to befall me now. So far as my dog's bark can be heard, 
 and my gun reach, the wood is in order — the rest belonged 
 to the agent. That is my reckoning, and now you may do 
 what you like with me and, much excited, he stamped 
 the butt-end of his gun on the ground. 
 
 " I shall reply to what I have just heard," said Anton, 
 " in the house and room which henceforth belongs to your 
 master, the Baron Rothsattel." He stepped up to the 
 door and laid his hands on its wooden bolt. " I take pos- 
 session of this in the name of the new proprietor." Then 
 opening it, he beckoned to the forester — " Keep back your 
 dogs, and lead us in as you ought." 
 
 The old man made no opposition, but slowly preceded 
 them, called down his dogs, and opened the house 
 door. 
 
 Anton entered with his companions. "And now, 
 forester, that you have opened the house," said he, " we 
 \vill proceed to an arrangement at once. What has hitherto 
 been done here by you cannot be altered, and shall not be 
 discussed ; but from this day forth you will receive your 
 regular allowance, and matters must be put on a different 
 footing. I now place the forest, and all that belongs to 
 the forest department, under your charge. Your duty now 
 is to stand up for your master's rights, and from this time 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 39 
 
 forward I make you responsible for them. I shall protect 
 you as far as I can, and shall claim for you the protection 
 of the law. We shall be severe in prosecuting all who 
 damage this wood any further. This estate shall be better 
 managed henceforth, and your new master expects that you 
 will help him to do so, as a faithful and obedient man 
 should. And there must be an end of this wild life of 
 yours in the bush ; we are fellow-countrymen, you know. 
 You will come regularly to the castle and report the state 
 of things, and we will take care that you shall not feel 
 desolate in your old days. If you purpose honestly to fulfil 
 the requirements I have just been making, give me your 
 hand on it." 
 
 The forester had stood abashed, listening, cap off, to 
 Anton's address, and he now took the hand offered to him, 
 and said, " I do." 
 
 " With this shake of the hand, then," continued Anton, 
 " I take you into the service of the present proprietor." 
 
 The forester held Anton's hand in both his, and at length 
 exclaimed, " If I live to see things improve on the estate, I 
 shall rejoice. I will do all I can, but I tell you before- 
 hand we shall have a hard fight for it. Owing to the 
 agents and the rascally management, the people on the estate 
 are become a pack of robbers, and I am afraid that my old 
 gun will often be obliged to have the last word of the 
 argument." 
 
 " We will neither do wrong, nor suffer wrong, and we 
 must take the consequences," was the earnest reply. " And 
 now, forester, show us your house, and then accompany us 
 into the wood." 
 
 Anton then went over the little building : it was entirely 
 
40 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 of rougli wood. The light fell dimly through the small 
 windows, and the brown walls and blackened beams in- 
 creased the darkness, and gave the room a mysterious aspect. 
 It was difficult at first to distinguish the objects on the 
 walls : antlers, dogs' collars, huntsmen's horns, whips, and 
 stuffed birds. On the stove stood a small press with cook- 
 ing apparatus. 
 
 " I cook for myself," said the forester, " and get what I 
 want from the public-house." 
 
 There were several bird-cages in the windows, and a con- 
 stant trilling and chirping going on within them. Near the 
 stove sat a raven, whose rough plumage, and the white 
 feathers about his beak and wings, proved his great age. 
 He had drawn his head in between his shoulders, and 
 seemed self-absorbed, but in reality his bright eye was ob- 
 serving every movement of the strangers. 
 
 Next came the bedroom, where several guns were hanging. 
 A grating before the window proved that this was the 
 citadel of the house. 
 
 "Where does that door lead to V asked Anton, pointing 
 to a trap-door in the floor. 
 
 " To a cellar," replied the forester with some embarrassment. 
 
 "Is it arched V 
 
 " I will take you down, if you mil come alone." 
 
 " Wait for us," cried Anton to his companions in the room. 
 
 The forester lit a lantern, carefully bolted the door, and 
 went first with the light. 
 
 " I had not thought," said he, " that any eyes but mine 
 would see my secret in my lifetime." 
 
 A few steps led them into a narrow vault, one side of 
 which had been broken through, and a low subterranean 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 41 
 
 passage made, supported by stems of trees triangularly- 
 placed. 
 
 « That is my run," said the forester, holding the candle 
 down, " and it leads into the young wood. It is more than 
 forty yards long, and T was a great while excavating it. This 
 is the way I creep in and out unobserved ; and I may thank 
 it that I am here still, for this is why the stupid villagers 
 believe me a sorcerer. When they have watched me go 
 into the house, and think they may steal in safely, I sud- 
 denly appear amongst them. Two years ago, a band of 
 them broke into my house, and it would have been all up 
 with me, but that I slunk out here like a badger. Do not 
 betray to any one what I have just shown you." 
 
 Anton promised that he would not, and they went back 
 into the little enclosure, where they found Karl occupied in 
 fastening, between four blocks that he had driven into the 
 ground, the wooden trough of a young fox. The fox, in- 
 sensible to this delicate attention on the part of the hussar, 
 snarled at him, rattled his chain, and tried all it could, 
 under the board that Karl had placed across its kennel, to 
 get at his hands. 
 
 "Do you want to kiss my hands, little red-head?" 
 cried Karl, hammering away. " You are a pretty fellow ! 
 AVhat a pair of soft trutliful eyes you have, to be sure ! 
 Now there it's done, jump backwards and forwards as much 
 as you like. He does what's told him, forester ; a good- 
 natured beast — something of your own character, comrade." 
 
 The forester laughed. " Do you know how to set about 
 trapping a fox ?" 
 
 " I should think so," said Karl. 
 
 "There are plenty more such fellows here," continued 
 
42 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the old man ; " if you like, we will go after them next 
 Sunday." 
 
 And so they went together through the wood, all on the 
 best terms possible. Anton called the forester to his side, 
 and got much information from him. Certainly, he had 
 nothing very cheering to tell. Of wood fit for cutting 
 there Avas hardly enough for the use of the family and 
 tenants. The old system of plunder had done its worst 
 here. As they reached the carriage, the forester respect- 
 fully touched his hat, and asked at what hour in the morn- 
 ing he should come to the castle. 
 
 Anton rejoiced to have succeeded so well in concealing 
 the feeling of insecurity w^hich made his present position an 
 irksome one to him. 
 
 " You see," said he to his faithful ally, as they both 
 sat over the green tile stove at evening, " what disturbs 
 me most is, that I feel more ignorant and helpless tlian any 
 of the servants about, and yet I have got to maintain their 
 respect. These two last days have taught me how little 
 mere goodwill can do. Now, then, give me some sensible 
 advice. Wliat shall be our next step ?" 
 
 " First sell off all the cattle that are out of profit, and 
 instantly dismiss the good-for-nothing people who have them 
 in charge. Bring cattle and horses to the farm-yard, that 
 we may have them under our own eyes. What can be 
 done in farming A\iith our small means, shall be done regu- 
 larly, not hurried over. We must buy straw and oats for 
 the present. Till next year, when a regular bailiff will be 
 wanted, give me the charge of things ; I shall not do much, 
 to be sure, but more than any of your other people." 
 
 It was already late, when a quick step was heard on the 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 43 
 
 stairs. With a great stable-luntern in his hand, and a face 
 full of bad news, the landlord made his appearance in 
 Anton's room. " I wished to tell you, sir, what I have 
 heard. A German from Kunau, who has just passed 
 through, has brought word that Bratzky never got to 
 Rosmin yesterday." 
 
 "Never got there !" cried Anton, springing up. 
 
 "About two miles from Rosmin, in the wood, four 
 riders fell upon the carriage. It was dark ; the riders 
 overpowered the gendarme and bound him, took off Bratzky 
 and all his things, mounted him on one of the horses, 
 and off with him into the bush. Two of them remained 
 with the carriage, and obliged the driver to turn out of the 
 road into a thicket, and there they stayed two whole hours, 
 holding their loaded pistols at the gendarme and the driver 
 all the time. The driver said the horses were gentlemen's 
 horses, and that the riders spoke like gentry. The gen- 
 darme was bruised, but otherwise unhurt, and they took 
 your paper away from him." 
 
 Anton and Karl looked at each other significantly, and 
 thought of the party of the day before. 
 
 "Where is the man who has brought the new^s ?" asked 
 Anton, snatching up his hat. 
 
 " He was in a hurry to get on before dark. To-morrow 
 we shall hear more. Such a thing has not happened for 
 years, as mounted men falling upon a carriage with a 
 gendarme in it. When a robbery has been committed, it 
 has always been on foot." 
 
 " Did you know the riders who were in the village yes- 
 terday afternoon, and who were calling for the steward ?" 
 inquired Anton. 
 
44 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 The host cast a sly glance at him, and seemed reluctant 
 to answer. 
 
 " Nay," continued Anton, " you must have known them 
 all, they belonged to this part of the country." 
 
 " Wliy should not I know them?" replied the landlord, 
 in some perturbation. " It was the rich Herr von Tarow 
 himself with his guests. A powerful man, Mr. Wohlfart, 
 who has the command of the police on your property too. 
 And as to what he wanted with Bratzky 1 Bratzky, as 
 inspector, has had to do with the police, and has often been 
 employed by the gentry in buying and selling horses, and in 
 other ways too. If the head of the police wanted to speak 
 to the inspector, why should not he ? The Von Tarows are 
 a clever set, who know what they are about, in speaking 
 and acting." So far the landlord, with much fluency, but 
 his eyes and the expression of his countenance told a very 
 different tale. 
 
 " You have a suspicion," cried Anton, looking fixedly at 
 him. 
 
 " God preserve me from all suspicion ! " continued the 
 landlord, horrified at the idea. " And Mr. Wohlfart, if you 
 will allow me to tell you my opinion, why should you go 
 and suspect any one either 1 you will have enough to do on 
 the property here, and will need the gentry romid in many 
 ways. "Why should you make enemies for no p'orpose 1 
 This is a country where the gentlemen ride in parties, and 
 then divide, put their heads together, and then start off in 
 different directions. He is wisest who does not trouble 
 himself about them." 
 
 When the landlord was gone, Anton said gloomily to 
 Karl, " I am afraid that, besides our trouble with the pro- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 45 
 
 perty, much of a different nature is going on around us, 
 which all our skill will not be able to set right." 
 
 This singular circumstance set the whole country in a 
 ferment. Anton was often summoned to Rosmin in the 
 course of the next few weeks, but his depositions led to no 
 result — the authorities not succeeding in discovering the 
 offenders, or in getting hold of the abducted steward. 
 
48 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AUR two colonists spent the next few weeks in such active 
 pursuits, that every night, when they threw themselves 
 upon their beds, they were quite exhausted. 
 
 Karl had been duly installed as bailiff, and held the reins 
 of management with a firm hand; and Anton had com- 
 mitted the care of the house and kitchen to a hard-working 
 woman, whom he found in one of the German settlements 
 around. The most difficult matter had been to establish 
 tolerably satisfactory relations with the adjacent village ; 
 but Anton's calm decision had at all events prevented any 
 outbreak of opposition. One of his first measures had been 
 to appeal in all cases of breach of trust, or dereliction 
 of duty, to the proper authorities. Karl's cavalry-cloak 
 attracted a few men who had served; and through these, 
 the most civilized part of the community, the settlers gained 
 some influence over others. At length, several voluntarily 
 offered to become servants at the castle, or day-labourers on 
 the estate. 
 
 Anton had written to the Baroness, not disguising from 
 her the state of the property, nor the unfriendly feeling of 
 the distiict, and his own anxiety about the fiimily m.oving 
 thither in the course of the next winter. He had asked 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 47 
 
 whether she would not prefer to remain till spring in the 
 capital. In reply, he received a letter from Lenore, in which 
 she told him on the part of her parents that they abode by 
 their former resolve to leave the town, which had now be- 
 come a painful residence to them all. She therefore begged 
 him to have the castle put into a habitable condition as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 Anton called out to his ally, " They are actually coming I" 
 
 "They are, are they?" said Karl. "It is fortunate that 
 we have heard of workmen — masons, joiners, locksmiths, 
 glaziers, potters, and so on. If you will allow me, I will 
 at once send a messenger off to Rosmin. If I could only 
 get off this ugly brown paint from the door — it hides the 
 beautiful oak carving ! But lye won't stir it. And then 
 how many stoves shall we want?" 
 
 An important conversation now began. " We must leave 
 the whole lower floor unoccupied," Anton said, " closing 
 up the windows with thick boards ; but we shall have to 
 put up a strong door in the hall, because one is constantly 
 passing through it. These walls too cannot remain as they 
 are, and we have no one to trust to but the Rosmin mason." 
 
 " Since that is the case," said Karl, " I propose that we 
 paint the walls ourselves. I am a dab-hand at marbling." 
 
 "You are?" replied Anton, looking at him with some 
 anxiety. " No ; I think we had better make all the rooms 
 one colour. What do you think of browTi ? " 
 
 " Hum — not bad," said Karl. 
 
 " I know it is a favourite colour of Fraulein Lenore's. 
 It must not be too dark though, but a bright mixture of 
 yellow, grey, red, and green, with, perhaps, a little black 
 in it." 
 
48 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 "Aha!" said Karl, disconcerted; "a peculiar sort of 
 brown, I suppose." 
 
 " Of course," continued Anton, eagerly drawing his chair 
 nearer ; "we will mix it ourselves." 
 
 " That's my way," said Karl ; " but I tell you beforehand, 
 these chalk colours are the very deuce ! You paint a blue, 
 the next day you have white ; you have the most beautiful 
 orange in your brush, and when it has dried on the wall, it 
 is a dirty yellow." 
 
 " Between ourselves," replied Anton, " we shall not suc- 
 ceed very perfectly ; but I think we shall manage to make 
 things look tolerably comfortable." 
 
 The following day the hammering and painting began. 
 The joiner and his men set up a workshop on the lower 
 floor ; above, the great brush of the painter kept unweary- 
 ingly passing and repassing over the walls; and white 
 figures, with great aprons, carried buckets now up, now 
 down. As for Karl, he seemed to have a dozen hands. 
 Whenever he could get away from the farm, he painted 
 wood-work and walls with all sorts of brushes. He ran 
 round with a foot-measure, drove in nails and hooks for cur- 
 tains ; and the very next moment there he was again in the 
 field or the stable; but everywhere whistling his soldier's 
 songs, and urging on the labourers. As the arrangements 
 of the house progressed, his love of beautifying became more 
 and more developed. He bought a quantity of oil-paint, 
 which he found excellent, and displayed a decided talent 
 for the art. He now ventured to give to several objects, 
 which seemed to him qualified to receive it, the appearance 
 of finely-polished wood; and, with the aid of a soft brush 
 and a bunch of feathers, succeeded in producing wonderful 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 49 
 
 effects. He even carried his brush and his beautifying into 
 the farmyard, and teased Anton into consenting to a general 
 whitewashing of the mud walls. " They will dry in this 
 weather just as well as in summer," said he. " My only 
 regret is, that I can't wash the straw thatch." To make 
 up for that, however, he was determined to give the two 
 new potato-carts and the best plough a coating of beautiful 
 blue oil-paint. " One must have something pleasant for 
 the eye to rest on here," said he by way of apology. " And 
 it will pay for itself, for these Poles get on better with 
 gaily-coloured things." 
 
 The castle was temporarily arranged, and the anival 
 of the family expected on a cold December day. The sky 
 had carried out Karl's wishes, most effectually covering the 
 earth with a pure white mantle, and hiding many an eye- 
 sore from the expected party. The snow lay thick on pas- 
 ture and sands, the summits of the pines wore white crowns, 
 and the leafless shrubs glittered with frost-crystals. The 
 ugly straw thatches were whitewashed to some purpose ; the 
 broken parapets of the bridge filled up. Each projection of 
 the castle-walls, the top of the tower, the whole roof, was 
 capped with dazzling white ; while the red-brown walls stood 
 out in bold relief below. Within, it was a busy and excit- 
 ing day. Wagons of furniture and stores were unpacked, and 
 all arranged as well as the haste allowed. The farmer's wife 
 and the housekeeper wove great garlands of fir-branches, 
 and decorated the hall and the room-doors. The sun set, 
 and the silver landscape turned to gold ; till the rising 
 moon suffused it with a mysterious blue light. Several 
 lamps were lit in the house, as many candk^s as possible 
 placed in the apartments, the stoves all burned cheerily, and 
 
 VOL. n. D 
 
50 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the fir-twigs filled the air with their fragrance. The gay- 
 curtains were drawn ; and the open suite of rooms looked so 
 habitable, that Anton asked himself in amazement, " How 
 the labours of a few weeks could have wrought such a 
 change as this?" Karl had placed pitch-pans on both 
 sides of the castle, and they shed a cheerful glow around. 
 
 Meanwhile all the dependants assembled in the hall ; — 
 the forester in a new green coat, the memorial of his 
 battles on his breast, a deer-hound at his side, stood in 
 military attitude next to the German farmer and the 
 shepherd. The housekeeper and the farmer's wife had put 
 their best ribbons on their caps, and tripped to and fro 
 in restless expectation. Karl, too, appeared in his hussar's 
 frock. 
 
 Meanwhile, Anton went once more through the rooms, 
 and listened for the crack of the whip that should announce 
 the Baron's arrival. His own heart beat — for him, too, a 
 new era was about to begin. After all, his life here had 
 been a pleasant one enough hitherto : he and his trusty 
 ally had felt themselves the masters of the castle, and had 
 got through their anxieties cheerfully together. Now, 
 however, Karl must take up his quarters in the farmyard ; 
 v/hile Anton, according to the wish of the Baroness, was 
 to occupy a room in the castle, so that he must come into 
 daily relations with the family, and he now asked himself 
 of what nature these would be. The Baron was almost a 
 stranger to him, how would he suit this Baron ? And he 
 was blind too ; yes, blind ! Leuore had written him word 
 that the surgeon gave no hope of the injiu-ed optic nerve 
 ever recovering. This had been kept back from the 
 sufferer, who comforted himself with the hope that time 
 
DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 51 
 
 and skill might yet remove the dark cloud from his eyes. 
 But Anton confided the truth to Karl, and was obliged to tell 
 all the dependants that the Baron was at present suffering 
 from his eyes, and obliged to wear a bandage over them : 
 and he read upon the faces of all that they felt this was a 
 misfortune for the property. And his heart beat unquietly, 
 too, when he thought of Lenore, with whom he should now 
 be brought into constant contact. How would she and 
 her mother treat him 1 He determined carefully to sup- 
 press what he now felt to have been idle claims, and so to 
 behave from the first as to afi'ord them no cause for mor- 
 tifying his self-respect. And yet he could not help 
 wondering whether they would treat him as a friend 
 and an equal, or make him feel that he was a hired de- 
 pendant. It was in vain that he said to himself that his 
 own feelings made the latter arrangement desirable ; he 
 could not check the delightful visions that would arise of 
 life led with Lenore on equal terms. 
 
 The crack of the whip was now heard in the village, 
 and soon the family and establishment arrived. The farm- 
 servants, the landlord, and a few of the villagers were 
 gTOuped around the pitch-pans. The farmers rushed for- 
 ward to open the carriage-door, and as Lenore jumped out, 
 and her face was seen, the women pressed nearer, and the 
 men broke out into loud acclamations. All looked in 
 eager expectation at the carriage. But the welcome met 
 with no return. The Baron was got out with some diffi- 
 culty, and with sunken head, supported by his wife and 
 daughter, he toiled up the steps. The pale face of the 
 Baroness from behind him, had only a mute glance for 
 the tenants and servants — only a short nod of recogni- 
 
52 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 tion for Aiitoii, who proceeded to lead them to their suite 
 of rooms. 
 
 " All very nice, Mr. Wohlfart," said she with quivering 
 lips ; and as he remained standing and waiting for his first 
 orders, she dismissed him with a wave of the hand, and 
 the words, " I thank you." When the door had closed 
 upon Anton, the Baron stood helpless in the strange room, 
 and the Baroness broke out into loud weeping. Lenore 
 leant against the window, looking out into the snow- 
 covered plain, with its black wall at the horizon, and 
 great tears rolled silently down her cheeks. It was with 
 a heavy heart that Anton -returned to tell the people 
 assembled that the family were fatigued and overcome, and 
 would not be seen by them till the morning. Karl had 
 the carriage unpacked, and led the old cook, who wept like 
 her mistress, into the underground kitchen. None of the 
 family reappeared that evening, and the light was soon put 
 out in their rooms ; but the pitch still glowed and 
 flickered in the wind, and a black cloud rose above the 
 window where the Baron sat hiding his face in his 
 hands. 
 
 Such was the entrance of this family upon their new 
 estate. 
 
 "How beautifully Wohlfart has arranged everything !" 
 said Lenore to her mother the following day. 
 
 " These high rooms are dreadful," replied the Baroness, 
 wrapping her shawl around her ; " and the monotonous 
 brown of the walls makes them still more desolate i" 
 
 " It is surely time to send and ask him to come here 
 and speak to us ?" suggested Lenore timidly. 
 
 " Your father is not yet in a mood to speak to him." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 53 
 
 "Do not leave my father alone with Wohlfart," implored 
 Lenore. " It would be horrible if he were to treat him 
 rudely." 
 
 The Baroness sighed. "We must accustom ourselves 
 to pay to a stranger in our house a degree of attention 
 and observance which will be irksome both to your father 
 and to us." 
 
 "How will you arrange about the housekeeping?" 
 asked Lenore again. " Wohlfart will, of course, have his 
 meals with us." 
 
 " Impossible ! " said the Baroness firmly. " You know 
 what a melancholy thing our dinner is. Your father is 
 not yet calm enough to be able to bear the daily presence 
 of a stranger." 
 
 "Is he to eat with the servants, then ?" asked Lenore 
 bitterly. 
 
 " He will have his table laid in his own room, and on 
 Sundays we shall always invite him, and, if he is not dis- 
 agreeable to your father, often in the evenings also. More 
 would be troublesome to all parties. It is desirable to 
 reserve at first a comfortable amount of freedom. Your 
 father's state will be sufficient excuse." 
 
 She rang, and Anton was summoned. Lenore went to 
 meet him, and with tearful eyes silently held out her 
 hand. Anton was moved when he saw the traces of 
 suffering in her mother's face. The Baroness prayed him 
 to be seated, and in well-chosen words expressed her 
 gratitude for all he had done, and asked him both for 
 information and advice. Then she went on to say : " My 
 husband wishes to speak to you. I earnestly beg you to 
 remember that the Baron is an invalid. He has sufi'ered 
 
54 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 fearfully in mind and body. He is never free from pain, 
 and his helplessness distresses him inexpressibly. We 
 are careful to avoid whatever may excite him, and yet we 
 cannot avert dark hours, nay, days. You, sir, will be 
 considerate if his gloomy mood should affect you disagree- 
 ably. Time, they say, heals all. I hope it will restore 
 him to peace." 
 
 Anton promised all possible consideration. 
 
 " My husband will naturally wish to be placed in pos- 
 session of all the facts connected with this property ; and 
 yet I dread any painful impressions for him ! Therefore, 
 whenever you have anything important to communicate, 
 try to make the matter intelligible to me in the first 
 instance. I may thus spare you much that is disagreeable. 
 .1 shall have my writing-table carried into one of the rooms 
 near yours, and I shall daily spend part of my mornings 
 there. Lenore is her father's private secretary. And now, 
 be kind enough to wait till I have announced your visit to 
 the Baron." 
 
 The Baroness left the room. Anton looked down 
 gravely. Lenore went up to him and said, as cheerfully 
 as she could, " Brown walls, Wohlfart ! my favourite colour. 
 You are not glad that we are come, you ungallant man ! " 
 
 " Only on your own account," rephed Anton, pointing to 
 the snowy plain. " Whenever I walked through the fields, 
 I have always thought how lonely you would be here, and 
 when I paced these great rooms of an evening, I have 
 feared that your time would hang very heavily. The 
 town is more than six miles distant, and even there you 
 will find but little ; the wretched lending-library will hardly 
 satisfy you." * 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 55 
 
 " I will draw," said Lenore ; "I will do fancy work. 
 Alas ! I shall find it difficult, Mr. Wohlfart, for I am not 
 skilful. I do not care for lace on either cuff or collar ■ 
 but mamma, who is accustomed to have everything so 
 be&utiful, and in such order ! oh, how sorry I am for 
 mamma ! " 
 
 Anton tried to comfort her. 
 
 " We were obliged to leave the capital," cried Lenore ; 
 " we should all have perished if we had remained in that 
 dreadful entourage. Our own property in other hands, 
 cold distant faces on all sides, everywhere false friends, 
 smooth words and a pity which maddened. I am de- 
 lighted that we are alone here. And even were we to 
 suffer cold and hunger, I could bear it better far than the 
 shrugging of Madame Werner s shoulders. I have learnt 
 to hate my fellow-creatures," said she vehemently. " When 
 you have been with papa, I will come down, and then you 
 must show me the house, the farm, and the village. I 
 want to see where my poor pony is, and what the people 
 about look like." 
 
 The Baroness now returned, and led Anton into her 
 husband's room. Helpless and confused, the Baron rose 
 from his chair. Anton felt the deepest compassion for 
 him. He looked at his sunken face, bent figure, and the 
 black bandage over his eyes. He warmly declared his ardent 
 wish to be of use to him, and begged his indulgence if he 
 had in any way erred in judgment hitherto. Then he pro- 
 ceeded to tell him how he found the estate, and what had 
 been done up to the present time. 
 
 The Baron heard the report almost in silence, only 
 making a few short observations in return. But when 
 
56 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Anton proceeded, with the utmost delicacy indeed, but still 
 with, the precision of a man of business, to state the obliga- 
 tions under which the Baron at present lay, and his inade- 
 quate means of fulfilling them, the nobleman writhed in 
 his chair like a victim on the rack. And Anton keenly 
 felt how painful it must needs be to him, to have a stranger 
 thus introduced into his most secret affairs, a stranger 
 anxious to spare his feelings, it is true, but at every moment 
 betraying that anxiety, and so giving fresh offence. The 
 Baroness, who stood behind her husband, looked on 
 nervously at the attempts he made to control his irritation, 
 but at length she waved her hand so significantly, that 
 Anton had abruptly to break off his report. 
 
 When he had left the room, the Baron flung himself 
 back in the utmost excitement, and exclaimed, " You have 
 set a trustee over me." He was perfectly beside himself, 
 and the Baroness vainly attempted to compose him. 
 
 Such was Anton's entrance into the family. 
 
 He too returned sadly to his room. From that moment 
 he felt convinced that it would hardly be possible to estab- 
 lish a good understanding between himself and the Baron. 
 He was accustomed, in matters of business, to express him- 
 self curtly, and to be promptly understood, and he now 
 foresaw long disquisitions on the part of the ladies, suc- 
 ceeded probably by no decision at all. Even his position 
 with regard to them appeared uncertain. True, the 
 Baroness had treated him with the utmost graciousness, 
 but still as a stranger. He feared that she would continue 
 the great lady, giving just as much of her confidence as 
 might be useful to herself, but warding off all intimacy by 
 a cold politeness. Even Lenore's friendly voice could not 
 
DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 57 
 
 restore his equanimity. They went over the premises 
 silently and thoughtfully, like two men of business engaged 
 in making an estimate. 
 
 Such as these first days promised, was Anton's hfe for 
 the next few months, anxious, monotonous, formal. He 
 wrote, kept accounts, and ate alone in his room, and when 
 invited to join the family circle, the party was far from a 
 cheerful one. The Baron sat there like a lump of ice, a 
 check upon all free and animated conversation. 
 
 Formerly Anton used to admire all the accessories of the 
 family, the arrangement of their salons, and the elegant 
 trifles around. Now, the self-same furniture stood in the 
 drawing-room suite — even the little foreign birds had sur- 
 vived their winter journey — the same carpets, the same 
 worsted work, even the same perfume was there. But now 
 the very birds seemed to him rather bores than otherwise, 
 and soon nothing about the room interested him, but the 
 share he had himself had in putting it in order. 
 
 Anton had brought with him a profound respect for the 
 polished tone, the easy conversation, and the graceful forms 
 of social intercourse that prevailed in the family circle. 
 
 But crushed and downcast as the Von Rothsattels now 
 were, he could not expect the same light-hearted grace that 
 had captivated him at Frau von Baldereck's parties. They 
 had been torn away from their accustomed circle ; all the 
 external influences, and the excitement which keep the 
 spirits elastic, and help us to vanquish sorrow, were wanting 
 now, and he modestly confessed that he could afford no 
 substitute for them. But there was more than this to dis- 
 enchant him. A^Tien, after a silent evening, he returned to 
 his own room, he often regretted that they took no part in 
 
58 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 much that interested him, that their culture, in short, was of a 
 perfectly different order. And before long, he took the liberty 
 of doubting whether their culture was the better of the two. 
 Almost all his reading was new to them, and when they 
 discussed the newspapers, he marvelled at their ignorance 
 of foreign politics. History was by no means a favourite 
 study w4th the Baron, and if, for example, he condemned 
 the English Constitution, he showed himself, at the same 
 time very little acquainted with it. On another evening, 
 it came out, to Anton's distress, that the family's views of 
 the position of the island of Ceylon widely differed from 
 those established by geographers. The Baroness, who was 
 fond of reading aloud, revered Chateaubriand, and read 
 fashionable novels by lady writers. Anton found Atala 
 unnatural, and the novels insipid. In short, he soon dis- 
 covered that those with whom he lived contemplated the 
 universe from a very different point of view to his own. 
 Unconsciously they measured all things by the scale of 
 their own class-interests. Whatever ministered to these 
 found favour, however unbearable to mankind at large ; 
 whatever militated against them was rejected, or at least 
 pushed out of sight. Their opinions were often mild, 
 sometimes even liberal, but they always seemed to wear 
 an invisible helmet, visor up, and to look through the nar- 
 row space on the doings of common mortals, and whenever 
 they saw anything in these that was displeasing, but 
 unalterable, they silently shut down the visor, and isolated 
 themselves. The Baron sometimes did this awkwardly, but 
 his wife understood to perfection how, by a bewitching 
 turn of the hand, to shut out whatever was unwelcome. 
 The family belonged to the German church in Neudorf ; 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 59 
 
 but there was no choir there, and no pew near the altar. 
 They would have had to sit in the body of the church 
 amongst the rustics — that was out of the question. So 
 the Baron set up a chapel in the castle, and sent every now 
 and then for a minister. Anton seldom made his appear- 
 ance at this domestic worship, preferring to ride to Neudorf, 
 where he sat by the side of the bailiff amongst the country 
 people. 
 
 He had other vexations, too. A wine-merchant's tra- 
 veller forced his way on one occasion through sand and 
 forest into the very study of the Baron. He was an auda- 
 cious fellow, with a great gift of the gab, and a devoted 
 lover of races and steeple-chases. He brought with him 
 a whole budget of the latest sporting intelligence, and 
 bamboozled the Baron into ordering a pipe of port wine. 
 Anton looked at the empty purse, cursed the pipe, and 
 hurried into the audience-chamber of the Baroness. It re- 
 quired a long feminine intrigue to effect the retraction of 
 the order given. 
 
 The Baron was displeased with his carriage-horses, which 
 were no longer young, and, besides, of a chestnut colour. 
 This last peculiarity might, indeed, have been supposed 
 immaterial to him now, but it had been an annoyance for 
 years, his family having always had a preference for roans ; 
 nay, was there not an old distich to the following effect : — 
 
 " Who rides thus through the fray alone ? 
 I ween a noble knight, 
 The red drops fall from his gallant roan. 
 With red is the saddle dight." 
 
 This was supposed to allude to some remote ancestor, 
 and on this account the Rothsattels (red-saddles) prized 
 
60 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 roans above all other horse-iiesh. But as the colour is rare 
 in handsome horses, the Baron had never had the good 
 luck to meet with them. Now, however, Fate willed that 
 a horse-dealer in the district should just bring round a pair ! 
 The blind man evinced a delight which much affected the 
 ladies. He had them ridden, and driven backwards and 
 forwards, carefully felt them all over, took Karl's opinion 
 as to their merits, and revolved a plan of pleasantly sur- 
 prising the Baroness by their purchase. Karl ran to ad- 
 vertise Anton of the impending danger, and he again 
 entered the audience- chamber ; but on this occasion he 
 met with no favourable hearing. The Baroness, indeed, 
 allowed that he was not wrong in theory, but still 
 she implored him to let the Baron have his own way. 
 At length the new horses were in all secrecy led to their 
 stalls, and the purchaser gave, besides the chestnuts and all 
 the money he had in his private purse, a promise of letting 
 the horse-dealer have, after the next harvest, two hundred 
 bushels of oats at an unreasonably low price. Anton and 
 Karl, in their zeal for the estate, were highly indignant at 
 this when it first came to their knowledge months later. 
 
 The forester had the misfortune not to be an especial 
 favourite. The Baroness disliked the abrupt manner of the 
 old man, who, in his solitude, had entirely lost the ob- 
 sequiousness to which she was accustomed. One evening 
 a plan was disclosed of giving him notice, and replacing 
 him by a younger man, who might be dressed in livery, 
 and serve as a representative huntsman, the family having 
 been used to a functionary of this kind on their late estate. 
 Anton had some difficulty in concealing his annoyance while 
 stating that, in the disturbed state of the district, the ex- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 61 
 
 perienced man, who was feared by every scapegrace around, 
 was of more use than a stranger. Lenore was on his side, 
 and the plan was given up, with a look of resignation on 
 the part of the Baroness, and an icy silence on that of her 
 husband. Both henceforth endured the uncouth old man 
 with outward composure, but with visors down. 
 
 These were slight discords, indeed — such as must neces- 
 sarily occur when we live with people whose habits of 
 thought and action differ from our own ; but it was no 
 sign of contentment that Anton kept constantly repeating 
 this to himself. Not only did Karl suit him in many ways 
 better than the family, but so did the forester, and the 
 shepherd too ; and he sometimes felt with pride that he 
 was other than they were — that he was one of the people. 
 Lenore, too, was not what he had imagined her. He had 
 always honoured in her the lady of rank, and felt her cordial 
 friendship a favour. But now she ceased to impress him 
 as a distinguished person. He intimately knew the pattern 
 of all her cuffs and collars, and very plainly saw a small 
 rent in her dress which the careless girl herself was long in 
 observing. He had read through the few books that she 
 had brought with her, and had often in conversation over- 
 stepped the limits of her information. Her way of ex- 
 pressing herself no longer excited his admiration, and he 
 would have been less indignant than of yore if his friend 
 Fink had made inquiry as to her sense. She had less infor- 
 mation than another girl of his acquaintance, and her tastes 
 were not half so cultivated; but hers was a healthy, up- 
 right nature, she had quick feelings and noble instincts, 
 and oh ! she was beautiful ! That he had always thought 
 her, but his tender reverence long wrapped her image round 
 
62 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 with a sacred halo. It was now, however, when he saw her 
 daily in her simple morning-dress, in the everyday moods 
 of this working world, that he first felt the full spell of 
 her blooming youth. Yet he was often dissatisfied with 
 her too. One of the first days after her arrival she had 
 anxiously inquired how she could make herself useful in 
 the house, and he had told her that her superintendence in 
 the kitchen, and exact keeping of accounts, might be of very 
 great use indeed. He had ruled an account-book for her, 
 and had had the pleasure of teaching her how to make 
 entries in it. She threw herself warmly into the new 
 pursuit, and ran into the kitchen ten times a day to see 
 how Balbette was getting on ; but her calculations were not 
 much to be depended upon, and after having for a week con- 
 scientiously laboured at the task, some days of sunshine 
 came, and then she could not resist accompanying the 
 forester on his rounds after game, or riding far beyond the 
 boundary of the estate on her little pony, forgetting alike 
 the cook and her book-keeping. 
 
 Again, she purposed studying history and learning a 
 little English under Anton's superintendence. Anton was 
 delighted. But she could not recollect dates, found the 
 pronunciation of English impossible, and saimtered ofi" into 
 the stable, or went into the room of the bailifi", whose 
 mechanical achievements she could watch with the utmost 
 interest for hours at a time. One day when Anton came 
 to call her to her English lesson, he found her in Karl's 
 room, a plane in her hand, working hard at the seat of a 
 new sledge, and good-naturedly saying, "Don't take so 
 much trouble with me, Wohlfart ; I can learn nothing — I 
 have always been a dunce." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 63 
 
 The suow again lay thick on the ground, and millions of 
 ice-crystals glittered in the sunshine on bush and tree. Karl 
 had two sledges in order, one a double-seated one, the other 
 a running sledge for the young lady, which, with her as- 
 sistance, he had painted beautifully. 
 
 At the next morning conference Anton had to announce 
 to the Baroness that he must go in the afternoon to Tarow, 
 on some police-business. 
 
 " We know the Tarowskis from having met them at the 
 Baths," said the Baroness. " We were quite intimate while 
 there with Frau von Tarowska and her daughter. I 
 earnestly wish that the Baron should have some acquaint- 
 ance in the neighbourhood. Perhaps I may be able to pre- 
 vail upon him to pay a visit with us to-day. At all events, 
 we ladies will avail ourselves of your escort, and make an 
 excursion thither." 
 
 Anton gently reminded her of the vanished Bratzky, and 
 his own suspicions. 
 
 " They are only suspicions," said the Baroness soothingly ; 
 " and there can be no doubt that it is our duty to call. 
 Indeed, I cannot believe that Herr von Tarowski had any- 
 thing to do with the man's disappearance." 
 
 In the afternoon the two sledges were brought round. The 
 Baroness seated herself with her husband in the larger one, 
 and Lenore insisted upon driving her own. "Wohlfart 
 shall sit behind me on the seat," decided she. 
 
 The Baron whispered to his wife, "Wohlfart!" 
 
 " I cannot allow you to drive alone," calmly replied 
 she. " Have no anxiety. He is in your service, besides ; 
 there is no great impropriety; and you and I shall be 
 together." 
 
64 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 The little bells sounded merrily across the plain. Lenore 
 sat in the highest spirits in her little nutshell of a seat, 
 and loudly urged on her horse. She often turned round, 
 and her laughing face looked so lovely under her dark cap, 
 that Anton's whole heart went out towards her. Her green 
 veil fluttered in the wind, and brushed across his cheeks, 
 hung over his face, and concealed the view. The next 
 moment his breath moved the ribbon round her neck, and 
 he saw that only that slight silken covering lay between 
 his hand and her white throat and golden hair. Absorbed 
 in this contemplation, he could hardly resist the delight of 
 gently passing his fur glove over her hood, when a hare 
 jumped from its form close to him, shaking its ears threaten- 
 ingly, and significantly flinging its legs in the air. Anton 
 understood the friendly hint, and drew back the fur glove ; 
 and the hare, pleased to have done a good turn, galloped 
 off over the plain. 
 
 Our hero turned his thoughts into another direction. 
 " This white road bears no trace of man's presence, no slides, 
 no footprints ; there is no life around to disturb the silent 
 sleep of nature. We are travellers penetrating into regions 
 hitherto untrodden. One tree is like another, the snow 
 expanse is boundless, the silence of the grave around, and 
 the laughing sunshine above. I wish we were going on 
 thus the whole day through." 
 
 "I am so glad to drive you for once," said Lenore, bend- 
 ing back, and giving him her hand. 
 
 Anton so far forgot the hare, as to imprint a kiss upon 
 her glove. 
 
 " It is Danish leather," laughed Lenore ; " do not give 
 yourself the trouble." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Here is a hole," said Anton, prepared to renew th(! 
 attempt. 
 
 " You are very attentive to-day," cried Lenore, slowly 
 withdrawing her hand. " The mood suits you charm- 
 ingly, Wohlfart." 
 
 The fur glove was again stretched out to detain the hand 
 withdrawn. At that moment two crows, on the nearest 
 tree, began a violent dispute, screamed, croaked, and flew 
 about Anton's head. 
 
 "Begone, you wretched creatures!" thought Anton in 
 his excitement ; " you shall not disturb me any more." 
 
 But Lenore looked full and frankly at him. " I am 
 not sure, either, that you ought to be so attentive," said 
 she gravely. " You should not kiss my hand, for I have 
 no wish to return the compliment, and what is right for 
 the one, must be right for the other. Huzza ! my horse, 
 forward !" 
 
 " I am curious to know how these Poles will receive us," 
 said Anton, resuming their former conversation. 
 
 "They cannot be otherwise than friendly," returned 
 Lenore. " We lived for weeks with Frau von Tarowska, 
 and took every excursion together. She was the most 
 elegant of all the ladies at the baths, and her daughters, too, 
 made a great impression, by their distinguished bearing. 
 They are very lovely and refined." 
 
 " He has eyes, though, exactly like those of the 
 forester's fox. I would not trust him a yard out of my 
 sight." 
 
 " I have made myself very smart to-day," laughed Lenore, 
 again turning round ; " for the girls are, as I said, lovely, 
 and the Poles shall not say that we Germans look ill 
 
 VOL. IT. E 
 
66 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 beside them. How do you like my dress, Wohlfart?" 
 She turned back the flap of her pelisse. 
 
 " I shall admire no other half so much ! " Anton replied. 
 
 " You true-hearted Mr. AVohlfart I " cried Lenore, again 
 reaching out her hand. Alas ! the warning hare, the crows, 
 would have been powerless to break the spell which attracted 
 the fur glove to the Danish leather ; something stronger 
 must interfere. 
 
 When Anton stretched out his hand for the third time, 
 he marvelled to see it rise against his will, and describe a 
 circle in the air, while he found himself outstretched in the 
 snow. Looking round in amazement, he saw Lenore sitting 
 by the overturned sledge, while the horse stood still, and 
 laughed after his fashion. The lady had looked too much 
 at her companion, and too little at the way, and so they 
 had been upset. Both jumped up lightly. Anton raised 
 the sledge, and they were soon galloping onwards once 
 more. But the sledge-idyl was ended. Lenore looked 
 steadily before her, and Anton occupied himself in shaking 
 the snow out of his sleeves. 
 
 The sledges turned into a spacious court. A long, one- 
 storied farm-house, wliitewa^ed, and roofed with shingles, 
 looked upon the wooden stables. Anton sprang out, and 
 asked a servant in livery for the dwelling of Herr von 
 Tarowski. 
 
 " This is the Palace," replied the Pole, with a low 
 obeisance, and proceeded to help the ladies out of the 
 sledges. Lenore and the Baroness exchanged looks of 
 amazement. They entered a dirty hall ; several bearded 
 domestics rushed up to them, eagerly tore off their wraps, 
 and tlirew a low door open. A numerous party was 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 67 
 
 assembled in the large sitting-room. A tall figure in black 
 silk came forward to meet them, and received them with 
 the best gi-ace in the world. So did the daughters — 
 slender, graceful girls, with their mother's eyes and manners. 
 Several of the gentlemen were introduced — Herr von this, 
 Herr von that, all elegant-looking men in evening dress. 
 At last the master of the house came in — his cunning face 
 beaming with cordial hospitality, and his pair of fox's eyes 
 looking perfectly harmless. The reception was faultless : 
 on all sides the pleasant ease of perfect self-possession. The 
 Baron and the ladies were treated as welcome additions, 
 and Anton too had his share of attention. His busiuess 
 was soon transacted ; and Herr von Tarow smilingly re- 
 minded him that they had met before. 
 
 " That rogue of an inspector got off, after all," said he ; 
 '* but do not be uneasy, he will not escape his fate." 
 
 "I hope not," replied Anton; "nor yet his abettors." 
 
 Herr von Tarow' s eyes tried hard to look dove-like as he 
 went on to say, " The fellow must be concealed somewhere 
 about." 
 
 " Possibly somewhere very near," said Anton, casting a 
 significant glance at the mean-looking buildings around. 
 
 Our hero looked in vain amongst the gentlemen present 
 for the stranger he had previously seen, and charitably 
 attributed to him good reasons for wishing to remain unseen 
 by German eyes. However, to make up for him, there was 
 another gentleman of a striking aspect, who seemed to be 
 treated with especial respect. " They come and go, assemble 
 and disperse," thought Anton, "just as the landlord said; 
 there is a whole band of them to feel anxious about — not 
 merely a few individuals." At that moment the stranger 
 
68 
 
 DEBIT AND CRLDiT. 
 
 came up, and Ijegaii a coui'teous couversation. However 
 unstudied the speaker's manner might appear, yet Anton 
 remarked that he led the conversation, with the view of 
 extracting his opinions and feelings as a German. This 
 made him reserved ; and the Pole finding him so, soon lost 
 his interest in him, and turned to the ladies. 
 
 Anton had now time to look about him. A Vienna 
 pianoforte stood amid furniture evidently made by the 
 village carpenter, and near the sofa, a tattered carpet was 
 spread over the black boards. The ladies sat on velvet 
 seats around a worn-out table. The mistress of the house 
 and her grown-up daughters had elegant Parisian toilettes ; 
 but a side door being casually opened, Anton caught a sight 
 of some children runnmg about in the next room, so scantily 
 clothed, that he heartily pitied them. They, however, did 
 not seem to feel the cold, and were screaming and fighting 
 like little demons. 
 
 A fine damask table-cloth vv^as now laid on the unsteady 
 table, and a silver tea-kettle put down. The conversation 
 went on most pleasantly. Graceful, French hon mots and 
 animated exclamations in melodious Polish, blended occa- 
 sionally with an admixture of quiet German. The sudden 
 bursts of laughter, the gestures and the eagerness, all 
 showed Anton that he was among foreigners. They spoke 
 rapidly, and excitement shone in their eyes, and reddened 
 their cheeks. 
 
 They were a more excitable people, more elastic, and 
 more impressionable than his countrymen. Anton re- 
 marked with amazement, how perfectly Lenore seemed in 
 her element among them. Her face, too, grew flushed, she 
 laughed and gesticulated like the rest ; and her eyes looked, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 G9 
 
 he thought, boldly into the courteous faces of the gentlemen 
 present. The same smile, the same hearty natural manner 
 that she had enchanted him with, when alone, she now 
 lavished upon strangers, who had acted as highwaymen 
 against her father s interests. This displeased him to the 
 utmost. Then the saloon, so incongruous in its arrange- 
 ments, the carpet dii'ty and torn, the children in the next 
 room barefooted, and the master of the house the secret 
 patron of a dishonest rogue, and perhaps worse still ! 
 Anton contented himself with coLJly looking on, and said 
 as little as he possibly coidd. 
 
 At last a young gentleman struck a few chords on 
 the piano, and all sprang up, and voted for a dance. The 
 lady of the house rang, four wild-looking men rushed into 
 the room, snatched up the grand piano, and carried it 
 off. The whole party swept through the hall to an 
 apartment opposite. Anton was tempted to rub his eyes 
 as he entered it. It was an empty room, with rough-cast 
 walls, benches around them, and a frightful old stove in a 
 comer. In the middle, linen was hung on lines to dry. 
 Anton could hardly suppose they meant to dance here. 
 But the linen was torn down by one servant in tlie twink- 
 ling of an eye, while another ran to the stove, and was 
 equally expeditious in blowing up the fire, and in a very 
 few moments, six couples stood up for a quadrille. As 
 there was a lady wanting, a young Count, with a black 
 beard like velvet, and a wondrously beautiful pair of blue 
 eyes, bound his cambric handkerchief round his arm, and 
 with a graceful courtesy, announced himself a lady. He 
 was immediately led out by another gentleman. Their 
 danciiig, in spite of its fashionable character, betrayed at 
 
70 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 times the fire and impetuosity of their race. Lenore threw 
 herself into it, heart and soul. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Baroness was conversing with great ani- 
 mation with her host, and Frau von Tarow made it her 
 occupation to amuse the Baron. Here, then, were all the 
 social forms, the keen enjoyment of the present, which 
 Anton had so often admired, but now they only excited a 
 cold smile. It did not seem to him creditable, that a 
 German family should be on terms of such intimacy with 
 recent enemies — people who were probably at this very 
 time plotting against them and their country. Accordingly, 
 when the first dance was over, and Lenore passing him, 
 asked why he did not dance with her, he replied : " I am 
 every moment expecting to see Bratzky's face appear in 
 some corner of the room." 
 
 " We will not think of him at present," returned Lenore, 
 turning away offended. 
 
 Dance followed dance, the heads of the young people 
 swam, their curls hung down damp, and relaxed with their 
 exertions. Another rush of bearded domestics, and iced 
 champagne was brought in. The dancers tossed it off stand- 
 ing, and immediately a cry rose on all sides for a Polish 
 mazurka — the national dance. Now, then, the dresses 
 fluttered wide and high, the dancers positively flew along, 
 the ladies were tossed like balls from one partner's arm to 
 another ; and Lenore, alas ! in the midst of it all. 
 
 Anton stood near the distinguished Pole carrying on a 
 spiritless conversation, and coldly listened to the praises the 
 former liberally bestowed on the German dancer. The rapid 
 movements and strong excitement, that were natural to the 
 Polish girls, made Lenore wild, and, Anton regretted to see, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 71 
 
 imfeminine ; and his glance wandered away from her to 
 the rough walls, the dusty stove, in which an immense fagot 
 was burning, and the ceiling, from which long grey cobwebs 
 hung down. 
 
 It was late before the Baroness broke up the party. The 
 furs were brought in, the guests were wrapped therein, and 
 the little bells sounded again cheerily over the snowy scene. 
 But Anton was glad that Lenore now drove her father, and 
 that he had to take care of the Baroness. Silently he guided 
 the sledge, thinking all the while that another whom he 
 knew would never have swung to and fro in the mazes of 
 the mazurka, beneath the fluttering cobwebs, and in the 
 house of her country's foes. 
 
72 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 MR. ITZIG was now regularly established in business. 
 
 Whoever visited him passed through a much fre- 
 quented hall, and went up a not entu'ely clean staircase, at 
 the head of which was a white door, on which a great plate 
 revealed the name of "V. Itzig." This door was closed. 
 It had a very massive china handle, and was altogether 
 much more suggestive and imposing than Ehrenthal's 
 had been. Passing through this door, the visitor entered 
 an empty lobby, in which a shrewd youth spent the day, 
 as half-porter, half-errand-boy ; and a spy besides. This 
 youth differed from the original Itzig only by a species of 
 shabby gentility in his appearance. He wore his master's 
 old clothes ; shining silk waistcoats, and a coat a little too 
 large for him. He showed, in short, that the new firm was 
 more advanced in matters of taste and toilette than the 
 in many respects commonplace establishment of Ehrenthal. 
 The visitor, advancing through the lobby, was received by 
 Mr. Itzig in one of two small rooms, of which the first 
 contained little furniture, but two strikingly handsome 
 lamps — a temporary security for the unpaid interest of a 
 note-of-hand. The second was his sleeping apartment ; in 
 it were a simple bed, a long sofa, and a large round 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 73 
 
 min'or, with a broad gilt frame, an acquisition from the 
 secret stores of the worthy Pinkus. Itzig himself was 
 marvellously changed, and on dark days, in his dindy 
 lighted office, he might really — looked at from a little dis- 
 tance — have almost passed for a gentleman. His haggard 
 face had filled out, his great freckles had faded aAvay, and 
 his red hair, through much pomade and skilful brushing, 
 had grown darker, and more manageable. He had still a 
 preference for black, but his clothes were new now, and 
 fitted him better, — for Mr. Itzig had acquired a taste for 
 externals ; he no longer grudged himself good food, nay, he 
 even allowed himself wine. Yet, insignificant as his new 
 establishment was, Itzig only used it at night, and during 
 ofiice-hours. His inclinations still ]ed him to his old haunts, 
 at Lobel Pinkus's. Thus he led a double life ; that of a 
 respectable man of business in his newly-painted ofiice, 
 beneath the glare of his solar lamps ; and when in the cara- 
 vanserai, which fitted his taste far better — a modest sort of 
 life, with red woollen curtains, and a four-cornered chest for 
 a sofa. Perhaps this shelter suited him so exactly, because 
 of his uncontested influence over the master of the house. 
 Pinkus, to his shame be it spoken, had sunk into a mere 
 tool of Veitel's, and his wife, too, was devoted in her alle- 
 giance to the rising man. 
 
 On the present occasion, Itzig sat carelessly on his sofa, 
 and smoked a pipe with an amber mouth-piece. He was 
 completely the gentleman, and expected a visitor of dis- 
 tinction. The bell rang, the servant flew to the door, and 
 a sharp voice was heard. Next there arose a dispute in 
 the lobby, which moved Veitel to shut up his writing- 
 table in all haste, and to put the key into his pocket. 
 
74 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " N"ot at home, indeed ! He is at home, you wretched 
 greenhorn you !" cried the sharp voice to the guardian of 
 the door. Next some resisting body was heard to be 
 thrust on one side. Veitel buried himself in an old mort- 
 gage. The door opened, and Hippus appeared, red-faced 
 and much ruffled. He had never looked more like an old 
 raven. 
 
 " So you deny yourself, do you ? You tell that grub 
 yonder to send away old friends ! Of course, you are 
 become quite genteel, you fool ! Did one ever meet with 
 such barefaced ingratitude ? Because the fellow has 
 swindled himself into two fine rooms, his former associates 
 are no longer good enough for him ! But you have 
 reckoned without your host, my boy, as far as I am con- 
 cerned, I am not to be got rid of so easily." 
 
 Veitel looked at the angry little man before him vdth an 
 expression of countenance by no means friendly. 
 
 " Why did you make a scene with the young man ?" he 
 said coldly ; "he has done nothing wrong. I was expect- 
 ing a visitor on business, and I gave orders to exclude all 
 strangers. How could I know that you would be coming 1 
 Have we not settled that you should only visit me in the 
 evening 1 Why do you disturb me during my business 
 hours f ' 
 
 " Your business hours ! you young gosling, with your 
 shell still hanging about you," cried Hippus, still more 
 irate, and threw himself on the sofa. " Your business 
 hours !" he continued with infinite contempt ; " any hours 
 are good enough for your business ? " 
 
 " You are drunk again, Hippus," answered Veitel, 
 thoroughly roused. " How often have I told you that I 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 75 
 
 will have nothing to do with you when you come out of 
 the spirit-shop ?" 
 
 "Indeed!" cried Hippus ; "you son of a witch, my 
 visit is at all times an honour to you. I drunk !" he 
 hiccupped out ; " and with what, you jack-pudding you ? 
 How is a man to get drunk," he screamed out, " when he 
 has not wherewithal to pay for a glass ?" 
 
 " I knew that he was without money again," said 
 Veitel in exasperation. " I gave you a dollar quite lately, 
 but you are a perfect sponge. It is a pity to waste a 
 farthing upon you." 
 
 " You will prove, though, that it is not at all a pity," 
 answered the old man tauntingly ; " you will give me ten 
 dollars here on the spot." 
 
 " That I will not," cried Veitel. " I am sick of supply- 
 ing you. You know our agreement ; you are only to have 
 money given you when you do something for me in return. 
 And now you are not in a condition either to read or 
 write." 
 
 " I am always good enough for you and such as you, 
 even if I had had a ten times better breakfast," said the 
 old man more calmly. " Give me what you have got for 
 me to do. You are become a covetous rascal, but I'll put 
 up with you. I will forgive your having denied yourself ; 
 I will forgive your having become a presumptuous ass — 
 making a show with lamps that were meant for your 
 betters ; and I will not deprive you of my advice, provided, 
 be it understood, I duly get my honorarium. And so we 
 will make peace, my son. Now, tell me what devilry you 
 have in hand 1 " 
 
 Veitel pushed a thick parchment towards him, and said. 
 
76 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " First of all, you must look over that, write me out an 
 abstract of it, and tell me what you think of it. It has 
 been offered me for sale. Now, however, I am expecting 
 some one, so you must go into the other room, sit down at 
 the table, and get through your task. When it is done 
 we will talk about the money." 
 
 Mr. Hippus took the heavy deed under his arm, and 
 steered towards the door. 
 
 " To-day I am going to oblige you again, because you 
 are a good boy," said he affectionately, lifting his hand to 
 pat Veitel on the cheek. 
 
 Veitel tolerated the caress, and was going to shut the 
 door, when the drunken old man turned round once more, 
 and inquired with a cunning leer — " So you expect some 
 one, my child ? Whom do you expect, little Itzig ? Is it 
 a lad or a lady 
 
 " It is a money matter," said Veitel, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " A money matter !" repeated Hippus, with tender ap- 
 probation of his associate. " Ay, you are great in them — 
 an accomplished swindler ! Truly he who gets money 
 from you is lost ; it were better for him to jump into the 
 water at once, though water is a despicable element, you 
 confounded little swindler you !" And raising his head, 
 he fixed his swimming eyes aff'ectionately on Veitel. 
 
 " And yet you yourself are come to get money from 
 me !" replied Veitel with a forced smile. 
 
 " Yes, I am determined ! " said Hippus, stammering. 
 " I am not flesh and blood ! I am Hippus ! I am 
 Death ! '' and he tried to laugh intelligently. 
 
 The door-bell rang. Veitel desired him to keep quiet, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 77 
 
 shut the door upon him, took up his amber pipe, and 
 awaited his visitor. 
 
 A sword was heard to clatter in the lobby — a hussar 
 officer came in. Eugene Rothsattel had become a little 
 older since the last winter, his fine face was more haggard, 
 and he had a blue ring round his eyes. He put on an 
 appearance of indifference, which did not deceive Mr. Itzig 
 for a single second, for behind that mask his experienced 
 glance detected the fever peculiar to hard-pressed debtors. 
 
 " Mr Itzig ?" inquired the officer de haut en has. 
 
 " Such is my name," said Veitel, rising carelessly from 
 the sofa. Eugene looked at him uneasily. This was the 
 very man against whom his father had been warned, and 
 now fate had driven him into the same snare. " I have 
 to pay a debt in the course of the next few days to cer- 
 tain agents," began the lieutenant, "gentlemen of your 
 acquaintance. When I proposed to hold a consultation 
 with them, I was informed by both that they had sold 
 their claims to you." 
 
 " I bought them unwillingly," replied Itzig. " I am 
 not fond of having anything to do with military men. 
 Here are two notes-of-hand, one for eleven hundred, and 
 the other for eight hundred, making a total of nineteen 
 hundred dollars. Do you recognise these signatures as 
 yours V he coldly inquired, producing the documents ; 
 " and do you acknowledge nineteen hundi'ed to be the 
 sum borrowed by you ?" 
 
 " I suppose it must be about that," said the lieutenant 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " I ask whether you acknowledge that to be the sum 
 that you have to pay me on these notes-of-hand V 
 
73 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " In the devil's name, yes !" cried the lieutenant. " 1 
 own the debt, though I did not receive the half of it in 
 cash." 
 
 Veitel locked up the papers in his desk, and, with a 
 shrug of his shoulders, said ironically, " At all events I 
 have paid the whole sum to the parties herein named. 
 Accordingly I shall summon you to pay me to-morrow and 
 the next day." 
 
 The officer was silent for a while, and a flush slowjy 
 overspread his sunken cheeks. At last, after a hard 
 struggle, he began : " I beg of you, Mr. Itzig, to give me 
 a little more time." 
 
 Veitel took up his amber pipe, and leisurely turned it 
 round. " I can give you no further credit," said he. 
 
 " Come, Itzig, be reasonable," said the officer with forced 
 familiarity. I shall veiy probably soon be able to pay you." 
 
 " You will have as little money in a few weeks time as 
 you have now," replied Veitel rudely. 
 
 " I am ready to write an I. 0. U. for a larger sum if 
 you will have patience." 
 
 " I never enter into any transactions of the kind," lied 
 Veitel. 
 
 " I will i^rociu-e you an acknowledgment of the debt 
 from my father." 
 
 " The Baron Rothsattel would obtain as little credit with 
 me as yourself." 
 
 The lieutenant angrily struck the floor with his sword : 
 " And supposing I do not pay?" he broke out; *' you know 
 that I am not legally compelled to do so." 
 
 " I know," quietly replied Veitel. '• Will you pay to- 
 morrow and the next day?" 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 79 
 
 " I cannot !" exclaimed Eugene in despair. 
 " Then take care of the coat on your back," said Veitel, 
 turning away. 
 
 " Wohlfart was right to warn me against you," cried 
 
 Eugene, beside himself. " You are an obdurate ■ ," he 
 
 suppressed the last word. 
 
 " Speak your mind freely," said Itzig, " no one hears you. 
 Your words are like the fire in my stove, it crackles now, 
 in an hour it will be burnt to ashes. What you say to 
 me in private, the people in the street will say to you in 
 three days' time if you do not pay," 
 
 Eugene turned away with a curse. On reacliing the 
 door he stood still for a moment, then rushed down 
 stairs, 
 
 Veitel looked round triumphantly. " The son as well as 
 the father ! He, too, is safely noosed," said he to himself ; 
 " he can never procure the money. There is an end of the 
 Rothsattels, and their Wohlfart will not be able to sustain 
 them. When I am married to Rosalie, Ehrenthal's mort- 
 gages will be mine. That will be the time, too, for finding 
 the vanished notes-of-hand among my father-in-law's papers. 
 Then I shall have the Baron completely in my power, and 
 the estate will be mine," 
 
 After this soliloquy he opened the door that had shut out 
 IVIr, Hippus from the distinguished visitor — the sunken 
 from the sinking — and he found the little advocate fast 
 asleep over the deed. Itzig looked at him with hearty 
 contempt, and said, " He grows burdensome. He said he 
 was death ; I wish he were dead, and I freed from him," 
 Then roughly shaking up the old man he screamed out to 
 him, " You are fit for nothing but to sleep ; why must 
 
80 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 you come here to snore ? Go liome, I will give you the 
 deed when you are sober." 
 
 The advocate accordingly reeled away, promising to 
 return the following afternoon. Itzig proceeded to brush 
 his silk hat with enviable dexterity, he then put on his best 
 coat, gave his hair its most graceful curve, and went to the 
 house of his antagonist, Ehrenthal. As he entered the hall 
 he cast a shy glance at the ofFice-door, and hurried on to the 
 staircase. But he stopped on the lowest step. " There he 
 is, sitting again in the office," said he, listening. " I hear 
 him mutter; he often mutters so when he is alone. I will 
 venture in, perhaps I can make something of him." So he 
 stepped slowly to the door and listened again — then taking 
 heart he opened it suddenly. In the dimly-lighted room 
 sat a stooping figure in a leathern chair, a shapeless hat on 
 its head. The figure kept constantly nodding, and mut- 
 tering unintelligible words. How changed was Hirsch 
 Ehrenthal in the course of the past year ! When he last 
 drove over the Baron's estate, he was a stout respectable- 
 looking man, a fresh well-preserved man, who knew how to 
 stick in his breast-pin to the best advantage, and cut a 
 figure in ladies' eyes. Now the head that was constantly 
 nodding in nervous debility, was that of an old man, and 
 the beard that hung down from his furrowed face had been 
 untrimmed for weeks. He was a picture of that most 
 lamentable decay, when the rnind precedes the body on the 
 way to second childhood. 
 
 The agent stood at the door and looked in dismay at his 
 former master. Then advancing nearer he said, " I wish 
 to speak to you, Mr. Ehrenthal." 
 
 The old man continued to nod his head, and answered in 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 81 
 
 a trembling voice : " Hirsch Elircntlial is my name, what 
 have you to say to me 
 
 " I wish to speak to you on important business," con- 
 tinued Itzig. 
 
 " I hear," returned Ehrenthal without looking up ; " if 
 the business be important, why do you not speak 
 
 " Do you know me, Hirsch Ehrenthal 1 " said Itzig, bend- 
 ing down and raising his voice. 
 
 The man in the leathern chair looked at him with 
 languid eyes, and at length recognised him. He got up in 
 all haste, and stood, his head still nodding, with a glance 
 full of hatred and teiTor in his eyes. " What do you want 
 here in my office !" cried he with a quivering voice. " How 
 can you come before me 1 Get out, man ! get out ! " 
 
 Itzig remained stationary. "Don't scream so, I am not 
 doing anything to you, I only want to speak to you on im- 
 portant subjects, if you will be calm as a man of your years 
 should be." 
 
 " It is Itzig," murmured the old man ; " he wants to 
 speak on important subjects, and I am to be calm. How 
 can I be calm," screamed he again, " when I see you before 
 me 1 You are my enemy ; you have ruined me here and 
 ruined me there ; you have been to me like the evil spirit 
 with the sword, on which hangs the drop of gall. I opened 
 my mouth, you pierced me with your sword, the gall has 
 reached my heart : I needs must tremble when I see you." 
 
 " Be quiet," said Itzig ; " and when you are so, listen 
 to me." 
 
 " Is his name Itzig ?" mumbled the old man to himself. 
 " His name is Itzig, but the dogs bark at him as he walks 
 tlirougb the streets. I will not see you," he again ex- 
 
 VOL. II. F 
 
82 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 claimed. " Get out ; I loathe the sight of you — I would 
 rather have to do with a spider than with you." 
 
 To this Veitel replied in a resigned voice, " What has 
 happened, Ehrenthal, has happened, and it's no use talking 
 of it. You behaved unkindly to me, and I acted against 
 you ; both are true." 
 
 " He ate every Sabbath at my table," growled the old 
 man. 
 
 " If you remember that," continued Itzig, " why, so will 
 I. True, I have eaten at your table, and on that account 
 I am sorry to be on bad terms with you. I have always 
 felt a great attachment to your family." 
 
 "You have shown your attachment, young Itzig," con- 
 tinued the old man. "You are he who came into my 
 house, and killed me before I am laid in my grave. 
 
 "What nonsense are you talking?" continued Yeitel 
 impatiently. " Why do you always speak as if you were 
 dead, and I the evil spirit with the sword ! I am here, 
 and I wish your prosperous life, and not your death. I 
 will so contrive that you shaU yet occupy a good position 
 among our people, and that they who pass you in the 
 street shall again take ofif their hats to you, as they did 
 before Hirscli Ehrenthal became childish." 
 
 Ehrenthal mechanically took off his hat and sat down 
 again. His hair had grown white. 
 
 " There ought to be friendship between you and me," 
 continued Veitel persuasively ; " and your business ought 
 to be as mine. I have sent you more than one man of our 
 connexion, and have told you my wishes through him, and 
 Mrs. Ehrenthal, your wife, has told you them too. I am 
 become a man who can rank with the best men of business ; 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 83 
 
 I can show you a safe capital larger than you imagine, 
 AVhy should we not put our money together ? If you will 
 give me your daughter Rosalie to wife, I shall be able to 
 act for you as your son-in-law." 
 
 Old Ehrenthal looked at the suitor with a glance, in 
 which something of his old cunning shone through his half- 
 wittedness. " If you want my daughter Rosalie," replied 
 he, " hear the only question I have to put : What wiU 
 you give me if I give you Rosalie ?" 
 
 " I will reckon it up to you at once," cried Veitel. 
 
 "You can reckon up a good deal, I daresay," said 
 Ehrenthal, declining the statement ; " but I will only re- 
 quire one thing : if you can give me back my son Bernhard, 
 you may have my daughter. If you cannot bring my 
 Bernhard out of the grave, so long as I have any voice left 
 I shall say, ' Get out with you ! get out of my office !' Get 
 out !" screamed he in a sudden transport of rage, clenching 
 both fists against the suitor. Veitel quietly retreated into 
 the shadow cast by the door, the old man sank down 
 again in his chair, and threatened and muttered to himself. 
 Itzig watched him till his words again became unintel- 
 ligible, when he shrugged his shoulders and left the room. 
 
 As he went up stairs to pay his visit to the ladies, he 
 repeated the movement occasionally, to express his utter 
 contempt of the poor imbecile below. He rang the bell, 
 and was admitted by the untidy cook with a familiar smile. 
 
 Meanwhile, Eugene drifted helplessly from one officer's 
 room to another. He went to Feroni's ; the oysters were 
 flavourless, the Burgundy tasted like ink. Again he 
 paced up and down the streets, the sweat of anguish on his 
 brow. At last he sat down in a confectioner's shop, tired 
 
84 
 
 DEBIT A^D CREDIT. 
 
 to death, and revolved every possible contingency. If 
 Wohlfart were only here ! But there was no time to write 
 to him. These agents had put him off' from day to day ; 
 it was only last night that they had both finally referred 
 him to Mr. Itzig. But though it was too late to write to 
 Anton, might not this obligiag friend have some acquaint- 
 ance in the town 1 In recommending young Stui'm, Anton 
 had told him that the future bailiff's father was a safe 
 man, not without substance. Perhaps he could get money 
 from the father of a hussar now in the service of his 
 family, if, mdeed, the old man had any money. That was 
 the question. 
 
 He turned to the Directory, and found John Sturm, 
 porter, Island Street, No. 17. He di'ove thither in a 
 drosky. A loud " Come in " was the reply to his hurried 
 knock. The sore-pressed officer crossed the threshold of 
 the porter. Father Sturm sat alone with his can of beer, 
 a small daily paper in his hand. A hussar ! " cried he, 
 remaining seated through very astonishment. The officer 
 on his part was astonished at the colossal form now con- 
 templating him, and both were silent. 
 
 "To be sure 1" said the giant. " A hussar of my Karl's 
 regiment — the coat is the same, the epaulettes the same ; 
 you are welcome, comrade !" and he rose. Then for the 
 first time perceiving the metal of the epaulettes, he ex- 
 claimed, " As I live, an officer ! " 
 
 " My name is Eugene von Rothsattel," began the lieu- 
 tenant. " I am an acquaintance of Mr. Wohlfart." 
 
 " Of Mr. Wohlfixrt and of my son Karl," said Sturm 
 eagerly ; "sit down, sir, it is an exceeding pleasure and 
 honour to me to see you." He brought out a chair and 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 85 
 
 thumped it down in his zeal, so as to make the door shake 
 again. 
 
 Eugene was going to sit down. " Not yet," said Sturm ; 
 " I will first wipe it that the uniform take no harm. Since 
 my Karl went away, things are a little dusty here." 
 
 He wiped and polished up the chair for his visitor. 
 Now, sir, allow me to sit opposite you. You bring me 
 tidings of my little fellow ?" 
 
 " Only," replied Eugene, " that he is well in health, and 
 that my father much values his services." 
 
 "Indeed!" cried Sturm, smiling all over, and rapping 
 on the table so as to create a small earthquake in the room, 
 " I knew, sir, that jom father the Baron would be satisfied 
 with him ; I would have given him a bond for that on 
 stamped paper. He was a clever lad, even when he was 
 that high," indicating with his hand a degree of smallness 
 that belongs to no human being, even in the earliest days 
 of its visible life. 
 
 "But can he do anything?" he anxiously inquired, 
 ^' in spite of — ^you know what ?" — he held out his great 
 fingers, and made confidential signs with them. " First 
 and middle finger ; it was a great misfortune, sir." 
 
 Eugene now called to mind the unlucky accident. " He 
 has got over it," said he, rather embarrassed at the part the 
 l^atemal aftections of the giant made him play. " I came 
 here to ask a favour." 
 
 " A favour ?" laughed Sturm ; " ask away, young Baron, 
 that is a simple matter. Any one from the house where 
 my Karl is bailiff, has a right to ask a favour from old 
 Sturm. That is my view of the case." 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Sturm, to make a long story short, I 
 
86 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 am called upon to make a heavy payment to-morrow, and 
 I want the money for it. The debt has come upon me 
 suddenly, and I have no time to communicate with my 
 father. I know no one in this town to whom I can 
 turn with so much confidence as to the father of our 
 bailiff." 
 
 Sturm bent forward, and in his delight, clapped the 
 officer on the knee. " That was nobly said. You are a 
 gentleman, who keeps to his own house, and does not go 
 to strangers for what he can have from his own people. 
 You want money 1 My Karl is bailiff at your father the 
 Baron's ; my Karl has some money, so it is all right. How 
 much do you want ? - A hundred dollars 1 Two hundred 
 dollars 1 The money is there." 
 
 " I can hardly take courage, Mr. Sturm, to tell you the 
 amount of the sum," said Eugene, embarrassed ; " it is 
 nineteen hundred dollars." 
 
 " Nineteen hundred dollars !" repeated the giant in amaze- 
 ment ; " that's a capital, that's a firm, that's what people 
 call a fortune." 
 
 " So it is, Mr. Sturm," said Eugene sadly. " And smce 
 you are so friendly towards me, I must own to you that I 
 am heartily grieved that it should be so much. I am ready 
 to give you a note-of-hand for it, and to pay any interest 
 you may like." 
 
 " Do you know what," said Sturm, after some cogita- 
 tion, " we will say nothing about the interest, you can 
 settle that with my Karl. But as to the note-of-hand, that 
 is a good thought of yours. A note-of-hand is pleasant, 
 on account of the chances of life and death. You and 
 I would have no need of such a thing ; but I may die 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 87 
 
 before my time. That would not matter, for yovi, who 
 know of the transaction, would still be there. But then 
 you might die, which, however, I have no fear of — quite 
 the contrary ; but still such a thing might be, and then 
 my Karl ought to have your signature, so that he might 
 come forward and say, " My poor young master has writ- 
 ten this, therefore pay." 
 
 "You will then have the kindness to lend me the 
 money 
 
 " There is no kindness in it," said Sturm ; " it is but 
 my duty, as the thing is done regularly, and my dwarf is 
 your bailiff." 
 
 Eugene was moved as he looked at the giant's laughing 
 face. " But, Mr, Sturm, I want the money to-morrow." 
 
 " Of course," replied Sturm ; " that is just what suits 
 me. Come, Baron, — this way." He took up the candle, 
 and led him into his bedroom. " Excuse things being 
 so disorderly, but I am a lone man, and at my work all 
 day long. Look here, this is my money-box." He drew 
 out the iron chest. "It is safe from thieves," said he with 
 self-complacency, " for no one in the town can stir it but I, 
 and no one can open it, for the lock is the masterpiece of 
 the father of my dear departed wife. Few besides me can 
 lift the lid, and even if many of them came, they would 
 find it too tough a job for them. So you may believe that 
 the money is safe here from rogues and swindlers and the 
 like," said he triumphantly. He was about to put the key 
 into the lock. " Stop," he suddenly cried ; " one word 
 more. I trust you. Baron, as I do my Karl — that of course, 
 but just answer me this question : You really are the young 
 Baron?" 
 
88 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Now it was Eugene's turn to smile, and putting his 
 hand into his pocket, he said, " Here is my patent." 
 
 " Ah, many thanks ! " cried Sturm, carefully looking 
 through the paper, and reverentially reading the names, then 
 bowing, and giving it back with two fingers in the most 
 respectful manner possible. 
 
 " And here," continued Eugene ; "I happen to have a 
 letter of Wohlfart's in my pocket." 
 
 " Of course," cried Sturm, looking at the address, " that 
 is his living hand." 
 
 " And here is his signature." 
 
 " Your devoted Wohlfart," read the giant ; " and if he 
 writes that, you may be sure that it is true. So now the 
 business is settled," said he, opening the box. " Here is 
 the money. So, then, nineteen hundred dollars." He 
 took five great rolls out of the chest, held them comfort- 
 ably in one hand, and gave them to Eugene. Here are a 
 thousand." 
 
 Eugene tried in vain to hold them. 
 
 " Just so," said the porter ; " I will bring them down 
 to the carriage. The rest I must give you in promissory- 
 notes. These are worth a little less than a hundred dollars, 
 as of course you know." 
 
 " It does not signify," said Eugene. 
 
 " No," said the giant. " It can be mentioned in the 
 note-of-hand. And now the matter is all settled." He 
 closed the chest, and pushed it under the bed. 
 
 Eugene re-entered the little parlour with a lightened 
 heart. 
 
 " Now, then, I will caiTy the money to the carriage," 
 cried Sturm. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 89 
 
 " The note-of-liand lias yet to be written." 
 
 " True," nodded the giant ; " we must do things in 
 order. Just see, sir, whether you can write with my coarse 
 pen. If I had known that I should have such a visitor, 
 I would have brought a better one with me from Mr. 
 Schroter's." 
 
 Eugene wrote out an acknowledgment, while Sturm sat 
 by his can of beer, and looked at him in admiration. Then 
 he accompanied him to the carriage, and said at leave- 
 taking, " Greet my little lad heartily, and Mr. Wohlfart 
 too. I have promised Karl to come to him at Christmas, 
 on account of the Christmas-tree. But my health is no 
 longer as good as it should be. I am forty-nine past ! " 
 
 A short time afterwards, Eugene, writing to Anton, 
 casually mentioned that he had borrowed nineteen hundred 
 dollars from father Sturm, on a note-of-hand. "Try to 
 arrange the matter for me," said the letter ; " of course my 
 father must know nothing of it. A good-hearted foolish 
 fellow that old Sturm. Think of something nice for his 
 son the hussar, something that I can bring him when I pay 
 you a visit." 
 
 Anton flung down the letter indignantly. " There is no 
 helping them ; the principal w^as right," said he. " He has 
 squandered the money in golden bracelets for a mercenary 
 (/anseuse, or at dice with his lawless comrades, and he now 
 pays his usurer's bills with the hard earnings of an honest 
 working-man." 
 
 He called Karl into his room. " I have often been 
 sorry to have brought you into this confusion, but to-day 
 I deeply feel how wTong it was. I am ashamed to tell 
 you what has happened. Young Rothsattel has taken 
 
90 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 advantage of your father's good-heartedness, to borrow from 
 him nineteen hundred dollars !" 
 
 "Nineteen hundred dollars from my governor!" cried 
 Karl. " Had my Goliath so much money to lend ? He 
 always pretended that he did not know how to economize !" 
 
 " Part of your inheritance is given away in return for a 
 worthless note-of-hand, and what makes it still more aggra- 
 vating, is the coolness of the thoughtless borrower. Have 
 you then not heard of it from your father ?" 
 
 " From him !" cried Karl ; " I should think not. I am 
 only sorry that you should be so vexed. I implore you 
 not to make any disturbance about it. You best know 
 how many clouds hang over this house ; do not increase the 
 anxiety of these parents on my account." 
 
 " To be silent in a case like this," replied Anton, " would 
 be to make one's-self an accomplice in an unfair transaction. 
 You must immediately write and tell your father not to be 
 so obliging in future ; the young gentleman is capable of 
 going to him again." 
 
 Anton's next step was to write Eugene a letter of serious 
 remonstrance, in which he pointed out to him, that the 
 only way of giving Sturm tolerably good security would be 
 the procuring the Baron's acknowledgment of his son's 
 debt, and begged that he would lose no time in doing this. 
 
 This letter written, Anton said to Karl : " If he does 
 not confess to his parents, I shall state the whole affair to 
 the Baron in his presence, the very next day after his 
 arrival. Don't try to dissuade me ; you are just like your 
 father." 
 
 The consequence of this communication was, that Eugene 
 left off writing to Anton, and that his next letter to his 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 91 
 
 father contained a rather uninteUigible clause : — " Wohl- 
 fart," he said, "was a man to whom he certainly had 
 obligations ; only the worst of that kind of people was, 
 that they took advantage of these to adopt a dictatorial 
 tone that was unbearable. Therefore it was best civilly to 
 shake them off." 
 
 This opinion was quite after the Baron's own heart, and 
 he warmly applauded it. " Eugene always takes the right 
 view of a case," said he ; " and I too earnestly long for the 
 day when I shall be able to superintend the property, and 
 to dismiss our Mr. Wohlfart." 
 
 The Baroness, who had read the letter out to her hus- 
 band, merely replied, " You would miss Wohlfart very much, 
 if he were to leave you." 
 
 Lenore, however, was unable to suppress her displeasure ; 
 and leaving the room in silence, she went to look for Anton 
 out of doors. 
 
 "What are you and Eugene differing about?" she cried 
 as soon as she saw him. 
 
 "Has he been complaining of me to you?" inquired 
 Anton in return. 
 
 " Not to me ; but in his letter to my father, he does not 
 speak as he ought of one who has been so kind to him." 
 
 " Perhaps this is accidental, a fit of ill-humour that will 
 pass off." 
 
 " No, it is more, and I will know about it." 
 
 " If it be more, you can only hear it from himself." 
 
 "Then, Wohlfart," cried Lenore, "Eugene has been 
 doing something wrong, and you know of it." 
 
 " Be that as it may," returned Anton gravely, " it is not 
 my secret, else I should not withhold it from you. I pray 
 
92 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 you to believe that I have acted uprightly towards your 
 brother." 
 
 " What I believe little signifies," cried Lenore. " I am 
 to know nothing ; I understand nothing, I can do nothing 
 in this wretched world but grieve and fret when others are 
 unjust to you." 
 
 " I very often," continued Anton, " feel the responsibility 
 laid upon me by your father's indisposition a grievous 
 burden. It is natural that he should be annoyed with me 
 when I have to communicate unwelcome facts. This can- 
 not be avoided. I have strength, however, to brave much 
 that is painful, so long as you and the Baroness are un- 
 shaken in your conviction, that I always act in your interest 
 so far as I understand it." 
 
 " My mother knows wdiat you are to us," said Lenore. 
 " She never, indeed, speaks of you to me, but I can read 
 her glance when she looks at you across the table. She 
 has always known how to conceal her thoughts; now, she 
 does so more than ever. Yes, even to me ! I seem to see 
 her pure image behind a white veil; and she is become so 
 fragile, that often the tears rush to my eyes merely in look- 
 ing at her. She always says what is kind and judicious, 
 but she seems to have lost interest in most things ; and 
 though she smiles at what I say, I fancy that tlie effort 
 gives her pain." 
 
 " Yes ; just so," cried Anton mournfully. 
 
 " She only lives to take care of my father. No one, not 
 even her daughter, knows what she inwardly suffers. She 
 is like an angel, Wohlfart, who lingers on our earth re- 
 luctantly. I can be but little to her, that I feel. I am 
 not helpful, and want all that makes my mother so lovely 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 93 
 
 —the self-control, the calm bearing, the enchanting manner. 
 My father is sick — my brother tlioughtless — my mother, 
 spite of all her love, reserved towards me. Wohlfart, I am 
 indeed alone." 
 
 She leaned on the side of the well, and wept. 
 
 " Perhaps it will all be for your good," said Anton sooth- 
 ingly from the other side the well. " Yours is an energetic 
 nature, and I believe you can feel very strongly." 
 
 " I can be very angry," chimed in Lenore through her 
 tears, " and then very careless again." 
 
 "You grew up without a care, in prosperous circum- 
 stances, and your life Avas easy as a game." 
 
 " My lessons were difficult enough, I am sure," remon- 
 strated Lenore. 
 
 " I think that you were in danger of becoming a little 
 wild and haughty in character." 
 
 " I am afraid I was so," cried Lenore. 
 
 " Now, you have had to bear heavy trials, and the pre- 
 sent looks serious too. And, if I may venture to say so, 
 dear lady, I think you will find here, just what the Baroness 
 has acquired in the great world — dignity and self-control. 
 I often think that you aj-e changed already." 
 
 "Was I then an unbearable little savage formerly T' 
 asked Lenore, laughing in the midst of her tears, and look- 
 ing at Anton with girlish archness. 
 
 He had hard work not to tell her how lovely she was at 
 that moment ; but he valiantly conquered the inclination, 
 and said as coolly as he could, " Not so bad as that, dear 
 lady!" 
 
 "And do you know what you are?" asked Lenore play- 
 fully. " You are, as Eugene writes, a little schoolmaster!" 
 
94 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 "So that is what he has written!" cried Anton, enlight- 
 ened. 
 
 Lenore grew grave at once. " Do not let us speak of 
 him. As soon as I heard his letter, I came here to tell 
 you that I trust you as I do no one on earth, if it be not 
 my mother ; that I shall always tmst you as long as I live ; 
 that nothing could shake my faith in you ; that you are 
 the only friend that we have in our adversity; and that I 
 could ask your pardon on my knees when any one offends 
 you in word or even thought." 
 
 " Lenore, dear lady," cried Anton joyously, " say no 
 more." 
 
 " I will say," continued Lenore, " how I admire the self- 
 possession with which you follow your own way and manage 
 the people, and that it is you alone who keep any order on 
 the estate, or can bring it into a better condition. This 
 has been upon my mind to say ; and now, Wohlfart, you 
 know it." 
 
 " I thank you, lady," cried Anton ; " such words make 
 this a happy day. But I am not so self-possessed and 
 efficient as you think; and every day I feel more and more 
 that I am not the person to be really of service here. If 
 I ever wish that you were not the Baron's daughter, but 
 his son, it is when I go over this property." 
 
 " Yes," said Lenore ; that is just the old regret. Our 
 former bailiff used often to say the same. When I sit over 
 my work, and see you and Mr. Sturm go out together, I 
 get so hot, and I throw my useless frame aside. I can 
 only spend, and understand nothing but buying lace ; and 
 even that I don't understand well, according to mamma. 
 However, you must put up with the stupid Lenore as your 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 95 
 
 good friend." And she gave him her own true hearted 
 smile. 
 
 "It is now many years since I have, in my inmost soul, 
 felt your friendship to be a great blessing," cried Anton, 
 much moved. " It has always, up to this very hour, been 
 one of my heart's best joys secretly to feel myself your 
 faithful friend." 
 
 " And so it shall ever be between us," said Lenore. 
 " Now I am comfortable again. And do not plague your- 
 self any more about Eugene's foolish ways. Even I am not 
 going to do so." 
 
 Thus they parted like innocent children who find a plea- 
 sure in saying to each other all that the passion of love 
 would teach to conceal. 
 
96 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 rPHE enmity between Pix and Specht raged fiercely as 
 ever. Now, however, Specht stood no longer alone, — 
 the quartett was on his side ; for Specht was wounded in 
 feelings that the quartett respected, and often celebrated in 
 song. Mr. Specht w^as in love. Certainly this was nothing 
 new to his excitable nature ; on the contrary, his love was 
 eternal, though its object often changed. Every lady of 
 his acquaintance had, in her turn, been worshipped by him. 
 Even the elderly cousin had been for a time the subject of 
 his dreams. 
 
 On this occasion, however, Mr. Specht's love had some 
 solid foundation. He had discovered a young Avoman, a 
 well-to-do householder, the widow of a fur-merchant, with 
 a round face and a pleasant pair of nut-brown eyes. He 
 followed her to the theatre, and in the public gardens, walked 
 past her windows as often as he could, and did all that in 
 liim lay to win her heart. 
 
 He disturbed the quiet of her bereaved life by showers of 
 anonymous notes, in which he threatened to quit this sub- 
 lunary scene if she despised him. In the list of advertise- 
 ments, amongst fresh caviare, shell-fish, and servants wanting 
 places, there appeared, to the astonishment of the public, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 97 
 
 numerous poetical effusions, where Adele, the name of the 
 widow, was made prominent, either in an acrostic, or else by- 
 its component letters being printed in large capitals. At 
 length Specht had not been able to resist taking the quartett 
 into his confidence on the subject. The two basses were 
 amazed at such poetical efforts having proceeded from their 
 office. True, they had often ridiculed them with others, 
 while Specht inwardly groaned over counting-house criti- 
 cism ; but now that they knew one of themselves to have 
 been the perpetrator, the esprit de corps awoke, and they 
 not only received his confessions kindly, but lent him their 
 assistance in bribing the watchman in the widow's street, 
 and serenading her, on which occasion a window had been 
 seen to open, and something white to appear for a few 
 minutes. Specht was now at the summit of earthly felicity, 
 and as that condition is not a reticent one, he imprudently 
 extended his confidence to others of his colleagues, and 
 so it was that the matter came to the ears of Pix. 
 
 And now there began in the local advertiser a most ex- 
 traordinary game of hide-and-seek. There were numerous 
 insertions appointing a Mr. S. to a rendezvous with one 
 dear to him, in every possible part of the town. Wherever 
 the place, Specht regularly repaired to it, and never found 
 her whom he sought, but suffered from every variety of 
 weather, was repulsed by stranger ladies, and had the end 
 of a cigar thrown into his face by a shoemaker s apprentice, 
 whom he mistook for his fair one in disguise. Of course 
 he, on his side, gave vent, through the same medium, to 
 his complaints and reproaches, which led to excuses and 
 new appointments. But he never met the long-sought-for 
 one. 
 
 VOL. II. G 
 
98 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 This went on for some weeks, and Speclit fell into a 
 state of excitement which even the basses found repre- 
 hensible. 
 
 One morning Pix was standing as usual on the ground- 
 floor, when a plump, pretty lady, with nut-brown eyes, and 
 enveloped in beautiful furs, entered the house, and in an 
 irate tone of voice inquired for Mr. Schroter. 
 
 Pix informed her that he was not then at home, adding, 
 with the air and tone of a field-marshal, that he was his 
 representative. 
 
 After some reluctance to tell her tale to any other than 
 Mr. Schroter had been overcome by the polite decision of 
 Mr. Pix, the lady preferred her complaint against one of 
 the clerks in that oflBce who persecuted her with letters 
 and poems, and unworthily made her name public in the 
 daily papers. 
 
 The whole thing flashed upon Pix at once. " Can you 
 give me the gentleman's name V 
 
 " I do not know his name," said the widow ; " he is tall 
 and has curly hair. 
 
 " Gaunt in figure and a large nose, eh?" inquired Pix. 
 " Very well, madam, from this day forth you shall have no 
 further annoyance. I will be answerable for that." 
 
 " Still," recommenced the lady in the furs, " I should 
 wish Mr. Schroter himself — " 
 
 " Better not, madam. The young man has behaved 
 towards you in a manner for which I can find no adequate 
 terms. Yet your kind heart will remember that he did 
 not mean to offend. He wanted sense and tact, that was 
 his offence. But he was really in earnest ; and since I 
 have had the honour to know you, I find it natural." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 99 
 
 He bowed. " I condemn him, as I said before, but I find it 
 natural." 
 
 The pretty widow stood there embarrassed, and Pix pro- 
 ceeded to say that her forgiveness would be a source of 
 happiness to the whole establishment. 
 
 " I never meant to make the establishment responsible 
 for the ungentlemanlike behaviour of one of its mem- 
 bers." 
 
 " I thank you with my whole heart for your gracious 
 conduct," said Pix triumphantly, and then skilfully pro- 
 ceeded to lead the conversation to the goods with which 
 they were surrounded, pointing out the peculiarities of 
 different coffees, and stating, that although the firm had left 
 off retail dealings, yet that in her case they would, at any 
 time, be much flattered to receive an order, however small, 
 and to furnish her with the articles required, at wholesale 
 prices. 
 
 The lady expressed her gratitude, and went away recon- 
 ciled to the firm. 
 
 Pix went into the office, and calling Specht aside, 
 severely remonstrated with him. Specht was at first speech- 
 less with terror. " She began in the daily papers," cried 
 he at length ; " she first appointed the theatre, then the 
 promenade, then the tower to see the view, then — " 
 
 " Nonsense !" exclaimed Pix with virtuous indignation ; 
 " don't you see that some scapegrace or other has been 
 making a fool of you ? The lady has been rendered very 
 unhappy by your conduct." 
 
 Specht wrung his hands. 
 
 " I have done all I could to set her mind at rest, and 
 have promised that you shall never again intrude upon her 
 
100 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ill any one way. So mind wliat you are about, or Mr. 
 Schroter shall hear the whole story." 
 
 While Specht, suffering inexpressibly, took counsel with 
 liis musical friends, Pix acted. A porter carried an im- 
 mense packet to the widow's house that very evening, which 
 Pix scrupulously charged to his own account. That same 
 evening he called to announce Specht' s penitence, and pro- 
 mises of never offending again. The following Sunday he 
 took coffee at the lady's house, and four weeks after he 
 made her a proposal. This was accepted, and Mr. Pix 
 determined, in spite of moths and other hindrances, to 
 give a fresh impulse to the fur-trade, and to become its 
 centre. 
 
 To his honour be it said, he felt bound to communicate 
 the fact to Specht before any one else, and to vouchsafe 
 him a few words of consolation. "Fate has so willed it; 
 be rational, Specht, and make up your mind. After all, 
 it is one of your colleagues who is getting married ; take 
 my advice, and fall in love as fast as you can with some one 
 else. It will give you no trouble at all." 
 
 "So you think," cried Specht in despair. 
 
 " I assure you it will not, if you set about it in earnest. 
 We will remain good friends ; you shall be my groom' s- 
 man, and you will soon find another whose name will rhyme 
 quite as well as Ad^le." 
 
 This consolation, however, proved unavailing at the time, 
 and Specht, indignant at the treachery of his opponent, 
 enjoyed at least the mournful satisfaction of having the 
 whole counting-house on his side, and hearing Pix univer- 
 sally condemned as a hard-hearted, selfish fellow. But time 
 gradually poured its balsam into his heart ; and the widow 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 101 
 
 happening to have a niece whose eyes were blue, and whose 
 hair was golden, Specht began by finding her youth interest- 
 ing, then her manners attractive, till one day he returned 
 to his own room fully resolved to be the nephew-in-law 
 of Mr. Pix. 
 
 The merchant sat one evening in his arm-chair, and 
 seemed absorbed in his own thoughts. At last, turning to 
 his sister he said, " Fink has disappeared again." 
 
 Sabine let her work fall. " Disappeared ! In America ! " 
 
 " An agent of his father's was in our counting-house to- 
 day. According to what he told me there has been a fresh 
 difference between Fink and his father, and this time I fear 
 Fink is more in the right of it than the firm. He has 
 suddenly given up the management of its affairs, has broken 
 up by his strong measures a great company founded by his 
 uncle, has renounced his claim upon his inheritance, and 
 has disappeared. The uncertain reports that have come 
 from New York say that he is gone to the prairies of the 
 interior." 
 
 Sabine listened with intense interest, but she said not a 
 word. Her brother, too, was silent a while. " After all, 
 there were noble elements in his character," said he at 
 length. The present time requires energy and strength 
 like his. Pix, too, is leaving us. He is to marry a widow 
 with means, and to set up for himself. I shall give his 
 post to Balbus, but he will not replace him." 
 
 "No," said Sabine anxiously. 
 
 " This house is growing empty," continued her brother, 
 " and I feel that my strength is failing. These last years 
 have been heavy ones. We get accustomed to the faces, even 
 to the weaknesses of our fellow-men. No one thinks how 
 
102 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 bitter it often is to the head of a firm to sever the tie that 
 binds him to his coadjutors ; and I was more used to Pix 
 than to most men — it is a great blow to me to lose him. 
 And I am growing old. I am growing old, and our house 
 empty. You alone are left to me at this gloomy time ; and 
 when I am called upon to leave you, you will remain behind 
 me desolate. My wife and my child are gone ; I have been 
 setting my whole hopes upon your blooming youth ; I have 
 thought of your husband and your children, my poor dar- 
 ling. But meanwhile I have grown old, and I see you at 
 my side with a cheerful smile and a wounded heart — active, 
 sympathizing, but alone; without great joys and without 
 happy hopes." 
 
 Sabine laid her head on her brother's shoulder, and wept 
 silently. " One of those whom you have lost was dear to 
 you," said she gently. 
 
 "Do not speak or think of him," replied her brother 
 darkly. " Even if he returned from thence he would be 
 lost to us." He passed his hand over her head, took up 
 his hat, and left the room. 
 
 " Yet he himself is always thinking of Wohlfart," cried 
 the cousin from her w^indow-niche. " This very day he was 
 cross-examining old Sturm about Karl and the property. I 
 declare I don't understand the man." 
 
 " / understand him," sighed Sabine, and sat down again 
 to her work. The cousin pouted — " You and he are just 
 alike ; there is no speaking to you on certain subjects." 
 And she left the room. 
 
 Sabine sat alone. Tlie fire crackled in the stove, the 
 pendulum of the clock swung backwards and forwards 
 monotonously. " Ever so ! Ever so !" it seemed to say. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 103 
 
 Those pictures of her parents had been looking calmly down 
 upon her, their last child, for many years. Her youth was 
 passing away silent, serious, still as those painted forms. 
 Sabine bowed her head and listened. Hush! little fairy 
 steps in the corner of the room. Hark, again ! a merry 
 laugh from a child's lip, and the steps tripped nearer, and 
 a curly head was laid on her knee, and two little arms 
 stretched out lovingly to clasp her neck. She bent down 
 and kissed the air, and listened again to those blessed sounds 
 which swelled her heart with rapture, and brought tears of 
 joy to her eyes. Alas ! she but grasped at empty air, and 
 nothing was real but the tears that fell into her lap. 
 
 So sat she long till twilight closed in. The vibrations 
 of the pendulum seemed to fail, the fire grew low in the 
 stove, the pictures dim on the walls, the room dark and 
 lonely. 
 
 At that moment old Sturm's hammer was heard outside. 
 Every stroke fell strong, vigorous, decided. It sounded 
 through courtyard and house. Sabine rose : " So it shall 
 be," cried she. " I have twice hoped and feared, twice it 
 has been an illusion, now it is over. My life is to be de- 
 voted to him to whom I am all. I cannot bring to him 
 the husband he hoped for, and no band of children will 
 twine their arms about his neck. Yes, things will go on 
 with us as they have done hitherto, always more silent, 
 always more empty. But me shall he have, and my whole 
 life. My brother, thou shalt never again feel with regret 
 that thy life and mine are wanting in joyousness !" 
 
 She caught up her little key-basket, and hurried into her 
 brother's room. Meanwhile, the cousin was making up 
 her mind to pay Mr. Baumann a visit. 
 
104 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Between the cousin and Mr. Baumann there had long 
 been a silent understanding, and fate now willed that he 
 should be her neighbour at the dinner-table. When the 
 cousin glanced back over her succession of neighbours, she 
 came to the conclusion, that they had lost in sprightliness 
 what they had gained in moral worth. Fink was rather 
 profane, but very amusing ; Anton had a certain equipoise 
 of goodness and pleasantness ; Baumann was the best of 
 them all, but also the most silent. Her conversation with 
 him, though edifying enough, was never exciting. On 
 Mondays indeed they had a mutual interest in discussing 
 the Sunday's sermon, but there was another tie between 
 them, and that was Anton. 
 
 The good lady could not account for what she called 
 his unnatural departure. Whether the fault was that of 
 the principal or the clerk, she could not take upon her- 
 self to decide, but she was firmly convinced that the step 
 was unnecessary, unwise, and injurious to all parties ; 
 and she had done all towards bringing the wanderer back 
 into the firm that tender hints and feminine persuasions 
 can do to counteract manly perversity. Wlien first Anton 
 left, she had taken every opportunity of mentioning and 
 praising him, both to the merchant and to Sabine. But 
 she met with no encouragement. The merchant always 
 answered drily, sometimes rudely, and Sabine invariably 
 tui'ned the subject or was silent. The cousin was not, 
 however, to be taken in by that. Those embroidered 
 curtains had let in a flood of light upon her mind, in which 
 Sabine stood plainly revealed to her gaze. She knew thai 
 Mr. Baumann was the only one of his colleagues with 
 whom Anton kept up a correspondence, and to-day she 
 resolved to call him to her aid. Therefore she took up the 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 105 
 
 report of a benevolent society, lent her by the future mis- 
 sionary, and knocking at Mr. Baumann's door, handed it 
 in to him. " Very good," said she on the threshold ; 
 " Heaven will bless such a cause. Pray set me down as 
 a subscriber for the future." Mr. Baumann thanked her in 
 the name of the poor. The cousin went on. " What do 
 you hear of late from your friend Wohlfart 1 He seems to 
 have vanished from the face of the earth; even old Sturm 
 has nothing to say about him." 
 
 " He has a great deal to do," said the reticent Bau- 
 mann. 
 
 " Nay, I should think not more than here. If occupa- 
 tion was all he wanted, he might have remained where he 
 was." 
 
 " He has a difficult task to perform, and is doing a 
 good work where he is," cautiously continued Mr. Bau- 
 mann. 
 
 " Don't talk to me of your good work," cried the cousin, 
 entering, in her excitement, and closing the door behind her. 
 " He had a good work to do here too. I beg your pardon, but 
 really I never knew such a thing in all my life. He runs 
 away just when he was most wanted. And no excuse for it 
 either. If he had married or set up for himself, that would 
 have been a different thing, for a man likes a business and a 
 household of his own. That would have been God's will, 
 and I should not have said a word against it. But to run 
 off from the counting-house after sheep and cows, and 
 noblemen's families and Poles, when he was made so 
 much of, and was such a favourite here ! Do you know 
 what I call that, Mr. Baumann?" said she, the bows on her 
 cap shaking with her eagerness ; " I call that ungrateful ! 
 
106 
 
 DEEIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 And what are we to do here ? This house is getting quite 
 desolate, Fink gone, Jordan gone, Wohlfart gone, Pix 
 gone, — you are almost the only one remaining of the old 
 set, and you can't do everything." 
 
 " No," said Baumann, embarrassed ; " and I, too, am 
 very awtwwdly placed ; I had fixed last autumn as the 
 term of my stay here, and now spring is comiug on, and I 
 have not followed the voice that calls me." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense !" cried the cousin in horror ; "yon 
 are not going away too ?" 
 
 " I must," said Baumann, looking down ; " I have had 
 letters from my English brethren, they blame my lukewarm- 
 ness. I fear I have done very wrong in not leaving you 
 before, but when I looked at the heaps of letters, and Mr. 
 Schroter's anxious face, and thought what hard times these 
 were, and that the house had lost most of its best hands, I 
 was withheld. I, too, wish that Wohlfart would return ; he 
 is wanted here." 
 
 " He must return !" cried the cousin ; " it is his Chris- 
 tian duty. Write and tell him so. Certainly we are not 
 very cheerful here," said she confidentially ; "he may have 
 a pleasanter time of it yonder. The Poles are a merry, 
 riotous set." 
 
 " Alas ! " replied Mr. Baumann in the same confidential 
 tone, " he does not lead a merry life. I am afraid he 
 has a hard time of it there ; his letters are by no means 
 cheerful." 
 
 " You don't say so ! " said the cousin, taking a chair. 
 Baumann drew his near her and went on. 
 " He writes anxiously ; he takes a gloomy view of the 
 times, and fears fresh disturbances." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 107 
 
 " God forbid !" cried the good woman, " we have had 
 enough of them." 
 
 " He lives in an unsettled district, with bad men around, 
 and the police regulations seem to be quite inadequate." 
 
 " There are fearful dens of robbers there," chimed in the 
 excited cousin. 
 
 " And I fear, too, that his earnings are but small. At 
 first I sent him a few trifles to which he was accustomed, 
 such as tea and cigars, but in his last letter he told me he 
 was going to be economical, and to leave them ofi". — He 
 must have very little money," continued Baumann, shaking 
 his head ; " not more than two hundred dollars." 
 
 " He is in want," cried the cousin ; " actually he is ! 
 Poor Wohlfart ! When you next write, we will send him 
 a chest of the Pekoe tea, and a couple of our hams." 
 
 " Hams to the country ! I fancy there are more swine 
 there than anything else." 
 
 " But they don't belong to him," cried she. " Listen to 
 me, Mr. Baumann ; it is your Christian duty to wite to him 
 at once, and tell him to return. The business wants him. 
 I have the best reasons to know how much my cousin 
 Schroter is silently feeling the loss of his best coadjutors, 
 and how much he would rejoice to see Wohlfart back again." 
 
 This was a pious fraud of the good lady's. 
 
 " It does not appear so to me," interpolated Baumann. 
 
 " It was only to-day that my cousin Sabine said to her 
 brother how dear Wohlfart had been to us all, and how 
 great a loss he was. If he has duties yonder, he has duties 
 here too, and these are the oldest." 
 
 " I will write to him," said Mr. Baumann ; " but I fear, 
 honoured lady, that it will be to no purpose, for now that 
 
108 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 lie himself is a loser by it, he will never look back from 
 the plough to which, for the sake of others, he has put his 
 hand." 
 
 " He does not belong to the plough, but to the pen," cried 
 the cousin irritably ; " and his place lies here. And because 
 he gets a good name here, and drinks his tea comfortably, 
 he does his duty none the less. And I tell you, too, j\Ir. 
 Baumann, that I beg never to hear again of your African 
 notions." 
 
 Baumann smiled proudly. However, as soon as the 
 cousin had left the room, he obediently sat down and wrote 
 off the whole conversation to Anton. 
 
 The snow had melted away from the Polish estate, the 
 brook had swollen to a flood, the landscape still lay silent 
 and colourless, but the sap began to circulate in the branches, 
 and the buds on the bushes to appear. The ruinous bridge 
 had been carried away by the winter torrents, and Anton 
 was now superintending the building of a new one. Lenore 
 sat opposite him, and watched his measurements. " The 
 winter is over," cried she ; " spring is coming ! 1 can 
 already picture to myself green grass and trees, and even the 
 gloomy castle will look more cheerful in the bright spring 
 sunshine than it does now. But I will sketch it for you 
 just as it is, and it shall remind you of the first winter 
 that we spent here under your protection." 
 
 And Anton looked with shining eyes at the beautiful 
 girl before him, and, with the pencil in his hand, sketched 
 her profile on a new board. " You won't succeed," said 
 Lenore ; " you always make my mouth too large, and my 
 eyes too small. Give me the pencil ; I can do better. 
 Stand still. Look ! that is your face ; your good, true 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 109 
 
 face ; — I know it by heart. Hurrah I the postman !" 
 cried she, throwing away the pencil, and hurrying to the 
 castle. Anton followed her ; for the postman and his 
 heavy hag were to the castle as a ship steering through 
 the sandy deep, and bringing the world's good things to the 
 dwellers on a lonely island. The man was soon relieved 
 from his burden. Lenore gladly caught up the drawing- 
 paper that she had ordered from Rosmin. " Come, Wohl- 
 fart, we will look out the best place for sketching the 
 castle ; and you shall hang up the picture in your room, 
 instead of the old one, which saddens me whenever I see 
 it. Once you sketched our home : — now I will sketch it 
 for you. I will take great pains, and you shall see what 
 I can do." 
 
 She had spoken joyously, but Anton had not heard a 
 word she said. He had torn open Baumann's letter, and 
 as he read it his face reddened with emotion. Slowly, 
 thoughtfully, he turned away, went up to his room and 
 came down no more. Lenore snatched up the envelope, 
 which he had dropped. " Another letter from his friend 
 in the firm ! " said she sadly ; " whenever he hears from 
 him, he becomes gloomy and cold towards me." She threw 
 away the envelope, and hurried to the stable to saddle her 
 trusty friend the pony. 
 
110 
 
 DEBIT AJS'D CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER VL 
 
 TT was the weekly market in the little town of Rosmin. 
 
 From time immemorial this had been an important fes- 
 tival to the country people around. 
 
 For five days of the week the peasant had to cultivate 
 his plot of ground, or to render feudal service to his landlord ; 
 and on Sunday his heart was divided between the worship 
 of the Virgin, his family, and the public-house ] but the 
 market-day led him beyond the narrow confines of his 
 fields into the busy world. There, amidst strangers, he 
 could feel and show himself a shrewd man in buying and 
 selling ; he greeted acquaintance whom else he would never 
 have met ; saw new things and strange people ; and 
 heard the news of other towns and districts. So it had 
 been even when the Slavonic race alone possessed the soil. 
 Then the site where Rosmin now stands was an open field, 
 with perhaps a chapel or a few old trees, and the house of 
 some sagacious landed proprietor, who saw further than the 
 rest of his long-bearded countrymen. At that time the Ger- 
 man pedlar used to cross the border with his wagon and his 
 attendants, and to display his stores under the protection 
 of a crucifix, or of a di'awn Slavonic sword. These stores 
 consisted of gay handkerchiefs, stockings, necklaces of 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Ill 
 
 glass and coral, pictures of saints and ecclesiastical decora- 
 tions, which were given in exchange for the produce of the 
 district — wolf-skins, honey, cattle, and corn. In course of 
 time the handicraftsman followed the pedlar, the German 
 shoemaker, the tinsmith, and the saddler established them- 
 selves ; the tents changed into strongly-built houses that 
 stood around the market-place. The foreign settlers 
 bought land, bought privileges from the original lords of 
 the soil, and copied in their statutes those of German 
 towns in general. In the woods and on the commons 
 round, it was told with wonder how rapidly those men of 
 a foreign tongue had grown up into a large community, and 
 how every peasant who passed through their gate must pay 
 toU ; nay, that even the nobleman, all-powerful as he was, 
 must pay it as well. Several of the Poles around joined lots 
 with the citizens, and settled among them as mechanics or 
 shopkeepers. This had been the origin of Rosmin, as of 
 many other German towns on foreign soil, and these have 
 remained what at first they were, the markets of the 
 great plains, where Polish produce is still exchanged for 
 the inventions of German industry, and the poor field- 
 labourer, brought into contact with other men, with cultiu"e, 
 liberty, and a civilized state. 
 
 As we have before said, the market day at Rosmin is 
 a great day still. From early dawn hundreds of basket- 
 carriages, filled with field-produce, move on towards the 
 town, but the serf no longer whips on the used-up chargers 
 of his master, but his own sturdy horse of German breed. 
 And when the light carriage of a nobleman rolls by, the 
 peasant urges his horse to a sharper trot, and only slightly 
 touches his hat. Every^vhere they are moving on towards 
 
112 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the town : the children are drivmg their geese thither, and 
 the women carrying their butter, fruit, and mushrooms, 
 and, carefully concealed, a hare or two that has fallen a 
 victim to their husbands' guns. Numbers of carts stand at 
 the door of every inn, and crowds are pushing in and 
 out of every drinking-shop. In the market-place the corn 
 wagons are closely ranged, and the whole wide space covered 
 with well-filled sacks, and horses of every size and colour ; 
 and a few brokers are winding their way, like so many eels, 
 amongst the crowd, with samples of grain in each pocket, 
 asking and answering in two languages at once. Amidst 
 the white smock-frocks of the Poles, and their hats adorned 
 with a peacock's feather, the dark blue of the German 
 colonists appears, together with soldiers from the next 
 garrison, townspeople, agriculturists, and fine youths, sons 
 of the nobility. You may see the gendarme yonder at 
 the corner of the square, towering high on his tall horse ; 
 he, too, is excited to-day, and his voice sounds authori- 
 tatively above aU the confusion of the carts that have 
 stopped up the way. Everywhere the shops are opened 
 wide, and small dealers spread out their wares on tables 
 and ban-els in front of the houses ; there the bargains are 
 deliberately made, and the enjoyment of shopping is keenly 
 felt. The last purchase over, the next move is into the 
 tavern. There, cheeks get redder, gestures more animated, 
 voices louder, friends embrace, or old foes try hard to pick 
 a quarrel. Meanwhile men of business have to make the 
 most of this day, when actions are brought and taxes paid. 
 Now it is that Mr. Lowenberg drives his best bargains, not 
 only in swine, but in cows and wool, besides which he 
 lends money, and is the trusted agent of many a landed 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 113 
 
 proprietor. So passes the markot-day, in ceaseless talking 
 and enjoyment, earning and spending, rolling of carts and 
 galloping of horses, till evening closes in, and the housewife 
 pulls her husband by the coat, remembering that the earthen 
 mugs he carries are easily broken, and that the little children 
 at home are beginning to cry out for their mother. Such 
 has ever been the weekly market in the town of Rosmin. 
 
 During the last winter, the numbers attending it had not 
 decreased, but there was a degree of restlessness to be ob- 
 served in many, particularly in the gentry of the district. 
 Strangers of military appearance often entered the principal 
 wine-shop, and went into the back-room, of which the door 
 was at once shut. Youths wearing square red caps, and 
 peculiarly attired, walked in and out amongst the crowd, 
 tapping one peasant on the shoulder, calling another by 
 name, and taking them into a corner apart. 
 
 Wherever a soldier appeared, he was looked at like a 
 character in a masquerade ; many avoided him, many, 
 Germans and Poles alike, made more of him than ever. In 
 the taverns, the people from the German villages sat apart, 
 and the Poles on Herr von Tarow's estate drank and bought 
 more than they were wont to do. The tenant of the new 
 farm had been unable, last market-day, to lind a new scythe 
 anywhere in the town, and the forester had complained to 
 Anton, that he could not in any shop get powder enough 
 to last him more than a week. Something was in the wind, 
 but no one w^ould say what it was. 
 
 It was market-day again at Rosmin, and Anton drove 
 thither, accompanied by a servant. It was one of the first 
 spring-days, and the sun shone brightly, reminding him how 
 gay the gardens must now be with early flowers, and that 
 
 VOL. II. H 
 
114 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 he and the ladies in the castle would see none this year, 
 save a few perhaps from the little farm-garden behind the 
 barn. But, indeed, it was no time to care much for flowers ; 
 everywhere men's hearts were restless and excited, and 
 much that had stood firm for years now seemed to totter. 
 A political hurricane was blowing over wide districts ; every 
 day the newspapers related something unexpected and 
 alarming ; a time of commotion and universal insecurity 
 seemed impending. Anton thought of the Baron's circum- 
 stances, and what a misfortune it would be to him should 
 land fall in value, and money rise. He thought of the 
 firm, of the place in the office which he secretly still con- 
 sidered his own, and of the letter written by Mr. Baumann, 
 telling him how gloomy the principal looked, and how 
 quarrelsome the clerks had become. 
 
 He was roused out of his sorrowful reverie by a noise 
 on the road. A number of gentlemen's carriages drove past 
 him, Herr von Tarowski occupying the first, and politely 
 bowing as he passed. Anton was surprised to see that his 
 huntsman sat on the box as if they were going to the chase. 
 Three other carriages followed, heavily laden with gentle- 
 men ; and behind came a whole troop of mounted men — 
 Yon Tarow's German steward among them. 
 
 "Jasch," cried Anton to the servant who drove him, 
 "what was it that the gentlemen in the second carriage 
 were so careful to hide as they drove by 1 " 
 
 " Guns," said Jasch, shaking his head. 
 
 This sunny day, after so long a period of snow and rain, 
 naturally attracted people from all sides to the town. 
 Parties of them hurried forward, but few women were 
 among them, and there was a degree of excitement and 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 11.:; 
 
 animation prevailing, that was in general only displayed 
 when returning in the evening. Anton halted at the first 
 public-house on the way, and told the driver to remain there 
 v/ith the horses. 
 
 He himself walked rapidly on through the gate. The 
 town was so crowded that the carts of grain could hardly 
 make their way along. When Anton reached the market- 
 place he was struck with the scene before him. On all 
 sides heated faces, eager gestures, not a few in hunting 
 costume, and a strange cockade on numerous caps. The 
 crowd was densest before the wine-merchant's store ; there 
 the people trode on one another, staring up at the windows, 
 from whence hung gaily-coloured flags, the Polish colours 
 above the rest. While Anton was looking with disquietude 
 at the front of the house, the door was opened, and Herr 
 von Tarow came out upon the stone steps, accompanied by 
 a stranger with a scarf bound round him, in whom Anton 
 recognised the same Pole who had once threatened him 
 with a court-martial, and who had been inquiring for 
 tlie steward a few months ago. A young man sprang 
 out of the crowd on to the lowest step, saying some- 
 thing in Polish, and waving his hat. A loud shout rose in 
 return, and then came a profound silence, during which Von 
 Tarow spoke a few words, the import of which Anton could 
 not catch, owing to the noise of carts and tlie pushing of 
 the crowd. Next, the gentleman with the scarf made a 
 long oration, during which he was often interrupted by loud 
 applause. At the end of it, a deafening tumult arose. 
 The house-door was thrown wide open, and the crowd 
 swayed to and fro like the waves of the sea, some rushing 
 off in another direction, and others running into the house, 
 
116 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 whence they hurried back with cockades on their caps, and 
 scythes in their hands. The number of the armed went on 
 rapidly increasing, and small detachments of scythe-bearers, 
 headed by men with guns, proceeded to invest the market- 
 ]>lace. 
 
 Hearing the word of command given behind him, Anton 
 turned and saw a few men mounted and armed, who were 
 ordering all the wagons to be removed from the market- 
 place. The noise and confusion increased, the peasants 
 dragging off their horses in all haste, the traders flying 
 into the houses with their stores, the shops being gradu- 
 ally closed. The market-place soon presented an ominous 
 appearance. Anton was now swept off by the crowd to its 
 opposite side, where the custom-house stood, made conspi- 
 cuous from afar by the national escutcheon suspended near 
 the windows. That was now the point of attraction, and 
 Anton saw from a distance a man plant a ladder against the 
 wall, and hack away at the escutcheon till, amidst profound 
 silence, it fell to the ground. Soon, howviver a drunken 
 i-abble fell upon it with wild yells, and, tying a rope about 
 it, ignominonsly dragged it through the gutter and over the 
 stones. 
 
 Anton was beside himself. " Wretches !" cried he, run- 
 ning towards the offenders. But a strong arm was thrown 
 around him, and a broken voice said, " Stop, j\Ir. Wohl- 
 fart, this is their day, to-morrow will be ours." Dashing 
 away the unwelcome restraint, Anton saw the portly form 
 of the Neudorf bailiff, and found himself surrounded by a 
 number of dark-looking figures. These were the blue- 
 coated German farmers, their faces full of grief and anger. 
 " Let me go !" cried Anton in a phrensy. But again the 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 117 
 
 heavy hand of the bailiff' was laid on his shoulder, and tears 
 were in the man's eyes as he said, " Spare your life, IVIr. 
 Wohlfart, it is all in vain ; we have nothing but our fists, 
 and we are the minority." And on the other side his 
 hand was grasped as if in a vice by the old forester, who 
 stood there groaning and sobbing : " That ever I should live 
 to see this day ! Oh, the shame, the shame ! " Again there 
 rose a yell nearer them, and a voice cried, " Search the 
 Germans ; take their arms from them ; let no one leave the 
 market-place ! " Anton looked round him hastily. " This 
 w^e will not stand, friends, to be trapped here in a German 
 town, and to have our escutcheon outraged by those mis- 
 creants." 
 
 A dnmi was heard at a distance. " It is the drum of the 
 guard," cried the bailiff" ; " the town militia are assembling 
 — they have arms." 
 
 " Perhaps all may not be lost yet," cried Anton ; " I 
 know a few men wdio are to be relied upon. Compose 
 yourself, old friend," said he to the forester. " The Germans 
 from the country must be enlisted, no one knows yet wdiat 
 we can do. We will, at all events, disperse in diff*erent 
 directions, and re-assemble at the fountain here. Let each 
 go and call his acquaintance together. No time is to be 
 lost ! You go in that direction, bailiff" ; you, smith of Kunau, 
 come with me." They divided ; and Anton, followed by the 
 forester and the smith, went once more round the market- 
 place. Wherever they met a German there was a glance, a 
 hurried hand-clasp, a whispered word — " The Germans 
 assemble at the fountain ;" and these spirited up the irre- 
 solute to join their countrymen. 
 
 Anton and his companions paused for a moment in the 
 
118 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 midst of the dense crowd around the wine-merchant's. 
 About fifty men with scythes stood before the house, near 
 them a dozen more armed with guns ; the doors were still 
 open, and people were still going in to get arms. Some 
 young gentlemen were addressing the crowd, but Anton re- 
 marked that the Polish peasants did not keep their ranks, 
 and looked doubtfully at each other. While the forester 
 and the smith were giving the sign to the Germans, of 
 whom many were here assembled, Anton rushed up to a 
 little man in working garments, and seizing him by the 
 arm said : " Locksmith Grobesch, you standing here ? Why 
 do you not hasten to our meeting-place ? you a citizen 
 and one of the militia, will you put up with this insult ?" 
 
 " Alas, Mr. Agent," said the locksmith, taking Anton 
 apart, " what a misfortune ! Only think, I was hammer- 
 ing away in my workshop, and heard nothing of what was 
 going on. One can't hear much at our work. Then my 
 wife ran in — " 
 
 " Are you going to put up with this insult ?" cried Anton, 
 shaking him violently. 
 
 " God forbid, Mr. Wohlfart ; I head a band of militia. 
 While my wife looked out my coat, I just ran over the way 
 to see how many of them there were. You are taller than 
 I ; how many are there carrying arms 
 
 " I count fifty scythes," replied Anton hurriedly, 
 
 " It is not the scythes, they are a cowardly set ; how many 
 guns are there ?" 
 
 " A dozen before the door, and perhaps as many more 
 in the house." 
 
 " We have about thirty rifles," said the little man 
 anxiously ; " but we can't count upon them all to-day." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 119 
 
 " Can you get us arms 1 " asked Anton. 
 
 " But few," said the locksmith, shaking liis liead. 
 
 "There is a band of us Germans from the countiy," said 
 Anton rapidly ; " we will fight our way into the suburb, as 
 far as the Red Deer Inn, and there, I will keep the people 
 together, and for God's sake send us a patrol to report the 
 state of things, and the number of arms you can procure. 
 If we can eject the nobles, the others will run away at 
 once." 
 
 " But then the revenge these Poles will take I " said the 
 locksmith. " The town will have to pay for it." 
 
 " No such thing, my man. The military can be sent 
 for to-morrow, if you but help to eject these madmen 
 to-day. Off with you ; each moment increases the 
 danger ! " 
 
 He drove the little man away, and hurried back to the 
 fountain. There the Germans were assembled in small 
 groups, and the Neudorf bailiff came to meet him, crying 
 — " There's no time to lose ; the others are beginning to 
 notice us ; there is a party of scythes forming yonder 
 against us !" 
 
 " Follow me," cried Anton in a loud voice : " draw 
 close ; forward ! let's leave the town." 
 
 The forester sprang from side to side, marshalling tli<^ 
 men ; Anton and the bailiff led the way. As they reached 
 the corner of the market-place, scythes were crossed ; and 
 the leader of the party cocked his gun and said theatrically, 
 " Why do you wish to leave, my fine sir ? Take arms, ye 
 people ; to-day is the day of liberty ! " 
 
 He said no more, for the forester, springing forward, 
 gave him such an astounding box on the ear that he reeled 
 
120 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 and fell, his gun dropping from his hand. A loud cry 
 arose ; the forester caught up the gun, and the scythe- 
 bearers, taken by surprise, were dashed aside, their scythes 
 taken from them, and broken on the pavement. Thus the 
 German band reached the gates, and tliere, too, the enemy 
 yielded, and the dense mass passed on unmolested till they 
 reached the inn appointed. There the bailiff, urged on by 
 Anton, addressed the people — 
 
 " There is a plot against the Government. There is a 
 plot against us Germans. Our armed enemies are few, and 
 we have just seen that we can manage them. Let every 
 orderly man remain here and help the citizens to drive out 
 the strangers. The town militia will send us word how 
 we can best do this, therefore remain together, coun- 
 trymen !" 
 
 At these words, many cried, "We will ! we will !" but 
 many, too, grew fearful and stole away home. Those who 
 remained looked out for arms as best they could, taking up 
 pitchforks, bars of iron, wooden cudgels, or whatever else 
 lay ready to hand. 
 
 " I came here to buy powder and shot," said the forester 
 to Anton. " Now I have a gun, and I will fire my very 
 last charge, if we can only revenge the insult they have 
 offered to our eagle." 
 
 Meanwhile the hours passed as usual at the castle, and 
 it was now about noon. The Baron, accompanied by his 
 wife, walked in the sunshine, gmmbling because the mole- 
 hills against which his foot tripped, were not yet levelled. 
 This led him to the conclusion that there was no reliance 
 to be placed upon hired dependants of any kind, and that 
 Wohlfart was the most forgetful of his class. On this 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 121 
 
 theme lie enlarged with a kind of gloomy satisfaction, the 
 Baroness only contradicting him as far as she could without 
 putting him out of temper. At last he sat down on a 
 chair that one of the servants carried after him, and 
 quietly listened to his daughter, who was discussing with 
 Karl the liest site for a small plantation. No one thought 
 of mischief, and each one was occupied wdtli things imme- 
 diately around him. 
 
 Then came the rumour of some great disaster, flying on 
 wings of evil omen over the wide plain. It swooped dowii 
 on the Baron's oasis, heavily fluttered over pines and wild 
 pear-trees, corn fields and meadows, till it reached the castle. 
 At first it was indistinct, like a little cloud on a sunny 
 sky ; but soon it grew, it darkened the air, it brooded 
 with its black pinions over all hearts, — it made the blood 
 stand still in the veins, and filled the eyes with burning 
 tears. 
 
 In the middle of his work, Karl suddenly looked \\\\ 
 and said in dismay, " That was a shot I" 
 
 Lenore started, — then laughed at her own terror. 
 " I did not hear it," said she ; " perhaps it was the 
 forester." 
 
 " The forester is gone to town," replied Karl gravely. 
 
 " Then it is some confounded poacher in the wood !" cried 
 the Baron angrily. 
 
 " It was a cannon shot," maintained the positive Karl. 
 
 " That is impossible," said the Baron, but he himself 
 listened with intense attention ; " there are no cannon for 
 many miles round." 
 
 The next moment a voice sounded out from the farm- 
 yard — " There is a fire in Rosmin !" 
 
122 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Karl looked at his young lady, threw down his spade, 
 and ran towards the farm-yard. Lcnore followed him. 
 
 " Who said that there was a fire in Rosmin ?" he 
 inquired. Not one would own that he had, but all ran in 
 dismay to the high road, though the town was six miles 
 off, and no view of it was to be had from thence. 
 
 " Many scared women have been running along towards 
 Neudorf," said one servant ; and another added, " There 
 must be mischief going on in Rosmin, for we can see the 
 smoke rise above the wood." All thought indeed that 
 they did perceive a dark cloud in that direction, Karl as 
 well as the rest. 
 
 The nobles are all there to-day," cried one. " They 
 have set the town on fire." Another professed to have 
 heard from a man in the fields that this was to be a serious 
 day for landed proprietors ; then, looking askance at Karl, 
 he added, " Many things may yet happen before evening.'' 
 Next came the landlord, exclaiming — "If this day were 
 but over I" and Karl returned, "Would that it were!" yet 
 no one knew exactly why. 
 
 From that hour, fresh messengers of ill succeeded each 
 other. " The soldiers and the Poles are fighting," said one. 
 " Kunau is on fire too I" cried some women who had 
 been working in the fields. At last came the farmers 
 wife, mnning up to Lenore. " My husband sends me 
 because he won't leave the farm on a day like this. He 
 wishes to know whether you have any tidings of the 
 forester ; there is murder going on in the town, and 
 people say the forester is shooting away in the midst of 
 it all." 
 
 " Who says so ?" asked the Baron. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 11^3 
 
 " One who came rimniiig across the fields told it to my 
 husband ; and it must be true that there is an uproar in 
 the town, for when the forester went thither he had 
 no gim." 
 
 Thus the dark rumour spread. Karl had much diffi- 
 culty in getting the men out again to their ploughing. 
 Lenore meantime went up to the tower with him, but 
 they could not be positive whether or not there was smoke 
 in the direction of Rosmin. They had scarcely got down, 
 when one of the farmer's servants came back with his 
 horses to say that a man from the next district had told 
 him, as he galloped past, that Rosmin was filled with men 
 bearing red flags, and armed with scythes ; and that all 
 the Germans in the country were to be shot. The 
 Baroness wrung her hands and began to weep, and her 
 husband lost all the self-command he had sought to exer- 
 cise. He burst out into loud complaints against Wohlfart 
 for not being on the spot on a day like this ; and gave 
 Karl a dozen contradictory orders in quick succession. 
 Lenore could not endure her suspense within the castle 
 walls, but kept as much as she could with Karl, in whose 
 trusty face she foimd more comfort than in anything else. 
 Both looked constantly along the high road to see if a 
 carriage or a messenger were coming. 
 
 " He is peaceable," said she to Karl, hoping for confirma- 
 tion from him. " Surely he would never expose himself to 
 such fearful risk." 
 
 But Karl shook his head. " Tliere is no trusting to that. 
 If things in the town are as people say, Anton will not 
 be the last to take a hand in them. He will not think of 
 himself." 
 
124 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " No, that lie will not I" cried Lenore, wringing her 
 hands. 
 
 So the day passed. Karl sternly insisted upon keeping all 
 the servants together, he himself shouldering his carbine, 
 not knowing why, and saddling a horse to tie it up again 
 in the stable. At evening the landlord came running to 
 the castle, accompanied by a serv-ant from the distillery. 
 As soon as he saw the young lady, the good-natured man 
 called out, " Here are tidings, dreadful tidings, of INIr. 
 Wohlfart!" 
 
 Lenore ran forward, and the servant began to give a 
 confused report of the horrors of the day in Rosmin. He 
 had seen the Poles and Germans about to fire at each other 
 in the market-place, and x4.nton was marching at tlie head 
 of the latter. 
 
 " I knew that," cried Karl proudly. 
 
 The servant went on to say, that he had run off just as 
 all the Poles had taken aim at the gentleman. Whether 
 he were alive or dead, he could not exactly say, owing to 
 his terror at the time, but he fully believed the gentleman 
 must be dead, 
 
 Lenore leant against the wall, Karl tore his hair in distrac- 
 tion. " Saddle the pony," said Lenore in a smothered voice. 
 
 " You are not thinking of going yourself at night through 
 the wood all the way to the town T cried Karl. 
 
 The brave girl hurried towards the stable without an- 
 swering him ; Karl barred the way. " You must not. 
 The Baroness would die with anxiety about you, and what 
 could you do amongst those raging men yonder ?" 
 
 Lenore stood still. " Then go for him," said she, half- 
 unconscious ; " bring him to us alive or dead." 
 
DEBIT AND CEKDIT. 
 
 125 
 
 " Can I leave you alone on a day like this /" cried Karl, 
 beside himself. 
 
 Lenore snatched his carbine from him. " Go, if yon 
 love him. I will mount guard in your stead." 
 
 Karl rushed to the farm-yard, got out his Imrse, and 
 galloped off along the Rosmin road. The sound of the 
 horse's hoofs soon died away, and all was still. Lenori^ 
 paced up and down before the castle-walls ; her friend was 
 in mortal peril, perhaps lost ; and the fault w^as hers, for 
 she had brought him hither. She called to mind in her 
 despair all that he had been to her and to her parents. 
 To live on in this solitude without him seemed impossible. 
 Her mother sent for her, her father called to her out of the 
 window, but she paid no attention. Every other feeling 
 was merged in the realization of the pure and sincere 
 attachment that had existed between her and him she had 
 lost. 
 
 To return to Rosmin, Anton and his party had remained 
 for about half an hour in expectation before the Red Deer. 
 The frightened market-people kept pouring by, on their way 
 to their village homes ; many of them indeed passed on, 
 l)ut many, too, remained with their countrymen, and even 
 several Poles w^ent up to Anton and asked wdietlier they 
 could be of use to him. At length came the locksmith, 
 by a back way, in his green uniform and epaulette, followed 
 by some of the town militia. 
 
 Anton rushed up to ask how things were going on. 
 
 " There are eighteen of us,"' said the locksmith, " all 
 safe men. The people in the market-place are dispersing, 
 and those in the wine-store are not much stronger than 
 before. Our captain is as brave as a lion. If you will 
 
12G 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 help liiin, he is prepared to tiy a bold stroke. We can get 
 into Lciwenberg s house from behind. I made the lock on 
 the back-door myself. If we manage cleverly, we can 
 surprise the leaders of the insurrection, and take them and 
 their arms." 
 
 " We must attack them both in front and in the rear," 
 replied Anton. " Then we shall be sure of them." 
 
 " Yes !" said the locksmith, a little crestfallen, " if you 
 and your party will attack them in front." 
 
 " We have no arms," cried Anton. I will go with 
 you, and so will the forester and a few more perhaps ; but 
 an unarmed band against scythes and a dozen guns is out 
 of the question." 
 
 " Look you, now," said the worthy locksmith ; " it 
 comes hard to us, too. Those who have just left wives 
 and children in their first alarm, are not much inclined to 
 make targets of themselves. Our people are full of good- 
 will, but those men yonder are desperate, and therefore 
 let us get in quietly from behind. If we can surprise them, 
 there will be the less bloodshed, and that's the cliief thing. 
 I have got no arms, only a sword for you." 
 
 The party accordingly set off in silence, the locksmith 
 leading the way. " Our men are assembled in the captain's 
 house," said he ; " we can enter it through the garden 
 without being seen." 
 
 At length having got over hedges and ditches, they 
 found themselves in the courtyard of a dyer. 
 
 " Wait here," said the locksmith, vrith some disquietude. 
 " The dyer is one of us militiamen. His house-door opens 
 upon the back street, which takes into Lowenberg's court- 
 yard : I am going to the captain." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 127 
 
 The party had only a few minutes to wait before they 
 were joined by the militia. The captain, a portly butcher, 
 requested Anton to join forces and walk by his side. They 
 moved on to the back entrance of Lciwenberg's house, saw 
 that the gate was neither locked nor guarded, and the court 
 empty. They halted for a moment, and the forester pro- 
 posed his plan. 
 
 " We are more than are wanted in the house," said he. 
 " Hard by there is a broad cross-street leading to the 
 market. Let me have the drummer, a few of the militia, 
 and half of the country people. We will run to the 
 market-place and invest the opening of the cross-street, 
 shouting loudly. Those in front of the house will be 
 diverted thither ; meanwhile, you can force an entrance and 
 take them prisoners. As soon as you hear the drum, let 
 the captain and his troop rush through the court into the 
 house and make fast the door." 
 
 " I approve the plan," said the burly captain, his blood 
 thoroughly up ; " only be quick about it." 
 
 The forester took six of the militia, beckoned to the 
 bailift' and to some of the country people, and went quietly 
 down the side street. Soon the beating of a drum was 
 heard, and loud hurrahs. At that signal all rushed through 
 the court, the captain and Anton waving their swords, and 
 found themselves inside the house before any one was aware 
 of them, for all were looking out at door and window on 
 the other side. 
 
 " Hurrah !" cried the captain ; " we have them," catch- 
 ing hold of one of the gentlemen. " Not one shall escape. 
 Close the door ! " he cried, and he held his victim fast by the 
 collar like a cow by its horns. Ten strong men closed and 
 
128 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 locked the house-door, so that all the more zealous of the 
 enemy who were standing on the steps found themselves 
 shut out. Next some of the band rushed up-stairs, and the 
 others spread themselves over the ground-floor. All the 
 conspirators on that floor, however, jumped out through 
 the window, so that the Germans took nothing but a list 
 of names, a quantity of scythes, and half a dozen guns 
 belonging to the nobles. These the locksmith caught up, 
 and ran, together with Auton and a few others, to join 
 the forester's detachment, which they found in a critical 
 position. 
 
 The beat of the drum and the shouting, together with the 
 attack made simultaneously upon the house, had thrown the 
 enemy into confusion. The men with scythes were stand- 
 ing about in disorder, while the bearer of the scarf, himself 
 unarmed, was busy trying to rally them. On the other 
 hand, all such as had guns — stewards, huntsmen, and a few 
 young men of rank, had marched against the foresters 
 party. Both bands halted with weapons raised, kept back 
 for a moment by the thought of the fearful consequences 
 that must follow the word of command. At that moment, 
 Anton and the valiant locksmith joined them, and the gims 
 they brought were dispensed quick as lightning. A bloody 
 conflict on the pavement now seemed unavoidable. 
 
 Just then a loud voice sounded from the window of the 
 wine-store. " Brothers, we have them ! Here is the 
 prisoner. It is Herr von Tarow himself ! " All lowered 
 their guns and listened. The captain showed his prisoner, 
 who made no fruitless struggles to escape from his awkward 
 situation. " And now," went on the orator, " listen to 
 my words. All the windows of this house are invested. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 129 
 
 All the streets are invested, and as soon as I lift my finger 
 you'll all be shot down dead." 
 
 " Hurrah, captain ! " cried a voice from a house in the 
 middle of the market-place, while the shopkeeper dwelling 
 there projected his duck-gun from one of the windows of the 
 first floor, the apothecary and post-master soon doing the 
 same. 
 
 " Good-morning, gentlemen," cried the butcher pleasantly 
 to these unexpected recruits. " You see, good people, that 
 your resistance is vain, so throw away your scythes or you 
 are all dead men." A number of scythes clattered on the 
 pavement. 
 
 " And as for you, gentlemen," continued the captain, 
 " you shall be allowed to depart unmolested if you give up 
 your arms ; but if any of you make any resistance, this man's 
 blood be upon your heads." So saying, he caught hold of 
 Tarowski by the head, and holding it out of the window 
 drew a great knife. Throwing down its sheath into the 
 street he waved it so ferociously round the prisoner's head, 
 that the worthy butcher seemed for the moment transformed 
 into a very cannibal. 
 
 Then the forester cried, " Hurrah ! we have them ! 
 March, my friends." The drummer thundered away, and the 
 Germans charged. The Poles fell into disorder, some ran- 
 dom shots were fired on both sides, then the rebels took to 
 flight, pursued by their enemies. Many sought refuge in the 
 houses, others ran out of the town ; while, on the other hand, 
 armed citizens began to present themselves, and the dilatory 
 members of the militia corps now joined the rest. The 
 captain made over his prisoner to a few trusty men, and, 
 waving off the congratulations that poured in upon hirn, 
 
 VOL. II. I 
 
130 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 cried, " Duty l)efore all ! We have now to lock and 
 invest the gates. AVhere is the captain of our allies ?" 
 
 Anton stepped forward. " Comrade," said the butcher, 
 with a military salute, " I propose that we muster our 
 men, and appoint the watches." 
 
 This was done, and those belonging to Rosmin were proud 
 of their numbers. The National arms, washed clean and 
 decorated by many busy feminine hands with the first flowers 
 of the town-gardens, were solemnly raised to their former 
 place, all the men marching by them, and presenting arms, 
 while patriotic acclamations were raised by hundreds of 
 throats. 
 
 Anton stood on one side, and when he saw the spring- 
 flowers on the escutcheon, he remembered having doubted in 
 the morning whether he should see any flowers that year. 
 Now, their colours were gleaming out brightly on the 
 shield of his fatherland. But what a day this had been to 
 him ! 
 
 Much against his will, he was summoned to the council 
 convened to take measures for the public safety. Ere long 
 he had a pen in his hand, and was writing, at the long 
 green table, a report of the events of the day to the 
 authorities. Prompt steps were taken, — messengers were 
 sent off" to the next military station ; the houses of the sus- 
 pected searched ; such of the country people as were willing 
 to remain till the evening, billeted in difierent houses. 
 Patrols were sent out in all directions, a few prisoners 
 examined, and information as to the state of the surround- 
 ing district collected. Discouraging tidings poured in on 
 all sides. Bands of Poles from several villages round were 
 said to be marching on the town, an insurrection had been 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 131 
 
 successful in the next circle, and the town was in the hands 
 of a set of Polish youths. There were tales of plunder, 
 and of incendiarism too, and fearful rumours of an intende(i 
 general massacre of the Germans. The faces of the men of 
 Rosmin grew long again, their present triumph gave way 
 to fears for the future. Some timid souls were for making 
 a compromise with Herr von Tarow, but the warlike spirit 
 of the majority prevailed, and it was determined to pass 
 the night under arms, and hold the town against all invaders 
 till the military should arrive. 
 
 By this time it was evening. Anton, alarmed at the 
 numerous reports of plundering going on in the open country, 
 left the town-council, and sent the bailiff to collect all the 
 Germans of their immediate district to march home together. 
 When they reached the wooden bridge at the extremity of 
 the suburb, the townsmen who had accompanied them 
 thither with beat of drum and loud hurrahs, took a brotherly 
 leave of their country allies, 
 
 " Your carriage is the last that shall pass to-day," said 
 the locksmith ; "we will break up the pavement of the 
 bridge, and station a sentinel here. I thank you in the 
 name of the town and of the militia. If bad times come, 
 as we have reason to fear, we Germans will ever hold 
 together." 
 
 " That shall be our rallying cry," called out the bailiff ; 
 and all the country people shouted their assent. 
 
 On their homeward way, Anton and his associates fell 
 into earnest conversation. All felt elated at the part they 
 had that day played, but no one attempted to disguise from 
 himself that this was but a beginning of evils. " What is 
 to become of us in the country?" said the bailiff. " The men 
 
132 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 in the town have their stout walls, and live close together ; 
 but we are exposed to the revenge of every rascal, and if 
 half a dozen vagabonds with guns come into the village, it 
 is all over with us." 
 
 " True," said Anton, " we cannot guard ourselves 
 against large troops, and each individual must just take 
 the chances of war ; but large troops, under regular com- 
 mand, are not what we have most to fear. The worst are 
 the bands of rabble, who get together to bum and plunder, 
 and henceforth we must take measures to defend ourselves 
 against these. Stay at home to-morrow, bailiff, and you, 
 smith of Kunau, and send for the other Germans round, 
 on whom w^e can depend, I will ride over to-morrow 
 morning early, and we will hold a consultation." 
 
 By this time they had reached the cross-way, and there 
 the two divisions parted, and hurried home in different 
 directions. 
 
 Anton got into the carnage, and took the forester with 
 him, to help to watch the castle through the night. In 
 the middle of the wood, they w^ere stopped by a loud cry 
 of " Halt ! who goes there ? " 
 
 " Karl ! " exclaimed Anton joyfully. 
 
 " Hurrah, hurrah, he is alive!" cried Karl in ecstasy. 
 " Are you unhurt too ?" 
 
 " That I am ; what news from the castle ?" 
 
 Now began a rapid interchange of question and answer. 
 "To think that I was not with you!" cried Karl again 
 and again. 
 
 Arrived at the castle, a bright form flew up to the car- 
 riage. "You, lady !" cried Anton, springing out. 
 
 "Dear Wohlfart !" cried Lenore, seizing both his hands. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 133 
 
 For a moment she hid her face on his shoulder, and her 
 tears fell fast. Anton grasped her hand firmly, while he 
 said, " A fearful time is coming. I have thought of you 
 all day." 
 
 " Now that we have you again," said Lenore, " I can 
 bear it all : but come at once to my father, he is dying 
 with impatience." She drew him up the stairs. 
 
 The Baron opened the door, and cried out, " What news 
 do you bring 1 " 
 
 " News of war, Baron," replied Anton gravely ; " the 
 most hideous of all wars — war between neighbour and 
 neighbour. The country is in open revolt." 
 
134 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 mHE Baron's estate lay in a comer of the Rosmin circle. 
 
 Behind the forest, to the north, was the German 
 village of Neudorf, and further off to the east, that of 
 Knnau. 
 
 Both these spots were separated by a wide expanse of 
 sand and heath from any Polish proprietors, Herr von 
 Tarow being the nearest. To the west and south of the 
 estate, the country was inhabited by a mixed population ; 
 but the Germans there were strong, and rich freeholders 
 and large farmers having settled among the Slavonic race. 
 Beyond Kunau and Neudorf, to the north, there was a 
 Polish district peopled by small freeholders, for the most 
 part in very reduced circumstances, and over head and ears 
 in debt. 
 
 " It is on that side that our greatest danger lies," said 
 the Baron to Anton on the morning after the memorable 
 market-day. " The villagers are our natural outposts. If 
 you can induce the people to establish a systematic watch, 
 let it be on the north ; we will then try to maintain a regular 
 communication with them. Do not forget the beacons and 
 places of rendezvous. As you are already on such friendly 
 terms with the rustics, you will be able to manage that 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 135 
 
 part of the business best. Meanwhile, I shall drive, accom- 
 panied by young Sturm, to the next circle, and try to come 
 to the same understanding with the landed gentry there. 
 
 Accordingly, Anton rode of!" to Neudorf. There he 
 found that fresh evil tidings had arrived in the night ; 
 some German villages had been surprised by armed bands, 
 the houses searched for arms, and many young people 
 dragged away. No one was working in the fields at 
 Neudorf. The men sat in the bar of the public-house, or 
 stood about without any purpose, every hour expecting 
 au attack. 
 
 Anton's horse was immediately surrounded by a dense 
 crowd ; and in a few minutes, the bailiff had gathered the 
 whole population together. Anton proceeded to state what 
 might be done to guard the village against the danger of a 
 sudden surprise. For instance, he advised the calling out 
 of a regular peasant-militia, sentinels on the road along the 
 border, patrols, a rally in g-place in the village, and other 
 precautions which the Baron had pointed out. " In this 
 way," said he, " you will be able to procure our help in a 
 short time, to defend yourselves against a weak foe, or to 
 summon the military to your aid against a strong. In this 
 way you will save your wives and children, your household 
 goods, and, perhaps, your cattle from plunder and ill-treat- 
 ment. It will be no small labour, indeed, to keep watch 
 thus night and day, but your village is a large one. Per- 
 haps these measures will soon be enjoined by the Govern- 
 ment, but it is safer for all not to wait for that." 
 
 His pressing representations, and the authority of the 
 uitelligent bailiff, brought the community to a unanimous 
 resolve. The young men of the village took up the matter 
 
136 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 eagerly, many professing themselves ready to buy a gun ; 
 and the women began to pack up their most valuable effects 
 in chests and bundles. 
 
 From Neudorf, Anton went on to Kunau, where similar 
 regulations were made: and finally it was arranged that 
 the young men of both villages should come every Sunday 
 afternoon, to the Baron's estate, to be drilled. 
 
 When Anton returned to the castle, the existing means 
 of defence on the estate itself had to be taken into con- 
 sideration. A martial fever prevailed in the German colony : 
 all were affected by it, even the most peaceful : the shep- 
 herd and his dog Crambo, who had, by night-patrols, sen- 
 tinels, and other disturbances, been worked up to such a 
 state of excitement that he took to flying at the legs of all 
 strangers — an act he had often rebuked in his young asso- 
 ciate. All thoughts turned on weapons of warfare and 
 means of defence. Alas ! the mood of mind was all that 
 could be desired, but the forces were very small. To make 
 up for that, the staff was a distinguished one. First of all, 
 there was the Baron — an invalid, it is true, but great in 
 theory ; then Karl and the forester, as respective leaders of 
 the cavalry and infantry ; while Anton was not to be 
 despised in the commissariat and fortification department. 
 
 The Baron now left his room each day to hold a council 
 of war. He superintended the drill, heard reports from sur- 
 rounding districts, and sent off messengers to the German 
 circles. A remnant of military ardour lit up his face. He 
 good-humouredly rallied the Baroness about her fears, spoke 
 words of encouragement to his German tenantry, and threat- 
 ened to have all the evil-disposed in the village locked up 
 at once, and kept on bread and water. It was touching to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 137 
 
 all to see how the blind man stood erect, musket in hand, 
 to show certain niceties of manipulation to the forester, and 
 then bent his ear down to ascertain whether the latter had 
 thoroughly acquired them. Even Anton put on something 
 of a martial panoply. He stuck a cockade in his cap ; his 
 voice assumed a tone of militarj^ severity, and ever since 
 the Rosmin day, he took to wearing an immense pair of 
 waterproof boots, and his step fell heavy on the stair. He 
 would have laughed at himself if any one had asked for 
 what purpose he gave this particular outward expression 
 to his state of mind; but no one did ask. It seemed 
 natural and congruous to all ; and especially to Karl, who 
 never himself appeared but in such remnants of his dress 
 uniform as he had carefully preserved, and who curled his 
 moustache, and sang military songs all day long. As the 
 greatest danger was to be apprehended from the lawless in 
 their own village, he summoned all the men who had once 
 served, and, with the aid of the forester, who was respected 
 as a magician, made an impressive speech, addressed them 
 as comrades, drew his sword, and cried, " We military men 
 will keep order among the boors here !" Then ordering a 
 few quarts of brandy, he sang wild martial songs in chorus 
 with them, gave them new cockades, and constituted them a 
 species of militia. Thus, for a time at least, he gained a hold 
 over the better part of the population, and heard through 
 them of any conspiracy that was carried on in the tavern. 
 
 "When the whole force of the estate was mustered before 
 the castle-walls, the men stared in amazement at each other. 
 They had all been metamorphosed by the last few days. 
 The agent looked like a wild man from some outlandish 
 swamp, where he daily stood up to the liips in water. 
 
138 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Those from the new farm resembled forms of a vanished 
 era. The forester, with his close-cut hair, long beard, and 
 weather-beaten coat, looked an old mercenary of Wallen- 
 stein's army, who had been asleep in the forest depths for 
 two hundred years, and now re-appeared on the stage, 
 violence and cruelty being again in the ascendant. The 
 shepherd marched next to him, resembling a pious Hussite, 
 with the broad brim of his round hat hanging low on his 
 shoulders, a stout leathern girdle round his loins, and in 
 his hand a long crook, to which he had fastened a bright 
 steel point. His phlegmatic face and thoughtful eyes made 
 him as strong a contrast as possible to the forester. All 
 in all, the armed force of the estate did not amount to 
 more than twenty men ; consequently it was very difficult 
 to maintain any regular system of watching, either in the 
 castle or the village. Each individual, it was plain, would 
 have to make the greatest efibrts, but none of them com- 
 plained. 
 
 The next step was to see to the securing of the castle — 
 to protect it from any nocturnal assault in the rear. Anton 
 had a strong wooden fence run up from one wing to 
 another. Thus a tolerably large courtyard was enclosed, 
 and an open shed was roughly built on to the walls, to 
 shelter fugitives and horses if need were. The windows of 
 the lower storey were also strongly boarded; and as all the 
 (entrances were on this side of the house, strangers were 
 allowed as little ingress as possible. The well that supplied 
 the castle lay outside the fence, between the farmyard and 
 the castle : on which account, a large water-butt was made 
 and filled each morning. 
 
 Next came tidings from Rosmin. The locksmith ap- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 139 
 
 peared, after being repeatedly sent for, to strengthen 
 bolts and bars. He brought with him military greetings 
 from the militia, and the fact that a company of infantry 
 had entered the town. " But there are but few of them," 
 said he, " and we militia-men have severe duty." 
 
 "And what have you done with your prisoners T' 
 inquired Anton. 
 
 The locksmith scratched his ear and twitched his cap, 
 as he answered in a crestfallen tone : "So you have not 
 yet heard ? The very first night came a message from the 
 enemy, to the effect that if we did not give up the noble- 
 man at once, they would march upon us with their whole 
 force and set fire to our barns. I opposed the measure, and 
 so did our captain, but every one who had a barn raised 
 an outcry ; and the end of it was that the town had to come 
 to terms with Von Tarow. He gave his word that he and 
 his would undertake nothing further against us ; and then 
 we took him over the bridge and let him go." 
 
 "So he is free ! false man that he is !" cried Anton in 
 indignation. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" said the locksmith; "he is on his 
 estate again, and has a number of young gentlemen about 
 him. They ride with their cockades over the fields just as 
 they did before. Tarowski is a cunning man, who can 
 open every castle-door with a stroke of a pen, and get on 
 with every one. There's no reaching him." 
 
 Of course farming suffered from these warlike prepara- 
 tions. Anton insisted, indeed, upon what was abso- 
 lutely necessary being done, but he felt that a time 
 was come when anxiety about individual profit and loss 
 vanished before graver terrors. The rumours, which grew 
 
uo 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 daily more tlireatening, kept him, and those around him, 
 in ever-increasing excitement ; and at last they fell into a 
 habitual state of feverish suspense, in which the futui-e was 
 looked forward to with reckless indifference, and the dis- 
 comforts of the present endured as matter of course. 
 
 But more strongly than on any of the men around did 
 this general fever seize upon Lenore. Since the day that 
 she had waited for the absent Anton, she had seemed to 
 begin a new life. Her mother mourned and despaired, but 
 the daughter's young heart beat high against the storm, 
 and the excitement was to her a wild enjoyment, to which 
 she gave herself up, heart and soul. She was out of doors 
 the whole day long whatever the weather, and at the 
 tavern-door as often as the worst drunkard in the village ; 
 for each day the landlord and his wife had something new 
 to tell her. Ever since Karl had mounted his hussar coat, 
 she treated him with the familiarity of a comrade, and 
 when he held a consultation with the forester, her fair 
 head was put together with theirs. The three spent 
 many an hour in council of war in Karl's room, or in the 
 farmyard — the men listening with reverence to her 
 courageous suggestions, and requesting her opinion as to 
 whether Ignatz, Gottlieb, or Blasius from the village, 
 deserved to be trusted with a gun. It was in vain that 
 the Baroness remonstrated with her martial daughter ; in 
 vain that Anton tried to check her ardour, for the greater 
 his own, the more the mood displeased him in the young 
 lady. Again, she struck him as too vehement and bold, 
 nor did he disguise his views. Upon that she subsided a 
 little, and tried to conceal her warlike tendencies from him, 
 but they did not really abate. She would have dearly liked 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 141 
 
 to go with him to Nendorf and Kunau, to play at 
 soldiers there, but Anton, once made so happy by her 
 company, protested so strongly against the step, that the 
 young lady had to turn back at the end of the village. 
 
 However, on the day when the first drill of the men 
 belonging to the estate, was to take place, Lenore came out 
 with a soldier's cap and a light sword, took her pony out 
 of the stable, and said to Anton, " I shall exercise with 
 you." 
 
 " Pray do nothing of the kind," replied h6. 
 
 " Indeed I will," replied Lenore saucily. " You want 
 men, and I can do as good service as if I were one." 
 
 " But, dear young lady, it is so singular ! " 
 
 " It is indifferent to me whether people think it singular 
 or not. I am strong ; I can go through a good deal ; 
 I shall not be tired." 
 
 " But before the servants," remonstrated Anton. " You 
 are letting yourself down before the servants and the 
 country people." 
 
 " That is my own concern," replied Lenore doggedly ; 
 " do not oppose me ; I am determined, and that is 
 enough !" 
 
 Anton shrugged his shoulders, and was obliged to 
 acquiesce. Lenore rode next to Karl, and went through 
 all the exercises as well as a lady's saddle allowed ; but 
 Anton, who was one of the infantry, looked over from his 
 post at the bright face with dissatisfaction. She had 
 never pleased him so little. Yet, as she sprang forward 
 with the rest, wheeled her horse round, waved her sword, 
 her bright hair floating in the wind, her eyes beaming with 
 courage, she was enchantingly beautiful. But what would 
 
142 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 have charmed him in mere play seemed unfeminine, now 
 that this drilling had become a matter of life and death ; 
 and as soon as it was over, and Lenore came up to him 
 witli glowing cheeks, waiting that he should address her, 
 he was silent, and she had to laugh and say to him, 
 " You look so morose, sir : do you know that the expres- 
 sion is very unbecoming 
 
 " I am not [)leased at your being so wilful," replied 
 Anton. Lenore turned away without a word, gave her horse 
 to a servant, and walked back in dudgeon to the castle. 
 
 Since that time she took no share in the drilling, indeed, 
 but she was always present when the men assembled, and 
 looked on longingly from a little distance ; and when Anton 
 was away, she would ride off in secret with Karl to the 
 other villages, or walk alone through woods and fields, 
 armed with a pocket-pistol, and delighted if she could stop 
 and cross-question any wayfarer. 
 
 Anton remonstrated with her on that subject, too. 
 
 " The district is disturbed," he said. " How easily some 
 rascal or other might do you an injury I If not a stranger, 
 it might be some one from our own village." 
 
 " I am not afraid," Lenore would reply ; " and the men 
 of our village will do me no harm." And in fact she knew 
 liow to manage them better than Anton or any one else. 
 She alone was always reverentially saluted, even by the 
 rudest among them, and whenever her tall figure was seen 
 in the village street, the men bowed down to the ground, 
 and the women ran to the windows and looked admiringly 
 after her. And she had the pleasure, too, of hearing them 
 tell her so in Anton's hearing. One Sunday evening, Karl, 
 the forester, and the shepherd, sat watching in the farm- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 143 
 
 yard, while the peasants were assembled drinking in the 
 tavern — Sunday being the most dangerous day for those 
 in the castle, Karl had furnished a room for military pur- 
 poses in the late bailiff's house. Thither Lenore herself 
 now carried a bottle of rum and some lemons, that the 
 sentinels might brew themselves some punch. The shej)- 
 herd and the forester grinned from ear to ear at the 
 attention. Karl placed a chair for the young lady, the 
 forester began a tale of terror from the neighbouring dis- 
 trict, and in a few minutes, Lenore was sitting with them 
 exchanging views on the course of events. Just as the 
 punch was ready, and she had poured it into two glasses 
 and a mug, in came Anton. She did not exactly want him 
 just then, but however he found no fault, and merely turned 
 and beckoned to a stranger to come in. A slender youth 
 in a blue coat, with bright woollen epaulettes, a soldier's 
 cap in his hand, and wide linen trowsers pushed into his 
 l)oots, proudly entered the room. As soon as he saw the 
 lady, he was at her feet kissing her knees, and then he 
 stood before her with downcast eyes, cap in hand. Karl 
 went up to him — " Now then, Blasius, what news from the 
 tavern T 
 
 " Oh, nothing," replied the youth, in the melodious 
 cadence with which the Pole speaks broken German. 
 " Peasant sits, and drinks, and is merry." 
 
 " Are there strangers there ; has any one come from 
 Tarow r 
 
 " No one," said Blasius. " No one is there ; but the 
 host's niece is come to him, Rebecca the Jewish maiden." 
 Meanwhile he looked steadfastly at Lenore, as though it 
 were to her that he had to deliver his report. 
 
U4 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Lenore stepped to the table, poured out a glass of punch, 
 and gave it to the youth, who received it with delight, 
 quaffed it, set down the glass, and bent again at the lady's 
 knee with a grace that a prince might have envied. 
 
 " You need never fear," cried he. " No one in the vil- 
 lage will harm you ; if any one offended you, we would kill 
 him at once." 
 
 Lenore blushed and said, looking at Anton the while, 
 " You know I have no fear, at all events of you ;" and 
 Karl dismissed the messenger with orders to return in an 
 hour. As he left the room, Lenore said to Anton, " How 
 graceful his bearing is !" 
 
 " He was in the Guards," replied Anton, " and is not the 
 worst lad in the village ; but I pray you not to rely too 
 much upon the chivalry of the worthy Blasius and his 
 friends. I was uneasy about you again all the after- 
 noon, and sent your maid to meet you on the Rosmin road ; 
 for a travelling apprentice came running to the castle, 
 frightened out of his senses, saying that he had been 
 detained by an armed lady, and obliged to produce his 
 passport. According to his story, the lady had a monstrous 
 dog, as large as a cow, with her, and he complained that 
 her aspect was awful. The poor man was positively beside 
 himself." 
 
 " He was a craven," said Lenore contemptuously. " As 
 soon as he saw me with the pony he ran off, scared by his 
 own bad conscience. Then I called after him, and threat- 
 ened him with my pocket-pistol." 
 
 In this manner the dwellers on the Baron's estate daily 
 awaited the outbreak of the insurrection on their own oasis. 
 Meanwhile it spread like a conflagration over the whole 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 145 
 
 province. Wherever the Poles were thickly congregated, 
 the flames leaped up fiercely. On the borders, they flared 
 unsteadily here and there, like fire in green wood. In 
 many places they seemed quenched for a long time, then 
 suddenly broke out again. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon there was to be a great drill of 
 the united forces. The men of Neudorf and Kunau came 
 with their flags — the foot-soldiers first, the mounted be- 
 hind — the small band of cavalry from the castle riding to 
 meet them, led by Karl, together with some men on foot, at 
 whose head marched the forester, the generalissimo of all 
 the troops. Even Anton was under his command. When 
 Lenore saw them set out, she ordered her pony to be saddled. 
 
 " I will look on," said she to Anton. 
 
 " But only look on, dear lady !" said the latter im- 
 ploringly. 
 
 " Don't tutor me !" cried Lenore. 
 
 The drilling-ground was at the edge of the wood. The 
 forester had contrived, through ancient recollections, and 
 after manifold consultations with the Baron, to bring his 
 men into good order ; and Karl led his squadron with an 
 ardour that might well make amends for lack of skill. For 
 a long time they had marched, counter-marched, performed 
 various evolutions, and fired at a mark. The mock artil- 
 lery echoed cheerfully through the forest. Lenore had 
 looked on from a distance, but at last she could not resist 
 the pleasure of taking part in the cavalry exercise, and, 
 trotting on to their head, she whispered to Karl, " Just for 
 a minute or two." 
 
 " What if Mr. Wohlfart see you ?" whispered Karl in 
 reply. ■ 
 
 VOL. II. K 
 
146 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " He will not see," was Lenore's laughing answer, as 
 she took her place in the ranks. 
 
 The youths looked in amazement at the slender figure 
 which trotted at their side. Owing to the admiration she 
 excited, many performed their parts ill, and Karl had much 
 fault to find. 
 
 " The young lady does it best," cried a Neudorf man 
 during a pause, and all took off their hats and cheered her 
 loudly. 
 
 Lenore bowed low, and made her pony curvet gaily. 
 But her amusement was soon interrupted, for up came 
 Anton. " It is really too bad," whispered he, angry in 
 good earnest. " You expose yourself to familiar observa- 
 tions, which are not ill meant, but which would still off'end 
 you. Tins is no place for the display of your horseman- 
 ship." 
 
 "You grudge me every pleasure," replied Lenore, much 
 aggrieved, and rode away. 
 
 When she found herself alone, she let her pony prance 
 and caracole under a great pear-tree, and inwardly chafed 
 against Anton. " How mdely he spoke to me," thought 
 she. " My father is right : he is very prosaic. "V^Tien I 
 saw liim first, I was on this pony too, but then I pleased 
 him better ; we were both children then, but his manner 
 was more respectful than now," The thought flashed 
 across her mind, how bright, fair, and pleasant her life was 
 then, and how bitter now ; and while she dreamed over 
 the contrast, she let the pony cut caper after caper. 
 
 " Not bad, but a little more of the curb, Fraulein Le- 
 nore !" cried a sonorous voice near her. Lenore looked round 
 in amazement. A tall slight figure leant against the tree, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 147 
 
 arms crossed, and a satirical smile playing over the fine 
 features. The stranger advanced and took off his hat. 
 " Hard work for the old gentleman," said he, pointing to 
 the pony. " I hope you remember me." 
 
 Leuore looked at him as at an apparition, and at last in 
 her confusion slipped down from her saddle. A vision out 
 of the past had risen palpably before her ; the cool smile, 
 the aristocratic figure, the easy self-possession of this man, 
 belonged to the old days she had just been thinking of. 
 
 " Herr von Fink !" she cried in some embarrassment. 
 " How delighted Wohlfart will be to see you again !" 
 
 " I have already been contemplating him from afar," 
 replied Fink ; " and did I not know by certain infallible 
 tokens that he it is whom I behold wading in uniform 
 through the sand, I should not have believed it possible." 
 
 " Come to him at once !" cried Lenore. " Your arrival 
 is the greatest pleasure that he could have." 
 
 Accordingly Fink went with her to the place where 
 the men were engaged in shooting at a mark. Fink 
 stepped behind Anton, and laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 " Good-day, Anton," said he. 
 
 Turning round in amazement, Anton threw himself on 
 his friend's breast. There was a rapid interchange of 
 hasty questions and short answers. 
 
 " "Wliere do you come from, welcome wanderer V cried 
 Anton at length. 
 
 " From over there," replied Fink, pointing to the 
 horizon. " I have only been a few weeks in the country. 
 The last letter I got from you was dated last autumn. 
 Thanks to it, I knew pretty well where to look for you. 
 In the prevailing confusion, I consider it a remarkable 
 
148 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 piece of luck to have found you. There's Master Karl, 
 too," cried he, as Karl sprang forward with a shout of 
 delight. " Now, we have half the firm assembled, and 
 we might begin off-hand to play at counting-house work ; 
 but you seem to have a different way of amusing your- 
 selves here." Then turning to Lenore he continued, " I 
 have already presented myself to the Baron, and heard 
 from your lady-mother where to find the martial young 
 spirits. And now, I have to implore your intercession. I 
 have some acquaintance with this man, and would willingly 
 spend a few days with him, but I am well aware how in- 
 considerate it would be to tax your hospitable home at a 
 time like this with the reception of a stranger. But yet 
 for his sake — he is a good fellow on the whole — allow me 
 to remain long enough clearly to understand the fa(pn of 
 the prodigious boots which the boy has drawn over his 
 knees." 
 
 Lenore replied in the same strain, *' My father will 
 look upon your visit as a great pleasure ; a kind friend is 
 doubly valuable at a time like this. I go at once to desu*e 
 a servant to place all Mr. Wohlf art's boots in your apart- 
 ment, that you may be able to study their faqon at your 
 leisure." She bowed, and went off in the direction of the 
 castle, leading her pony by the bridle. 
 
 Fink looked after her and cried — " By Jove ! she is 
 become a beauty ; her bearing is faultless — nay, she even 
 knows how to walk ! I have no longer a shadow of doubt 
 as to her having plenty of sense !" Then, putting his 
 arm in Anton's, he led him off to the shade of the wild 
 pear-tree, and then, shaking him heartily by the hand, 
 exclaimed — " I say again, well met, my trusty friend ! 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 149 
 
 Understand that I have not yet got over my astonishment. 
 If any one had told me that I should find you painted red 
 and black like a wild Indian, a battle-axe in your hand, 
 and a fringe of scalp-locks round your loins, I should 
 naturally have declared him mad. But you — bom, as it 
 would seem, to tread in the footsteps of your forefathers — 
 to find you on this desolate heath, with thoughts of murder 
 in your breast, and, as I live, without a neckcloth ! If we 
 two are changed, you, at all events, are not the least so. 
 Perhaps, however, you are pleased with your change." 
 
 " You know how I came here V replied Anton. 
 
 " I should think so," said Fink. " I have not forgotten 
 the dancing lessons." 
 
 Anton's brow grew clouded. 
 
 " Forgive me," continued Fink, laughing ; " and allow 
 something to an old friend." 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied Anton earnestly, " if you 
 believe that anything of passion has brought me here. I 
 have become connected with the Baron's family through a 
 series of accidents." Fink smiled. " I confess that these 
 would not have affected me had I not been susceptible of 
 certain influences. But I may venture to say that I am 
 accidentally in my present responsible situation. At a 
 time when the Baron was veiy painfully circumstanced, I 
 was fixed upon by his family as one who at all events had 
 the will to be of use to them. They expressed a wish to 
 engage my services for a time. When I accepted their 
 proposal, I did so after an inward conflict that I have 
 no right to disclose to you." 
 
 " All that is very good," replied Fink ; " but when the 
 merchant buys a gun and a sword, he must at least know 
 
150 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 why he makes those pui'chases ; and therefore forgive me 
 tlie point-blank question — What do you mean to do 
 here V 
 
 " To remain as long as I feel myself essential, and then 
 to look out a place in a merchant's office," said Anton. 
 " At our old principal's V asked Fink hastily. 
 " There or elsewhere." 
 
 "The deuce!" cried Fink. "That does not seem a 
 very direct course, nor an open confession either ; but one 
 must not ask too much from you in the first hour of meet- 
 ing. I will be more unreserved and candid to you. I have 
 worked myself free over there ; and thank you for your 
 letter, and the advice your wisdom gave. I did as you 
 suggested, made use of the newspapers to explode my West- 
 ern Land-Association. Of course, I flew with it into the 
 air. I bought half-a-dozen pens with a thousand dollars, 
 and had the New York gazettes and others continually 
 filled with the most appalling reports of the good-for- 
 nothingness of the Company. I had myself and my 
 partners cursed in every possible key. This made a 
 sensation. Brother Jonathan's attention was caught ; all 
 our rivals fell upon us at once. I had the pleasure of 
 seeing myself and my associates portrayed in a dozen 
 newspapers as bloodthirsty swindlers and scoundrels. All 
 for my good money too. It was a wild game. In a 
 month the Western Land-Company was so down that no 
 dog would have taken a crust of bread from it. Then came 
 my co-directors and offered to buy me out, that they 
 might be rid of me. You may fancy how glad I was. 
 For the rest, I bought my freedom dear, and have left the 
 reputation behind me of being the devil himself. Never 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 151 
 
 mind, I am free at all events ! And now I have sought 
 you out for two reasons : first, to see and chat with you ; 
 next, seriously to discuss my future life. And I may as 
 well say at once that I wish you to share it. I have 
 missed you sadly every day. I do not know what I 
 find in you, for in point of fact you are but a dry fel- 
 low, and more contradictious than often suits me. But 
 in spite of all, I felt a certain longing for you all the time 
 I was away. I have come to an understanding with 
 my father, not without hot discussion and subsequent 
 coolness. And now I repeat my former ofter — come 
 with me. Over the waters to England, across the seas, 
 anywhere and everywhere. We will together ponder and 
 decide upon what to undertake. We are both free now, 
 and the world is open to us !" 
 
 Anton threw his arm round his friend's neck. " My 
 dear Fritz," cried he, " we will suppose that I have ex- 
 pressed all that your noble proposal causes me to feel. But 
 you see for the present I have duties here." 
 
 " According to your own most official statement, I pre- 
 sume that they will not last for ever," rejoined Fink. 
 
 " That is true, but still we are not on equal terms. See," 
 said Anton, stretching out his hand, " barren as this land- 
 scape is, and disagreeable the majority of its inhabitants, 
 yet I look upon them with different eyes to yours. You 
 are much more a citizen of the world than I, and would 
 feel no great interest in the life of the State of which this 
 plain and your friend are component parts, however small." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Fink, looking in amazement at Anton. 
 I have no great interest in it, and all that I now see and 
 hear, makes the State, a fragment of which you so com- 
 
152 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 placently style yourself, appear to me anything but respect- 
 able." 
 
 " I, however, am of a different opinion," broke in Anton. 
 " No one who is not compelled to do so should leave this 
 country at the present time." 
 
 "What do I hear?" cried Fink in amazement. 
 
 " Look you," continued Anton ; "in one wild hour I 
 discovered how my heart clung to this count^J^ Since 
 then, I know why I am here. For the time being, all law 
 and order is dissolved, I carry arms in self-defence, and so 
 do hundreds like me in the midst of a foreign race. What- 
 ever may have led me individually here, I stand here now 
 as one of the conquerors who, in the behalf of free-labour 
 and civilisation, have usurped the dominion of the country 
 from a weaker race. There is an old warfare between us 
 and the Slavonic tribes. And we feel with pride, that cul- 
 ture, industry, and credit are on our side. Whatever the 
 Polish proprietors around may now be — and there are many 
 rich and intelligent men among them — every dollar that 
 they can spend, they have made, directly or indii'cctly, by 
 German intelligence. Their wild flocks are improved by 
 our breeds, we erect the machinery that fills their spirit- 
 casks, the acceptance their promissory-notes and lands have 
 hitherto obtained, rests upon German credit and German 
 confidence. The very arms they use against us are made 
 in our factories, or sold by our firms. It is not by a 
 cunning policy, but peacefully through our own industry, 
 that we have won our real empire over this country ; and, 
 therefore, he who stands here as one of the conquering 
 nation, plays a coward's part if he forsakes his post at the 
 present time." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 153 
 
 " You take a very high tone on foreign ground," replied 
 Fink ; " and your own soil is trembling under your feet." 
 
 " Who has joined this province to Germany ? " asked 
 Anton, with outstretched hand. 
 
 " The princes of your race, I admit," said Fink.. 
 
 " And who has conquered the great district in which I 
 was born ?" inquired Anton farther. 
 
 " One who was a man indeed." 
 
 " It was a bold agriculturist," cried Anton ; " he and 
 others of his race. By force or cunning, by treaty or 
 invasion, in one way or other, they got possession of the 
 land at a time when, in the rest of Germany, almost every- 
 thing was effete and dead. They managed their land like 
 bold men and good farmers, as they were. They have 
 combined decayed or dispersed races into a state ; they 
 have made their home the central point for millions, and, 
 out of the raw material of countless insignificant sovereign- 
 ties, have created a living power." 
 
 " All that has been," said Fink ; " that was the work of 
 a past generation." 
 
 "They laboured for themselves, indeed, while creating 
 us," agreed Anton ; " but now we have come into being, 
 and a new German nation has arisen. Now we demand of 
 them, that they acknowledge our young life. It will be 
 difficult to them to do this, just because they are accustomed 
 to consider their collective lands as the domain of their 
 sword. Who can say when the conflict between us and 
 them will be ended 1 perhaps we may long have to curse the 
 ugly apparitions it will evoke. But end as it will, I am 
 convinced, as I am of the light of day, that the State which 
 they have constructed will not fall back again into its ori- 
 
1.54 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ginal chaos. If you had lived much amongst the lower 
 classes, as I have done of late yeare, you would believe me. 
 We are still poor as a nation — our strength is still small ; 
 but every year we are working our way upwards, every year 
 our intelligence, wellbeing, and fellow-feeling increases. At 
 this moment we here, on the border, feel like brothers. 
 Those in the interior may quarrel, but we are one, and our 
 cause is pure." 
 
 " Well done," said Fink, nodding approval : " that was 
 spoken like a thorough German. The wintrier the time, 
 the greener the hope. From all this, Master Wohlfart, I 
 perceive that you have no inclination at present to go with 
 me." 
 
 " I cannot," answered Anton with emotion ; " do not be 
 angry with me because of it." 
 
 " Hear me," laughed Fink ; " we have changed parts 
 since our separation. When I left you a few years ago, I 
 was like the wild ass in the desert, who scents a far-off 
 fountain. I hoped to emerge out of my prosy life with you, 
 into green pastures, and all I found was a nasty swamp. 
 And now I come back to you wearied out, and find you 
 playing a bold game with fate. You have more life about 
 you than you had. I can't say that of myself. Perhaps 
 the reason may be that you have had a home, I never had. 
 However, we have had enough of wisdom ; come and in- 
 struct me in your mode of warfare. Let me have a look 
 at your squatters, and show me, if you can, a square foot 
 of ground on this charming property, in which one does 
 not sink up to one's knees in sand." 
 
 Meanwhile, preparations were going on at the castle for 
 the stranger. The Baron made one servant ascertain that 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 155 
 
 there was a sufficiency of red and white wine in the cellar, 
 and scolded another for not having had the broken har- 
 ness repaired. The Baroness ordered a dress to be taken 
 out, which she had not worn since her arrival ; and Lenore 
 thought with secret anxiety about the haughty aristocrat, 
 who had struck her as so imposing at the time of the 
 dancing-lessons, and whose image had often risen before her 
 since then. 
 
 Below stairs, the excitement was no less, for, excepting 
 a few passing callers on business, this was the first visitor. 
 The faithful cook determined to venture upon an artistic 
 dish, but in this wretched country the materials were not 
 to be had. She thought of killing a few fowls out of the 
 farmyard ; but that measure was violently opposed by Suska, 
 a little Pole, Lenore's confidential maid, who wept over the 
 determined character of the cook, and threatened to call 
 the young lady, till the former came to her senses, and sent 
 off a barefooted boy to the forester's in all haste, to ask for 
 something out of the common way. A sudden onslaught 
 was made upon spiders and dust; and a room got ready 
 near Anton's, into which Lenore's little sofa, her mother's 
 arm-chair, and carpet, were carried to keep up the family 
 dignity. 
 
 Fink, little guessing the disturbance his arrival occasioned, 
 sauntered over the fields with Anton in a more cheerful 
 mood than he had known for long. He spoke of his ex- 
 periences, of the refinements in money -making, and the 
 giant growth of the Xew World. And Anton heard with 
 delight, a deep abhorrence of the iniquities in which he had 
 been involved, break out in the midst of his jokes. 
 
 " Life is on an immense scale over there, it is true," said 
 
156 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 he ; " but it was in its whirl that I first learned to appre- 
 ciate the blessings of the Fatherland." 
 
 While thus talking, they returned to the castle to change 
 their dress. Anton had merely time to glance in amaze- 
 ment at the arrangements of Fink's bedroom, before they 
 were summoned to the Baroness. Now that the anxieties 
 about domestic arrangements were over, and the lamps shed 
 their mild radiance through the room, the family felt them- 
 selves cheerfully excited by the visit of this man of fashion. 
 Once more, as of yore, there was the easy tone of light 
 surface-talk, the delicate attention which gives to each the 
 sense of contributing to another's enjoyment, the old fonns, 
 perhaps the old subjects of conversation. And Fink solved 
 the problem ever offered by a new circle to a guest, with 
 the readiness which the rogue had always at his command 
 when he chose. He gave to each and all the impression 
 that he thoroughly enjoyed their society. He treated the 
 Baron with respectful familiarity, the Baroness with defer- 
 ence, Lenore with straightforward openness. He seemed 
 to take pleasure in addressing her, and soon overcame her 
 embarrassment. The family felt that he was one of them- 
 selves ; there was a freemasonry between them. Even Anton 
 wondered how it came about that Fink, the newly-arrived 
 guest, appeared the old friend of the house, and he the 
 stranger. And again something of the reverence arose 
 within him which, as a youth, he had always felt for the 
 elegant, distinguished, and exclusive. But this was a mere 
 shadow passing over his better judgment. 
 
 When Fink rose to retire, the Baron declared with 
 genuine cordiality how gladly he would have him remain 
 their guest ; and when he was gone, the Baroness remarked 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 157 
 
 how well the English style of dress became him, and what 
 a distinguished-looking man he was. Lenore made no re- 
 mark upon him, but she was more talkative than she had 
 been for a long time past. She accompanied her mother to 
 her bedroom, sat down by the bedside of the weary one, 
 and began merrily to chat away, not, indeed, about their 
 guest, but about many subjects of former interest, till her 
 mother kissed her brow, and said, " That will do, my child ; 
 go to bed, and do not dream." 
 
 Fink stretched himself comfortably on the sofa. " This 
 Lenore is a glorious woman," cried he in ecstasy ; " simple, 
 open; none of the silly enthusiasm of your German girls 
 about her. Sit an hour with me, as of old, Anton Woh]- 
 fart, baronial rent-receiver in a Slavonic Sahara. I say, 
 you are in such a romantic position, that my hair still 
 bristles with amazement. You have often stood by me in 
 my scrapes of former days, as my rational guardian angel; 
 now you are yourself in the midst of madness ; and, as I at 
 present enjoy the advantage of being in my right mind, my 
 conscience forbids me to leave you in such confusion." 
 
 "Fritz, dear friend!" cried Anton joyfully. 
 
 " Well, then ! " said Fink ; " you see that I wish to remain 
 with you for a while. Now, I want you to consider how 
 this is to be done. You can easily manage it with the 
 ladies ; but the Baron?" 
 
 " You have heard," replied Anton, " that he esteems it a 
 fortunate chance which brings a knight like you to his lonely 
 castle ; only" — he looked doubtfully around the room — 
 "you must learn to put up with many things." 
 
 " Hmm — I understand," said Fink ; " you are become 
 economical." 
 
158 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Just SO," sidd Anton. " If I could fill sacks with the 
 yellow sand of the forest, and sell it as wheat, I should 
 have to sell many and many sacks before I could put even 
 a small capital into our purse." 
 
 " Where you have pushed yourself in as purse-bearer, I 
 could well suppose the purse an empty one," said Fink 
 drily. 
 
 " Yes," replied Anton, " my strong-box is an old dressing- 
 case, and, I assure you, it could hold more than it does. 
 I often feel an unconquerable envy of Mr. Purzel and his 
 chalk in the counting-house. Could I but once have the 
 good fortune to behold a row of grey linen bags ! As to 
 bank-notes and a portfolio of stocks, I dare not even think 
 of them." 
 
 Fink whistled a march. " Poor lad," said he. " Yet 
 there is a large estate and a regular farm-establishment, 
 which must either bring in or take out. What do you live 
 upon, then?" 
 
 " That is one of the mysteries of the ladies, which I 
 hardly dare to disclose. Our horses munch diamonds." 
 
 Fink shrugged his shoulders. " But is it possible that 
 Rothsattel can have come to this?" 
 
 Anton then sketched, with some reserve, the Baron's 
 circumstances, speaking enthusiastically, at the same time, 
 of the noble resignation of the Baroness, and the healthy 
 energy of Lenore. 
 
 " I see," said Fink, " that things are still worse than I 
 supposed. How is it possible that you can carry on such 
 a farm? The birds of the air are rich compared to you." 
 
 " As things are," continued Anton, " we may contrive to 
 struggle on till quieter times, till the judicial sale of the 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 150 
 
 family estate. The creditors will not press now, and law- 
 yers are^ almost without work. The Baron cannot manage 
 this estate without a large capital, but neither can he give 
 it up at present without forfeiting the little that its sale 
 may hereafter bring ; and, besides, the family have no other 
 roof over their heads. All my endeavours, during the last 
 weeks, to persuade them to leave this province, have been 
 in vain. They are desperately resolved to await their fate 
 here. The Baron's pride objects to a return to his former 
 neighbourhood, and the ladies will not leave him." 
 
 " Then at least send them to the neighbouring town, and 
 do not expose them to the assault of every drunken band 
 of boors." 
 
 " I have done what I could ; I am powerless in this 
 respect," replied Anton gloomily. 
 
 " Then, my son, alloAv me to tell you that your warlike 
 apparatus is not very encouraging. With the dozen or two 
 that you can collect, you will hardly keep off an invasion 
 of rascals. You cannot even defend the premises v/ith that 
 handful, to say nothing of covering the ladies' escape. 
 Have you no prospect of procuring any soldiers 1 " 
 
 " None," replied Anton. 
 
 "A thoroughly comfortable, cheerful prospect!" cried 
 Fink. " And in spite of it, you have sown your fields, and 
 the little farm works on. I have heard from Karl how it 
 looked when you came, and what improvements you have 
 made ; you have managed capitally. No American, no man 
 of any other country, would have done the same ; in a 
 desperate case, commend me to the German. But the ladies 
 and your infant establishment must be better protected. 
 Hire twenty able-bodied men ; they will guard the house." 
 
160 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " You forget that we are as little able to feed twenty idle 
 mouths as is the owl on the tower." 
 
 " Let them work ! " cried Fink ; " you have here land 
 enough to employ a hundred hands. Have you no swamps 
 to drain, or ditches to dig 1 There is a row of wretched 
 puddles yonder." 
 
 " That is work for another season," replied Anton ; " the 
 ground is too wet now." 
 
 " Have a hundred acres of forest sown or planted. Does 
 the brook hold out in the summer ?" 
 
 " I hear that it does," replied Anton. 
 
 " Then turn it to some account." 
 
 " Do not forget," said Anton, smiling, " how difficult it 
 would be to get good workmen with military abilities, to 
 come just now into our ill-renowned district." 
 
 " To the devil with your objections !" cried Fink; " send 
 Karl into a German district, and he will hire you plenty of 
 people." 
 
 " You have already heard that we have no money. The 
 Baron is not in a position to carry on greater improvements, 
 with increased expenditure." 
 
 " Let me do it then," replied Fink ; " you can repay me 
 when you are able." 
 
 " It is doubtful whether we should ever be able." 
 Well, then, he need never know what the men 
 cost." 
 
 " He is blind," replied Anton, with a slight tone of re- 
 proach ; " and I am in his service, and bound to lay all 
 my accounts before him. Certainly, he might accept a 
 loan from you after a few scruples, for his views of his 
 circumstances vaiy with his moods. But the ladies have 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 IGl 
 
 no such illusions. Your presence would be an hourly 
 humiliation to them, if they were conscious of owing addi- 
 tional comforts to your means." 
 
 " And yet they have accepted the greater sacrifice that 
 you have made for them," said Fink gravely. 
 
 " Perhaps they consider that my humble services entail 
 on me no sacrifice," replied Anton, blushing. " They are 
 accustomed to me as the Baron's agent. But you are their 
 guest, and their self-respect will endeavour to conceal from 
 you, as much as possible, the difhculties of their position. 
 To make your apartment habitable, they have plundered 
 their own ; the very sofa on which you lie is from tlie 
 young lady's bedroom." 
 
 Fink looked eagerly at the sofa, and settled himself on 
 it again. "As it does not suit me," said he, " to travel 
 off immediately, you will have the goodness to point out 
 to me some way of living here with propriety. Tell me, 
 off-hand, something about the mortgages, and the prospects 
 of the estate ; assume for the moment that I am to be the 
 unfortunate purchaser of this Paradise." 
 
 Anton made the statement required. 
 
 " That, at all events, is not so desperate," said Fink. 
 " Now hear my proposal : you cannot go on as at present ; 
 this restricted establishment is too undesirable for all par- 
 ties, most of all for you. The property may be fearfully de- 
 vastated, but still it seems to me possible to make something 
 of it. Whether you are the people to do so or not, I will 
 not decide ; though if you, Anton, are willing to devote some 
 years of your life to it, and to sacrifice yourself still further 
 to the interests of others, it is not impossible that, in more 
 tranquil times, you may succeed in procuring the necessary 
 
 VOL. IT. L 
 
162 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 capital. Meantime, I will advance — say fifteen thousand 
 dollars, and the Baron will give me a mortgage for that 
 sum. This loan will not much diminish your income, and 
 it will make it easier for you to get over this bad year." 
 
 Anton rose and paced up and down uneasily. 
 
 " It won't do," cried he at length ; " we cannot accept 
 your generous proposal. Look you, Fritz ; a year ago, be- 
 fore I knew the man as well as I do now, I was intensely 
 anxious to lead our principal to take an interest in the 
 Baron's affairs, and if you had made me this offer then, I 
 should have been delighted ; but now I should consider it 
 unjust to you and to the ladies to accept your proposal." 
 
 " Shall the sofa out of Lenore's bedroom be defiled by 
 the tobacco-ashes of your guests 1 I do it now ; later it 
 will be done by the Polish scythe-bearers." 
 
 " We must go through with it," replied Anton mourn- 
 fully. 
 
 " Headstrong boy !" cried Fink ; " you shall not get rid 
 of me thus. And now off with you, stiffnecked Tony !" 
 
 After this conversation, Fink did not allude further to 
 his projected loan, but he had several confidential conversa- 
 tions in the course of the following day with Karl, and when 
 evening came, he said to the Baron, " May I request you to 
 lend me your horse to-morrow ? He is an old acquaintance 
 of mine. I should like to ride over your property. Do 
 not be angry with me, dear lady, if I fail to make my 
 appearance at dinner." 
 
 " He is rich ; he is come here to buy," said the Baron to 
 himself. " This Wohlfart has told his friend that there 
 is a bargain to be made in this quarter. The speculation 
 is beginning, — I must be cautious." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 163 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 TT was a sunny morning in April ; one of those genial 
 growing days that expand the leaf-bud on the trees, 
 and quicken the throbs of the human heart. Lenore went 
 with hat and parasol out into the farm-yard, and walked 
 through the cow-houses. The horned creatures looked full 
 at her with their large eyes, and raised their broad damp 
 noses, some of them lowing in expectation of receiving 
 something good at her hands. 
 
 " Is I\Ir. Wohlfart here V asked Lenore of the baiUff, 
 who was hurrying by to the stable. 
 
 "He is in the castle, my lady." 
 
 " His guest is with him, I suppose ?" she further in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Herr von Fink rode off this morning early to Neudorf. 
 He can't rest in the house, and is always happiest on horse- 
 back. He should have been a hussar." 
 
 Wlien Lenore heard in which direction Herr von Fink 
 had ridden, she walked slowly in a different one to avoid 
 meeting him, and crossed the brook and the fields to the 
 wood. She gazed at the blue sky, and revi\ang earth. 
 The winter wheat and the green grass looked so cheerful 
 that her heart laughed within her. The spring had breathed 
 
164 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 on the willows along the brook ; the yellow branches were 
 full of sap, and the first leaves bursting out. Even the 
 sand did not annoy her to-day. She stepped rapidly 
 through the expanse of it that girdled the forest, and hur- 
 ried on through the firs to the cottage. The whole wood 
 was alive with hum and cry. Wherever a group of other 
 trees rose amidst the firs, the loud chirp of the chaffinch 
 was heard, or the eager twitter of some little newly-wedded 
 birds, disputing about the position of their nest. The beetle 
 in his black cuirass droned around the buds of the chestnut ; 
 at times a wild bee, newly wakened from its winter sleep, 
 came humming by ; even brown butterflies fluttered over 
 the bushes, and wherever the ground sunk into hollows, 
 these were gay with the white and yellow stars of the ane- 
 mone and the primrose. Lenore took off her straw-hat, 
 and let the mild breeze play about her temples, while she 
 drew in long draughts of forest fragrance. She often stopped 
 and listened to the sounds around her — contemplated the 
 tender leaves of the trees, stroked the white bark of the 
 birch, stood by the rippling fountain before the forester" s 
 house, and caressed the little firs in the hedge, which stood 
 as close and regular as the bristles in a brush. She thought 
 she had never seen the forest so cheerful before. The dogs 
 barked furiously, she heard the fox rattle his chain, and 
 looked up at the bullfinch, who jumped to and fro in his 
 cage, and tried to bark like his superiors. 
 
 " Hush, Hector ! hush, Bergmann !" (.-ried Lenore, knock- 
 ing at the door. The loud barking changed into a friendly 
 welcome. As she opened the door, Bergmann, the otter 
 hound, came straddling towards her, wagging his tail im- 
 moderately, and Hector made a succession of audacious leaps, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 165 
 
 while even tlie fox crept back into its kennel, laid its nose 
 on its trough, and looked slyly at her. But she saw a 
 horse's head on the other side of the hedge ; he that she 
 had meant to avoid was actually here. For a moment she 
 remained irresolute, and was going to turn away when the 
 forester came out. Now, then, retreat was impossible, and 
 she foUow^ed him in. Fink stood in the middle of the 
 room, in the full light of the rays which fell through the 
 small panes. He advanced politely. " I came to make 
 acquaintance," said he, pointing to the forester ; " and here 
 I am admiring your stout-hearted vassal, and his comfort- 
 able home." The forester placed a chair, Lenore could 
 but take it. Fink leant against the brown wall, and looked 
 at her with undisguised admiration. " You are a wonder- 
 ful contrast to this old boy, and to the whole room," said 
 he, glancing round. " Pray, make no sign with your para- 
 sol ; all these stuffed creatures only wait your command 
 to come to life again, and lay themselves at your feet. 
 Look at the heron yonder, raising its head already." 
 
 "It is only the effect of the sunshine," said the forester 
 comfortingly. 
 
 Lenore laughed. " We know what that means," cried 
 Fink ; " you are in the plot ; you are the gnome of this 
 queen. If there be no magic here, let me sleep out the 
 rest of my days. One M^ave of that wand, and the beams 
 of this great bird-cage will open, and you fly with your 
 whole suite out into the sunshine ! Doubtless your palace 
 is on the summit of the fir-trees without ; there are the 
 pleasant halls in which your throne stands, mighty mistress 
 of this place, fair-haired goddess of spring !" 
 
 " My comfort is," said Lenore, somewhat confused, 
 
166 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " that it is not I who occasion these ideas, but the 
 pleasure you take in the ideas themselves. I only chance 
 to be the unworthy subject of your fancy. You are a 
 poet." 
 
 " Fie !" cried Fink; "how can you detract from me so 
 much ! I a poet ! Except a few merry sailors' songs, I 
 do not know a single piece of poetry by heart. The only 
 lines I care for are some fragments of the old school ; for 
 example, ' Hurra ! hurra ! hop, hop, hop,' in a poem which, 
 if I am not mistaken, bears your name. And even to these 
 classic lines I have to object, that they rather represent the 
 material trot of a cart-horse, than the course of a phantom 
 steed. But we must not be too exact with these pen-and-ink 
 gentry. Well tlien, with this single exception, you will find 
 no poetry in me ; except a few of the great Schiller's strik- 
 ing lines : ^o^ 55Ii^, ba^ ifi fa bte ©uf^et uon 53(afett?{^. 
 Tliere's much truth in that passage." 
 
 " You are making fun of me," said Lenore, somewhat 
 offended. 
 
 " Indeed I am not," asseverated Fink. " How can any 
 one make or read poems in these days of ours, when we are 
 constantly living them 1 Since I have been back in the 
 old countr}^, scarce an hour passes witliout my seeing or 
 hearing something that will be celebrated by knights of 
 the pen, a hundred years hence. Glorious material here for 
 art of every kind ! If I had the misfortune to be a poet, 
 I should now be obliged to rush out in a fit of inspiration, 
 hide myself in the kennel ; and, at a safe distance from 
 all exciting causes, write a passionate sonnet, while the 
 fox kept biting my heels. But as I am no poet, I prefer 
 to enjoy the beautiful when it is before me, to putting 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 167 
 
 it into rhyme." And again he looked admiringly at tlie 
 lady. 
 
 " Lenore !" cried a harsh voice from a corner of the 
 room. Lenore and Fink looked in amazement at each 
 other. 
 
 " He has learnt it," said the forester, pointing to the 
 Taven ; " in a general way he has left off learning, and sits 
 there sulking with every one, but still he has learnt that." 
 
 The raven sitting on the stove bent down his head, and 
 cist a shrewd glance at both the guests, kept moving his 
 leak as though speaking to himself, and alternately nod- 
 ding and shaking his head. 
 
 " The birds already begin to speak," cried Fink, going 
 up to the raven ; " the ceiling will soon fly off, and I shall 
 be left alone with Hector and Bergmann. Now, sorcerer, 
 does the water boil ? " 
 
 The forester looked into the stove. " It boils famously," 
 he said ; " but what is to be done next ?" 
 
 " We will ask the lady to help us," replied Fink. " I 
 have," said he, turning to Lenore, " already been with your 
 family-trapper as far as the distillery and back, and I have 
 brought what always serves me on my travels for break- 
 fast and dinner." He took out a few tablets of chocolate. 
 " We will concoct something like a beverage with this, if 
 you do not disdain to lend us your aid. I propose that we 
 try to mix this with water as well as we can. It would be 
 charming of you to vouchsafe an opinion as to how we 
 ought to set about it." 
 
 " Have you a grater or a mortar!" inquired Lenore, 
 laughing. 
 
 " I have neither of those machines," replied the forester. 
 
168 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " A hammer, then," suggested Fink ; " and a clean sheet 
 of paper." 
 
 The hammer was soon brought, but the paper was onlr 
 found after a long search. Fink undertook to pound tlie 
 chocolate, the forester brought fresh water from the spring, 
 Lenore washed out some cups, and Fink hammered away 
 with all his heart. " This is antediluvian paper," said he, 
 " thick as parchment ; it must have lain for some centuries 
 in this magic hut." Lenore shook the chocolate powder into 
 the saucepan, and stirred it. Then they all three sat down, 
 and much enjoyed the result of their handiwork. 
 
 The golden sunbeams shone fuller into the room, lighting 
 up the bright form of the beautiful girl, and the fine face of 
 tlie man opposite her ; then they fell upon the wall, and 
 decked the head of the heron and the wings of the hawk. 
 The raven came to the end of his soliloquy, and fluttered 
 from his seat, hopping about the lady's feet, and croaking 
 out again, " Lenore ! Lenore ! " 
 
 Lenore now conversed at her ease with the stranger, 
 and the forester every now and then threw in a suitable 
 remark. They spoke of the district and its inhabitants. 
 
 " Wherever I have met Poles in foreign lands, I have 
 got on very well with them," said Fink. " I am sorry that 
 these disturbances prevent one visiting them in their own 
 homes ; for, certainly, one best learns to know men from 
 seeing them there." 
 
 " It must be delightful to see so many different scenes 
 and people," cried Lenore. 
 
 " It is only at first that the diff'erence strikes you. 
 When one has observed them awhile, one comes to the con- 
 clusion that they are everywhere much alike. A little 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 IG!) 
 
 diversity in the colour of the skin, and otlier details ; but 
 love and hate, laughter and tears, these the traveller finds 
 everywhere, and everywhere these are the same. About 
 twenty weeks ago, I was half a hemisphere off, in the log- 
 hut of an American, on a barren prairie. It was just the 
 same as here. We sat at a stout rustic table like this, 
 and my host w^as as like this old gentlemen as one egg 
 is to another, and the light of the winter sun fell in 
 just the same way through the small window. But if 
 men have so little to distinguish them, women are still 
 more alike in essentials. They only differ in one trifling 
 particular." 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked the forester. 
 
 " They are rather more or less neat," said Fink care- 
 lessly ; " tliat is the whole difference." 
 
 Lenore rose offended at his tone, more than at his 
 words. 
 
 " It is time that I shoidd return," said she coldly, tying 
 on her straw-hat. 
 
 " When you rose, all the brightness left the room," cried 
 Fink. 
 
 " It is only a cloud passing over the sun," said the forester, 
 going to the window ; " that causes the shadow." 
 
 " Nonsense," replied Fink ; " it is the straw-hat hiding 
 the lady's hair that does it ; the light came from those 
 golden locks." 
 
 They left the house, the forester locked the door, and 
 each went off in different directions. 
 
 Lenore hurried home ; the linnet sang, the thrush whistled, 
 she did not heed them. She blamed herself for having 
 crossed the threshold of the forester's house, and yet she 
 
170 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 oould not turn away her thoughts from it. The stranger 
 made her feel uneasy, and insecure. Was he thus daring 
 because nothing was sacred to him ? or was it only through 
 his extreme self-possession and self-dependence ? Ought 
 she to be angry with him ? or did her sense of awkward- 
 ness only arise from the folly of an inexperienced girl ? 
 These questions she kept constantly asking herself, but 
 alas ! she found no answer. 
 
 When Anton wanted to send a message that evening to 
 tlie shepherd, neither Karl nor any other messenger was to 
 be found, so he went himself. He was not a little surprised 
 to see in one of the furthest fields, through which he 
 had to go, his friend Fink on horseback, and the Ger- 
 man farmer and Karl busily occupied near him. Fink 
 was galloping along short distances, the others placing 
 black and white pegs in the ground, and taking them out 
 again. And then Karl looked through a small telescope 
 that he rested on his peg. " Five-and twenty-paces," cried 
 Fink. 
 
 " Two inches fall," screamed back Karl. 
 
 " Five-and-twenty, two," said the farmer, making an 
 entry in his pocket-book. 
 
 " So you have come, have you ?" cried Fink, laughing, 
 to his friend. " Wait a moment, we shall soon have done." 
 Again a certain number of leaps, observations through the 
 telescope, and entries in the pocket-book ; then the men 
 collected their pegs, and Fink rapidly cast up the figures 
 in the farmer's book. Then giving it back with a smile, 
 he said, " Come on with me, Anton, I have something to 
 show you. Place yourself by the brook, with your face to the 
 north. There the brook forms a straight line from west to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 171 
 
 east, the border of the wood a semicircle. Wood and brook 
 together define the segment of a circle." 
 " That is evident," said Anton. 
 
 " In olden times the brook ran differently," continued 
 Fink. " It swept along the curve of the wood, and its old 
 bed is still visible. If you walk along the ancient water- 
 course toward the west, you come to the point where the 
 old channel diverges from the new. It is the point where 
 a wretched bridge crosses the brook, and the water in its 
 present bed has a fall of more than a foot, strong enough 
 to turn the best mill going. The ruins of some buildings 
 stand near it." 
 
 " I know the place well enough," said Anton. 
 
 " Below the village, the old channel bends down to the 
 new. It encompasses a wide plain, more than five hundred 
 acres, if I can trust the paces of this horse. The whole of 
 this ground slopes down from the old channel to the new. 
 There are a few acres of meadow, and some tolerable arable 
 land. The most part is sand and rough pasture, the worst 
 part of the estate, as I hear." 
 
 " I allow all that," said Anton, with spme curiosity. 
 
 " Now, mark me. If you lead back the brook to its 
 old channel, and force it to run along the bow instead of 
 forming the arc of that bow, the water that now runs to 
 waste will irrigate the whole plain of five hundred acres, 
 and change the barren sand into green meadows." 
 
 " You are a sharp fellow," cried Anton, excited at the 
 discovery. 
 
 " These acres, well irrigated, would yield a ton of hay 
 an acre, consequently each acre would bring in a clear 
 profit of five dollars, or, in other words, the five hundred 
 
172 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 acres would give a yearly income of two tliousand five 
 hundred ; and, to bring this about, would require an outlay 
 of fifteen thousand dollars at the verj' outside. This, Antoii, 
 was what I had to say to you." 
 
 Anton stood there amazed. There was no doubt that 
 Fink's calculations were not made at random, either as to 
 outlay or return ; and the advantageous prospect which 
 such a measure opened out, occupied him so much that he 
 walked on for some time in silence. " You show me 
 water and pastures in the desert," said he at length. " This 
 is cruel of you, for the Baron is not in a condition to cany 
 out this improvement. Fifteen thousand dollars !" 
 
 " Perhaps ten might do," said Fink sarcasticall}-. " I 
 have drawn this castle in the air for you, to punish you 
 for your stiffneckedness the other evening. Now let us 
 speak of something else." 
 
 At night the Baron, with an important air, summoned 
 his wife and Lenore to a conference in his room. He sat 
 up in his arm-chair, and said with a greater degree of satis- 
 faction than he had for a long time evinced,—" It was 
 easy to discover that this visit of Fink's was not exactly 
 accidental, nor occasioned by his friendship for Mr. Wohlfart, 
 as the young men both made it appear : you two pretended 
 to be wiser than I ; but I was right after all, and the visit 
 concerns us more nearly than our agent." 
 
 The Baroness cast a terrified glance at her daughter, but 
 Lenore's eyes were so fully fixed on her father, tliat her 
 mother was comforted. 
 
 " And what do you suppose has brought this gentleman 
 here ?" continued the Baron. 
 
 Lenore shook her head and said at last — " Fatlier, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 173 
 
 HeiT von Fink has long been most intimate with Wohlfart, 
 and they have not seen each other for some years. How 
 natural that Fink should take advantage of his slight 
 acquaintance with us to spend a few weeks with his dearest 
 friend ! Why should we seek any other reason for his 
 presence '?" 
 
 " You speak as young people always do. Men are less 
 influenced by ideal impressions, and more ruled by their 
 own interest, tlian your juvenile wisdom apprehends." 
 
 " Interest !" said the Baroness. 
 
 " What is there surprising in it V continued the Baron. 
 " Both are tradespeople. Fink knows enough of the 
 charms of business to lose no opportunity of making a good 
 bargain. I will tell you why he is come here. Our excel- 
 lent Wohlfart has written to him stating — ' Here is an 
 estate, and this estate has an owner who is at present 
 unable to overlook its management himself There is some- 
 thing to be made here. You have money, therefore come : 
 I am your friend : some of the profits will naturally fall 
 to my share.' " 
 
 The Baroness gazed stedfastly at her husband, but Lenore 
 sprang up and cried, with all the energy of a deeply wounded 
 heart, — Father, I will not hear you speak thus of a man 
 who has never shown us anything but the most unselfish 
 devotion. His fri(^ndship for us is such as to enable him 
 to bear with boundless patience the privations of this lonely 
 place, and the disagreeables of his present position." 
 
 " His friendship ?" said the Baron ; " I never laid claim 
 to so great a distinction." 
 
 " We have done so, though," cried Lenore impetuously. 
 "At a time when my mother found no one else to stand 
 
174 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 by US, Wolilfart faithfully clung to us still. From the day 
 that my brother brought him to us, till this very hour, he 
 has acted for you and cared for us." 
 
 " Very well," admitted the Baron ; " I find no fault 
 with his activity. I willingly allow that he keeps the 
 accounts in good order, and is very industrious in return 
 for a small salary. If you understood men's motives better, 
 you would hear me more patiently. After all, there is no 
 harm in what he has done. I want capital, and am, as 
 you know, a good deal embarrassed besides. What should 
 prevent proposals being made to me, which would advan- 
 tage others and do me no injury V 
 
 " For God's sake, father, what proposals do you mean 1 
 It is false that Wohlfart has any other interest at heart 
 but yours." 
 
 The Baroness beckoned to her daughter to be silent. " If 
 Fink wishes to purchase the estate," said she, " I shall hail 
 his resolve as a blessing ; the greatest blessing, beloved 
 Oscar, that could happen to you now." 
 
 " We are not talking of buying," replied the Baron. 
 " I shall think twice before I give away the estate in 
 such a hurry under the present circumstances. Fink's 
 proposal is of a different kind ; he wishes to become my 
 tenant." 
 
 Lenore sank down speechless in her chair. 
 
 " He wishes to rent from me five hundred acres of level 
 ground, in order to convert them into profitable meadows. 
 I do not deny that he has spoken openly and fairly on the 
 subject. He has proved to me in figures how great his 
 gains would be, and offered to pay the first year's rent at 
 once. Nay more, he has offered to give up his tenancy in 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 175 
 
 five years, and make over the meadows to me, provided I 
 repay him the expenses incurred." 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! " cried Lenore ; "you have surely 
 refused this generous proposal." 
 
 " I have required time for deliberation," replied the 
 Baron complacently. " The offer is, as I have already said, 
 not exactly disadvantageous to myself ; at the same time, 
 it might be imprudent to concede such advantages to a 
 stranger, when, in a year or so, I might be able to carry 
 out this improvement on my own account." 
 
 " You will never be able to do so, my poor, my beloved 
 husband," cried the Baroness, weeping, and throwing her 
 arms about the Baron's neck, while he sank down anni- 
 hilated, and laid his head on her breast like a little child. 
 
 " I must know whether Wohlfart knows of this proposal, 
 and what he says to it ! " cried Lenore decidedly ; " and if 
 you allow me, father, I will at once send for him." As 
 the Baron did not reply, she rang the bell for the servant, 
 and left the room to meet him at the door. 
 
 Fink sat, meanwhile, in Anton's room, amusing himself 
 with rallying his friend. "Since you have given up 
 smoking, your good angel has deserted you, after having so 
 torn his hair at your stififneckedness, that there he is now 
 sitting bewigged amongst the angel choir. As for you, 
 your punishment is to be the having your soul sewed up 
 in a turnip-leaf, and daily smoked by the smallest imps in 
 the pit." 
 
 " Have you been a member of some pious fraternity in 
 America, that you are so well acquainted with the pro- 
 ceedings of the spiritual world ?" inquired Anton, looking 
 up from his account-book. 
 
176 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Silence," said Fink ; " formerly there were, at least, 
 occasional hours when you could trifle too ; but now you 
 are always carrying on your everlasting book-keeping, and, 
 by Tantalus, all for nothing — for nothing at all !" 
 
 The servant entered, and summoned Anton to the Baron. 
 
 As the latter left the room, Fink called out, " Apropos, 
 I have offered to rent tlie five hundred acres from the 
 Baron at two dollars and a half the acre — the land to be 
 made over in five years' time, on repayment of the capital 
 expended, either in money, or by a mortgage. Off with 
 you, my boy 1" 
 
 When Anton entered the Baron's apartment, he found 
 the Baroness at her husband's side, his hand in hers, while 
 Lenore walked restlessly up and down the room. " Have 
 you heard of the oflfer that Herr von Fink has made to my 
 father asked she. 
 
 " He has this moment told me of it," replied Anton. 
 The Baron made a face. 
 
 " And is it your opinion that my fiither ought to accept 
 the offer 
 
 Anton was silent. " It is an advantageous one for the 
 estate," said he at length, with considerable effort. " The 
 outlay of capital is essential to its improvement." 
 
 " I don't want to be told that," replied Lenore impa- 
 tiently ; " but to know whether you, as our friend, advise 
 us to accept this ofier 1 " 
 
 " I do not," said Anton. 
 
 " I knew that you would say so," cried Lenore, stepping 
 behind her father's chair. 
 
 "You do not; and wherefore, if you please?" inquired 
 the Baron. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 177 
 
 " The present time, which makes all things uncertain, 
 seems to me little fitted for so bold a speculation. Besides 
 which, I believe Fink to be influenced by motives which do 
 him honour, but which would render it painful to the 
 Baron to accept his ofi"er." 
 
 " You will allow me to be the judge of what I ought 
 or ought not to accept," said the Baron. " As a mere 
 question of business, this measure would be advantageous 
 to both parties." 
 
 "That I must allow," said Anton. 
 
 " And as to the views that people may take of political 
 prospects, that is merely a personal matter. He who does 
 not allow his undertakings to be interfered with, is more 
 praiseworthy than he who, through a vague fear, postpones 
 advantageous measures." 
 
 " That, too, I allow." 
 
 " Would this undertaking lead to Herr von Fink per- 
 manently taking up his abode in our neighbourhood 1 " 
 asked the Baroness. 
 
 "I do not think so ; he would make over the task to a 
 farmer, and his temperament is sure to send him wandering 
 off again. As to his motives, I can but surmise. I believe 
 them to be mainly the respect and regard he feels for 
 your family, and possibly the wish to have some right to 
 remain with you in these unquiet times. The very danger 
 that would make this country undesirable to others, has a 
 charm for him." 
 
 " And w^ould you not be glad to retain your friend with 
 youf inquired the Baroness further. 
 
 "Till to-day I had no hope of it," answered Anton. 
 " Formerly, my task used to be that of holding him back 
 
 VOL. II. M 
 
178 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 from precipitate resolves, and from staking much upon a 
 sudden fancy." 
 
 " You consider, then," said the Baron, " that your friend 
 has been precipitate in his proposal to me 1 " 
 
 " His proposal is a bold one, so far as he himself is 
 concerned," returned Anton significantly ; " and there is 
 something in it. Baron, which does not satisfy me on your 
 account, though I should find a difficulty in defining it." 
 
 " Thank you," said the Baron ; " we will discuss the 
 subject no further ; there is no huiTy about it." Anton 
 bowed and left the room. 
 
 Lenore stood silently at the window, repeating to herself 
 his last words : " I should find a difficulty in defining it ;" 
 while a crowd of painful thoughts and forebodings rushed 
 through her mind. She was angry with her father's weak- 
 ness, and indignant with Fink for presuming to offer them 
 assistance. Whether his offer were accepted or not, their 
 relations to their guest were changed by it. They were 
 indebted to him. He was no longer a stranger. He had 
 ir^-^uded into their private griefs. She thought of the curl 
 of his lip, of the contraction of his eyebrows ; she fancied 
 she heard him laughing at her father and at her. He had 
 entered their house in his off-hand way, and now carelessly 
 seized the reins, and meant to direct their fortunes as he liked. 
 Perhaps her parents might owe their deliverance to one of 
 his arbitrary caprices. This morning she could feel at her 
 ease with him, brilliant man of the world as he was ; they 
 were on equal terms, but how should they meet henceforth 1 
 Her pride rebelled against one whose influence she so sen- 
 sibly felt. She determined to treat him coldly, she made 
 castles in the air as to how he would speak, and how she 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 179 
 
 would reply, and her fancy kept flying round the image of 
 the stranger, as the scared mother-bird does around the 
 enemy of her nest. 
 
 " And what will you do, Oscar V inquired the Baroness. 
 
 " My father cannot accept," cried Lenore energetically. 
 
 " What is your opinion ?" said the Baron, turning to his 
 wife. 
 
 " Choose what will soonest set you free from this estate, 
 — from the care, the gloom, the insecurity which are 
 secretly preying on you. Let us go to some distant land, 
 where men's passions are less hideously developed. Let us 
 go far away ; we shall be more peaceful in the narrowest 
 circumstances than we are here." 
 
 " Thus, then, you advise the acceptance of his offer," 
 said the Baron. " He who rents a part will soon under- 
 take the whole." 
 
 " And pay us a pension !" cried Lenore. 
 
 " You are a foolish girl," said her father. " You both 
 excite yourselves, which is unnecessary. The offer is too 
 important to be refused or accepted off-hand. I will 
 weigh the matter more narrowly. Your Wohlfart will 
 have plenty of time to examine the conditions," added he 
 more good-humouredly. 
 
 "Listen, dear father, to what Wohlfart has already 
 spoken, and respect what he keeps back." 
 
 "Yes, yes, he shall be listened to," said the Baron. 
 " And now good-night, both of you. I will re-consider the 
 matter." 
 
 " He will accept," said Lenore to her mother ; "he will 
 accept, because Wohlfart has dissuaded him, and because 
 the other offers him ready money. Mother, why did you 
 
180 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 not say that we could never look the stranger in the face 
 if he gave us alms in our very house 1 " 
 
 " I have no longer any pride or any hope," replied her 
 mother in a low voice. 
 
 As Anton slowly re-entered his room, Fink called out 
 cheerfully, " How goes it, man of business 1 Am I to be 
 tenant, or will the Baron himself undertake the matter? 
 He would like it dearly. In that case, I lay claim to 
 compensation — free room for myself and my horse as long 
 as they play at war hereabouts!" 
 
 " He will accept your offer," replied Anton, " though I 
 advised him not." 
 
 "You did!" cried Fink. "Yes, indeed, it's just like 
 you. When a drowning mouse clings to a raft, you make 
 it a long speech on the imperative nature of moral obliga- 
 tions, and hurl it back into the water." 
 
 " You are not so innocent as a raft," said Anton, laughing. 
 
 "Hear me," continued Fink; "I have no superfluous 
 sentimentality; but in this particular case, I should not 
 consider it friendly in you, to wish to edify me by a lecture. 
 Is it then so unpleasant to have me to help you through 
 these confounded times?" 
 
 " I have known you long enough, you rogue," said Anton, 
 " to feel sure that your friendship for me has had a good 
 deal to do with your offer." 
 
 " Indeed," said Fink sarcastically ; " and how much, 
 pray ? It is a good-for-nothing age : however virtuously one 
 may act, one is so dissected, that virtue turns to egotism 
 under the knife of malice." 
 
 Anton stroked his cheek. " I do not dissect," said he. 
 " You have made a generous offer, and I am not discon- 
 
DEBIT AND CllEDIT. 
 
 181 
 
 tented with you, but with myself. In my first delight at 
 your arrival, I disclosed more about the Baron's circum- 
 stances, and the ladies' anxieties, than was right. I myself 
 introduced you into the mysteries of the family, and you 
 have used the knowledge you acquired from me in your 
 own dexterous way. It is I who have entangled you with 
 the affairs of this family, and your capital with this dis- 
 turbed country. That all this should have happened so 
 suddenly, is against my every feeling; and I am amazed 
 at my own incaution, in having brought it about." 
 
 " Of course," laughed Fink, "it is your sweetest enjoy- 
 ment to be anxious about those around you." 
 
 " It has twice happened to me," continued Anton, " whose 
 caution you so often laugh at, to speak unguardedly to 
 strangers about the circumstances of this family. The first 
 time that I asked help for the Rothsattels it was refused 
 me, and this more than anything else led me out of the 
 counting-house hither ; and now that my second indiscretion 
 has procured the help I did not ask, what will the conse- 
 quences be?" 
 
 "To lead you hence back into the counting-house," 
 laughed Fmk. "Did one ever see such a subtle Hamlet 
 in jack-boots'? If I could only find out whether you secretly 
 desire or fear such a logical conclusion !" Then drawing a 
 piece of money out of his pocket, he said, " Heads or tails, 
 Anton? Blonde or brunette? Let us throw." 
 
 " You are no longer in Tenessee, you soul-seller ! " laughed 
 Anton, against his will. 
 
 " It should have been an honourable game," said Fink 
 coolly. " I meant to give you the choice. Remember that 
 hereafter." 
 
182 
 
 DEBIT AXD CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 rrHE Baron accepted. Indeed it was difficult to resist 
 Fink's offer : even Anton acknowledged that. But the 
 Baron did not come to this resolve in a straightforward 
 way. His mind underwent many oscillations. It was dis- 
 agreeable to him to let a stranger make so considerable a 
 profit out of lands of his ; and when he had confessed with 
 a sigh, that it was impossible to prevent this, it was further 
 disagreeable to him, that Fink should have ventured upon 
 such a proposition as this the third day after his arrival ; 
 and he felt that Lenore's continued opposition was well- 
 grounded. At these times, he saw himself poor, dependent, 
 under Anton's management, and was embittered almost to 
 the point of giving up the plan. But after such diver- 
 gences, he always came back to the main point — his own 
 interest. He knew well how great a help the rent paid 
 beforehand would be, during the cun-ent year, and he fore- 
 saw that the outlay of capital would, in the course of a few 
 years, double the value of the estate. Then, he could not but 
 admit to himself, that, at the present disturbed time, Fink 
 would be a desirable associate. However, he preserved a 
 rigid silence towards his wife and daughter ; good-naturedly 
 threw back Lenore's attempts to bring him to a decision ; 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 183 
 
 and was more dignified than usual in bearing during this 
 period of deliberation. 
 
 After a few days, he called his old servant, and said in 
 strict confidence, "Find out, John, when Mr. Wohlfart 
 goes out, and Herr von Fink remains alone in his room, 
 and then go to the latter, and announce me to him." 
 
 The Baron being accordingly privately introduced into 
 Fmk's apartment, told him in a friendly way, that he 
 accepted his offer, and left it to him to get the contract 
 drawn up by the Rosmiu attorney. 
 
 "All right," said Fink, shaking hands with him; "but 
 have you reflected, Baron, that your kind consent obliges 
 me to claim your hospitality for weeks, if not months ? For 
 I consider my presence desirable, at all events till the farm- 
 ing operations are fairly set going." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," replied the Baron, " if you will 
 put up with oiu- unsettled establishment. I shall take the 
 liberty of setting apart some rooms for you. If you have 
 a ser^'ant to whom you are accustomed, pray send for him." 
 
 " I want no servant," said Fink, "if you will desire yoiu- 
 John to keep my room in order. But I have something 
 better from which I don't like to be long parted — a fine 
 half-blood which is at present standing in my father's 
 stable." 
 
 " Would it not be possible to have the horse sent over 
 here ?" 
 
 " If you will allow it," said Fink, " I shall be very 
 grateful to you." 
 
 Thus, the two concluded their treaty in perfect amity ; 
 and the Baron left the room with the comfortable impression 
 of having made a clever bargain. 
 
184 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " The matter is settled," said Fink to Anton on the re- 
 turn of the latter. " Make no lamentations, for the mis- 
 chief is done. I shall settle myself in two rooms in a 
 corner of this wing, and see to the furnishing of them 
 myself. To-morrow I am off to Rosmin, and further still. 
 I am on the scent of an experienced man who can overlook 
 the undertaking, and I shall bring him and a few labourers 
 back with me. Can you spare me our Karl for a week or so 
 
 " He is not easily spared; but since it must be so, I 
 will do what I can to replace him. You must leave me 
 abundant instructions." 
 
 The next morning Fink rode away accompanied by the 
 hussar, and things returned to their old course. The drill 
 went on regularly ; patrols were sent around as before ; 
 frightful reports were greedily listened to and repeated. 
 Sometimes small detachments of military appeared, and the 
 officers were welcome guests at the castle, telling as they 
 did of the strife going on beyond the forest, and comforting 
 the ladies by bold assurances that the insurrection would 
 soon be put down. Anton was the only one who felt the 
 heavy burden on the family-funds that their entertainment 
 involved. 
 
 Nearly a fortnight had passed away, and Fink and Karl 
 were still absent. One sunny day, Lenore was busy enlarg- 
 ing her plantation, where about fifty young firs and birches 
 already made some show. In her straw-hat, a small spade 
 in her hand, she seemed so lovely to Anton, as he was 
 hurrying by, that he could not resist standing stiU to look 
 at her. 
 
 " I have you, then, at last, faithless sir," cried Lenore ; 
 " for a whole week you have never given my trees a thought, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 185 
 
 I have been obliged to water them all alone. There is your 
 spade, so come at once and help me to dig." 
 
 Anton obediently took the spade, and valiantly began to 
 turn up the sods. 
 
 " I have seen some young junipers in the wood, perhaps 
 you can make use of them," said he. 
 
 " Yes ; on the edge of the plantation," answered Lenore, 
 appeased. 
 
 " T have had more to do these last days than usual," 
 continued he. " We miss Karl everywhere." 
 
 Lenore struck her spade deep in the ground, and bent 
 down to examine the up-turned earth. " Has not your 
 friend written to you yet?" inquired she in a tone of in- 
 difference. 
 
 " I hardly know what to think of his silence," said Anton, 
 " the mails are not interrupted, and other letters come. I 
 almost fear that some misfortune may have happened to the 
 travellers." 
 
 Lenore shook her head. " Can you imagine any mis- 
 fortune happening to Herr von Fink 1 " inquired she, digging 
 away. 
 
 It is indeed, difficult to imagine," said Anton, laughing ; 
 " he does not look as if he would easily allow any ill-luck 
 to settle down upon him." 
 
 " I should think not," replied Lenore curtly. 
 
 Anton w^as silent for a while. "It is singular that we 
 should not yet have talked over the change that Fink's 
 remaining here will occasion," said he at length, not with- 
 out some constraint, for he had a vague consciousness that 
 a certain degree of embarrassment had risen up on Lenore' s 
 side as well as his own — a light shadow on the bright 
 
186 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 grass, cast no one knows from whence. " Are you, too, 
 satisfied with his sojourn here ?" 
 
 Lenore turned away and twisted a twig in her fingers. 
 " Are you satisfied V asked she in return. 
 
 " For my part," said Anton, " I may -well be pleased 
 with the presence of my friend." 
 
 " Then T am so, too," replied Lenore, looking up ; " but 
 it really is strange that Mr. Sturm should not have WTitten 
 either. Perhaps," exclaimed she, " they will never return." 
 
 " I can answer for Karl," said Anton. 
 
 " But the other ? He looks as changeable as a cloud." 
 
 "He is not that," replied Anton ; " if he has diffi- 
 culties to contend with, all the energy of his nature awakes ; 
 he is only bored by what gives him no trouble." 
 
 Lenore was silent, and dug on more zealously than ever ; 
 just then a hum of cheerful voices sounded from the farm- 
 yard, and the labourers ran from their dinner to the road. 
 " Mr. Sturm is coming," cried one of them to the diggers. 
 A stately procession was seen moving through the village 
 towards the castle. First of all came half-a-dozen men all 
 dressed alike, in grey jackets, wearing broad-brimmed felt 
 hats set on one side, and decorated with a green sprig, a 
 light gun on their shoulder, and a sailor's cutlass at their 
 sides. Behind them came a series of loaded wagons : the 
 first full of shovels, spades, rakes, and wheelbarrows sym- 
 metrically arranged ; the latter laden with sacks of meal, 
 chests, bundles of clothes, and household furniture. The 
 procession was closed by a number of men dressed like 
 those above described. As they neared the castle, Karl and 
 a stranger sprang down from the last wagon; the former 
 placed himself at the head of the procession, had the wagons 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 187 
 
 driven to the front of the castle, arranged the men in two 
 rows, and made them present arms. Last of all came Pink 
 galloping up. 
 
 "Welcome !" cried Anton to his friend. 
 
 " You are bringing an army and ammunition," laughed 
 Lenore, greeting him. "Do you always march with such 
 lieavy baggage V 
 
 " I bring a corps that will henceforth be in your service," 
 replied Fink, jumping down. " They seem decent folk," 
 said he, turning to Anton ; " but I had some trouble to 
 collect them. Hands are scarce just now, and yet nothing 
 gets done. We have been drumming and bribing in your 
 country like recruiting Serjeants. These fellows would hardly 
 have been got here merely to work, the grey jackets and 
 the chasseurs' caps settled the matter. Some of them 
 have served already, and your hussar knows how to keep 
 them together as well as any born general." 
 
 The Baron and his lady now entered the court. The 
 labourers at Karl's bidding raised a loud hurrah, and then 
 strolled off to the side of the castle, and lay down in the 
 sunshine. 
 
 " Here are your pioneers, my chief," said Fink to the 
 Baron ; " since your kindness allows me to be your inmate 
 for some time to come, I have now a right to do some- 
 thing towards the security of your castle. The condition 
 of this province is serious. Even in Rosmin they do 
 not feel safe for a single day; and your embodying a 
 militia has not escaped the enemy and called attention to 
 your house." 
 
 " It is an honour to me," interposed the Baron, " to be 
 obnoxious to the rebels." 
 
188 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " No doubt," politely chimed in Fink. " But this is only 
 an additional motive to your friends, to watch over your 
 and your family's personal safety. As yet you are hardly 
 strong enough to defend the castle from an assault of the 
 rascals immediately around. The dozen labourers that I 
 bring wiU form a guard for your house ; they have arms 
 and partly know how to use them. I have bound them to 
 the performance of certain military functions which will 
 help to keep them in order. They can work a few hours 
 less daily, and exercise during the interval, patrol, and, in 
 so far as you. Baron, may think it desirable, keep up a 
 regular correspondence with the neighbouring districts. Of 
 course their support and payment is my affair, and I have 
 accordingly provided for it. I wish to run up a slight 
 building for them on the land they are to cultivate, but 
 just now it will be well to keep them as near the castle as 
 possible, and therefore I have to ask you for temporary 
 quarters for all these as weU as for myself." 
 
 " Just as you like, dear Fink," cried the Baron, carried 
 away by the yoimg man's enterprising spirit ; " all the room 
 we have is at your disposal." 
 
 " Then allow me to suggest," said Anton, " that a room 
 in the lower storey shoidd be fitted up as a guard-room. 
 There, arms and implements can be safely kept, and some of 
 the men might nightly take up their quarters there. The 
 rest must be billeted in the farm-yard. In this way they 
 will get accustomed to consider the castle their place of 
 rendezvous." 
 
 " Capital," said Fink, " so that the disturbance thus 
 caused does not prove an annoyance to the ladies." 
 
 " The wife and daughter of an old soldier will gratefully 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 189 
 
 submit to any measures taken for their safety," replied the 
 Baron with dignity. 
 
 Accordingly, the new colony began to settle by universal 
 consent. The wagons were unloaded, the manager and 
 his men accommodated for the moment in the farm build- 
 ings. 
 
 The first thing they did was to free the furniture from 
 its wrappings of straw and canvas, and to carry it into the 
 apartments of theu' new master. 
 
 The castle servants stood round and looked with curiosity 
 at its simple style. One article, however, excited such 
 loud admiration, that Lenore joined the group of gazers. 
 It was a small sofa of singular aspect. The legs and 
 arms were made of the feet of some great beast of prey, 
 and the cushions were covered with the bright yellow skin, 
 aU dotted over with regular black spots. At the back, 
 and on the bolsters, were three large jaguars' heads, and 
 the framework, instead of wood, was of beautifully carved 
 ivory. 
 
 "How exquisite !" exclaimed Lenore. 
 
 " If the thing does not displease you," said Fink coolly, 
 " I propose an exchange. There is a small sofa in my 
 room, on which I rest so comfortably, that I should like 
 to keep it there. Will you allow your people to carry off 
 this monster to some other room in the castle, and to 
 leave me that sofa instead V 
 
 Lenore could find no reply, and bowed a silent consent ; 
 and yet she was dissatisfied with herself for not having at 
 once declined such an exchange. When she returned to 
 her room, she found the jaguar-sofa already there. That 
 vexed her stiU further ; she called Suska and the man- 
 
190 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 servant, and desired them to move it elsewhere; but they 
 so loudly protested that the beautiful creature was nowhere 
 more in keeping than in their young lady's chamber, that 
 Lenore, to avoid observation, sent them away and put up 
 with the exchange. Thus it came to pass that her fair 
 form rested on the jaguar-skins that Fink had shot in the 
 far forests of the West. 
 
 The next day the new undertaking began. The manager 
 went with his apparatus to the land in question, and 
 the men had their work portioned out to them. Karl 
 hunted out day-labourers from the Gennan and Polish 
 districts around, and even found a few in the village 
 ready to help, so that in a few days there were fifty 
 hands employed. It must be owned that things did not 
 go on altogether undisturbed ; the labourers came less 
 regularly than might have been wished, but still the work 
 progressed, for Fink as well as Karl well understood keeping 
 men in order — the one by his haughty energy, the other 
 by the invariable good humour with which he praised or 
 blamed. The forester came assiduously from his forest to 
 conduct the military exercises, the castle was nightly 
 watched, and patrols regularly sent to the villages around. 
 A warlike spirit spread from the castle over the whole 
 district. A strong esiwit de corps soon sprung up amongst 
 the broad-brims, which made discipline easy, and after a 
 few days Fink was besieged with petitioners for a like 
 uniform, and a gun, and the privilege of being taken into 
 his service. 
 
 " The giiard-room is ready," said Fink to Anton ; " but 
 you must have holes for muskets cut in the shutters of the 
 lower storey windows." Thus the troublous time was 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 191 
 
 endured with fresli spirit. The stranger-guest gave a new- 
 impulse to each individual life, the very farm-ser^^ants felt 
 his influence, and the forester was proud to do the honours 
 of his wood to such a gentleman. Fink was a good deal 
 in the fields with Anton, who, as well as Karl, soon fell 
 into the habit of asking his advice. He bought two 
 strong cart-horses — for his own use, he said — but he 
 cleverly contrived that they should work on the Baron's 
 farm, and laughed at Anton's scruples. The latter was 
 happy to have his friend near him. Somewhat of their 
 former pleasant life had returned — of those evenings 
 when the two youths had chatted, as only youths can, 
 sometimes in mere childish folly, sometimes gravely on the 
 highest subjects. Fink had changed in many respects. 
 He had become more quiet, or, as Anton expressed it in 
 counting-house phrase, more solid ; but he was more inclined 
 than ever to make use of men for his own varying interests, 
 and to look down upon them as mere instruments. His 
 physical strength was unabated. After having stood all 
 morning superintending his workmen, after having wandered 
 all through the wood with the forester, ridden, spite of 
 Anton's remonstrances, far into the disturbed districts to 
 seek information or establish relations there, and inspected 
 on his return all the sentry-posts on the estate ; there he 
 was at the tea-table of the Baroness, a lively companion, 
 with such inexhaustible fimds of conversation, that Anton 
 had often to remind him by signs that the strength of the 
 lady of the house was not equal to his own. As for the 
 Baron, Fink had completely subjugated him. He never 
 showed the least deference to the sarcastic humour which 
 had become habitual to the unfortunate nobleman, never 
 
192 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 allowed him a bitter observation against Wolilfart or 
 Leuore, or any one else, without making him at once 
 sensible of its injustice. Consequently, the Baron learnt 
 to exercise great self-control in his presence. On the 
 other hand, Fink took pains to give him many a pleasure. 
 He helped him to play a rubber of whist, initiated Lenore 
 in the game, and gradually drew in Wohlfart as the 
 fourth. 
 
 This had the effect of pleasantly wiling away many a 
 weary hour for the Baron ; of making Wohlfart one of the 
 family circle, and keeping him up, so that Fink might, if so 
 minded, drink a glass of Cognac punch and enjoy his last 
 cigar in his company. The ladies of the house alone did 
 not seem to feel the cheering influence of Fink's presence. 
 The Baroness fell sick ; it was no violent ailment, yet it 
 came suddenly. That veiy afternoon she had spoken cheer- 
 fully to Anton, and taken from him some letters which the 
 postman had brought for her husband ; but in the even- 
 ing she did not make her appearance at the tea-table, 
 though the Baron himself treated her indisposition as 
 trifling. She complained of nothing but weakness, and 
 the doctor, who ventured from Rosmin to the castle, could 
 not give her malady a name. She smilingly rejected all 
 medicine, and said it was her firm conviction that the 
 exhaustion would pass away. That she might not detain her 
 husband and daughter in her sick-room, she often expressed 
 a wish to join the family circle, but she was not able to 
 sit up on the sofa, and lay resting her head on the pillows. 
 Thus she was still the silent companion of the others. 
 Her eyes would dwell uneasily upon the Baron, or search- 
 ingly upon Lenore, as they sat at the whist-table, and then 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 193 
 
 she would close them and seem to rest, as if from some 
 great exertion. 
 
 Anton looked with sincere sympathy at the invalid. 
 Whenever there was a pause in the game, he took the 
 opportunity of quietly stepping to the sofa and asking 
 her commands. It was a pleasure to him to hand her even 
 a glass of water, or take a message for her. He gazed with 
 admiration at the delicate face, which, pale and thin as it 
 was, retained all its beauty of outline. There was a silent 
 understanding between the two. She spoke, indeed, less 
 to him than to the rest ; for while she often addi-essed her 
 husband in a cheerful tone, or followed Fink's lively narra- 
 tives with looks and gestures of interest, she did not take 
 the trouble of hiding her weakness from Anton. Alone 
 with him she would collapse or gaze absently straight before 
 her ; but when she did look at him, it was witli the calm 
 confidence with which we are inspired by an old friend 
 from whom we have no longer any secrets. Perhaps this 
 arose from the Baroness being able fully to appreciate his 
 worth — perhaps, too, it arose from her never having looked 
 at him in any other light than that of an obliging domestic 
 since he first promised his services ; but had tliis view of 
 hers been discernible to our hero, it would in no way have 
 shaken his allegiance to the noble lady. She seemed to 
 him perfect, just as she was — a picture that rejoiced the 
 heart of all who came within its influence. He could not 
 get rid of the impression that some external cause, perhaps 
 one of those letters he had himself given her, was answer- 
 able for the change in her health ; for one of them was 
 directed in a trembling hand, and had an unpleasant look 
 about it, which had made Anton instinctively feel that it 
 
 VOL. II. N 
 
194 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 contained bad news. One evening, while the others were 
 at the card-table, the invalid's head sunk down from the 
 silken cushions ; Anton having arranged them more com- 
 fortably, she looked at him gratefully, and told him in a 
 whisper how weak she was, " I wish to speak with you 
 once more alone," continued she, after a pause ; " not now, 
 but the time will come." And then she looked upwards 
 with an expression of anguish that filled Anton's heart 
 with painful fears. 
 
 Neither the Baron nor Lenore, however, shared his 
 anxiety. 
 
 " Mamma has often suffered from similar attacks of 
 weakness before," said the latter. " The summer is her 
 best cure, and I hope everything from warmer weather." 
 
 But indeed Lenore was too pre-occupied to be a good 
 judge of what was going on around her. She, too, was 
 changed. Many an evening she would sit mute at the tea- 
 table, and start if addressed ; at other times she would be 
 immoderately lively. She avoided Fink ; she avoided Anton 
 too, and was reserved in manner to both. Her blooming 
 health appeared disturbed ; her mother would often send 
 her out of doors from her own sick-room ; and then she 
 would have her pony saddled, and ride round and round 
 the wood till the indignant pony would take her home 
 without her finding it out. Anton saw this change with 
 silent sorrow. He was deeply conscious how difi'erent 
 Lenore's relation to him had become, but he did not speak 
 of this to her, and kept his feelings to himself. 
 
 It was a sultry afternoon in May. Dark thunder-clouds 
 hung over the forest, and the sun threw its burning rays 
 on the parched land, when the patrol which had been sent 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 195 
 
 to Kunau came hurrying back to the giiard-room, to say- 
 that there were strange men hirking in the Kunau woods, 
 and that the villagers wished to know what was to be done. 
 Fink gave the alarm to his labourers, and sent a message 
 to the forester, and to the new farm. While the men car- 
 ried the implements into the castle, and the farm-servants 
 rode home with their teams and prepared for a sally, a 
 horseman came from Kunau to say, that a band of Poles 
 had broken into a court-yard in the village, and that the 
 peasants requested help. All were now in the cheerful 
 excitement which an alarm occasions when it promises ad- 
 ventures. 
 
 " Keep some of the workmen back," said Fink to Anton, 
 " and guard the castle and village. I will send the forester 
 with his little militia to Kunau, and ride over thither my- 
 self first of all, with Karl and the servants." 
 
 He sprang to the stable and saddled his own horse, while 
 Karl was getting ready that of the Baron for liimself. 
 
 " Look at the clouds, Herr von Fink," said Karl. 
 " Take your cloak with you ; we shall have a tremendous 
 shower." 
 
 Fink called accordingly for his plaid, and the little band 
 galloped off towards Kunau. When they entered the forest 
 they remarked how stifling the atmosphere was. Even the 
 rapid pace of their horses brought with it no relief 
 
 " Look how restless the beasts are," said Karl. " My 
 horse pricks his ears. There is something in the wood." 
 
 They stopped for a moment. " I hear a horse's tread, 
 and a rustling among the branches." 
 
 The horse that Karl rode stretched out his neck, and 
 neighed loudly. 
 
196 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " It is an acquaintance — one of our own number," said 
 Fink, looking at the animal. The branches of the young 
 trees parted, and Lenore, mounted on her pony, sprang out 
 and barred the way. " Halt ! who goes there ?" cried she, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Hurrah ! the young lady !" exclaimed Karl. 
 
 " The password cried Lenore, in true martial style. 
 
 Fink rode up, sahited her, and whispered, " 23U§, 
 bag ift ja bie ©ufiel m\ Slaferci^." 
 
 Lenore blushed and laughed. " All right," said she ; 
 " I shall ride with you," 
 
 " Of course," cried Fink ; " only let's get on." 
 
 The pony exerted himself to keep up with the tall horse 
 of the stranger, and thus they reached Kunau and stopped 
 at the rendezvous, where the village-militia was assem- 
 bled ; and its commander, the smith, met the riders with 
 an anxious face. 
 
 " Those hidden in our wood," cried he, " are an accursed 
 set — armed Poles. This very day, in broad noonlight, a 
 band of the men, cariying guns, came to Leonard's farm, 
 which lies out there by the wood, invested the doors and 
 gate, while their leader, and some of the men, marched 
 into the room where the farmer and his family were sitting, 
 and demanded money and the calf out of the stable. He 
 was a blackguard fellow, with a long gun, a peacock fea- 
 ther in his cap, and a red scarf around his loins, like a 
 thorough Klopice. The farmer refused to give up his 
 money, at which they took aim at him ; and his wife, in 
 terror, ran to the closet, and threw all the money they had 
 at the rascals. Next, they carried away the geese from 
 the yard, and went off with their booty into the wood, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 197 
 
 leaving four rogues armed with guns to mount guard, and 
 prevent any one getting off the premises till they were far 
 enough. Next, two of the thieves discharged their guns 
 into the roof, and then all ran away. The thatch took 
 fire, but fortunately we got it put out." 
 
 " Hours have passed since then," cried Fink ; " the rogues 
 are over the mountains by this time." 
 
 " I do not think so," replied the smith. I at once 
 sent off Leonard to the border with our mounted men, that 
 they might watch whether the thieves crept out of the wood 
 or not ; and a woman who crossed it two hours ago, saw 
 Poles there. They had some beast with them too, but the 
 woman was too much terrified to know whether it was a 
 calf or a dog ; if it were a calf, the hungry wolves would 
 rather eat it than carry it further. I have just come from 
 Neudorf ; the men there are assembled like ourselves. We 
 might make a search through the forest if your people would 
 help us, and if you would show us the way." Good," 
 said Fink ; " let us set about it." He then sent a message 
 to the forester, to the effect that those in the castle should 
 set out on the search from their side, and discussed with tlie 
 smith the best way of disposing the Kunau men. He next 
 despatched Karl and the servants to join the Kunau horse- 
 men on the opposite side of the wood. " Don't stand upon 
 ceremony with the rascals," he called out after Karl, with 
 a significant tap on his pistols. " Now then," said he to 
 the smith, "I will go to Neudorf When you have searched 
 your half of the wood, wait for us ; you shall then be joined 
 by the Neudorf detachment." 
 
 The Kunau men set oft* accordingly, to avenge the robbery 
 committed. Fink, accompanied by Lenore, rode off to the 
 
198 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 neighbouring village. On the way thither, he said : " At 
 Neudorf we must part, lady." Lenore Avas silent. 
 
 Fink glanced sidelong at her. " I don't think," said he, 
 " that the rogues will do us the pleasure of awaiting our 
 approach. And if they are minded to run off, the evening 
 is closing in, and we shall hardly hinder them. But the 
 chase will be good practice for our people, and therefore we 
 must make the most of it." 
 
 " Then I will go with you to the wood," said Lenore 
 resolutely. 
 
 " That is hardly necessary," replied Fink. " True, I fear 
 no risk for you, but fatigue, and probably rain." 
 
 " Let me go with you !" prayed Lenore, looking up at 
 him. " I have given you sensible advice : what more can 
 be demanded from any one ?" 
 
 " Between ourselves, I am rejoiced to find you so spirited. 
 Gallop then, comrade !" 
 
 Arrived at Neudorf, Fink left the horses in the bailiff's 
 stable, and led the band of villagers to the borders of 
 the wood. There they deployed into a cordon^ and the 
 march now began ; Fink walked with Lenore at the head 
 of the right wing, which, according to the plan laid down, 
 would be the first to join the Kunau detachment. All 
 went silently onward and looked with keen glance from 
 tree to tree. As they got further into the wood, there was 
 a rustling in the tops of the trees, and lookmg through them, 
 a leaden-coloured sky was seen. But below, the sultriness 
 was undisturbed, the birds sat supinely on the branches, 
 and the beetles had crept into the heather. 
 
 " The very sky is on the side of these rogues," said Fink, 
 pointing out the clouds to his companion ; " it is getting so 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 199 
 
 dark up there, that in half an hour's time wc shall not be 
 able to see ten yards before us." 
 
 The forest now thickened and the light decreased. Lenore 
 had some difficulty in discerning the men before her. The 
 ground grew swampy, and she sank up to her ankles. " If 
 only no cold be caught," laughed Fink. " None will," re- 
 plied she cheerfully ; but the forest expedition no longer 
 appeared to her the easy matter it had done an hour 
 before. 
 
 The man nearest Fink stood still, his whispered word of 
 command ran along the whole chain, and all stopped to wait 
 for the Kunau men. The sky grew still blacker, the wood 
 still darker. The thunder began to roll in the distance, 
 hollow and muffled, beneath the fir-wood arches. At 
 first the rain sounded only on the tree-tops, but soon 
 large, heai-y drops came dowii, till at length all view was 
 shut out by the sheets of water that fell. Each individual 
 was isolated by darkness and rain, and when the men called 
 to each other, they were hardly audible. 
 
 At that moment Lenore, as she looked at Fink, caught 
 her foot in the root of a tree, and suppressing a cry of 
 anguish, sank on one knee. Fink hastened to her. 
 
 " I can go no further," said she, conquering her pain ; 
 " leave me here, I beseech you, and call for me on your 
 return." 
 
 " To leave you in this condition," cried Fink, " would 
 be barbarity, compared to which cannibalism is a harmless 
 recreation. You will be good enough to put up with my 
 proximity. But first of all allow me to lead you out of 
 this shower-bath to some spot where the rain is less auda- 
 cious ; and, besides, I have already lost sight of our men ; 
 
200 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 not one of the worthy fellows' broad shoulders can I now 
 discern." He raised Lenore, who tried to use the injured 
 foot, but the pain extorted another cry of agony. She 
 tottered, and leant against Fink's shoulder. Winding 
 his plaid about her, he lifted her from the ground, and 
 carried her as one carries a child, underneath some fir-trees, 
 whose thick branches spread over a small dry space. Any 
 one stooping might find tolerable shelter there. 
 
 I must set you down here, dear lady," said Fink, care- 
 fully placing Lenore on the ground. " I will keep watch 
 before your green tent, and turn my back to you, that 
 you may bind your wet handkerchief round the naughty 
 ankle." 
 
 Lenore squeezed herself in under the fir-canopy. Fink 
 stood leaning against the trunk of a tree. 
 
 " Is nothing broken ? " said he ; " can you move the 
 foot?" 
 
 " It hurts me," said Lenore ; " but I can move it." 
 
 " That is well," said Fink, looking straight before him ; 
 " now bind the handkerchief round it ; I hope that in ten 
 minutes you will be able to stand. Wrap yourself up well 
 in the large plaid, it will keep you warm ; else my comrade 
 will catch a fever, and that would be paying too dear for the 
 chase after the stolen calf Have you arranged the band- 
 age ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Lenore. 
 
 " Then allow me to wrap you up." It was in vain that 
 she protested ; Fink wound the large shawl round and 
 round her, and tied it behind in a firm knot. " Now you 
 may sit in the wood like the grey manikin." 
 
 " Leave me a little breathing space," implored Lenore. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 201 
 
 " There, then," said Fink ; " now you will be comfort- 
 able." 
 
 Indeed, Lenore soon began to feel a genial warmth, and 
 sat silent in her shady nook distressed at the singular posi- 
 tion in which she found herself. Meanwhile Fink had 
 again taken up his post against the tree-trunk, and chival- 
 rously kept aloof. After a time Lenore called out of her 
 hiding-place : " Are you there still, comrade mine V 
 
 " Do you take me for a traitor who forsakes his tent- 
 companion?" returned Fink. 
 
 "It is quite dry ' here," continued Lenore; " only that 
 a drop falls now and then upon my nose. But you, 
 poor you, will be wet through out there. What fearful 
 rain !" 
 
 "Does this rain terrify you ?" inquired Fink, shmgging 
 his shoulders. " It is but a weak infant this. If it can 
 break off a twig from a tree, it thinks it has done wonders. 
 Commend me to the rain of warmer climates. Drops like 
 apples — nay, not drops at all, streams as thick as my arm ! 
 The water rushes down from the clouds like a cataract. 
 No standing, for the ground swims away beneath one's 
 feet : no taking shelter under a tree, for the wind breaks 
 the thickest trunks like straw ! One runs to his house, 
 which is not further off, perhaps, than from here to that 
 good-for-nothing stump that hurt your foot, and the house 
 has vanished, leaving in its place a hole, a stream, and a 
 heap of well-washed stones. Perhaps, too, the earth may 
 begin to shake a little, and to raise waves like those of the 
 sea in a storm. That is a rain which is worth seeing ! 
 Clothes that have been wet through by it never recover ; 
 what was once a greatcoat, is, after a whole week's drying, 
 
202 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 nothing more than a black and shapeless mass — in aspect 
 and texture like to a morel. If one chances to be wearing 
 such a coat, it sticks on fast enough indeed, but it never 
 can be got off except by the help of a pen-knife, and in 
 narrow stripes, peeled away as one peels an apple !" 
 
 Lenore could not help laughing in spite of pain. " I 
 should much like to have experience of such rain as that," 
 said she. 
 
 " I am unselfish in not wishing to see you in such a 
 plight," replied Fink. "Ladies fare worst of all. All 
 that constitutes their toilette vanishes entirely in torrents 
 such as these. Do you know the costume of the Venus 
 of Milo?" 
 
 " No," said Lenore, distressed. 
 
 " All women caught in a tropical rain look exactly like 
 that lady, and the men like scare-scrows. Nay, sometimes 
 it happens that human beings are beaten down flat as 
 penny-pieces, with a knob in the middle, which, on closer 
 examination, proves to be a human head, and mournfully 
 calls out to passers-by, ' Oh, my fellow-beings, this is what 
 comes of going out without an umbrella !' " 
 
 Again Lenore could not help laughing. " My foot no 
 longer hurts me so much ; I believe that I could walk." 
 
 " That you shall not do," replied Fink. " The rain has 
 not abated, and it is so dark that one can hardly see one's 
 outstretched hand." 
 
 " Then do me the kindness of going to look for the 
 others. I am better now, and I crouch here like a roe, 
 hidden alike from rain and robbers." 
 
 " It won't do," rejoined Fink from his tree. 
 
 " I implore you to do so," cried Lenore anxiously, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 203 
 
 stretching out her hands from the plaid. " Leave me now 
 alone." Fink turned round, seized her hand, pressed it to 
 his lips, and silently hurried off in the direction the men 
 had taken. 
 
 Lenore now sat alone beneath the fir-tree. The rain still 
 rushed down, and the thunder rolled above her, and at 
 times a sudden flash showed her the long rows of trunks, 
 looking like the yellow pillars of an unfinished building, a 
 black roof over them. At such moments the forest seemed 
 like an enchanted castle, rising out of the earth and sinking 
 into nothingness again. Mysterious tones, such as fill the 
 woods by night, sounded through the rain. Over her 
 head there was a knocking at regular intervals, as if some 
 wicked wood-sprite were seeking admittance to her shelter, 
 which made her start, and ask herself whether it pro- 
 ceeded from a spectre or the branch of a tree. Further 
 off was heard the vehement croaking of some crow whose 
 nest had been flooded, and whose first sleep was disturbed. 
 Close to her there was ghastly laughter. " Hee, hee ! hoo, 
 hoo !" and again Lenore started. Was it a malicious 
 forest kobold, or only a night -owl ? Nature spoke 
 around her in a hundred melancholy tones. Lenore some- 
 times enjoyed, and sometimes trembled at the wild charm 
 of this solitude. Other thoughts, too, passed through her 
 mind ; she blamed herself for having foolishly stolen out 
 to join an undertaking that made such a residt as this 
 possible ; she pictured to herself how they were seeking 
 for her at home ; and above all, wondered what he who 
 had just left her at her earnest request, was thinking of 
 her in his inmost heart. Pushing back the plaid, she 
 listened, but there was not a human voice to be heard — 
 
204 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 nothing but the fall of the rain, and the sighing of the 
 wood. But near her something moved. At first she 
 heard it indistinctly, then plainly as iu leaps it came closer, 
 and presently she felt something press against her jDlaid. 
 Terrified, she cautiously reached out her hand, and touched 
 the wet skin of a hare, who, scared from its form by the 
 incessant rain, now sought shelter like herself. She held 
 her breath not to disturb her little companion ; and for a 
 while the two cowered side by side. 
 
 Then shots sounded afar off" through the rain and 
 thunder. Lenore started, and the hare bounded away. 
 Yonder, there were men fighting ; yonder, blood was being 
 poured out on the dark ground ! A scream was heard — a 
 fierce ominous scream, then all was still. " Was he iu 
 danger ?" she asked herself ; yet she felt no fear, and shook 
 her head under her plaid, sure that even if he were, no danger 
 would reach him. The gun aimed at him would strike 
 some broken branch, the knife drawn against him would 
 break like a splinter before it struck him, the man who 
 rushed on him would stumble and fall before he could touch 
 that haughty head. He was above all danger, above all 
 fear, he knew neither care nor grief ; alas ! he did not feel 
 like other men. His head was lifted freely, his eyes were 
 clear and bright when all others were cast in teiTor down to 
 earth. No difficulty affrighted, no hindrance stopped him. 
 With a mere wave of his hand he could remove what 
 crushed other men. Such was he. And this man had 
 seen her weak, precipitate, and helpless ; it was her own 
 fault that he had now a right to assume a transient inti- 
 macj. She trembled lest he should presume upon this 
 right by a glance, a presumptuous smile, a passing word. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 205 
 
 In this way her heart kept beating, and her thoughts flut- 
 tering for long hours. 
 
 The storm passed off. Instead of ton-ents, there was 
 small rain, and a dull grey succeeded to the black darkness, 
 and the fiery flashes. Lenore could now trace the tnmks 
 of the nearest trees. The feeling of solitariness oppressed 
 her more and more. Just then she heard again the distant 
 sound of human voices, call and counter-call gi'cw louder, 
 and the bailiff's voice cried, " They went beyond the quarry ; 
 look yonder, you Neudorf men." The steps of the speakers 
 drew near, and Karl, making a speaking-trumpet of his 
 hands, shouted with all his might, " Halloa, hillo hoa, 
 Fraulein Lenore ! " 
 
 " Here I am," cried a female voice at his very feet. 
 
 Karl started back in amazement, and joyfully caUed out, 
 "Found !" The peasants surrounded Lenore's shelter. 
 
 "Our young lady is here !" cried a youth of Neudorf, 
 and hurrahed in his delight, as though he were at a 
 v/edding. 
 
 Lenore rose, her foot still pained her ; but leaning on 
 Karl's arm, she exerted herself bravely to walk. Mean- 
 while, the young men broke down a few poles, and laid fir 
 branches across them. In spite of her resistance, Lenore 
 was constrained to seat herself upon the rude litter, while 
 some ran on to the bailiff's stable, to get her horse ready 
 for her. 
 
 " Have you found the thieves?" inquired Lenore from 
 Karl, who walked at her side. 
 
 " Two of them," replied he. " The calf had been kiUed ; 
 we have got its skin, and part of its flesh. The geese were 
 hanging up on a bough, with their necks wrung, but the 
 
206 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 rascals had divided the money. We found very little of 
 it on our prisoners." 
 
 " Those we have caught are Tarow men," said the 
 bailiff anxiously ; " the worst in the village. And yet I 
 wish they were anywhere but here, for there are some de- 
 sperately revengeful fellows yonder." 
 
 " I heard shots," inquired Lenore further ; " was any 
 harm done ?" 
 
 " Not to us," answered Karl. " In their foolhardiness, 
 they made a fire, not much beyond the border where our 
 riders formed a cordon. The embers were glimmering in 
 spite of the rain, and thus they betrayed themselves. We 
 dismounted, crept near, and surprised them. They fired 
 their guns, and ran into the bush. There the darkness 
 swallowed them up. It was a long time before the party 
 on foot could join us, and but for the shots and the noise, 
 they would never have found us out. Herr von Fink 
 described to us the place where we should meet with you. 
 He is taking the prisoners with him to the estate, and to- 
 morrow we will send them further." 
 
 " But to think that Herr von Fink should have left you 
 thus alone in the wood," said the worthy bailiff. " That was 
 a bold stroke indeed ! " 
 
 " I begged him not to remain behind," rephed Lenore, 
 casting down her eyes in spite of the darkness. 
 
 Half-way to the village, Lenore' s pony was brought to 
 meet them. At Neudorf, Karl got back the Baron's horse 
 and accompanied his young lady to the castle. It was 
 very late before they arrived. Lenore's long absence had 
 excited her mother's alarm, and put the Baron fearfully 
 out of temper. She escaped from his cross-questioning as 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 207 
 
 fast as she could, and hurried to her room. An hour later 
 Fink with the forester came back from Kunau, bringing 
 both the prisoners, who walked haughtily, with their hands 
 bound, and carried their peacock's feathers as high as 
 though they were leading the dance in a tavern. 
 
 " You shall pay for this," said one of them in Polish to 
 his escort, and clenched his fettered fists. 
 
208 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^^HE rain still continued. It had ceased indeed in the 
 morning, but only to begin again with double energ\'. 
 The labourers had gone early to the field, but they soon 
 returned. They were now sitting silently in the guard- 
 room of the castle, drying their wet garments at the 
 stove. 
 
 The Baron sat in the arm-chair, listening to old John, 
 who read him the newspaper that had reached the 
 castle on the previous day. The monotonous voice of the 
 domestic announced nothing but unwelcome news ; the 
 rain-drops rattled on the panes, and the wind rushed 
 howling round the corner of the house in discordant 
 accompaniment. 
 
 Anton was busy at his desk. Before him lay a letter 
 from Commissary Horn, announcing that the judicial sale 
 of the family estate was fixed for the middle of next 
 winter ; and that, since the advertisement of this definite 
 period, several mortgages on the property had passed from 
 one hand to another, bought up, as he feared, by one 
 speculator, who disguised himself under difi'erent names. 
 Accordingly Anton reflected in gloomy mood upon the 
 hazardous position of the Baron. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 209 
 
 In the neiglibouring room, Fink was keeping the ladies 
 company ; the Baroness lying back on the sofa cushions, 
 covered by a shawl of Lenore's. She gazed in silence 
 straight before her, but when her daughter came up with 
 some tender inquiry, she nodded smilingly at her, and 
 spoke a few cheering words. Lenore was sitting in the 
 window occupied with some light work, and listening with 
 rapture to the jests by which Fink brightened the otherwise 
 mournful room. To-day, in spite of the rain, he was in the 
 wildest spirits. From time to time Lenore's ringing laugh 
 reached Anton through the massive door, and then he forgot 
 sale and mortgage, looked with clouded brow at the door, 
 and felt not without bitterness that a new struggle was 
 approaching both for the family and for himself. 
 
 Without, as we have already said, the rain poured and 
 the storm raged. The wind from the forest wailed to the 
 castle. The old firs creaked, and ceaselessly bent down 
 their branches towards the building. Around the pear- 
 trees in the meadows, leaves and white blossoms fluttered 
 timidly to earth. The storm angrily stripped them off, 
 and crushed them low with his rain, howling the while. 
 " Down with your smiling pomp ! to-day all belonging to 
 the castle shall wear mourning !" Then the fierce spirit 
 flew from the trees to the castle-walls ; it shook the flag- 
 staff on the tower ; it hurled the rain in slanting torrents 
 against the windows ; it groaned in the chimneys and 
 thundered at the doors. It took advantage of every open- 
 ing to cry, "Guard your house!" And this it did for 
 hoiu-s together, but those within understood not its speech. 
 
 Neither did any one heed the horseman who was urging 
 his weary horse through the village to the castle. At last 
 
 VOL. n. 
 
210 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the knocker outside tlie gate was heard, the strokes sounded 
 impatient, and loud voices resounded in the court-yard and 
 on the stairs. Anton opened the door ; an armed man 
 dripping with wet, and stained with mud, entered the 
 room. 
 
 " It is you !" cried Anton in amazement. 
 
 " They are coming !" said Karl, looking cautiously 
 round ; " prepare for it ; this time it is our turn." 
 
 "The enemy?" rapidly asked Anton. "How strong is 
 the bandr' 
 
 " It was not a band that I saw," replied Karl seriously ; 
 " it was an army of about a thousand scythe-bearers, and 
 at least a hundred horsemen at their head. I hear that 
 they have orders to enlist all Poles and disarm all Ger- 
 mans." 
 
 Anton opened the door of the next room and made a 
 sign to Fink. 
 
 "Ah!" cried Fink, as he cast a look on Karl, "he 
 who brings half the highway into the room with him 
 has no good tidings to tell From which side comes the 
 enemy, sergeant ?" 
 
 " From the Neudorf birch-wood straight down upon us. 
 Our villagers are assembled in the tavern drinking and 
 quarrelling." 
 
 " No beacon fires have been seen — no tidings have come 
 from the neighbouring villages," cried Anton at the window. 
 " Have the Germans at Neudorf and Kunau been fast 
 asleep, then ?" 
 
 " They were taken by surprise," continued the messenger 
 of ill. " Their watch saw the enemy yesterday evening 
 half a mile beyond Neudorf, going down the high road 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 211 
 
 towards Rosmiii. When they had passed the turning to 
 Neiidorf, the villagers took heart again, but their horsemen 
 followed the enemy till the last scythe-bearers were out of 
 sight. In the night, however, the whole troop turned 
 back ; this morning tliey fell upon the village, and have 
 wrought sad havoc there. The bailiff is lying on the straw, 
 covered with wounds, and a prisoner ; the guard-house is 
 burnt down — but for this heavy rain we should see the 
 smoke. At this present moment, the enemy has divided. 
 They are making the round of all the German villages ; 
 one party is gone Off to Kunau, one to our new farm, the 
 largest is on its way hither." 
 
 " How much time have we to prepare for these gentry ?" 
 asked Fink. 
 
 " In weather like this the infaiitiy will take an hour to 
 get here." 
 
 "Is the forester warned?" asked Anton ; "and do 
 those at the new farm know ?" 
 
 " There was no time to apprise them. The farm is further 
 from Neudorf than the estate, and I might have been too 
 late getting here. I lit our beacon, but in rain like this, 
 neither fire nor smoke is visible, and all signals are useless." 
 
 " If they have not looked out for themselves," said 
 Fink decidedly, " we can do no more for them." 
 
 " The forester is a fox," replied Kar], " no one will 
 catch him ; but as for the farmer and his young wife, 
 Heaven have mercy on them !" 
 
 " Save our people !" cried a supplicating voice close to 
 Fink. Lenore stood in the room, pale, with folded hands. 
 
 Anton hurried to the door through which she had 
 silently entered. "The Baroness !" cried he anxiously. 
 
212 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 "She has heard nothing as yet," hurriedly replied 
 Lenore. " Send to the farm ; help our people !" 
 
 Fink caught up his cap. " Bring out my horse," said 
 he to Karl, 
 
 "You can't be spared now," said Anton, barring the 
 way. " I will take your horse." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, ]\Ir. Wohlfart," interpolated Karl ; 
 " if I may ride Herr von Fink's horse, I shall be quite able 
 to make it out." 
 
 " So be it, then," decided Fink ; " send hither the forester 
 and any man you can beat up; the women, horses, and 
 children you can despatch to the forest. Let the farmer 
 go with all his cattle into the thicket as far as he can, and 
 keep a look-out on the castle from the old firs near the sand 
 pit. As for you, keep on my horse, which I shall, alas ! 
 have to make over to you for some days to come ; ride 
 off' to Rosmin, and seek out the nearest detachment of our 
 soldiers ; tell them we implore them to come to our aid, 
 and, if possible, to bring cavalry with them." 
 
 " Oui' red-caps are about three miles beyond Rosmin," 
 said Karl, turning to go. " The Kunau smith called that 
 out to me as I rode by." 
 
 " Bring any military you can. I'll write a line to the 
 commanding officer, while you are saddling the horse." 
 
 Kaid made a military salute, and hurried down stairs, 
 Anton with him. While he was fastening the girths, Anton 
 said, " As you pass by, caU out to the men in the farm -yard 
 that I will be with them at once. Poor fellow, you have 
 hardly had any breakfast to-day, and there is little prospect 
 of your getting anything for some hours to come." He ran 
 back to the house, got a bottle of wine, some bread, and the 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 213 
 
 remnant of a ham, stuffed them into a bag, and, together 
 with Fink's letter, gave them to the hussar just as he 
 was setting olf. 
 
 " Thanks," said Karl, seizing Anton's hand ; " you think 
 of eveiy one. But I've one thing to ask, think of yourself 
 too, Mr. Wohlfart ; this Polish set, here and yonder, are not 
 v>^orth your risking your life ; there are some at home with 
 whom it would go hard if anything happened to you." 
 
 Anton shook his hand heartily. " Good-bye, Karl ! I'll 
 do my duty; don't forget to send us the forester, and, 
 above all, rescue- the farmer's wife. Lead the military 
 hither through the wood." 
 
 " No fear," said Karl cheerily ; " this gallant bay shall 
 find out how much a stout-hearted trooper can get through." 
 
 With these words he waved his cap, and vanished behind 
 the farm-buildings. 
 
 Anton bolted the gate, then hurried to the guard-room, 
 and rang the alarm-bell, giving orders to the superintendent 
 to let in the men, to invest the back-door, and not to 
 admit any one without questioning them, not even fugitives. 
 
 " Eat heartily, and drink moderately ; w^e shall have 
 enough to do to-day," he cried. 
 
 Meanwhile, Fink stood at the table in Anton's room, load- 
 ing the guns, while Leuore reached him whatever he needed. 
 She was pale, but her eyes glowed with an excitement 
 which did not escape Anton as he entered. " Leave 
 this serious game to us alone," said he beseechingly. 
 
 " It is the home of my parents that you defend," cried 
 she. " jMy father is unable to act at your head. You shall 
 not expose your lives for our sakes, without my sharing your 
 danger." 
 
214 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 " Forgive me," replied Anton ; " your first duty most 
 undoubtedly is to prepare the Baroness, and not to leave 
 lier during the next few hours," 
 
 "My mother, my poor mother !" cried Lenore, clasping 
 her hands, laying down the powder-flask, and hurrying to 
 the neighbouring room, 
 
 " I have set all the men eating," said Anton to Fink. 
 " From this moment you must take the command," 
 
 " Good," replied Fink, " Here are your arms, this double 
 barrel is light, one barrel loaded with ball, the other 
 with slugs. The bag of bullets is under yom: bed," 
 
 " You think of standing a siege then 1 " inquired 
 Anton, 
 
 " We must either not seek to defend ourselves at all, 
 but suri'ender at the friendly discretion of the approaching 
 band, or we must hold out to oiu- last bullet. We are all 
 prepared for the latter course ; perhaps siu-render would 
 be the wiser, but I own it does not suit my taste. As there 
 is a master of the house, however, still extant, he may 
 decide ; go to the Baron." 
 
 Anton hurried through the passage to the other wing. 
 Even when at a distance he could hear the chairs knocked 
 about in the Baron's room. There was an angry " Come 
 in," and he entered. The Baron was standing in the 
 middle of the room, highly excited. " I hear," said he, 
 " that there is something going on. I must consider it an 
 unpardonable want of attention that I have not been 
 apprised of it." 
 
 " Your pardon. Baron," replied Anton ; "we only heard a 
 few minutes ago that a band of the enemy's cavalry and 
 scythe-bearers was moving on towards your property. We 
 
DEBIT AND CP.EDIT. 
 
 215 
 
 sent off a messenger in all speed to the nearest military sta- 
 tion, then bolted the door, and now we wait your orders." 
 
 " Send me Herr vou Fink," replied the Baron authorita- 
 tively. 
 
 "He is at this moment in the guard-room." 
 
 " I beg that he will take the trouble of coming to me 
 at once," cried the angry nobleman. " I cannot discuss 
 military matters with you. Fink is a gentleman, and half 
 a soldier; I will give all necessaiy instructions to him. 
 Vflmt are you waiting for 1 " rudely continued he. " Do 
 you young people ' suppose that you are to trifle with me 
 because I have the misfortune to be blind 1 He at least 
 whom I feed and pay, shall respect my commands." 
 
 "Father!" cried Lenore on the threshold, looking im- 
 ploringly at Anton. 
 
 " You are right. Baron," replied Anton ; " I crave your 
 forgiveness for having in the hurry of the moment forgotten 
 my first duty. I will send Herr von Fink here at once." 
 Then hastening off he made his friend acquainted with the 
 Baron's angry mood. 
 
 " He is a fool," said Fink. 
 
 "Go up at once," urged Anton ; "the ladies must not 
 suffer from his temper." Then throwing on a labourer's 
 jacket, he sprang out through the back-door into the rain, 
 and to the farm-yard. 
 
 There he foimd a dreary scene of confusion. German 
 families from the neighbouring villages had taken refuge in 
 the guard-house, and sat there with their children, and some 
 of theu' goods and chattels round them. There w^ere about 
 twenty persons lying on the floor — men, women, and children, 
 the women lamenting, the childi'en weeping, the men looking 
 
216 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 gloomily down. Several of them belonged to the village 
 militia, and some had their guns with them. Their little 
 carts stood in the yard. Servants, horses, cows were all 
 running against each other. Anton called the superinten- 
 dent to his assistance. 
 
 He next made over the farm-horses and the cattle to the 
 most tmstworthy of the servants, and to the German dairy- 
 maid. Calling aside the head-servant, a resolute kind of 
 man, he described to him a place in the thicket, not 
 far from the sand-pit, where man and beast might lie con- 
 cealed, and be in some degree protected from the weather. 
 Thither the man was to drive the cattle, and to keep a 
 sharp look-out for the bailiff, who was to have the manage- 
 ment of the wood-party. Next he desired the maid to 
 leave a cow behind, opened the gate himself, and saw them 
 all set out towards the forest. 
 
 " What are we to do with the horses of the Baron, and 
 of Herr von Fink ? " hurriedly asked the superintendent. 
 
 " They must be brought together with some of the vehicles 
 into the court-yard, come what will. Who knows whether 
 we shall not have to fly after all V 
 
 Accordingly Anton had Karl's newly-painted carts laden 
 with sacks of potatoes, meal, oats, and as much hay 
 as they could hold. He had the great water-butt brought 
 in too, and filled to the brim with fresh water. The skies 
 were still pouring down bucketsful, and the servants had 
 to load in the drenching rain. All was confusion ; and 
 weeping and cursing, in German and Polish, was heard on 
 every side. As Anton approached the fugitives, the screams 
 of the women grew louder, the men surrounded him and 
 began to relate their disasters, the children clung about his 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 217 
 
 knees ; it was a mournful spectacle. Anton did what he 
 could to comfort them. " Above all be quiet, we will pro- 
 tect you as well as we can. I hope the military may come 
 to our aid, meanwhile you will be safe in the castle. You 
 have been faithful to us in this season of distress ; as long 
 as we have bread you shall not want." 
 
 After a quarter of an hour of extreme exertion, Anton 
 returned to the castle. The servants drove the carts to 
 the back-door, the troop of fugitives followed. People still 
 poured in from the German villages around, and soon the 
 smith of Kunau, with some of his near neighbours, stood at 
 the castle gate. The whole party was now got into order, 
 the horses unharnessed, the carts unloaded. The women 
 and children were led by Anton into two rooms oh the 
 lower floor, which were dark indeed, but far more comfort- 
 able than the guard-house in the soaked fields. The bring- 
 ing in the horses was the most troublesome part of the 
 matter ; about a dozen of them had to crowd up beneath 
 an open shed, poorly protected from rain or bullets. The 
 water-butt was placed in the middle of the yard, and the 
 potato-carts pushed up to the paling, to serve, in case 
 of need, as a position for the guard. Next, all the men 
 capable of bearing arms were assembled by the smith, and, 
 besides Fink's labourers and four servants, fifteen German 
 peasants were mustered, the larger number of them armed. 
 Their footsteps sounded heavy in the long passages, and 
 joining the labourers in the hall, the whole force was seen 
 at once ; Fink in his hunting-coat walking quietly up and 
 down before his own corps. Anton now went up to him 
 and gave in his report. 
 
 " You bring us men," replied Fink : " that is all very 
 
218 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 well, but we did not want a whole clan of women and chil- 
 dren into the bargain ; the castle is as full as a bee-hive, more 
 than sixty mouths, to say nothing of a dozen horses ; spite 
 of your potato-carts, we shall have to gnaw the stones before 
 twenty-four hours are over." 
 
 " Could I leave them outside asked Anton drily. 
 
 " They would have been just as safe in the wood as 
 here," said Fink with a slirug. 
 
 " Possibly," replied Anton ; " but to send off people to 
 the forest, in rain like this, without provisions, and in 
 deadly terror, would have been barbarity for which I could 
 not be responsible. Besides, do you think we should have 
 got the men without their wives and children ?" 
 
 " At all events we can make use of the men," concluded 
 Fink ; " and you may manage the commissariat as you can." 
 
 Fink next gave arms to those who wanted them, and 
 divided the forces into four sections, one for the yard, two 
 for the upper and lower storeys, and one as a reserve, in the 
 guard-room. Next he had an exact report of the enemy 
 given him by the Kunau smith and others. Meantime, 
 Anton had rushed to the underground kitchen, where he 
 gave the provisions in charge to the superintendent, and 
 caused wood and water to be carried in by the Baron's 
 servants. A sack of potatoes, and one of meal were placed 
 near the hearth, and the great caldron put on the fire. 
 
 As he went out, he confided to the cook that a cow had 
 been taken into the stable, that, at all events, the family 
 might not be without milk at this doleful time. Old 
 Babette wrung her hands in anguish. " Alas, Mr. Wohl- 
 fart, what a frightful thing it is," cried she ; " the balls will 
 be flying about in my kitchen !" 
 
DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 219 
 
 " Heaven forbid 1" said Anton ; " the window is much 
 too deep for that. Not one can reach you ; cook away in 
 peace ; the people are famished ; I will send two of the 
 stranger women down to help you." 
 
 " Who could eat in such danger as this ?" cried she. 
 
 " We will all eat," said Anton comfortingly. 
 
 " Will you have soup or potato-broth ?" inquired Babette, 
 feverishly brandishing her spoon in her despair. 
 
 " Both, my good woman." 
 
 The cook held him back. " But, Mr. Wohlfart, there 
 are no eggs for the family ; indeed there is not an egg in 
 the whole house. Mercy on us ! to think of this misfor- 
 tune happening to-day of all days. What will the Baron 
 say when he has no fresh egg this evening ?" 
 
 " The devil take the eggs!" cried Anton impatiently ; 
 " we must not be so particular to-day." 
 
 As he returned, Fink called to him — " All is ready ; 
 we may now quietly await the arrival. I am going to the 
 tower, and taking a few good shots with me. If anything 
 happens, I am to be found there." 
 
 And again the hall was empty, and the house quiet. 
 The sentinels stood silently watching the edge of the forest ; 
 the rest of the men sat talking in a low voice in the guard- 
 room ; but the noise was unceasing in the apartment where 
 the children w^ere, and a constant communication was 
 kept up between the kitchen and the occupied rooms 
 in the lov/er storey. Anton walked to and fi'o in restless 
 suspense from the house to the court, and back again to his 
 ov/n room, where he tied the Baron's papers together ; then 
 through the passages and to the guard-room. In this way 
 one quarter of an hour after another passed, till at length 
 
220 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 Lenore came from her mother s room crying, " This uncer- 
 tainty is intolerable !" 
 
 " And we have no tidings from the farm either," replied 
 Anton anxiously ; " but the rain is over, and whatever 
 happens to-day will happen in sunshine. The clouds are 
 breaking yonder, and the blue sky is seen through them. 
 How is the Baroness 
 
 " She is calm," said Lenore, " and prepared for every- 
 thing." 
 
 Both walked silently up and down the hall. At last 
 Lenore went up to Anton, and passionately exclaimed, 
 " Wohlfart, it is horrible to me to think of you in a posi- 
 tion such as this for our sakes." 
 
 " Is this position then so terrible ?" asked Anton, with 
 a mournful smile. 
 
 " You do not perhaps feel it so," said Lenore ; " but you 
 are sacrificing for us far more than we deserve. We are 
 ungrateful to you ; you would be happier elsewhere." 
 
 She placed herself at the window, and wept bitterly. 
 
 Anton tried to soothe her. " If," said he, " you allude 
 to the hasty expressions of the Baron, you need not pity 
 me on that account. You know what we have formerly 
 said on that subject." 
 
 " It is not that alone," cried Lenore, weeping. 
 
 Anton knew as well as she did that it was not that 
 alone, and felt that a confession lay in the words. " Be 
 it what it may," said he cheerfully, " why should you 
 grudge me the pleasure of an adventure 1 Certainly I am 
 an inexperienced soldier, but it seems that our enemies will 
 not give me much opportunity of doing them any harm 
 to-day." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 221 
 
 " No one thanks you for all that you bear for our sakes. 
 No one !" cried Lenore. 
 
 " No one?" repeated Anton. " Have I not a friend 
 here who is only too much inclined to overrate the little 
 I am able to do ? Lenore, you have permitted me to draw 
 nearer to you than would have been possible under ordinary 
 circumstances. Do you reckon it nothing that I should 
 have won some of a brother's privileges with regard to you 
 
 Lenore fervently seized and pressed his hand. " Even 
 I have been different to you of late to what I should have 
 been. I am very unhappy," cried she passionately. " I 
 cannot tell to any human being what I feel — not to my 
 mother — not to you either. I have lost all confidence and 
 all control." She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 " Lenore !" cried her father impatiently from his apart- 
 ment. 
 
 " This is no time for explanations," said she more calmly. 
 " When we have got over this day, I will try hard to be 
 stronger than I am now. Help me in this, Wohlfart." 
 
 She hurried away to the Baron's room. Anton remained 
 behind, lost in sad thoughts. Meanwhile the bright sun- 
 shine streamed down on the court-yard, the men left the 
 guard-room and stood on the threshold ; even the women 
 made their way out of their dark retreat, and had to be 
 scolded back again. 
 
 " Who knows whether they have not overlooked the 
 castle r said one ; " or if they have courage to attack us 
 suggested another ; while a sagacious tailor proved, by a 
 clever resume of the different reports received, that all 
 the Polish frocks were by this time far beyond Rosmin. 
 Yet, eagerly as each asserted that the danger must now be 
 
222 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 over, all listened anxiously to the step of the sentinels, and 
 looked constantly to the tower, to see if any signal were 
 given thence. Even Anton found the suspense unbearable, 
 and at length he too betook himself to the tower. Here 
 the whole staff was assembled. The blind Baron sat in his 
 arm-chair, behind him stood Lenore's tall figure shading his 
 eyes with her parasol ; four riflemen sat in the broad em- 
 brasures ; and Fink, perched on the wall, hung down his 
 legs into space, and puffed the blue clouds of a cigar into 
 the wind. 
 
 " Nothing to be seen asked Anton. 
 
 " Nothing," replied Fink, " except a drunken band of 
 our villagers, who are moving off on the Tarow road." 
 He pointed to a dark mass just vanishing into the wood. 
 "It is very well that we have got rid of the rabble. They 
 are afraid of the grey-jackets, and are off to plunder else- 
 where. Every hour's delay is a gain, since we reckon 
 that at best there is no help to be looked for till to-morrow. 
 Now those gentlemen behind the wood are not interesting 
 enough to wish for a visit of twenty-four hours from 
 them. — This is a grand spot. Baron Rothsattel," continued 
 Fink. " Certainly there's not much to be seen — some 
 fir-woods, your fields, and plenty of sand ; but it is a 
 glorious station to defend, because it is so bare all round 
 the castle — without tree or bank. Your sentimentalists, 
 indeed, might pronounce it an uninteresting view. But 
 what I consider splendid is this : with the exception of the 
 nearest barn, which is about three hundred yards off in a 
 straight line, there is no shelter better than that of a mole- 
 hill for one of the enemy's skirmishers. Far as a rifle-ball 
 can range, we are monarchs of the plain below ; only there is 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 223 
 
 a thicket in the way yonder — a plantation, I believe, of 
 Fraulein Lenore's." 
 
 " I acknowledge myself guilty," said Lenore. 
 
 " Very well," replied Fink carelessly ; " then you shall 
 pay the cost if we are hit. Half-a-dozen riflemen might 
 lurk safely there." 
 
 " It is Lenore's favourite spot," said the Baron apolo- 
 getically ; " she has a grass-plot there ; it is the only place 
 outside the wall where she can sit in the open air." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Fink; "that's a different thing;" and 
 looking round for Lenore, he saw she had disappeared. The 
 next moment, the yard gate opened, and Lenore, followed by 
 a few labourers, hurried to the plantation. 
 
 " What are you going to do?" cried Fink from his height. 
 
 Lenore signified by a gesture that she was going to have 
 the trees removed; and seizing a young fir, she exerted 
 all her strength to uproot it. The men followed her ex- 
 ample. In a few moments the young plantation was done 
 away with. Then Lenore herself caught up a spade, and 
 began to level the grassy mound. 
 
 Now Anton had planted these trees with the young lady. 
 Both had thoroughly enjoyed the improvement. Since 
 then, Lenore had gone there daily, and each of the little trees 
 had been to her a personal friend. When, therefore, Anton 
 saw it all annihilated, he could not help saying somewhat 
 coldly, " That feeble plantation would have done us little 
 harm ; surely you have caused useless devastation." 
 
 " Why," replied Fink, " the lady has acted like a pru- 
 dent commandant of a fortress, the first display of whose 
 talents always consists in levelling about the building, and 
 a plantation can be made again any spring-day. Carry 
 
224 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 off the wood to the farmyard," cried he to the men ; " tear 
 down the wooden enclosure of the well, bring the boards 
 to the yard, and hide the well's mouth." 
 
 When Lenore returned to her place behind her father's 
 chair. Fink nodded to her like an elder comrade to a younger, 
 took up his telescope, and again explored the border of the 
 forest. 
 
 And thus the party spent another hour. No one was 
 inclined to speak ; and Fink's occasional jests fell on un- 
 fruitful ground. Anton Avent down to keep the people 
 in order, but something soon impelled him to return 
 to the battlements, and watch the forest with the rest. At 
 last, after a longer silence than usual. Fink, throwing away 
 his cigar, observed, ''It is getting late, and we pay our 
 guests too much honour by expecting them with such silent 
 devotion. When the news came of their march, Wohlfart 
 and I were both wanted in the house; and as Karl is 
 breaking my poor horse's legs at a distance, we sent no one 
 to reconnoitre. Now we pay for that sin of omission ; we 
 sit here prisoners, and our men are getting tired before 
 the enemy comes. It is essential that one of us should 
 mount and away to bring in further tidings. This stilbess 
 is unnatural : not a creature to be seen in the fields, 
 not one on the roads. It seems odd to me, too, that 
 for the last two hours no refugees should have arrived from 
 the forest; and besides, the very smoke of Neudorf has 
 disappeared." 
 
 Anton silently turned away. " Go, my son," said Fink ; 
 " take one of the most trustworthy of our men with you ; 
 look how things are going on in our village, and beware of 
 the pinewood. Stay a moment, I will take one other look 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 225 
 
 through the telescope." He looked long, examined each 
 tree, and at last laid down the glass. " There is nothing 
 to be seen," said he thoughtfully. " If the gentry we are 
 expectmg carried anything besides scythes, we should be 
 compelled to believe there is some witchcraft at work. But 
 now all is uncertainty. Beware of the woods." 
 
 Anton left the tower, called the superintendent and two 
 servants, had the Baron's horse and two of the swiftest 
 farm-horses got ready, and the gate opened by the Kunau 
 smith. All was silent and peaceful The fowls that Karl 
 had bought a few weeks before were scratching away on 
 the dunghill ; the pigeons were cooing on the thatch ; a 
 little dog, belonging to the smith, had constituted himself 
 the guardian of the forsaken buildings, and barked suspi- 
 ciously at the riding party. 
 
 They trotted away through the village, and stopped at 
 the tavern. The bar was empty. Anton called for the 
 landlord. After awhile the man came to the door, looking 
 pale and frightened, and clasped his hands when he saw 
 Anton. " Just God ! IVIr. Wolilfart, to think of your still 
 being in the country ! I believed that you and the family 
 had fled to Rosmin or to the heart of our troops long ago. 
 Heavens ! this is a misfortune ! Bratzky has been here, and 
 has been stirring up the people against the family in the castle, 
 and against the Germans everywhere. But he could not 
 bring them to attack the castle. So the gi'eatest part of the 
 villagers have gone off to the Poles at Tarow. Those that 
 have remained behind, have concealed themselves ; and here 
 I am burying what I may want to carry off in a hurry." 
 
 " Where, are the enemy now ?" inquired Anton. 
 
 " I do not know," cried the landlord ; " but I know that 
 
 VOL. II. P 
 
226 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 they are a great kost, and that they have with them lan- 
 cers in uniform." 
 
 " Do you know w'hether the wood is safe towards Neu- 
 dorf?" 
 
 " How can it be safe ? No one has come from Neudorf 
 here for several hours. If the way were open, half the 
 village would now be here in my inn, or at the castle." 
 
 " You are right. Will you wait here for the band that 
 is coming?" inquired Anton, ready to start. "You would 
 be safer in the castle." 
 
 " Who knows !" cried the host. " I cannot leave ; if I 
 do, my whole place will be laid waste." 
 
 " But your women asked Anton, holding in his horse. 
 
 " I must have people to help me," wailed the distracted 
 man. "As they are young, they must just endure it. 
 There is Rebecca, my sister's child : she belongs to a family 
 that understands business. She knows how to deal with 
 the peasants; she knows how to get money from them, 
 even when they are dead drunk. Rebecca," cried he ; " Mr. 
 Wohlfart asks whether you wall go to the castle, to be safe 
 from these wild men." 
 
 The full face of Rebecca, surrounded with red hair, now 
 emerged from the cellar. 
 
 "What have I to do with the castle, uncle?" cried she 
 resolutely. " Who do you call wild men ? Our peasants are 
 the wildest men in the whole country ; if I can get on witli 
 them, I shall get on with any. My aunt has quite lost her 
 wits, and there must be some one here who knows how to 
 deal with guests. I am much obliged to you, kind sir, but 
 I am not afraid ; the gentlemen who are with the party will 
 not let any harm happen to me." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 227 
 
 " Forwards, my men ! " cried Anton. They galloped 
 further on through the village ; all the doors were closed, 
 but a woman's face was seen here and there looking through 
 the small windows after the riders. In this way they 
 came along the broad highway, till they got near the 
 wood. 
 
 One of the servants now said to Anton, " There is a young 
 plantation on the left as you enter the wood, where a hun- 
 dred men might lie in ambush without our seeing them, and 
 if there, they would soon snuff us out, or cut off our way to 
 the castle." 
 
 " You are right," said Anton. " We will ride along the 
 field till we have got behind the plantation, where the trees 
 stand singly, and we can venture in and out. From thence 
 we can explore the plantation on foot." They turned 
 accordingly off the road, and crossed the fields, keeping their 
 horses out of the range of shot from the wood. Now Anton 
 bade them dismount, gave the bridles into the superinten- 
 dent's keeping, and cautiously advanced. " Fire into the 
 wood," ordered Anton, " and then run back to your horses 
 as hard as you can." 
 
 The shots rattled through the plantation, and were an- 
 swered in a few moments by an irregular fire, and a loud 
 yell. The balls whistled over Anton's head, but the dis- 
 tance was great, and the men got back to their horses with- 
 out injury. " Gallop ! we know enough. They had not 
 the wisdom to keep quiet." The little band flew along the 
 highway, the loud cries of their pursuers sounding behind 
 them. They arrived breathless at the castle, where they 
 found all in alarm. Fink met them at the entrance. 
 
 " You were right," cried Anton : " they are lying in 
 
•228 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ambush no doubt these many hours, perhaps in hopes of 
 surprising you, or both of us, indeed, on the way to Neu- 
 dorf They would then have got the castle without a 
 struggle." 
 
 " How many of them may there be ?" asked Fink. 
 
 " Indeed, we had no time to count them," replied 
 Anton. " No doubt, only a detachment has advanced so 
 far, the greater number are behind in the wood." 
 
 " We have roused them," replied Fink ; " now we may 
 expect their visit. It is better for our people to receive 
 them before sunset than in the night." 
 
 " They come," cried Lenore's voice from the tower. 
 
 The two friends hurried to the platform. As Anton 
 looked over the battlements the sun was preparing to set. 
 The golden sky turned the green of the woods to bronze. 
 Forth from the forest came, in orderly procession towards 
 the village, a troop of horsemen, about half a squadron fol- 
 lowed by more than a hundred men on foot, the nearest of 
 them armed with muskets, the others carrying scythes. 
 The lovely evening light suffused the figures on the tower. 
 A cockchafer hummed merrily at Anton's ear, and, high in 
 air, the lark was chanting his evening lay. Meanwhile 
 the danger was approaching. It came nearer and nearer 
 along the winding way, a dark, long-dra\\Ti-out m.ass, un- 
 heard as yet, but plainly seen. 
 
 Still the cockchafer kept on humming, and the lark 
 soared higher in its rapturous song. At length the proces- 
 sion disappeared behind the first cottages in the village. 
 These were moments of breathless silence. All looked 
 steadfastly at the place where the enemy would emerge into 
 sight. Lenore stood next to Anton, her left hand clutched 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 229 
 
 a gun, and her right kept unconsciously moving the bullets 
 in a sportsman's pouch. As soon as the horsemen appeared 
 in the middle of the village, Fink caught up his cap, and 
 said gravely : " Now, gentlemen, to our posts ! You, 
 Anton, be kind enough to lead the Baron down-stairs." As 
 Anton supported the blind man down the steps, he pointed 
 back at Lenore, who remained motionless, gazing at the 
 advancing enemy. " And you too, dear lady," continued 
 Fink ; "I pray you to think of your own safety." 
 
 "I am safest here," replied Lenore firmly, letting her 
 gun drop on the flags. " You will not require me to hide 
 my head in the sofa-cushions when you are about to risk 
 your life." 
 
 Fink looked with intense admiration at her beautiful 
 face, and said : " I have no objection to make. If you are 
 resolved to take up your station on this platform, you are 
 as safe as anywhere in the castle." 
 
 " I will be cautious," replied Lenore, waving him off. 
 
 " And you, my boys," said Fink, " hide behind the walls ; 
 take care not to let a shoulder or the top of your cap be 
 seen, and do not fire before I sound an alarm with this. 
 You will hear it plainly up here." He took out a broad 
 whistle of foreign aspect. " Good-bye till we meet again I" 
 said he, looking at Lenore with a beaming glance. 
 
 " Till we meet again," answered Lenore, raising her 
 arm and looking after him till the door closed behind 
 him. 
 
 Fink found the Baron in the hall. The poor nobleman 
 was reduced to a most pitiable state of mind by the excite- 
 ment of the day, and the sense of his own uselessness 
 at a time when he felt action the rightful privilege of his 
 
230 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 station. In hm earlier years he had ever met personal 
 danger in the most intrepid manner. How much his 
 strength was broken now, plainly appeared in his unsuc- 
 cessful attempts to maintain his self-control. His hands 
 were restlessly outstretched as though seeking some 
 weapon, and painful groans forced themselves through his 
 lips. 
 
 " My kind host and friend," said Fink, addressing him ; 
 " as your indisposition makes it inconvenient to you to 
 deal with these strangers, I crave permission to do so in 
 your stead." 
 
 " You have rarie blanche, dear Fink," replied the Baron 
 in a hoarse voice ; "in fact the state of my eyes is not such 
 as to allow me to hope that I can be of any use. A miser- 
 able cripple !" cried he, and covered his face with his 
 hands. 
 
 Fink turned away with his usual shrug, opened a slide 
 in the oaken^door which had been intended to lead to the 
 unfinished terraci . and looked out. 
 
 Permit me," said Anton to the Baron, " to lead you to 
 a place where you may not be unnecessarily exposed to the 
 balls." 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself about me, young man," said 
 the Baron ; " I am of less consequence to-day than the 
 poorest day-labourer who has taken up arms for my 
 sake." 
 
 " Have you anything more to say to me asked Anton 
 of Fink, as he took up his gun. 
 
 " Nothing," replied the latter with a smile ; " except to 
 beg that you will not forget your usual caution, if you 
 come to a hand-to-hand scuffle. Good luck to .you !" He 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 231 
 
 stretched out his hand. Anton grasped it, and hurried to 
 the court. 
 
 " The enemy are passing their opinion upon your farming 
 just now," said Fink to the Baron ; "we shall have the 
 gentlemen here in a few minutes; there they come, cavalry 
 and infantry. They stop at the barn j a party of riders 
 advance ; it is the staff. There are some handsome young 
 fellows among them, and a couple of beautiful horses ; they 
 ride beyond the range of our fire, all round the castle. They 
 are seeking an entrance, we shall soon hear the knocker at 
 the back-door." , 
 
 x4.ll was silent. " Strange," said Fink. "It is surely 
 the custom of war, before the assault, to summon the be- 
 sieged to surrender ; but there come the officers from their 
 circuit round the castle, back to their infantry. Has Wohl- 
 fart inspired them with such terror, that they have fled 
 away ventre ct terre V 
 
 The ring of horses' hoofs, and the hollow march of the 
 infantry were now heard. 
 
 "Zounds !" said Fink ; "the whole corps marches as if 
 on parade up to the castle front. If they mean to storm 
 your fortress on this side, they have the most remarkable 
 conceptions of the nature of a strong place. They draw up 
 against us at a distance of five hundred yards. The in- 
 fantry in the middle, the horsemen at both sides : quite a 
 Eoman order of battle. Julius Caesar over again, I declare. 
 Look, they have a drummer ; the fellow advances, the row 
 you hear is the beat of drums. Ah, ha ! the leader rides 
 forward. He comes on, and halts just before our door. 
 Politeness demands that we should inquire what he wants." 
 Fink pushed back the heavy bolts of the door, — it opened ; 
 
232 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 he stepped out on the threshold covering the entrance, and 
 carrying his double-barrel carelessly in his hand. When the 
 horseman saw the slender figure in hunting costume, stand- 
 ing so quietly before him, he reined in his horse, and 
 touched his hat, which Fink acknowledged by a slight 
 bow. 
 
 " I wish to speak to the proprietor of this estate !" cried 
 the horseman. 
 
 " You must put up with me," replied Fink ; " I repre- 
 sent him." 
 
 " Tell him, then, that we have some orders of the Go- 
 vernment to carry out in his house," cried the rider. 
 
 " Would your chivalry permit me to ask what Govern- 
 ment has been frivolous enough to give you a message 
 for the Baron Rothsattel 1 From what I hear, the views 
 taken in this country about government in general are a 
 little disturbed." 
 
 " The Polish Central Committee is your, as well as my 
 Government," replied the rider. 
 
 " You are very good-natured in allowing a Central Com- 
 mittee to dispose of your heads ; you will allow us, however, 
 to hold a different opinion on this particular point." 
 
 " You see that we have the means to enforce obedience 
 to the orders of Government, and I advise you not by 
 opposition to provoke us to use force." 
 
 " I thank you for this advice, and should be still more 
 obliged, if, in your zeal for your duty, you would not 
 forget that the ground on which you stand is not public, 
 but private property, and that strange horses are only 
 allowed to exercise thereon by the consent of the proprietor, 
 which, so far as I know, you have not obtained." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 233 
 
 " We have had words enough, sir," cried the rider im- 
 patiently ; "if you are really authorized to represent the 
 proprietor, I require you to open this castle to us without 
 delay, and to deliver up your arms." 
 
 "Alas!" replied Fink; "I am under the unpleasant 
 necessity of refusing your request. I would add a hope, 
 that you, together with the gentry in shabby boots, ranged 
 behind you there, will leave this place as soon as pos- 
 sible. My young folk are just going to see whether they 
 can hit the mole-hills under your feet. We should be 
 sorry if the bare toes of your companions were to be hurt. 
 Begone, sir !" cried he, suddenly changing his careless tone 
 to one of such vehement anger and scorn, that the Pole's 
 horse reared, and he himself laid his hand on the pistols 
 at his holster. 
 
 During this conversation, the rest of the horsemen and 
 the infantry had drawn nearer, to catch the words. 
 
 More than once a barrel had been lowered, but they had 
 always been pushed back by a few riders in advance of the 
 ranks. At Fink's last words, a wild-looking figure in an 
 old frieze jacket took aim, a shot was heard, and the bullet 
 flew past Fink's cheek, and struck the door behind him. 
 At the same moment a suppressed scream was heard, a 
 flash seen on the top of the tower, and the luckless marks- 
 man fell to the ground. The man who had conducted the 
 parley turned his horse, the assailants all fell back, and 
 Fink closed the door. As he turned round, Lenore stood 
 on the first flight of the stairs, the recently discharged gun 
 in her hand, her large eyes fixed wildly upon him. " Are 
 you wounded cried she, beside herself. 
 
 " Not at all, my faithful comrade," cried Fink. 
 
234 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Lenore threw away the gun, and sank at her father s 
 feet, hiding her face on his knees. Her father bent over 
 her, took her head in his hands ; and the nervous agitation 
 of the last few hours brought on a convulsive fit of sobbing. 
 His daughter passionately clasped his trembling frame, and 
 silently held him in her arms. There they were, a broken- 
 down existence, and one in which the warm glow of youth- 
 ful life was bursting into flame. 
 
 Fink looked out of the window ; the enemy had retired 
 beyond range of fire, and were, as it seemed, holding a con- 
 sultation. Suddenly he stepped up to Lenore, and laying 
 his hand on her arm, said, " I thank you, dear lady, for 
 having so promptly punished that rascal. And now I beg 
 you to leave this room with your father. We shall do 
 better if anxiety on your account does not withdraw our 
 eyes from the enemy." Lenore shrunk back at his touch j 
 and a warm blush overspread her cheek and brow. 
 
 " We will go," she said, with downcast eyes. " Come, 
 my father." She then led the Baron up-stairs to her 
 mother's room. There she heroically strove to compose 
 herself, sat down by the couch of the invalid, and did not 
 go near Fink again the whole evening. 
 
 " Now then, we are by ourselves," cried Fink to the 
 sentinels ; " short distances, and a steady aim ! If they 
 storm this stone building, they shall get nothing by it but 
 bloody pates." 
 
 Accordingly, there he stood with his companions, and 
 looked with keen eye at the ranks of their assailants. 
 There was a great stir among them. Some detachments 
 went off to the village, the horsemen rode up and down ; 
 there was evidently something afloat. At last a party 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 235 
 
 brought some thick boards, and a row of empty carts. The 
 upper parts of them were lifted off, and the lower placed in 
 a row, the poles away from the castle, the hind-wheels to- 
 wards it. Next, boards were nailed together, and made into 
 pent-houses, which being fastened to the back of the carts, 
 projected a few feet beyond them, and afforded a tolerable 
 shelter for five or six men. 
 
 " Ask Mr. Wohlfart to come here," cried Fink to one of 
 his riflemen. 
 
 " There has been shooting," said Anton, as he entered the 
 hall ; " is any one^wounded ?" 
 
 " This thick door, and one of the rabble yonder," replied 
 Fink. " Without any order, they replied to the first shot 
 from the tower." 
 
 " There is not an enemy to be seen in the court. A 
 troop of horsemen came to the gate ; one ventured up to 
 the palings, and tried to look through. But when I 
 started up behind them, they all took to flight in terror." 
 
 " Look there," said Fink ; " they are amusing them- 
 selves in making small barricades. As long as this evening 
 light allows us to see, the danger is not great. But in 
 the night, those huts on wheels may come a little too 
 near." 
 
 " The sky keeps clear," said Anton ; " there will be a 
 bright starlight." 
 
 " If I only knew," said Fink, " why they have had the 
 madness to attack the strongest side of our fortress. It 
 can only be, that your peaceful visage has had the effect of 
 the Gorgon's head upon them. Henceforth you will be de- 
 scribed as a scarecrow in all Slavonic fights." 
 
 It was dark when the hammering away at the carts 
 
236 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ceased. A word of command was heard. The officers 
 summoned a few men by name to the poles, and six move- 
 able roofs rolled on rapidly, to about thirty yards from the 
 front of the castle. 
 
 " Now for it," cried Fink. " Remain here, and look to 
 the lower storey." He sprang up the steps ; the long row 
 of front rooms was opened, one could see from one end 
 of the house to the other. " Mind your heads," cried 
 he to the sentinels. Immediately came an irregular fire 
 against the windows of the upper storey, the leaden shower 
 rattling through the panes, the glass clattermg on the floor. 
 Fink took out his whistle, a shrill sound vibrated loudly 
 through the house, and was responded to by the salvos of 
 the besieged from both storeys, and from the tower. 
 
 And now followed an irregular fire from both sides. The 
 besieged had the advantage — their aim was truer, and they 
 were better concealed than those without. 
 
 During the brief pauses. Fink's voice was to be heard 
 crying, " Steady, men ; keep close." He was everywhere ; 
 his light step, the clear tones of his voice, his wild jests 
 from time to time, kept up the spirits of all. They filled 
 Lenore's soul with a thrill of rapture, she hardly felt the full 
 terrors of her situation ; nor did the convulsive starts of 
 her father, nor her mother's low groans, lead her to despair, 
 for the words of the man she loved sounded like a message 
 of salvation in her ear. 
 
 For about an hour, the battle raged around the walls. 
 The great building rose dark in the pale starlight ; no light, 
 no form was to be seen from without, only the flashes that 
 from time to time shone out from a corner of the windows, 
 announced to those outside that there was life within. He 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 237 
 
 who walked through the rooms could discover a dark shape 
 here and there behind a pillar, could see eyes glowing with 
 excitement, and a head bent to observe the foe. True, 
 none of the men there assembled were used to this bloody 
 work ; they had been gathered from the plough, the work- 
 shop, from every species of peaceful industry ; and painful 
 excitement, feverish suspense, protracted during the whole 
 day, was visible in the aspect of the strongest among 
 them. 
 
 Yet Anton remarked with a gloomy satisfaction, how 
 calm he himself was, and how brave the men in general. 
 They were busy, they were at work, and even in the midst 
 of their deadly occupation, the strength and energy w^re 
 evident, which all active labour gives to man. After the 
 first sliotS; those on the front side loaded a^ composedly as 
 though they were at their every-day toil. The face of the 
 farm-servant hardly looked more anxious than when he 
 walked between his oxen in the field ; and the skilful tailor 
 handled his gun with as much indifference as he would his 
 smoothing-iron. It was only the reserve-guard who were 
 restless; not from fear, but from dissatisfaction with their 
 own inactivity. At times a bold fellow would steal into 
 the house, behind Anton's back, in order to have a chance 
 of firing off" his gun in front, and Anton was obliged to 
 place the superintendent at the court-door, to prevent this 
 courageous way of desertion. 
 
 " Only once, Mr. Wohlfart ; do let me have one shot 
 at them ? " urgently pleaded a young fellow from Neu- 
 dorf. 
 
 " Wait," replied Anton, loading, " your turn will come ; 
 in an hour you will relieve the others here." 
 
238 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Meanwhile the stars rose higher, and tlie shots became 
 fewer, as both parties grew weary. 
 
 " Our people are the strongest," said Anton to his friend ; 
 " the men in the court are not to be kept back any 
 longer." 
 
 "It is all little better than shooting in the dark," re- 
 plied Fink ; " true, they make it matter of conscience to 
 take good aim, but it is generally a mere accident if their 
 balls take eiSFect. Nothing has happened to our side but 
 a few slight wounds, and I believe those without have 
 not suffered more." 
 
 The rolling of wheels was now heard. " Listen ; they 
 are drawing back their war-chariots." The firing ceased, 
 and the whole line disappeared in the darkness. " Leave 
 off," continued Fink ; " and, Anton, if you have any- 
 thing to drink, give it, for these have shown themselves 
 brave men. Then let us quietly await the renewal of the 
 siege," 
 
 Anton accordingly had some refreshments distributed to 
 the men, and went through the whole house, dismissing 
 them, and examining the rooms, from the cellar upwards. 
 As he drew near the women's rooms on the lower storey, he 
 heard, even at a distance, a lamentable chaos of voices. 
 Entering, he found the bare walls dimly lighted, the floor 
 covered with straw, on which crouched women and chil- 
 dren. The women expressed their terror by every kind of 
 passionate gesture, many ceaselessly imploring the help 
 of Heaven, without any alleviation of their intense misery ; 
 others staring straight before them, stunned by the hor- 
 rors of the night ; in short, the pleasantest impression 
 was that made by the children, who, having howled with 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 239 
 
 all their might, had no further care. In the midst of ail 
 this wretchedness, these little ones lay, their heads resting 
 on a bundle of clothes, their small hands clenched, sleeping 
 as quietly as in their beds at home, while one young woman 
 sat in a corner rocking her sleeping infant in her arms, 
 apparently forgetful of all besides. At last, still watch- 
 ing the child, she came up to Anton, and asked how her 
 husband was faring. 
 
 Meanwhile the enemy made large fires, and part of 
 their soldiery sat near them, and were seen to boil their 
 coffee. There was gi'eat disturbance, too, in the village, 
 men were heard shouting and ordering, lights were seen 
 in all directions, and there was rapid coming and going 
 along the streets. 
 
 " That does not look like a truce," cried Anton. 
 
 At that moment, a loud knock was heard at the back- 
 door ; the friends looked at each other, and rushed down 
 to the court. 
 
 " Rothsattel and roe-bucks," whispered a voice, impro- 
 vising a password. 
 
 " The forester !" cried Anton, pushing back the bars, 
 and letting the old man in. 
 
 " Shut the gate," said the forester, " they are close on 
 my track. Good evening to you all ; I am come to in- 
 quire whether you can make any use of me ?" 
 
 " Get into the house," cried Anton, " and tell us all." 
 
 " Everything is as quiet in the forest as in the church," 
 said the forester ; " the cattle are lying in the quarry, and 
 the shepherd, too, is there with his creatures. The farmer 
 keeps watch. I crept, in the dark, into the village to re- 
 connoitre, and now come to warn you. As they have 
 
240 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 not made much of their guns, the rascals are going to try- 
 fire. They have got together all the grease and tar in the 
 village, they have taken all the women's shavings, and 
 whenever they found an oil lamp, they poured it over 
 bundles of rushes." 
 
 " They mean to burn the yard gate ?" asked Fink. 
 
 The forester made a face. " Not the yard gate ; they 
 have a deadly fear of that, because you have artillery- 
 wagons and a cannon in the yard." 
 
 " Artillery !" cried both friends in amazement. 
 
 " Yes," nodded the forester ; " through the chinks of the 
 planks they have seen blue carts, horses, and a gun- 
 carriage," 
 
 "Karl's new potato-carts, the plough, and the water- 
 butt !" cried Anton. 
 
 " No doubt," replied the forester. "On my way 
 here, I peeped into the inn yard, and waited for some 
 one that I knew. Then Rebecca ran by me with a basket ; 
 I whistled, and called her out behind the stable. ' Are 
 you there, old Swede V said the wild thing. ' Take care 
 that your head be not set on fire. I have no time to talk 
 with you, I must attend to the gentlemen, they want 
 cofifee.' 'Why not champagne?' said I. 'No doubt the 
 gentlemen are very polite, you pretty creature,' said I — 
 for one gets over women with floweiy speeches. ' You are 
 an ugly fellow yourself,' said the girl, laughing at me ; 
 ' get away with you !' ' They won't hurt you, my little 
 Rebecca,' said I, stroking her cheeks. ' What's that to 
 you, old sorcerer 1 ' said the little toad ; * if I were 
 to scream, the whole roomful would come to my aid.' 
 ' Don't be so contradictious, my child,' said I ; ' be a 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 241 
 
 good girl, fill another bottle, and bring it out here. One 
 must do something for one's friends in bad times.' Then 
 she snatched the bottle out of my hand, telling me to wait, 
 and ran off with her basket. After a while, she returned 
 with the bottle quite full, for she is a good creature at 
 heart, and as she gave it me, she cried, ' If you see the 
 young gentlemen in the castle, tell them that the folks here 
 have a great dread of their artillery ; they have been ask- 
 ing me whether it was true that they had cannon. I told 
 them I was quite sure that was the name of a great thing 
 I had often seen on the property.' Then I slunk off again, 
 and crept along the ditch, past fellows with scythes, who 
 are mounting guard behind our farm-yard. When I was 
 about a hundred yards from them, I tore away, and they 
 swore after me. That's how things stand." 
 
 "That notion of theirs about fire is uncomfortable," said 
 Fink ; "if they understand the thing, they may smoke us 
 out like badgers." 
 
 "The threshold is stone, and this thick door is high 
 above the ground," said the forester. 
 
 "I am not afraid of the flames, but of the smoke and 
 glare," replied Fink ; " if they light up our windows, our 
 men will aim still worse. One good thing for us is that 
 the gentlemen on the English saddles, who head the enemy, 
 have never stormed any but a petticoat fortress before. 
 We will bring all our men to the front, and leave only two 
 or three sentinels behind ; we will trust Rebecca's story." 
 
 Fresh cartridges were given out, and a fresh detachment 
 stationed at the windows, additional men were placed in 
 the halls of the upper and lower storey, and on the plat- 
 form of the tower, Anton commanding up-stairs, the smith 
 
 VOL. II. Q 
 
242 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 below, and the forester remaining with a small body in re- 
 sei-ve. All these arrangements were just made in time, for 
 a loud hum was heard, at a distance, together with shouts 
 of command, the march of an advancing body, and the 
 rumbling of carts, 
 
 " Keep your guns at full cock," cried Fink, " and fire 
 only at those who press in at the door." 
 
 The wheeled pent-houses moved on as before, a Polish 
 order was given, and a rapid fire began on the part of the 
 enemy, exclusively directed to the important door, and the 
 windows near it. The balls thundered on the oaken planks, 
 and on the masonry, and more than one found its way 
 through the window openings, and struck the ceiling above 
 the heads of the garrison. Fink cried to the forester, "You 
 shall run a risk, old man ; take your people to the back- 
 door, open it, creep round close to the house, and drive 
 away those fellows behind the three carts to the left, who 
 have ventured too near ; get close to them, you can knock 
 them all over if you aim true ; the carts have no covering, 
 you can be back before the fellows run out from behind. 
 Be quick and cautious ; with this whistle I will give the 
 signal for your rushing out from the shadow of the walls." 
 
 The forester collected his men, and hurried to the court. 
 Fink ran up-stairs to Anton. The enemy's fire grew still 
 more frequent. " This time it is grim earnest," said Anton. 
 " Our people, too, are getting excited." 
 
 " Here comes the real danger," cried Fink, pointing 
 through a loophole in the wall, to a high shapeless mass, 
 which slowly approached. It was a harvest wagon, 
 loaded to an immense height and breadth, and propelled 
 by invisible hands to the front of the castle. " A fire- 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT, 
 
 243 
 
 ship ! there are the yellow straw bundles ou the top. 
 Their plan is evident, they are steering it against the 
 door. Now, then, we must shoot well ; not one of the 
 fellows who mount it must get back safe," He sprang up 
 the stairs, and cried to those stationed on the tower, " Every- 
 thing now depends upon you ; as soon as you see the men 
 who are pushing the wagon onwards, fire ! wherever you can 
 see a head, or even a leg, fire ! Every one of them must die !" 
 The wagon came nearer. Fink raised his owti rifle twice, 
 took aim, and twice laid it down. The wagon load was so 
 high that it was impossible to see those who propelled it. 
 These were moments of painful suspense on both sides ; 
 even the enemy's fire ceased, every eye was fixed on the 
 fearful vehicle which was to bring the bitter conflict to a 
 fatal close. At length the backs of the hindmost men at 
 the pole came into sight. Two flashes from Fink's rifle, 
 two yells, the wagon stood still, those who were pushing 
 it crowded closer. Two dark bodies lay on the ground. 
 Fink loaded again, a wild smile playing round his lips. A 
 raging fire upon the tower was the answer given by the 
 foe. One of the men on the tower was shot in the breast, 
 his g-un fell down over the wall, — he sank at Fink's feet. 
 Fink merely glanced at him, and rammed his second bullet 
 down. At that moment some figures rushed out of the 
 darkness to the wagon. A spirited shout was heard, and 
 the machine was once more set in motion. " Brave fellows," 
 muttered Fink, " they are doomed to death." Other forms 
 were now visible at the end of the pole. Fink again took 
 aim. Again a cry of anguish, but the wagon moved on. 
 It was not more than thirty yards from the door, the moment 
 was indeed critical. The shrill sound of the whistle was 
 
244 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 heard through the night ; from the windows of the upper 
 storey flew the fiery salvo, and from the left side of the 
 house rose a loud cry. The forester made a sally, a crowd 
 of dark figures rushed against the pent-house that stood 
 nearest to the corner of the castle ; for a moment there was 
 a scufile, then some shots fired, and the conquered foe fled 
 from their shelter to the open plain. For the third time 
 the deadly double-barrel flashed from the tower, and struck 
 the pole of the wagon, and the men who were propelling 
 it, seized with a sudden panic, retreated from its cover 
 into the sheltering darkness. But this did not avail them. 
 From the tower and the windows of the upper storey, 
 bullets pursued them, and more than one fell. Behind 
 them rose a cry of rage, and a dark line rapidly advanced 
 to receive the fugitives. A universal fire against the house 
 began. Then the enemy retreated rapidly as they had ad- 
 vanced, carrying the wounded and the carts back with 
 them. The fire-ship alone, a dark mass, still stood a few 
 yards from the door. The firing ceased, and an uncomfort- 
 able silence succeeded to the deadly conflict. 
 
 In the hall of the upper storey Anton and Fink, met, 
 and were immediately joined by the forester. Each of the 
 friends silently sought to ascertain, in the dim light, 
 whether the other stood before him unharmed. "Capitally 
 done, forester," cried Fink. " Demand to be admitted to 
 the Baron, and give in your report." 
 
 "And request Friiulein Lenore to give you linen for 
 dressings ; we have had losses," said Anton mournfully, as 
 he pointed to the floor, where two men sat leaning against 
 the wall and groaning. 
 
 " Here comes a third," replied Fink, as a dark shape 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 245 
 
 was slowly carried down stairs from the tower. " I fear 
 the man is dead, he lay at my feet like a log." 
 
 "Who is it?" inquired Anton, shuddering. 
 
 " Barowsky, the tailor," whispered one of the bearers. 
 
 " "What a fearful night ! " cried Anton, turning away. 
 
 " We must not think of that now," said Fink. " Human 
 life is only valuable when one is ready to surrender it on a 
 fitting opportunity. The great point is, that we have 
 shaken off that fiery millstone from our throats. It is not 
 impossible that the wretches may yet succeed in kindling 
 itj but it will not do much harm at its present distance." 
 
 At that moment a bright light shone through the loop- 
 holes of the tower. All rushed to the window. A dazzling 
 light flamed up from the opposite side of the wagon ; and 
 a sudden impetus hurled the heavy mass against the wall 
 of the house. A single man sprang back from the wagon : 
 a dozen guns were pointed at him at once. 
 
 " Stop !" cried Fink in a piercing voice. " It is too late : 
 spare him, he is a fine fellow ; the mischief is done." 
 
 " Merci, Monsieur ; au revoir !" said a voice from below ; 
 and the man sprang uninjured into the darkness. 
 
 In a moment the wagon was in a blaze; and from the 
 straw and rushes with which it was laden on the top, the 
 yellow flames rose crackling, while firebrands flew in all 
 directions. The house was suddenly illuminated : masses 
 of smoke burst through the shattered windows. 
 
 " That is powder," cried Fink. " Steady, steady, my 
 men ! We will keep the enemy oft' if they force an entrance. 
 You, Anton, see whether you can put out the fire." 
 
 "Water!" cried the men; "the window-frame has 
 caught I" Without, there were fresh orders shouted out. 
 
246 
 
 DEBIT ANI3 CREDIT. 
 
 The drums beat ; and with a wild cry of triumph, a cordon 
 of skirmishers neared the house. The fire of the besiegers 
 began once more, in order to impede the quenching of the 
 flames. Water was brought from the great butt in the 
 yard, and poured on the burning window-frames — a danger- 
 ous task enough ; for the front of the house was lighted up, 
 and the ever-advancing skirmishers aimed at every figure 
 as it became visible. The besieged glanced anxiously 
 at the flames, and returned the fire of their opponents un- 
 steadily. Even the sentinels in the court looked more 
 behind than before them. The disorder became general. 
 The moment of greatest danger had come. All seemed lost ! 
 
 Next a man called down from the tower, "They are 
 bringing short ladders from the village; we can see the 
 axes in their hands." 
 
 " They will get over the palings, and. break in the win- 
 dows of the lower storey," cried the men to each other in 
 utmost alarm. 
 
 The forester rushed to the court. Fink carried off a few 
 men with him to the side of the house on which the men 
 with ladders were advancing. All were in confusion. Even 
 Fink's threatening voice no longer took effect upon them. 
 
 At that moment some men, with bars of iron in their 
 hands, were seen hurrying in from the courtyard to the 
 hall-door. " Make way !" cried a stalwart figure ; " this is 
 blacksmith's work !" The man pushed back the bolts of the 
 door. The opening was filled by the burning wagon. Spite 
 of smoke and flames, the smith leapt upon its biu-ning frame. 
 " Help me, you hares !" screamed he in angry tones. 
 
 " He is right," cried Anton. " Onwards, my men !" 
 
 Boards and poles were brought, and the men unweariedly 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 247 
 
 pressed onwards through the smoke, and ^pushed and 
 heaved away at the glowing mass. At length the smith 
 succeeded in throwing down some of the sheaves. One 
 could now get a glance of the dark sky, and the smoke 
 was less stifling. 
 
 " Now we have it !" cried he triumphantly ; and bundle 
 after bundle fell to the ground, and burnt harmlessly away. 
 The wagon was more and more quickly unloaded, blazing 
 feather-beds and billets of wood falling with other things. 
 
 Anton had the door half-closed as the enemy's bullets 
 passed through the flames, and the men had to use their 
 levers from the side. The wagon-ladders fell down, burnt to 
 charcoal; and with a shout of triumph, all the levers were 
 applied at once, and the fragments of the wagon pushed a 
 few yards from the door, which was quickly locked again 
 from inside ; while the men, black as imps, and with clothes 
 burnt, loudly congratulated each other. 
 
 " Such nights as these make strong friendships," cried the 
 smith in great delight, as he shook Anton's hand, which 
 was little less black than his own. 
 
 Meanwhile, the axes of the besiegers were hacking away 
 at several windows of the lower storey, the loosened boards 
 creaked, and Fink's voice was heard saying, " Knock them 
 down with the butt-ends ! " 
 
 Anton and the forester now betook themselves upon the 
 window through which the besiegers sought to enter. But 
 the worst was over there too. Fink came to meet them, 
 the bloody axe of an insurgent in his hand, and flinging it 
 away 5 he cried to Anton and his party, " Put new boards 
 into the windows. I hope the butchery is at an end." 
 
 A few more salvoes from without, and single shots from 
 
248 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 within, and all was still in the castle and in the field. The 
 walls still glowed a while in the fire-light, but it faded and 
 faded away. The wind rose and drove away the smoke 
 curling round the windows from the burning fragments 
 before the door. The pure night air filled the corridors 
 and the hall once more, and the starlight shone quietly on 
 the sunken eyes and pale faces of the gan-ison. On both 
 sides, the energies of the combatants were exhausted. 
 
 "What hour of the night is it?" asked Fink, going up 
 to Anton, who was watching the movements of the enemy 
 through the loopholes of the wall. 
 
 " Past midnight," replied Anton. 
 
 They went up to the tower, and looked about them. 
 The fields around the castle were empty. 
 
 " They have laid themselves down to sleep," said Fink. 
 " Even the fires below are out, and but a few isolated 
 voices sound from the village. Those shadows all round 
 the house alone tell us that we are besieged. We have 
 some hours of peace before us ; and as we shall hardly 
 get sleeping-time to-morrow, our people must avail them- 
 selves of the present. Leave only the necessary sentinels, 
 and let the posts be relieved in two hours. If you have no 
 objection, I shall go to bed too. Let me be called as soon 
 as anything is stirring outside. You will take very good 
 care of the night posts, that I know." So saying, Fink 
 turned away and went to his room, where he threw himself 
 on his bed, and in a few moments was fast asleep. 
 
 Anton hurried to the guard-room, arranged the posts 
 with the forester, and fiixed the order in which they were 
 to be relieved. 
 
 " I shall not be sleepy," said the old man ; " firstly. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 249 
 
 because of my age ; next, from my habits as a huntsman. I 
 will, if you allow, arrange the posts, and look after things 
 in general." 
 
 Once more Anton went round the court and the stables. 
 Here, too, quiet was restored : only the horses restlessly 
 stamped their hoofs on the hard ground. Anton gently 
 opened the door of the women's rooms, in the second of 
 which the wounded had been laid. As he entered, he 
 saw Lenore on a stool near the straw beds ; two of the 
 stranger women at her feet. He bent down over the couch 
 of the wounded : the colourless face and disordered hair of 
 the imfortunate men looked ghastly on the white pillows 
 which Lenore had snatched from her own bed. 
 
 " How fares it with you?" whispered Anton. 
 
 " We have tried to bind up the wounds," replied Lenore. 
 " The forester says that there is hope of both." 
 
 " Then," continued Anton, " leave them in charge of the 
 women, and avail yourself of these hours of rest." 
 
 " Do not speak to me of rest," said Lenore, rising. " We 
 are in the chamber of death." She took him by the hand, 
 and led him to the opposite corner, drew aside a dark cloak, 
 and pointed to a human form beneath it. " He is dead ! " 
 said she with a hollow voice. " As I raised him with these 
 hands, he died. His blood is on my clothes; and it is 
 not the only blood that has been spilt to-day. It was I," 
 she wildly cried, convulsively pressing Anton's hand ; " it 
 was I who began this blood-shedding. How I am to bear 
 this curse, I know not; how I am to live on after this 
 day, I know not. If I have henceforth a place in this 
 world, it is in this room. Leave me here, Wohlfart, and 
 think no more about me." 
 
250 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 She turned away and resumed her seat on the stool 
 by the side of the straw bed. Anton drew the cloak over 
 the dead, and silently left the room. He went next to the 
 guard-room, and took up his gun. "I am going to the 
 tower, forester," said he. 
 
 " Each has his own way," muttered the old man. " The 
 other is wiser — he sleeps. But it will be cold up there ; 
 this one shall not be without a wrap." He sent a man 
 up with a villager's cloak, and ordered him to remain with 
 the gentleman. 
 
 Anton told the man to lie down and sleep, and wrapped 
 himself up in the warm covering. Then he sat in silence, 
 resting his head against the wall over which Lenore had 
 leaned as she fired. And his thoughts flew over the plain 
 — from the gloomy present to the uncertain futiure. He 
 looked beyond the circle of the enemy's sentinels, and over 
 the darker boundary of the fir-woods, which kept him pri- 
 soner here, and bound him to circumstances which appeared 
 to him strange and improbable, as though he read them in 
 a book. His wearied mind contemplated his own fate as 
 though it were that of a stranger, and he could now calmly 
 look down into the depths of his own spirit, which the 
 stormy alternations of the day had hitherto hid from him. 
 He saw his former life pass in review before him : the 
 figure of the noble lady on the balcony of her castle ; the 
 beautiful girl in her skiff, surrounded by her swans ; the wax- 
 lights in the dancing-saloon ; the mournful hour when the 
 Baroness had placed her jewels in his hands ; each of those 
 moments when Lenore's eyes had lovingly met his own. 
 All those seasons now returned to his mind, and he plainly 
 discerned the glamour that she had cast ai'ound him. All 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 251 
 
 that had chained his fanc}"", warped liis judgment, and 
 flattered his self-love, now appeared to him an illusion. 
 
 It had been an error of his childish spirit which vanity 
 had fostered. Alas ! the brilliant mirage had long been 
 dissipated in which the life of the aristocratic family seemed 
 great, noble, enviable to the poor accountant's son. Another 
 feeling had replaced it, and a purer ; a tender friendship for 
 the only one in that circle who had retained her strength 
 when the others sank. Now, she too parted from him. 
 He felt this was, and must be so more and more. He felt 
 this now without pain, as natural, as inevitable. And 
 further, he felt that he was thus free from the ties that 
 detained him here. He raised his head, and looked over 
 the woods into the distance. He blamed himself first, that 
 this loss did not grieve him more, and next, that he was 
 conscious of a loss. Had there then been a silent hope at 
 the bottom of his heart ? Had he thought to win the 
 beauteous girl to share his future life ? had he dreamed of 
 becoming a member of the family by whom he was em- 
 ployed ? If he had occasionally been weak enough to do 
 this, he now condemned himself. 
 
 He had not always felt rightly, he had secretly cher- 
 ished many a selfish thought when looking at Lenore. That 
 had been wrong, and it served him right that he now stood 
 alone among strangers, in relations that pained him because 
 they were indefinite, and in a position from which his own 
 resolve could not free him at present, could hardly free him 
 for some time to come. 
 
 And yet he felt himself free. " I shall do my duty, and 
 only think of her happiness," said he aloud. But her 
 happiness ? He thought of Fink, — thought of the character 
 
252 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 of his friend, which always impressed, but often angered 
 him. Would he love her in return, and would he allow 
 himself to be bound 1 " Poor Lenore !" he sighed. 
 
 In this way, Anton stood till the bright aspect of the 
 northern horizon passed over to the east, and thence a pale 
 grey spread over the sky, the chilly forerunner of the rising 
 sun. Then Anton looked once more at the landscape round 
 him. He could already count the enemy's sentinels, who 
 surrounded the castle in pairs, and here and there a scythe 
 shone in the brightening light. Bending down, he woke the 
 man, who had gone to sleep on the flags stained by his com- 
 rade's blood ; then he went to the guard-room, threw 
 himself on the straw that the forester carefully shook down 
 for him, and fell asleep just as the lark soared from the 
 dewy ground, by its joyous call, to summon forth the sun. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 253 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 * FTER an hour, the forester woke the sleeper. Anton 
 ^ started up and looked round, stupified at the unfami- 
 liar scene, 
 
 " It is almost a sin to disturb you," said the good old 
 man ; " all is quiet outside, only the enemy's cavalry have 
 gone off to Rosmin," 
 
 " Gone off !" cried Anton ; "then we are free." 
 
 "Except for the foot-folks," said the forester; "and 
 they are still two to one of us. They hold us fast. And 
 I have something else to say. There is no more water in 
 the butt Our men have drunk half of it, the rest was 
 thrown on the fire. For my part I can do without it, but 
 the castle is full of men, and they will hardly get through 
 the day without a drink." 
 
 Anton sprang up. " This is a melancholy good-morning, 
 my old friend." 
 
 " The well is broken," continued the old man ; " but 
 how if we were to send some of the women to the brook ? 
 The sentinels would not do much to the women ; perhaps 
 they would not prevent them from getting a few buckets- 
 ful of water." 
 
254 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 "A few buckets would not do much for us," replied 
 Anton. 
 
 " They would raise the spirits," said the old man ; 
 " they would have to be shared. Were Rebecca liere, she 
 would get us the water. We must try what we can do 
 with the others. Those confounded fellows are not bad to 
 women, if they be but bold. If you approve, I will see 
 wliat I can make of some of our girls." 
 
 The forester called down to the kitchen — " Suska !" 
 The young Pole sprang up stairs. 
 
 " Listen to me, Suska," said the forester anxiously ; 
 when the Baron awakes, he will call for his hot water ; 
 all the water in the castle is done ; we have beer and 
 schnapps enough, indeed, but what Christian can wash his 
 hands in beer 1 So take the buckets, and get us water ; 
 run down to the brook, you will get on very well with 
 your countrymen. Don't stay too long chattering, or we 
 shall get a scolding. And, I say, just ask our neighbours 
 why they stand there still with their lances ; their horsemen 
 have gone away. We have no objection to their moving 
 off too." 
 
 The girl willingly caught up the buckets, the forester 
 opening the yard-door for her, and down she went to the 
 water. Anton watched her in anxious suspense. She 
 got to the brook without any hindrance, and without 
 troubling herself about the sentinels, who were some twenty 
 yards off, and who looked with much curiosity at her. At 
 length one of the men with scythes went up to her. The 
 girl put down her buckets, crossed her arms, and both 
 began a peaceful conversation. Thus the Pole took up 
 the buckets, filled them with water, and gave them to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 255 
 
 the girl, who slowly returned to the castle, the forester 
 opening the gate for her, and saying in a caressing tone, 
 " Bravo, Susan ! what did the sentinel say to you 
 
 " Stupid things," replied she, blushing. " He told me 
 that I must open the door for him and his comrades when 
 they return to the castle." 
 
 " As if that were all ?" said the forester slyly. " So 
 they mean to return to the castle ?" 
 
 " To be sure they do," said the girl. " Their horsemen 
 are gone to meet the soldiers from Rosmin. . When they 
 return, the man saiji they would all run together to the 
 castle." 
 
 " We shall hardly admit them," replied the forester. 
 " None shall enter the gate but your sweetheart yonder. 
 You have, I suppose, promised him admittance, if he comes 
 alone and late f 
 
 No !" answered Susan indignantly ; " but I dared not 
 be uncivil." 
 
 " Perhaps we may tiy it once more," suggested the 
 forester, glancing at Anton. 
 
 " I don't think it," replied the latter. " An officer i-s 
 riding round the posts, and the poor fellow will get a 
 rough return for his gallantry. Come, and let us divide 
 our little store. Half of this first bucket for the family — 
 half for us men ; let the other make a breakfast for the 
 women and children." 
 
 Anton himself poured the water into the different ves- 
 sels, and appointed the smith to guard it. While so doing, 
 he said to the forester, " This is the hardest task that we 
 have had as yet. I do not know how we are to hold out 
 through the day." 
 
256 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 " Many things may happen," replied the forester con- 
 solingly. 
 
 A bright spring day now began ; the sun rose cloudlessly 
 behind the farm-yard, and soon warmed the mist that 
 hung around the walls ; the people sought out the sunny 
 corner of the court ; the men sat in little groups with their 
 wives and children ; and all seemed in good heart. Anton 
 went in and out among them. " We must have patience 
 till noon — perhaps till the afternoon ; then our troops will 
 come." 
 
 " If these fellows yonder do no more than at present," 
 replied the smith, " we may be easy enough. They stand 
 there like so many wooden posts." 
 
 " They lost their courage yesterday," said another con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " It was a mere straw-fire ; the smith threw it down ; 
 and they have nothing to follow it up with," cried a third. 
 
 The smith folded his arms and smiled proudly, his wife 
 looking at him with delight. 
 
 Next the upper storey began to show symptoms of life. 
 The Baron rang and demanded a report. Anton went up 
 to give it him, then entered Fink's room and woke his 
 friend, who was still fast asleep. 
 
 " Good morning, Tony," cried Fink, comfortably stretch- 
 ing himself. " I shall be down in a moment. If you can 
 send me a little water through some of your connexions, I 
 shall be very grateful to you." 
 
 " I will get you a bottle of wine from the cellar," replied 
 Anton ; " you must wash in wine to-day." 
 
 " Ha !" cried Fink, "is it come to that ? At all events 
 it is not port- wine, I hope." 
 
DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 257 
 
 " We have but a few bottles of either kind," continued 
 Anton. 
 
 " You are a bird of ill omen," said Fink, looking for his 
 boots. " You have doubtless the more beer in your cellars ?" 
 
 " Just enough to give the garrison one draught. A 
 small cask of brandy is our chief treasure." 
 
 Fink whistled the Hessian march. " You will own, my 
 son, that your tenderness for the women and children was 
 somewhat sentimental. I already see you, in my mind's 
 eye, with your shirt sleeves tucked up, killing the lean 
 cow, and, with your old conscientiousness, administering 
 mouthsful to the famished household — you in the middle 
 — fifty gaping mouths around you. Be sure that you pre- 
 pare a dozen birch rods ; in a few hours the screams of the 
 hungry children will rise to heaven, and, in spite of your 
 philanthropy, you will be obliged to scourge the whole 
 troop of them. Otherwise, I think we managed pretty well 
 yesterday. I have had a famous sleep, and so things must 
 take their chance another day. Now let's go and have a 
 look at the enemy." 
 
 The two friends mounted to the tower. Anton reported 
 what he had heard. Fink carefully explored the sentries' 
 posts, and the line of road, till lost in the wood. " Our 
 situation is too quiet to be comfortable," said he, shutting 
 up the glass. 
 
 " They mean to starve us out," said Anton gravely. 
 
 " I give them credit for that clever notion ; and they do 
 not judge ill, for between ourselves I have strong doubts 
 whether we have any relief to hope for." 
 
 " We may depend upon Karl," said Anton. 
 
 " And upon my bay, too," replied Fink ; " but it is 
 
 VOL. II. R 
 
258 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 very possible that my poor Blackfoot may have the misfor- 
 tune to be carrying the carcase of one of the insurgents at 
 this very moment ; and whether the youth Karl may not 
 have fallen into the hands of one of the bands who, no 
 doubt, swarm throughout the country ; whether he ever 
 found our soldiers ; whether they chose to march to our 
 aid ; whether, in short, they will have the sense to come 
 in time ; and whether they are strong enough, after all, to 
 disperse the troop gone out to meet them : these, my boy, 
 are all questions which may reasonably be put ; and I 
 for one dare not answer them hopefully." 
 
 " We might attempt a sally, but it would be bloody 
 work," said Anton. 
 
 " Pooh !" said Fink ; " it would be useless, which is 
 worse. We might disperse one set of them, and another 
 would be there in an hour ; nothing but having a strong 
 party to relieve us can get us out of the scrape. As long 
 as we keep within these walls we are strong ; on the open 
 field, encumbered with women and children, a dozen horse- 
 men might ride us down." 
 
 " We must wait then," said Anton gloomily. 
 
 " Well said, after all. The whole of human wisdom 
 consists in never putting to one's-self, or to others, questions 
 which nobody can answer. The affair threatens to be 
 tedious " 
 
 The friends came down again, and hour after hour passed, 
 weary houi's of leaden inactivity. First Anton, then Fink, 
 looked through the glass at the opening into the wood. 
 There was little to be seen ; patrols came and went ; armed 
 peasants entered the village, and were despatched in differ- 
 ent directions ; the sentinels were regularly inspected and 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 259 
 
 relieved every two hours ; the besiegers were busy in search- 
 ing and disarming the surrounding villages, in order to 
 make a more vigorous assault than ever on the castle. 
 
 The Germans were pent up in their fortress like a 
 wild beast in its lair, and the huntsmen waited with calm 
 confidence for the time when hunger, or else fire, should 
 complete their conquest. 
 
 Meanwhile Fink tried to employ his people ; made the 
 men clean and brighten their arms, and himself inspected 
 them aU ; next, powder and lead were given out, bullets 
 cast and cartridges made. Anton showed the women how 
 to clean the house and the court, as well as they could, 
 without water. All this had the good efi'ect of keeping 
 the prisoners occupied for a few hours. 
 
 The sun rose higher, and the breeze wafted the peaceful 
 chime of beUs from the nearest village. 
 
 " Our breakfast will be sparing enough," said Anton to 
 his comrades. " The potatoes are roasted in the ashes, 
 meat and bacon are finished ; and the cook cannot bake, 
 for we are again without water." 
 
 " As long as we have the milk-cow in the stable," re- 
 plied Fink, " we still possess a treasure which we can dis- 
 play to the hungry ones. Next, we have the mice in the 
 castle, and, finally, our boots. He who has been con- 
 demned to eat beef-steaks in this coimtry, ought not to find 
 boot-leather a tough diet." 
 
 The forester interrupted them. " A single horseman is 
 coming from the farm-yard to the castle with a woman 
 behind him. I lay anything it is Rebecca." 
 
 The horseman approached the front door waving a white 
 handkerchief, halting near the burnt fragments of the great 
 
260 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 wagon, and looking at the windows of the upper storey. It 
 was the envoy of the preceding day. 
 
 " We will not be so unpolite as to keep the gentleman 
 waiting," said Fink, pushing back the bolts, and appearing 
 unarmed on the threshold. The Pole silently bowed ; Fink 
 raised his cap. 
 
 " I told you yesterday evening," began the former, " that 
 I should have the pleasure of seeing you again." 
 
 " Ah !" replied Fink ; " you, then, were the gentleman 
 who occasioned us all that smoke 1 It was a pity to spoil 
 the wagon." 
 
 " You prevented your men from firing on me yesterday," 
 continued the Pole in German, spoken with a hard foreign 
 accent. " I am grateful to you for it, and anxious to 
 prove myself so. I hear that there are ladies in the castle ; 
 this girl brings them milk. We know that you are without 
 water, and I should not wish the ladies to be inconvenienced 
 by our conflict." 
 
 " Jackanapes !" muttered the forester. 
 
 " If you will permit me to give you a few bottles of 
 wine in exchange for your milk," replied Fink, " I will 
 accept your present with thanks. I presume that you 
 have no superfluity of this commodity at your command." 
 
 " Very good," said the Pole, smiling. Rebecca hurried 
 with her pitcher to the yard gate, gave in the milk and 
 received the wine from the gTowling forester. The Pole 
 continued : " Even if you be weU supplied with wine, it 
 cannot serve instead of water. Your garrison is numerous, 
 and we hear that you have many women and children in 
 the house." 
 
 " I should consider it no hardship," replied Fink, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 261 
 
 " for these women and cliiklren to drink wine as well 
 as we men, till you do us the favour which I yesterday 
 requested, of leaving this estate and the brook yonder 
 altogether." 
 
 " Do not hope it, sir," said the Pole gravely ; " we shall 
 employ all our strength*to disarm you ; we know now that 
 you have no artillery, and it would be at any time in our 
 power to force an entrance. But you have held out like 
 brave men, and we do not wish to go further than is abso- 
 lutely necessary." 
 
 " Prudent and sensible," replied Fink. 
 
 " Therefore I make you a proposal which need not offend 
 your self-respect. You have no relief to hope for. Be- 
 tween your soldiers and this village there is a strong body 
 of our troops. A collision of both armies is expected in 
 the course of the next few days, at no great distance from 
 here, and your generals are, therefore, unable to detach any 
 number of men, I am telling you no news, — you know 
 this as well as I. Therefore I promise to you and to all 
 within these walls, a safe-conduct, if you will give up the 
 castle and your fire-arms. We are ready to escort you and 
 the ladies in any direction that you may wish, as far as 
 our occupation of the country extends." 
 
 Fink replied more seriously than he had hitherto done, 
 " May I ask who it is whose word of honour would be 
 pledged to me ?" 
 
 " Colonel Zlotowsky," replied the horseman with a slight 
 bow. 
 
 " Your ofter, sir," returned Fink, " demands our thanks. 
 I have no doubt of its sincerity, and will assume that you 
 have influence enough over your companions to carry it 
 
262 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 out. But as I am not the master of this house, I must 
 communicate your proposal to him." 
 
 " I will wait," replied the Pole, retreating to a distance 
 of about thirty yards, and stopping opposite the door. 
 
 Fink closed it, and said to Anton, " Let us go to the 
 Baron at once. What should you think best V 
 
 " To hold out," replied Anton. 
 
 They found the Baron in his room, his head resting on 
 his hands, his face distorted, a picture of distress and ner- 
 vous agitation. Fink told him of the Pole's offer, and 
 begged for his decision. 
 
 The Baron replied, " I have perhaps suffered more 
 hitherto than any of the brave men who have risked their 
 lives in this house. It is a horrible feeling to be 
 obliged to sit still, when honour summons one to the 
 foremost ranks. But for this very reason I have no right 
 to dictate to you. He who is incapable of fighting, has no 
 right to decide when the fight shall cease. Nay, I have 
 hardly a right to tell you my views, because I fear that 
 they may influence your high-hearted minds. Besides 
 which, unfortunately, I do not know the men who defend 
 me ; I cannot judge of their mood, or of their strength. I 
 confidently leave everything to you, and place the fate of 
 my nearest and dearest in your hands. May Heaven re- 
 ward you for what you do for me ! Yet not for me, for 
 God's sake not for me — the sacrifice would be too great," 
 cried he in utmost excitement, raising his folded hands and 
 sightless eyes to heaven ; " think of nothing but the cause 
 that we defend." 
 
 " Since you repose so generous a trust in us," said Fink 
 with chivalrous bearing, " we are resolved to hold your 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 263 
 
 castle so long as we have the very least hope of relief. 
 Meanwhile there are serious contingencies to be antici- 
 pated ; our men may refuse to fight longer, or the enemy 
 may force an entrance." 
 
 " My wife and daughter beg, as I do also, that you will 
 not consider them at a time like this. Go, gentlemen ! " 
 cried the Baron with outstretched arms ; "the honour of an 
 old soldier is in your hands." 
 
 Both bowed low before the blind man, and left the room. 
 " After all, there is honour in the man," said Fink, nodding 
 as he went along. Then he opened the door and the ofl&cer 
 rode up. 
 
 " The Baron Rothsattel thanks you for your proposal ; 
 but he is resolved to defend his house, and the property of 
 those who have trusted to him, to the very utmost. We 
 cannot accept your offer." 
 
 " Take, then, the consequences," cried the oflScer, " and 
 the responsibility of all that must ensue." 
 
 " I will take the responsibility," said Fink ; " but I have 
 still one request to make from you. Besides the wives and 
 children of the country-people, there are two ladies in the 
 castle, the wife and daughter of the Baron Rothsattel ; if an 
 accident should enable you to occupy this house, I recom- 
 mend these defenceless ones to the protection of your 
 honour." 
 
 "I am a Pole !" cried the officer, proudly rising in his 
 stirrups. Then taking off his hat he galloped back to the 
 farm-yard. 
 
 " He looks a bold fellow," said Fink, turning to the men 
 who had gathered round him from the guard-room ; " but, 
 my friends, when one has the choice of trusting to an 
 
264 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 enemy's promises, or to this little iron barrel, I always think 
 it best to rely upon what we have in our hand." 
 He shook his rifle as he spoke. 
 
 " The Pole promises safe-conduct," continued Fink, " be- 
 cause he knows that in a couple of hours his band will be 
 dispersed by our soldiers. We should be a good bite for 
 him with our thirty guns. And then if our cavalry came, 
 and instead of us, who sent for them, found the house full 
 of that rabble yonder, they would send a rattling curse 
 after us, and we should be disgraced for ever." 
 
 " I wonder whether he meant fair V inquired one of the 
 men doubtingly. 
 
 Fink took him confidentially by the lappet of his coat. 
 "I do believe, my boy, that he meant fair ; but I ask 
 you how far one could calculate upon the discipline of 
 those men? We should not get much beyond the wood 
 yonder before another party would overtake us, and the 
 women and our property would be maltreated before our 
 eyes ; and so I calculate we shall do best to show them 
 our teeth." 
 
 Warm approbation followed this speech, and a few 
 hurrahs were raised for the young gentlemen in the 
 castle. 
 
 " We thank you," said Fink ; " and now all of you to 
 your posts, my men, for it may chance that you will get a 
 few cracks on your heads again. That will keep them 
 quiet for an hour or two," said he, turning to Anton. " I 
 don't expect an attack by day, but it is better for them to 
 stand at their posts, than to be putting their heads together. 
 It was unlucky that they should have heard the negotia- 
 tions." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 265 
 
 But even the severe discipline which Fink maintained, 
 did not avail to ward off the depression which fell upon the 
 little garrison as the day wore on. The Pole's proposal 
 had been heard by many; even the women had in their 
 curiosity opened their door, and pushed into the hall. 
 Quietly, gradually fear began to take possession of the 
 men's hearts, and, contagious as a disease, it spread from 
 one to the other. It broke out, too, in the women's apart- 
 ments. Suddenly some of them felt a great desire for 
 water, complaining of thirst, first timidly, then louder, 
 pressing against the ,door of the kitchen, and beginning to 
 sob aloud. Not long after, all the children took to scream- 
 ing for water, and many who under other circumstances 
 would not have thought about drinking at all, now felt 
 themselves unspeakably wretched. 
 
 Anton had the last bottle of wine brought out of the 
 cellar, cut the last loaf and soaked it in the wine, giving 
 a piece to each, assuring them that it was the best remedy 
 against thirst, and that if one held it in the mouth, he 
 would be quite unable to drink water, even if paid for 
 it. This expedient answered for a time, but terror found 
 other avenues by which to enter. Many began to consider 
 whether they would have lost anything in giving up an old 
 gun, and gaining thereby their liberty, and the right to go 
 where they would. This view of things was loudly combated 
 by the forester, who placed himself in the midst of the guard- 
 room, and resolutely replied : "I tell you, Gottlieb Fitzner, 
 and you, you stout Bokel, that the giving away our guns 
 would be a mere trifle to any of us ; the only thing is, that 
 any one of you to whom this vile thought could occur, would 
 be a low, mean, cowardly scoundrel, who would make me sick 
 
266 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 whenever I saw him." To which proposition Fitzner and 
 Bokel eagerly acceded, and Bokel declared that, for his part, 
 he could stand such a fellow just as little as the forester 
 himself. So that danger was averted. But the unemployed 
 sentinels were engaged in anxious conversation. The castle 
 forces were contrasted with those of the enemy, and 
 finally the slight nature of the palings in the yard became 
 the leading object of a searching criticism. It was clear 
 that the next attack would be directed against them, 
 and the most stout-hearted admitted that they could offer 
 little resistance. Even the faithful smith shook them with 
 his strong hand, and by no means admired the manner in 
 which they were nailed together. 
 
 In the middle of the day these attacks of timidity 
 were not actually dangerous, for the greatest portion 
 of the men were waiting ready armed for the enemy's 
 approach. But as the sun began to decline without any 
 attack, and without the sentinels on the top of the tower 
 announcing any prospect of relief, inactivity and exhaustion 
 combined to increase the universal distress. Their dinner 
 had been unsatisfying : potatoes burnt to a cinder, and a little 
 salt ; no wonder that they should again begin to be thirsty, 
 and that the women should return and complain to Anton 
 that his expedient had only availed for a very short time. 
 Among the men, too, fear, hunger, and thirst spread fast 
 from one storey to another. Anton had served out a double 
 ration of brandy, but that did not avail. Several of the 
 men became, not rebellious, but weaker and more de- 
 pressed. Fink looked with contemptuous smile at these 
 symptoms of a condition of which his elastic spirit and iron 
 nerves had no experience. But Anton, to whom all came 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 267 
 
 with petitions and laments, felt the whole distress of these 
 hours. Something must be done to help eflBiciently, or all 
 was lost. Accordingly he went into the court-yard, deter- 
 mined to sacrifice the cow. He walked up to her, stroked 
 her neck : " Lizzie, my poor beast, you must go," said he. 
 As he led her out, his eye fell upon the empty water-butt, 
 and a happy thought flashed across him. The yard was 
 only raised a few feet above the brook — the whole district 
 was full of springs, it was probable that if dug for here, 
 water might be found, and it would be an easy thing for 
 the garrison to dig a well. If the earth excavated were 
 pushed up against tlie palings, their strength would be con- 
 siderably increased, and what was the chief thing, the work 
 would set all idle hands going, and might last for hours, 
 nay days. He knew, indeed, from former attempts, that the 
 water immediately about the castle was muddy, and in ordi- 
 nary times undrinkable, but that did not signify to-day. 
 Anton looked up at the sun, there was not a minute to be 
 lost. He called the superintendent into the court, and the 
 latter joyfully agreeing to the proposal — all the unoccupied 
 hands about the castle, and the women and children too — 
 the labourers' implements were produced, and in a few 
 minutes ten men with spades and rakes were occupied in 
 digging a large hole in the middle of the court, while the 
 women and children heaped the thrown-up earth against 
 the palings. Some men, and such of the women as were 
 still to be had, were summoned by Anton to the slaughter 
 of the poor cow, who was once more exhibited before she 
 fell a victim to the exigencies of the day. Soon all were in 
 full employment. The well-mouth, which was far wider than 
 would have been required for an ordinary shaft, deepened 
 
268 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 visibly, and a wall rose inside the jDalings, which seemed 
 the work of friendly undergi'ound gnomes. The people 
 worked as they had never in their life done before, the men's 
 spades emulated each other, little bare legs sprang actively 
 over the ground, wooden shoes and slippers left deep traces 
 in the mound of earth. Each wanted to work, there were 
 more hands than space in which to move them. All sad- 
 ness and anxiety were over and gone. Jests were bandied 
 about. Even Fink came to look on, and said to Anton, 
 " You are a missionary, and you know how to promote 
 the spiritual good of your people." 
 
 "They work!" replied Anton with greater cheerfulness 
 than he had felt for the last four-and-twenty hours. 
 
 The well had now become so deep that it became necessary 
 to have a ladder to descend by ; the ground got damper 
 and damper, till the men worked in a perfect swamp. The 
 mud had to be taken out in buckets; but the people were 
 more eager than ever, and the buckets tiew from hand to 
 hand, while all laughed like children at the mud-sprinkling 
 their impatience got. The mud-wail rose rapidly above the 
 palings, and wood and stones were flung in to consolidate it. 
 Anton could hardly get the little doorway kept open. Mean- 
 while, there was restless agitation among the enemy. Horse- 
 men rode rapidly along the line of sentries, and watched the 
 progress of the new fortification : from time to time, one 
 would venture nearer than the rest, then withdraw as soon 
 as the forester raised his gun above the wall. Thus hour 
 after hour passed ; the sun sank dovm, and the red light of 
 evening sufiused the sky. But those in the courtyard took 
 no heed of it, for at the bottom of the well the men were 
 standing up to their waists in water. It was a yellow, 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 269 
 
 dirty liquid enough; but the people stared down the hole 
 as though streams of gold were flowing there. At last, 
 when the twilight shadows lay dark on its mouth, Anton 
 ordered the diggers to leave the well. A coarse sheet was 
 brought, and laid over the water-butt, and the water strained 
 through it. 
 
 " My horses first," cried one of the servants, snatching a 
 bucketful for the thirsting animals. 
 
 " When it has settled a little, it will be as good as river- 
 water," exclaimed the smith in delight. 
 
 As for the diggers, they were never tired of tasting ; and 
 each triumphantly corroborated the worthy man's assertion. 
 Meanwhile, Anton had fresh palings driven into the mud- 
 rampart, and the strong planks of the potato-carts securely 
 fastened to them. At night-fall all was finished. The 
 women kept straining water into the butt. Great joints 
 of meat were taken to the kitchen, where a brisk fire was 
 crackling away ; and the cheerfid hopes of an excellent 
 supper rose in the hearts of the besieged. 
 
 Then the drums of the enemy were again heard, and 
 the shrill call of Fink's whistle vibrated through the castle. 
 For a moment the men in the courtyard stood still ; they 
 had, during the last few hours, thought little about the 
 foe. Then all rushed into the guard-room, and caught up 
 their arms. The lower storey was doubly occupied. The 
 forester hurried off with a strong detachment to the court- 
 yard, and clambered up the new wall. 
 
 " The crisis approaches," whispered Fink to Anton ; " in 
 the course of the last few hours, strong parties have come 
 into the village, and just now a troop of horsemen has 
 joined them. We shall not be able to hold out for a 
 
270 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 second night. They will attack on both sides at once, and 
 with the help of short ladders they will soon make their 
 way into the castle. And that they know, for you may see 
 that every band that leaves the village is armed with axes 
 and ladders. Let us meet our inevitable doom with spirit : 
 the praise is yours if we are beaten like men and not like 
 cowards. I have been with the Baron ; he and the ladies 
 are prepared ; they will all remain together in his room. 
 If you have a few words to spare when one of the Messieurs 
 of the party walks in over you, remind him of the ladies. 
 God willing, Anton, I'll take the courtyard side — ^you the 
 front." 
 
 " It seems to me impossible," cried Anton, " that we 
 should be beaten. I have never had so good a hope as in 
 this very hour." 
 
 " Hope of relief ! " said Fink, shrugging his shoulders, 
 and pointing through the window at the enemy. " If it 
 comes in an hour's time it comes too late. Since Rebecca's 
 cannon exploded, we are in the hands of the foe as soon as 
 they choose to storm in earnest. And they will choose ! 
 One must not indulge in illusions that glow no longer than 
 a cigar. Give me your hand, my dear fellow, and fare- 
 well !" 
 
 He pressed Anton's hand, and a proud smile beamed 
 again over his face. So stood the friends, each looking 
 affectionately at the face of the other, uncertain whether he 
 should ever behold it again. " Farewell ! " cried Fink, 
 taking up his rifle, as their hands parted ; but all at once 
 he seemed rooted to the ground, and intently listened, for 
 above the drums of the foe, and the tramp of their 
 approach, a clear sound rang through the night air, a 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 271 
 
 meny pealing fanfare^ and in reply to it there came from 
 the village the regular beat of a drum of the line, then a 
 loud discharge of artillery, and a distant hurrah. 
 
 " They come ! " was the cry on all sides ; " our soldiers 
 come !" 
 
 The forester rushed into the hall. "The red-caps !" he 
 screamed out. " They are riding up along the brook to 
 the bridge, and the infantry are storming the village from 
 behind !" 
 
 " Now our side !" cried Fink ; " prepare for a sally !" 
 
 The bolts were shot back ; the whole garrison was out 
 in a moment ; and Anton could hardly get the superinten- 
 dent and a few of the servants to return and take care of 
 the house. The forester rapidly marshalled the men into 
 order, while Fink looked at the position of the combatants. 
 The columns of infantry advanced through the village. 
 The ceaseless discharges showed how inveterate the fight 
 was ; but the soldiery slowly approached, the enemy yield- 
 ed, a few fugitives had already run out of the farm-yard. 
 Meanwhile a detachment of hussars crossed the brook 
 opposite the castle, driving small parties of the besiegers 
 before them. Fink led his men round the house, and 
 stationed them at the corner that lay nearest to the village. 
 " Patience !" cried he ; " and when I lead you on, don't for- 
 get your pass-word, or you will be ridden and trodden down 
 in the dark like the others." 
 
 It was with the greatest difficulty that the men were 
 kept in rank, such was their impatience. 
 
 A single horseman now came riding towards them. 
 " Hurrah, Rothsattel ! " cried he, while still at a dis- 
 tance. 
 
272 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Sturm !" called out a dozen voices ; and Anton 
 sprang forward to greet his ally. 
 
 " We have them," said Karl. " They had occupied the 
 Rosmin high-road, but I led our men by by-paths through 
 the woods." 
 
 A dark mass was visible at the end of the village, with 
 riders in advance. The enemy halted and assembled in 
 the farm-yard. 
 
 " Now for it ! " cried Fink. 
 
 The garrison marched at a quick pace over the meadow, 
 placed themselves sideways near the first barn, and a salvo 
 from five-and-twenty guns burst upon the flank of the 
 enemy, who fell into confusion and fled across the plain. 
 Again the trumpet sounded, behind them the hussars came 
 galloping up, and cut down those that still kept their 
 ground. Karl joined them, and vanished in the fray 
 The enemy were thus driven into the fields. 
 
 The Polish cavalry now sprang forward from the village, 
 at their head the spokesman of the morning, who wdth 
 loud shouts urged his men against the hussars. 
 
 " Rothsattel !" cried a youthful voice close to Anton, 
 and heading a detachment of hussars ; a tall, slight oflScer 
 rushed against the Poles. Fink raised his rifle and aimed 
 at the Polish colonel. 
 
 " Thanks !" cried he, reeling on his horse, firing his 
 pistol with his last breath, at the breast of the hussar who 
 was riding him down. The hussar fell from his horse, and the 
 Pole's charger galloped away with his master's lifeless body. 
 
 In a few minutes more the vicinity of the castle was 
 cleared of all foes. Mght concealed the fugitives, and 
 the trees of the forest spread their sheltering branches over 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 273 
 
 the sons of the soil. In small detachments, the conquerors 
 followed the last remnant of the enemy's troops. 
 
 Before the castle, Anton knelt on the ground and sup- 
 ported the head of the prostrate horseman on his arm. 
 With tears in his eyes he looked from the dying man up 
 to his friend, who stood on one side with a group of 
 sympathizing officers. Their triumph was rendered a mute 
 one ; the peasants surrounding the spot in solemn silence. 
 The motionless form was slowly carried on their crossed 
 hands to the castle. 
 
 The Baron stood on the hall steps with his daughter, 
 ready to greet the welcome guests. As soon as Lenore saw 
 the wounded officer, she rushed down among the bearers, 
 by whom the body was silently laid at the Baron's feet, 
 and sank to the ground with a scream. 
 
 " Who is it ?" groaned the blind man, groping in the 
 air. No one answered him ; all drew back in terror. 
 
 " Father !" murmured the wounded youth, and a stream 
 of blood gushed from his mouth, 
 
 " My son ! my son !" cried the Baron in agony, and his 
 knees sank under him. 
 
 The youth had left his garrison to join the troops, which 
 were to be stationed near his parents. He had succeeded 
 in exchanging into another regiment, and in accompanying 
 the squadron sent to his father's assistance. He wished to 
 give his parents a happy surprise, and, with the raising of 
 the siege, he brought them his bleeding breast into their 
 house, and death into their hearts. 
 
 A mournful silence lay upon the high Slavonic castle. 
 The storm had raged itself to rest ; the white blossoms floated 
 silently down from the great fruit-trees in the fields, and 
 
 VOL. II. s 
 
274 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 lay pure and spotless on the ground like a white shroud. 
 Where are ye, airy schemes of the blind man, which he has so 
 striven, suffered, and sinned to realize 1 Listen, poor father ; 
 hold your breath and listen. All is still in the castle, still 
 in the forest, and yet you cannot hear the one sound of 
 which you ever thought amidst your parchments and your 
 plans, — the heart-throb of your only son, the first heir of 
 the house of Rothsattel !" 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 275 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 T\AYS of sorrow now passed over the castle, hard to 
 endure by every one who dwelt within its walls. 
 Disease lurked in the family like canker in a flower. 
 Since the dark hour when the dying son had been carried 
 into his father's presence, the Baron had never left his 
 room. His small measure of remaining strength had been 
 broken ; grief consumed mind and body. He would sit 
 silently brooding throughout the livelong day, and neither 
 the entreaties of Lenore nor the companionship of his wife 
 availed to rouse him. Wlien the fatal tidings were first 
 communicated to the Baroness, Anton had feared that the 
 fragile thread that bound her to the earth would burst, and 
 for weeks Lenore never left her side. But to the astonish- 
 ment of all she rallied ; her husband's state so claiming her 
 care, that her own sorrows and weakness seemed to pass 
 away. She appeared stronger than before, and solely 
 occupied with tending her husband — she was able to sit up 
 for hours beside his chair. It is true that the doctor used 
 to shake his head privately, and to tell Anton that this 
 sudden improvement was not to be tmsted. As for Lenore, 
 for the first few weeks after her brother's death, she was 
 invisible to all ; and now, whenever she emerged from the 
 
276 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 sick-room, it was but to answer inquiries for the invalids, 
 or to send, through Anton, messages to the doctor. 
 
 Meanwhile, beyond the walls, a stormy spring had 
 passed, succeeded by an unsettled summer. True, the 
 property had no longer to dread the horrors of civil war, 
 but the burdens that the times imposed fell heavy on the 
 establishment. Daily the blast of trumpet and beat of drum 
 were heard — castle and village alike had their complement 
 of soldiers to support, and these were frequently exchanged. 
 Anton had enough to do to provide for man and horse. 
 The slender resources of the estate itself were soon exhausted, 
 and but for Fink's labourers, they never could have got on. 
 Then there were all manner of interruptions to the work of 
 the farm. More than one acre had been trodden down at 
 the time of the siege. The men had become bewildered 
 by passing events, and had lost their relish for regular 
 employment. But, on the whole, order was maintained, 
 and the plans laid down early in the spring were being 
 carried out. The irrigation of the meadow-land prospered 
 still better ; the number of grey jackets went on increasing; 
 and this body-guard of Herr von Fink were acknowledged 
 throughout the district as a stout set, with whom it was 
 well to be on good terms. Fink himself was often away ; 
 having made and renewed the acquaintance of several 
 officers, he threw himself heart and soul into military 
 matters, and shared as a volunteer in the encounter in 
 which the insurgents had been defeated. His defence of 
 the castle had made him a marked man : he was equally 
 hated and admired by the two conflicting parties. 
 
 Weeks had passed away since the relief of the castle, 
 when Lenore appeared at the house-door, before which 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 277 
 
 Anton and the forester were holding a consultation. She 
 looked across the court-yard, where a pump now stood, and 
 over the palings from which the earth had been cleared 
 away, to the landscape, now bright with the fresh green 
 of early summer. At last she said with a sigh, " Summer 
 is come, Wohlfart, and we have not noticed it !" 
 
 Anton looked anxiously at her pale face. " It is delight- 
 ful now in the woods," said he. " I was at the forester's 
 yesterday, and since the rain, the trees and flowers are in 
 full beauty. If you would but agree to go out ! " 
 
 Lenore shook her 'head. "What do / signify?" said 
 she bitterly. 
 
 " At least hear the news which the forester has just 
 brought," continued Anton. " The man you shot was the 
 wretched Bratzky. You did not kill him. If you have 
 reproached yourself on that score, ^ I can set your mind at 
 rest." 
 
 "God be praised !" cried Lenore, folding her hands. 
 
 " That night when the forester came to us, he thought he 
 had seen the rascal sitting in the bar with his arm tied up. 
 Yesterday he was taken prisoner to Rosmin." 
 
 " Ay !" said the forester ; "a bullet does a fellow like 
 him no harm, he aims higher than that." And he laid his 
 own hand on his throat with a significant gesture. 
 
 "This has weighed on me day and night," whispered 
 Lenore to Anton ; " I have looked on myself as one under 
 a curse. I have had the most fearful dreams and visions 
 of the man as he fell, hands clenched, and the blood gush- 
 ing from his shoulder. Oh, Wohlfart, what we have gone 
 through !" And she leaned against the door, and fixed 
 her tearless eyes on the ground. 
 
278 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 A horse's hoof rung on the pavement. Fink's bay was 
 led out. 
 
 "Where is he going?" hurriedly asked Lenore. 
 
 " I do not know," replied Anton ; " he has been a great 
 deal out of late ; I see nothing of him the whole day long." 
 
 " What is he doing here with us 1 " said Lenore ; this 
 unhappy house is no place for him." 
 
 " If he would only be careful," said the forester. " The 
 Tarow people are mad at him ; they have sworn to send 
 a bullet after him, and he always rides alone, and late at 
 night." 
 
 "It is in vain to warn him," added Anton. "Do be 
 rational for once, Fritz," cried he, as his friend came out ; 
 " do not go riding alone, or at least, not through the Tarow 
 estate." 
 
 Fink shrugged his shoulders. " Ah ! so our Fraulein 
 is here ! It is so long since we have had the pleasure of 
 seeing you, that our time has hung rather heavy on our 
 hands." 
 
 " Listen to the advice of your friends," replied Lenore 
 anxiously ; " and beware of dangerous men." 
 
 "AVliyf returned Fink; "there is no straight-forward 
 danger to apprehend ; and in times like these, there is no 
 guarding against every stupid devil who may lurk behind 
 a tree ; that woidd be taking too much trouble." 
 
 " If not for your own sake, think of the anxiety of your 
 friends!" implored Lenore. 
 
 "Have I still friends?" asked Fink, laughing; "I 
 often fancy they have become faithless. My friends belong 
 to the class who perfectly understand the duty of com- 
 posure. Our worthy Wohlfart, perchance, will put an 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 279 
 
 extra handkerchief in his pocket, and wear his most solemn 
 mien if the game goes against me ; and another companion 
 in arms will console herself still more readily. Out with 
 my horse !" cried he, swinging himself on the saddle, and 
 with a slight bow, galloping away. 
 
 "There he goes, straight to Tarow," said the forester, 
 shaking his head as he watched Fink disappear. 
 
 Lenore returned in silence to her parents' room. 
 
 But late at night, long after the castle lights were all put 
 out, a curtain was drawn back, and a woman listened 
 anxiously for the sound of horses' hoofs. Hour after hour 
 passed away, and it was morning before the window closed, 
 as a rider halted at the door, and, whistling a tune, himself 
 took his horse to the stable. After a night of watching, 
 Lenore hid her aching head in her pillows. 
 
 Thus months passed away. At length the Baron, lean- 
 ing upon his daughter's arm, and on a staff, ventured out 
 into the open air — to sit silently in the shadow cast by the 
 castle w^alls, or to listen for every trifle wdiich might afford 
 possible scope for fault-finding. At these times, his de- 
 pendants in general would go a good deal out of their way 
 to avoid him, and as Anton never did this, he was not un- 
 frequently their scape-goat. Every day the Baron had to 
 hear, in return for his cross-questioning, "Mr, Wohlfart 
 ordered this," or "Mr. Wohlfart forbade that." He eagerly 
 found out what orders were given by Anton, that he might 
 countermand; and all the bitterness and disappointment 
 accummulated in the spirit of the unfortimate nobleman, 
 were concentrated in an impotent hatred to his agent. 
 
 Fink, for his part, took little heed of the Baron, merely 
 contracting his brows when he observed his quarrelsomeness 
 
280 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 towards Anton, and never saying more than, " He cannot 
 help it." 
 
 Karl was the one who got on best with the Baron, 
 never calling him anything but Captain, and making an 
 audible military salute whenever he had anything to say, 
 and this pleased the blind man. Indeed, the first token 
 of sympathy for others, which the Baron evinced, was eli- 
 cited by the bailiff. A garden chair had been warped by 
 the sun, and seemed on the point of coming to pieces. Karl, 
 as he passed by, took it up, and with his clenched fist, ham- 
 mered it together. " You are not striking with your right 
 hand, I hope, my good Sturm ?" inquired the Baron. 
 
 " Just as it happens. Captain," replied Karl. 
 
 " You should not do so," remonstrated the invalid. " An 
 injury like yours should make you careful; veiy often the 
 pain returns after long years ; you cannot be sure that this 
 may not be your case in after-life." 
 
 " A short life and a merry one. Captain," replied Karl ; 
 "I do not look forward." 
 
 " That is a very useful fellow," said the Baron to his 
 daughter. 
 
 The corn ripened, the gTeen fields turned to gold, the 
 cheerful sounds of harvest began. When the first loaded 
 T\^agon rolled into the farm-yard, Anton stood by the barn 
 and watched the sheaves put in. He was joined by Lenore, 
 who inquired, "What of the harvest 1" 
 
 " As far as we could contrive to sow this year, the returns 
 have not been bad. At least, Karl seems pleased with the 
 crop, which exceeds our calculations," cheerfully returned 
 Anton. 
 
 " Then you have one pleasure, Wohlfart," said Lenore. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 281 
 
 " It is a pleasure for all on the farm ; look at the steady 
 activity of the men. Even the idle work well to-day. But 
 what pleases me most is your question ; you have been so 
 estranged from the farm, and all that concerns the pro- 
 perty." 
 
 " Not from you, m^y friend," said Lenore, looking down. 
 
 "You must be ill!" eagerly continued Anton. " If I 
 dared, I could scold you for having thought so little about 
 your own health all this time ; your pony has become 
 quite stiff. Karl has often been obliged to use it, that it 
 might not lose the use of its limbs." 
 
 " It may go like the rest !" cried Lenore ; " I shall never 
 mount it again. Have pity upon me, Wohlfart ! I often 
 feel as if I should lose my senses ; everything in the 
 world has become indifferent to me." 
 
 "Why so savage, Fraulein ?" said a mocking voice be- 
 hind her. Lenore started, and turned round. Fink, who 
 had been absent more than a week, had joined them. 
 " See that you send off Blasius," said he to Anton, with- 
 out taking any further notice of Lenore. " The rascal has 
 been drunk again ; he flogs the horses till the poor beasts 
 are covered with wales. I have a great mind to give 
 them the satisfaction of seeing him punished before their 
 eyes." 
 
 " Have patience till after the harvest," replied Anton ; 
 " we cannot spare him now." 
 
 " Is he not a good-natured man in other respects T 
 timidly suggested Lenore. 
 
 " Good-nature is a convenient name for everything that 
 is morbid," replied Fink. "We call it good-nature in men, 
 and sensibility in women." He looked at Lenore. " How 
 
282 
 
 DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 has the poor pony sinned that you will never ride him 
 more ?" 
 
 Lenore blushed as she replied, " I find that riding giv^es 
 me headache." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Fink tauntingly ; " you once had tlie 
 advantage of being less delicate. I do not think this 
 lachrymose mood is suitable for you ; you -svill not lose yom* 
 headache thus." 
 
 Lenore, quite subdued, turned to Anton, " Have the 
 newspapers arrived 1 I came to ask for them for my 
 father." 
 
 "The footman has taken them to the Baroness's room." 
 
 Lenore turned away with a slight inclination, and went 
 back to the castle. 
 
 Fink looked after her and said to Anton, " Black does 
 not become her ; she is much faded. Hers is one of 
 those faces which only please when they are full and 
 blooming." 
 
 Anton cast a dark glance at his friend. " Your beha- 
 viour towards her has been so strange for the last few weeks, 
 that I have often felt indignant at it. I do not know what 
 your purpose may be, but you treat her with a nonchalance 
 which does not offend her alone." 
 
 "But you, too, Master Wohlfart, eh?" asked Fink, 
 looking Anton full in the face. " I was not aware that 
 you were this lady's duenna too." 
 
 " This tone will not avail you," replied Anton, more 
 quietly. " I do right to remind you that you are be- 
 having worse than ungently towards a noble creature who 
 has now a double claim upon the tender consideration of 
 us all." 
 
DEBIT AND CEEDIT. 
 
 283 
 
 " Be good enough to pay her that consideration yourself, 
 and don't trouble yourself about me and my manner," 
 returned Fink, dryly. 
 
 " Fritz," cried Anton, " I do not understand yon I It is 
 true you are inconsiderate." — 
 
 " Have you found me so V interpolated Fink. 
 
 " No !" replied Anton. " Whatever you have been to 
 others, to me you have always shown yourself generous and 
 sympathizing ; but for this very reason it pains me inex- 
 pressibly that you should have thus changed towards 
 Lenore." 
 
 " Leave that to me," returned Fink ; " every one has his 
 own way of taming birds. Let me just add, that if your 
 Fraulein Lenore be not soon shaken out of this sickly 
 way of life, she will be utterly ruined. The pony alone will 
 not do it, I know ; but you, my son, and your melancholy 
 sympathy won't do it either ; and so we will just let 
 things take their course. I am gomg to Rosmin to-day ; 
 have you any commands '?" 
 
 This conversation, although it led to no estrangement 
 between the friends, was never forgotten by Anton, who 
 silently resented Fink's dictatorial tone, and anxiously 
 watched his bearing towards Lenore, whom Fink neither 
 sought nor avoided, but simply treated as a stranger. 
 
 Anton himself had some unpleasant experiences to go 
 through. Much as he avoided communicating what was 
 unwelcome to the Baron, there was one thing he could no 
 longer spare him, and that was the settlement of his son's 
 debts. Soon after Eugene's death, numberless letters, 
 with bills enclosed, had arrived at the castle, been given 
 by Lenore to Anton, and then by him all made over, Sturm's 
 
284 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 note-of-hand included, to Councillor Horn, whose opinion 
 and advice he craved to have respecting them. This 
 opinion had now arrived. The lawyer did not disguise 
 that the note-of-hand given by young Rothsattel to the 
 porter was so informal, that it amounted to nothing more 
 than a mere receipt, and did not in any way bind the 
 Baron to pay tlie debt. Indeed, the sum was so great, that 
 immediate payment was out of the question. Then Anton 
 himself had lent the young prodigal more than eight hun- 
 dred dollars. As he drew out Eugene's note-of-hand from 
 among his papers, he looked long at the handwriting of the 
 dead. That was the sum by Avhich his imprudence had 
 purchased a share in the fate of this noble family ! And 
 what had this purchase brought him ? He had then thought 
 it a fine thing to help his aristocratic friend out of his 
 embarrassments ; now, he saw that he had only abetted his 
 downward course. He gloomily locked up his own note- 
 of-hand in his desk again, and with a heavy heart prepared 
 for a conversation with the Baron. 
 
 At the first mention of his son, the Baron fell into a state 
 of painful excitement ; and when Anton, in the flow of his 
 narrative, chanced to call the departed by his Christian 
 name, the father's pent-up anger found a vent. He inter- 
 rupted Anton by sharply saying, " I forbid you to use that 
 familiar appellation in speaking of my son. Living or dead, 
 he is still Herr von Rothsattel as far as you are concerned." 
 Anton replied with great self-command, " Herr Eugene 
 von Rothsattel had contracted debts to the amount of about 
 four thousand dollars." 
 
 " That is impossible !" broke in the Baron. 
 
 " The accredited copies of notes-of-hand and bills of 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 285 
 
 exchange which Councillor Horn has procured, place the 
 matter beyond doubt. With regard to the largest debt, 
 one of nineteen hundred dollars, the certainty is the more 
 complete, as the lender, the father of the bailiff Sturm, 
 happens to be a man of peculiar uprightness. A letter to 
 me from the departed expressly acknowledges this obliga- 
 tion." 
 
 " Then you knew of this debt," cried the Baron with in- 
 creasing anger ; and you have kept it back from me ! Is 
 this your much-vaunted fidelity ?" 
 
 It was in vain that Anton sought to explain the cir- 
 cumstances of the case. The Baron had lost all self- 
 control. " I have long ago found out," said he, " how 
 self-willed your whole line of conduct is. You take 
 advantage of my situation, to get the disposition of all 
 my means ; you make debts, you allow debts to be made, 
 you draw money, you charge it to my account, just as you 
 see fit." 
 
 " Say no more, Baron," cried Anton. " It is only com- 
 passion for your helplessness, which, at this moment, pre- 
 vents me from answering you as you deserve. How great 
 that compassion is, you may infer from the fact, that I 
 will endeavour to forget your words, and still ask you for 
 your decision ; will you, or will you not, acknowledge your 
 late son's debts, and give legal security to the porter Sturm, 
 or to his son, your bailift'?" 
 
 "I will, do nothing," cried the Baron, beside himself, 
 " that you require of me in so peremptory and pretentious 
 a tone." 
 
 " Then it is useless to speak to you any longer. I im- 
 plore you. Baron, to re-consider the affair before you pro- 
 
286 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 nouuce your final decision. I shall have the honour of 
 receiving your ultimatum this evening, and I hope that 
 ere then, your sense of honour will have triumphed over a 
 mood to which I should not wish, a second time, to expose 
 myself." 
 
 With these words he left, and heard the poor Baron 
 upsetting chairs and tables in his wrath. Scarcely had he 
 reached his room, when the confidential servant appeared, 
 and asked for the deeds and account-books, which had 
 hitherto been kept in Anton's room. Silently the latter 
 made them over to the affrighted domestic. 
 
 He was dismissed then ; rudely and summarily dismissed ; 
 his uprightness questioned — this breach was final. It was 
 a bitter hour. Even now, while indignantly pacing up and 
 down, he felt that this insult ofi'ered him was a punishment. 
 True, his aim had been pure, and his actions blameless ; 
 but the enthusiastic feelings which had led Mm hither, had 
 not availed to establish proper relations between him and 
 the Baron — those of emi)loyer and employed. It was not 
 the free-will, the rational choice of both, that had brought 
 them together, but the pressure of mysterious circum- 
 stances, and his own youthful romance. And thus he 
 had claims beyond what his situation gave him, and by 
 these the Baron was oppressed and cumbered. 
 
 These reflections were intermpted by Leuore's sudden 
 entrance. " My mother wishes to speak to you," she cried. 
 "What will you do, Wohlfart V 
 
 " I must go," said Anton gravely. " To leave you thus, 
 with your future so uncertain, is what I never could have 
 believed possible. There was but one thing which could 
 have induced me to part from you, before I had made over 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 287 
 
 the property into stronger hands. And this one thing is 
 come to pass." 
 
 "Go!" cried Lenore in utmost excitement. "All is 
 crumbling around us, there is no help to be looked for, even 
 you cannot save us ; go, and free your life from that of our 
 sinking family ! " 
 
 When Anton joined the Baroness, he found her lying on 
 the sofa. " Sit down beside me, Mr. Wohlfart," whispered 
 she. " The hour is come in which I must impart, what, to 
 spare myself, I have reserved for the hour when we speak 
 most openly to each other — the last hour spent together. 
 The Baron's illness has so affected him, that he no longer 
 appreciates your faithful help ; nay, your presence aggra- 
 vates his unhappy state. He has so hurt your feelings, that 
 reconciliation is become impossible. Even could you forget, 
 we should consider the sacrifice you would be making far 
 too great." 
 
 " I purpose leaving the property on an early day," replied 
 Anton. 
 
 " I cannot," continued the Baroness, " atone for my hus- 
 band's offences towards you ; but I wish to give you an 
 opportunity of revenging yourself in a manner worthy of 
 you. The Baron has attacked your honour ; the revenge 
 that I, his wife, offer you, is to assist him to retrieve his 
 own." 
 
 Hitherto the Baroness had spoken fluently, as was her 
 wont in society ; now she stopped, and seemed to lack 
 words. 
 
 " Years ago," she said, " he pledged his word of honour, 
 and — and broke it in a moment of desperation. The proof 
 of tliis is probably in the hands of some low man, who will 
 
288 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 use this knowledge to ruin him. That I should communi- 
 cate this to you, at a time like this, will show you the light 
 in which I regard your connexion with our house. If it be 
 possible to restore his peace of mind, you, I know, will do 
 it." She drew a letter from under the pillow, and placed 
 it in Anton's hand. 
 
 Anton took it to the window, and saw with surjorise 
 that it was in Ehrenthal's handwriting. He had to read 
 it twice before he could master its contents. In a lucid 
 interval the imbecile had happened to recall his former 
 dealings with the nobleman ; and wrote to remind him 
 of the stolen notes-of-hand, to demand his money, and to 
 threaten the Baron. The letter was full, besides, of laments 
 over his own weakness, and the wickedness of others; and 
 what its confusion left unexplained, was cleared up by the 
 copy of a note-of-hand — probably from the draught of one 
 agreed upon by the Baron and Ehrenthal, for the letter 
 mentioned the existence of the original, and threatened to 
 use it against the Baron. 
 
 Folding up the letter, Anton said, " The threats which 
 Ehrenthal connects with the copy enclosed need not disturb 
 you. Baroness ; for the note-of-hand seems to have no sig- 
 nature, and the sum which it represents is a small one." 
 
 "And do you believe that it is a true statement ?" asked 
 the Baroness. 
 
 "I do," was the reply. "This letter explains to me 
 much that hitherto I never could understand." 
 
 " I know that it is true," whispered the Baroness in so 
 low a voice that Anton scarcely heard it, while a faint 
 blush overspread her face. " And you, Mr. Wohlfart, will 
 you endeavour to get back the stolen papers for us ?" 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 280 
 
 " I will," replied Anton earnestly. " But iny hopes are 
 small. The Baron has no existing claim upon these miss- 
 ing documents. They belong to Ehrenthal; and an under- 
 standing with him is necessary in the first instance. It 
 will be difficult to bring about. And again, I very im- 
 perfectly understand the circumstances, and must request 
 you to try and inform me of all you can connected with 
 the robbery." 
 
 " I will endeavour to write to you," said the Baroness. 
 " You can draw up a list of the questions you wish answered, 
 and I will do so as well as I can. Whatever may be the 
 result of your efforts, I now thank you with all my soul. 
 Our house will never jmy the debt it owes you. If tho. 
 blessing of a dying woman can shed a brightness over your 
 future, take it with you on your way." 
 
 Anton rose. 
 
 " We shall not meet again," said the invalid ; " this is 
 our final leave-taking. Farewell, Wohlfart ! this is the last 
 time I shall see you on earth!" She held out her hand. 
 He bent over it ; and, deeply moved, quitted the room. 
 
 Yes, she deserved to be called a noble lady. Her nature 
 was noble, her insight into the character of others clear, 
 and her mode of recompensmg Anton's zeal dignified — very 
 dignified ! In her eyes at least, he had always worn a 
 powdered wig and silver knee-buckles ! 
 
 In the evening. Fink's step was heard in the corridor, 
 and entering Anton's room, he cried, " Hallo, Anton, whafs 
 up now? John slinks about as if he had broken the great 
 china vase ; and when old Babette saw me, she began to 
 wring her hands." 
 
 " I must leave this house, my friend," returned Anton 
 
 VOL. II. T 
 
290 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 gloomily. " I have had a painful scene with the Baron 
 to-day." He then proceeded to relate it, and concluded by 
 saying, " The position of this family was never so desperate 
 as now. They need the command of twenty thousand 
 dollars, to avert new misfortunes." 
 
 Fink threw himself into a chair. " First of all," said 
 he, " I hope you availed yourself as little as possible of this 
 fine opportunity of being angry. We won't waste words 
 over the scene ; the Baron is not accountable ; and between 
 ourselves, I am not surprised. I have seen all summer 
 that you could not retain your romantic connexion with 
 this family. On the other hand, it is plain that you are 
 indispensable as father-confessor to tlie ladies, and con- 
 fidential man of business to all the people around. And 
 I need not tell you, that your sudden departure cuts up 
 many a plan of mine. But now for the question : What 
 will you do?" 
 
 " I shall return as soon as possible to our own capital," 
 replied Anton. " There I shall be engaged for some time 
 in the interest of the Rothsattels. My official relations to 
 them cease from this very day, and as soon as the Baron's 
 family estate is sold, I shall consider my moral obligations 
 to them cancelled." 
 
 " Good !" said Fink ; " that's all right. If you ever set 
 pen to paper again on their behalf, it can only be from a 
 sense of compassion. Another point is that Rothsattel has 
 brought a curse upon himself by his folly ; for without you 
 things can't go on as they do for another month. Now, 
 then, Master Anton, comes the question, what will be 
 done here ?" 
 
 " I have thought of that the whole day," retui'ned Anton ; 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 291 
 
 " and I do not know. There is only one possible plan, and 
 that is, that you should undertake that part of my office 
 which Karl cannot fill." 
 
 " Thank you," said Fink, " both for your good opinion 
 and your friendly offer. You have been, excuse me, a 
 good-natured fool. I am not of that stamp. In a week's 
 time I should be under the unpleasant necessity of mal- 
 treating the Baron. Have you no other plan to pro- 
 pose V 
 
 " None !" cried Anton. " If you do not with all your 
 heart and soul undertake the management of the property, 
 all that we have effected during the last year wiU be 
 undone, and our German colony will go to ruin." 
 
 " It will," said Fink. 
 
 " And you, Fritz," continued Anton, " have, through 
 your intimacy with me, become involved in its fate, and are 
 thus in danger of losing too." 
 
 " Spoken like a book !" said Fink. " You run off and 
 leave me here tied and bound. I'll tell you what — wait 
 for me here ; I will first of all speak a few words to 
 Lenore." 
 
 "What are you going to do?" cried Anton, holding 
 him fast. 
 
 "Not to make love !" replied Fink, laughing. "You 
 may rely upon that, my boy !" He rang the bell, and 
 requested an interview with Fraulein Lenore in the draw- 
 ing-room. 
 
 \^Tien Lenore entered with eyes red from weeping, and 
 only maintaining her composure by a strong effort, he 
 politely advanced and led her to the sofa. 
 
 " I abstain from commenting upon what has passed to- 
 
202 
 
 DEBIT A>'D CiiEDlT. 
 
 day," began he. " We will assume that my friend's presence 
 in the capital will be more desirable for your family interests 
 than his stay here. From all I hear, this is really the 
 case. Wohlfart leaves the day after to-morrow." 
 Lenore hid her face in her hands. 
 
 Fink coldly continued : Meanwhile my own interests 
 require that I should attend to them. I have spent several 
 months here, and acquired a share in this estate. For this 
 reason, I request you to be the bearer of a message from 
 me to your father : I am prepared to purchase this estate 
 from the Baron." 
 
 Lenore started and rose up, wringing her hands, and 
 exclaiming, "For the second time!" 
 
 " Be kind enough quietly to hear me," continued Fink. 
 " I by no means intend to jjlay towards the Baron the part 
 of angel of deliverance. I have less of the angelic nature 
 about me than our patient Anton, and feel in no way 
 inclined to make any offer to your father that will not 
 advance my own interest. Let us look upon each other as 
 opponents, and my proposal, as it really is, prompted by self- 
 love. My offer then is as follows : The price of this estate, 
 if reckoned at a sum that would secure the Baron from loss, 
 would amount to more than a hundred and sixty thousand 
 dollars. I offer him the outside of what I consider its 
 present worth — that is, I will accept all its liabilities, and 
 pay the Baron twenty thousand dollars, in the course of 
 twenty-four hours. Till next Easter, I should wish to leave 
 the castle in your hands, and to remain here as your guest, 
 if this could be arranged without inconvenience. In point 
 of fact, I should generally be absent, and in no way burden- 
 some to.jou." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 293 
 
 Lenore looked wistfully in his face, which was at this 
 moment hard as that of a genuine Yankee ; the remnant of 
 her composure gave way, and she burst into tears. 
 
 Fink quietly leant back in his chair, and, without heed- 
 ing her, continued : You see I ofi'er you a loss, probably 
 that of half your inheritance. The Baron has been so 
 precipitate in investing his capital in this property, that his 
 family must needs suffer ; for tlie market-price of it, in its 
 present state, would assuredly not exceed my offer. I 
 should be acting dishonourably if I disguised from you, 
 that, properly cultivated, it would probably be worth twice 
 as much in a few years' time, but not, I am firmly con- 
 vinced, under the Baron's management. Had Anton re- 
 mained, it might have been possible, but that hope is over. 
 I will not conceal from you either, that Wohlfart has even 
 proposed to me to occupy his situation." 
 
 Lenore, in the midst of her sobs, here made a depreca- 
 ting gesture. 
 
 " I am glad," continued Fink, " that we are of the same 
 mind on that subject, I considered the proposal quite out 
 of place, and rejected it at once." He then stopped and 
 looked searchingly at the girl before him, whose heart was 
 torn by his words. He spoke harshly to her, he for whose 
 smile, whose kindly glance, she would have done anything. 
 He mentioned her father with ill -concealed contempt, 
 his language was that of a hard egotist ; and yet his ofier 
 seemed a blessing in her helpless condition, and with 
 the second-sight of a loving heart, she divined a meaning 
 in it that she did not indeed fully understand, but which 
 shone into her abyss of sorrow like a distant ray of hope. 
 However he might phrase it, this offer proceeded from no 
 
294 
 
 DEBIT AND CliEDlT. 
 
 ordinary motives ; and her convulsive sobs giving way to 
 tj[uiet tears, she tried to rise from the sofa, but sank to the 
 floor near his chair, the very picture of sorrowful submis- 
 sion. " You do not deceive me," murmured she ; " do 
 with us what you will." 
 
 A proud smile passed over Fink's face as he bent over 
 her, wound his arm round her head, pressed a kiss on her 
 hair, and said, " My comrade, I will that you should be 
 free." Lenore's head fell on his breast ; she wept, softly 
 supported by his arm ; at last taking her hand, he jjressed 
 it tenderly. " Henceforth let us understand each other. 
 You shall be free, Lenore, both as regards me and all 
 others. You are losing one who has shown you the self- 
 sacrificing tenderness of a brother, and I am glad that he 
 is leaving you. I do not yet ask you whether you will 
 share my fate as my wife, for you are not now free to 
 answer as your heart dictates. Your pride shall not say 
 me nay, and your ' yes' shall not lessen your self-respect. 
 When the curse that lies on your house is done away with, 
 and you are free to remain with or leave me, your decision 
 shall be made. Till then, an honourable friendship, comrade 
 mine ! " 
 
 And now Fink went on in another voice : " Let us 
 think of nothing but our property ; dry up those tears, 
 which I am not fond of seeing in your blue eyes ; and 
 impart the business-half of my proposal to your father and 
 mother. If not before, I request an answer by this time 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Lenore went to the door, then returned, and silently 
 offered him her hand. 
 
 Slowly Fink returned to his friend's room. " Do you 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 295 
 
 remember, Anton," asked he, " what you told me of your 
 patriotism the day of my arrival here f 
 
 " We have often spoken on the subject since then." 
 
 " It made an impression on me," continued Fink. " This 
 property shall not fall again under a Bratzky's sceptre. I 
 shall buy it if the Baron consents." 
 
 Anton started. "And Lenore ?" 
 
 " She will share her parents' fate ; we have just settled 
 that." He then told his friend the offer he had made. 
 
 " Now I hope that all will end well," cried Anton. "We 
 shall see." 
 
 " What a purgatory for the sinner up-stairs ! I am glad 
 I don't hear his groans !" said Fink. 
 
 The following morning the servant brought each of the 
 friends a letter from the Baron's room ; the one of apology 
 and thanks to Anton, the other of acceptance to Fink. 
 These they read, and then silently exchanged. 
 
 " So the matter is settled," cried Fink at length. " I 
 have run half over the world, and everywhere found some- 
 thing to object to; and now I bury myself in this sand- 
 hole, where I must kindle a nightly fire to scare the Polish 
 wolf. As for you, Anton, raise your head and look before 
 you, for if I have found a home, you are going back to where 
 the best part of your heart is. And so, my boy, let's go 
 over your instructions once more. Your first commission 
 is to find certain stolen papers. Think, too, of the second. 
 Do what you can to secure to the family the little they 
 have saved in this quarter, and see that their old estate, 
 when sold by auction, is bid up to a price that will 
 cover all mortgages. You must go, I see, and I do not 
 ask you to remain at present, but you know that, under 
 
296 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 all circumstances, iny home is yours. And now, one thing 
 more. I should be sony to lose the bailiff ; employ your 
 eloquence to induce your trusty Sancho to remain here, at 
 least over the winter." 
 
 " No one knows, as yet, that I am leaving," replied 
 Anton ; " he must be the first to hear it. I am going to 
 him." 
 
 The dirty dwelling, which Bratzky once occupied, 
 had changed, under Karl's management, to a comfortable 
 abode, which had only one drawback, that of being too full 
 of useful things, and smelling strongly of glue. Often and 
 often Anton had sat in it to rest and refresh himself by 
 Karl's cheery ways ; and as he glanced at each familiar 
 object, his heart sank at the prospect of leaving his faith- 
 ful, unexacting ally. Leaning against the joiner's table in 
 the window, he said, " Put your accounts by, Karl, and let 
 us have a serious word or two." 
 
 " Now for it," cried Karl; "something has been brewing 
 for a long while, and I see by your face that the crisis is 
 come." 
 
 " I am going away, my friend." 
 
 Karl let his pen fall, and silently stared at the grave 
 face opposite him. 
 
 " Fink undertakes the management of the property which 
 he has just bought." 
 
 " Hurrah !" cried Karl ; "if Herr von Fink be the man, 
 why, all's right ! I give you joy, with all my heart," 
 said he, shaking Anton's hand, "that things have turned 
 out thus. In the spring I had other foolish notions. But 
 it's all regular and right now, and our farming is safe too." 
 
 " I hope so," said Anton, smiling. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 297 
 
 " But you ?" continued Karl, his face growing suddenly 
 grave. 
 
 " I go back to our capital, where I have some business 
 to do for the Baron, and then I shall look out for a stool 
 in an office." 
 
 " And here we have worked together for a year," said 
 Karl sadly ; " you have had all the pains, and another 
 will have the profits." 
 
 " I go back to my proper place. But it is of your future, 
 not mine, dear Karl, that I am now come to speak." 
 
 " Of course I go bcick with you," cried Karl. 
 
 " I come to implore you not to do so. Could we set up 
 together, we would never part ; but I am not in a position 
 for this. I must seek another situation. Part of the little 
 I possessed is gone ; I leave no richer than I canie ; so we 
 should have to separate when we got home." 
 
 Karl looked down and meditated. " Mr. Anton," said 
 he, " I hardly dare to speak of what I do not understand. 
 You have often told me that my old governor is an owl 
 who sits on money-bags. How would it do," stammered 
 he in embarrassment, working away at the chair with one 
 of his tools, " that if what is in the iron chest be not too 
 little for you, you should take it ; and if anything can be 
 made of it — it is very presumptuous of me — perhaps I 
 might be useful to you as a partner. It is only an idea, 
 and you must not be offended." 
 
 Anton, much moved, replied : " Look you, Karl, your 
 offer is just like your generous self, but I should do wrong 
 to accept it. The money is your father's ; and even if he 
 gave his consent, as I believe he would, such a plan would 
 involve great risk. At all events, his substance would be 
 
298 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 better invested in your own calling, than in one you might 
 enter into out of love for me. So it is better for you, my 
 friend, that we part." 
 
 Karl snatched his pocket-handkerchief, and blew his 
 nose violently before he asked : " And you won't make 
 use of the money ? You would be sure to give us good 
 interest 
 
 " Impossible !" replied Anton. 
 
 " Then I'll go back to my father, and hide my head in 
 some hay-loft about home," cried Karl in high dudgeon. 
 
 " That you must not do," said Anton. " You have be- 
 come better acquainted with the property than any other ; 
 it were a sin to tlirow that knowledge away. Fink wants 
 a man like you ; the farm cannot possibly spare you till next 
 summer. When we came here, it was not to benefit our- 
 selves, but to improve the land. My work is over, you are 
 in the midst of yours, and you will sin against yourself 
 and your task if you forsake it now." 
 
 Karl hung his head. 
 
 " One thing that used to distress me, was the meagre 
 salary that the estate could afford you ; — that will be 
 changed now." 
 
 " Don't let us speak of that," said Karl proudly. 
 
 " We ought to speak of it," returned Anton ; " for a 
 man does wrong when he devotes the best gifts he has, to 
 an occupation that does not adequately repay him. 'Tis an 
 unnatural life ; and good results can scarcely be expected, 
 take my word for that. I therefore beg you to remain, at 
 least till next summer, when, owing to the extended scale 
 of farming operations, an experienced inspector may occupy 
 your post." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 299 
 
 "Then," said Karl, "may I go ?" 
 
 " Fink would always like to keep you, but should you 
 leave him, remember, Karl, our frequent conversations 
 during the past year. You have become accustomed to a 
 life among strangers, and have all a colonist's claims to a 
 new soil. If higher duties do not urge you home, your 
 place is to remain here as one of us. If you leave this 
 estate, buy land from the Poles. You, with the plough- 
 share in your hand, will be still a German soldier ; for the 
 boundary of our tongue and our customs is gaining upon 
 our enemies." So saying, he pointed to the east. 
 
 Karl reached out his hand, and said, " I remain." 
 
 When Anton left the bailiff, he found Lenore at the door. 
 " I am waiting for you," cried she ; " come with me, AVohl- 
 fart ; while you remain here, you belong to me." 
 
 " If your words were less friendly," replied Anton, " I 
 might fancy that you were secretly glad to get rid of me, 
 for I have not seen you so cheerful for a long time. Head 
 erect, rosy cheeks; even the black dress has vanished !" 
 
 " This is the dress I wore when we drove together in 
 the sledge, and you admired it then. I am vain," cried 
 she, with a mournful smile. " I wish that the impression 
 you carry away with you of me should be a pleasant 
 one. Anton, friend of my youth, what a mystery it is 
 that on the very first day free from care that I have known 
 for years we must part. The estate is sold, and I breathe 
 again. What a life it has been of late years ! always 
 anxious, oppressed, humbled by friend and foe ; always in 
 debt, either for money or services ; it was fearful. Not as 
 far as you were concerned, Wohlfart. You are my child- 
 hood's friend ; and if you were in trouble of any kind, it 
 
300 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 ■would be happiness to me if you would call me, and say : 
 ' Now I want you ! now come to me, wild Lenore.' I will be 
 wild no longer. I will think of all you have said to me." 
 Thus she ran on in her excitement, her eyes beaming. She 
 hung on his arm, which she had never done before, and 
 drew him in and out of eveiy building in the ftirm-yard. 
 *' Come, Wohlfart ; let us take a last walk through the 
 farm which was once ours. We bought this cow with the 
 white star together," cried she ; " you asked for my opinion 
 of her, and that pleased me much." 
 
 Anton nodded. "We neither of us were very sure 
 about it, and Karl had to decide." 
 
 " "V\Tiat do you mean ? You paid for her, and I gave her 
 her first hay, consequently she belongs to us both. Just 
 look at this lovely black calf. Mr. Sturm threatens to paint 
 its eai-s red, that it may look a perfect little demon." She 
 knelt down beside it, stroked and hugged it, then suddenly 
 starting up, she cried, " I don't know why I should make 
 so much of it ; it is mine no longer, it belongs to somebody 
 else." Yet there was mu'th in her tone of pretended re- 
 gret. "Come to the pony now," she said; "my poor 
 little fellow ! He has grown old since the day when I rode 
 after you through our garden." 
 
 Anton caressed the favourite, who turned his head now 
 to him, now to Lenore. 
 
 " Do you know how it happened that I met you on the 
 pony?" said Lenore to Anton over its back. "It was no 
 accident. I had seen you sitting under the shrubs. I can 
 tell you so to-day ; and I had thought, ' Heavens ! what a 
 handsome youth ! I wall have a good look at him.' And 
 that's how it happened as it did." 
 
DEBIT AN^I) CREDIT. 
 
 301 
 
 " Yes," said Anton ; " then came the stl•a^vl)erl■ics, then 
 the lake. I stood there and swaliowed the strawberries, 
 and was rather inclined to tears ; but through it all, my 
 heart was full of delight in you who rose before me so fair 
 and majestic. I see you still in fluttering muslin garments, 
 with short sleeves, a golden bracelet on your white arm." 
 
 "Where is the bracelet gone?" asked Lenore gravely, 
 leaning her head on the pony's mane. " You sold it, you 
 naughty Wohlfart I" The tears stood in her eyes, and she 
 stretched out both hands to him over the pony's back. 
 " Anton, we could not remain children. My heart's friend, 
 farewell ! Adieu, girlish dreams I adieu, bright spring-time ! 
 I must now learn to go through the world without my 
 guardian ! I will not disgrace you," she continued more 
 calmly. " I will always be steady, and a good house- 
 keeper. And I will be economical. I will keep the book 
 with three long lines down its sides once more, and put 
 everything down. We shall need to be saving even in 
 trifles, W^ohlfart. Alas, poor mother ! " And she wrung 
 her hands, and looked sad again. 
 
 " Come out into the country," suggested Anton ; "if you 
 like it, let us go into the woods." 
 
 " Not to the woods, not to the forester's," said Lenore 
 solemnly, " but to the new farm ; I will go with you." 
 
 They walked across the fields. "You must lead me 
 to-day," said Lenore. " I will not give you up." 
 
 " Lenore, you will make our parting very painful to me." 
 
 " Will it be painful to you ?" cried Lenore, much pleased. 
 Then immediately afterwards, shaking her head, "No, 
 Wohlfart, not so; you have often longed in secret to be 
 tar away from me." 
 
302 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Anton looked at her with surprise. 
 
 " I know," cried she, confidentially pressing his arm ; " I 
 know it very well. Even when you were with me your 
 heart was not always with me too. Often it was, that day 
 in the sledge, for instance ; but oftener you were thinking 
 of othere, when you got certain letters, that you always 
 read in the greatest hurry. Wliat was the gentleman's 
 name V asked she. 
 
 " Baumann," innocently replied Anton. 
 
 " Caught !" cried Lenore, again pressing his arm. 
 " Do you know that that made me very unhappy for a 
 long time 1 I was a foolish child. We are grown wise, 
 Wohlfart ; w^e are free people now, and therefore we can go 
 about arm in aruL Oh you dear friend ! " 
 
 Arrived at the farm, Lenore said to the farmer's wife, 
 " He is leaving us. He has told me that his first pleasure 
 here was the nosegay that you gathered for him. I have 
 no flowers myself, they don't flourish with me. The only 
 garden on the estate is here, behind your house." 
 
 The good woman tied up a small nosegay, gave it to 
 Anton, with a courtesy, and sadly said : " It is just the 
 same as a year ago." 
 
 " But he is going," cried Lenore, and turning away, her 
 tears began to flow. 
 
 Anton now shook hands heartily with the farmer and 
 the shepherd : " Think kindly of me, worthy friends." 
 
 " We have always had kindness from you," cried the 
 farmer's wife. 
 
 " And fodder for man and beast," said the shepherd, tak- 
 ing off" his hat ; " and, above all, consideration and order." 
 " Your future is secured," said Anton ; you will have 
 
DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 303 
 
 a master who has more in his power than I had." Finally, 
 Anton kissed the farmer s curly-headed boy, and gave him 
 a keepsake. The boy clung to his coat, and would not let 
 him go. 
 
 On their return, Anton said, " What makes our parting 
 easier to me is the future fate of the property. And I 
 have a prevision that all that still seems uncertain in your 
 life will be happily settled ere long." 
 
 Lenore walked in silence by his side ; at length she 
 asked, " May I speak to you of the present owner of 
 this estate 1 I should like to know how you became his 
 friend." 
 
 " By not putting up with a wrong he did me. Our in- 
 timacy has remained unshaken, because, while I willingly 
 gave way to him in trifles, I always abode by my own 
 convictions in graver matters. He has a high respect 
 for strength and independence, and might easily become 
 tyrannical if he encountered weakness of judgment and 
 will." 
 
 " How can a woman be firm and self-reliant with such 
 a one as he ? " said Lenore, cast down. 
 
 " No doubt," replied Anton thoughtfully, " this must 
 be much more difficult for a woman who passionately loves 
 him. Everything that looks like temper or self-will, he 
 will rudely break down, and will not spare the conquered. 
 But if opposed by a worthy and modest nature, he will 
 respect it. And if I were ever called upon to give his future 
 wife a counsel, it would be this, that she should carefully 
 guard against whatever might pass for bold or free in 
 woman. The very thing that might make a stranger 
 agreeable, because easily establishing a familiar footing 
 
304 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 between them, is just what he would least esteem in 
 her." 
 
 Lenore clung closer to Anton as he spoke, and bent her 
 head. They returned in silence to the castle. 
 
 In the afternoon, Anton went once more over the estate, 
 with Karl for companion. Hitherto he had always felt 
 that he was living in a strange land : now, when about to 
 leave it, this seemed a home. Wherever he looked, he saw- 
 objects that had for a whole year engaged his attention. 
 He had bought the wheat with which this field was sown ; 
 he had ordered the plough with which that servant was 
 ploughing. Here, he had roofed-in a bam ; there, he had 
 improved a ruinous bridge. Like all who enter upon a 
 new field of labour, he had had numberless plans, hopes, 
 projects; and now that he was suddenly called upon to 
 relinquish these, he first discovered how dear they had 
 been. He next spent an hour in the forester's house. 
 As they parted, the latter said : " When you first laid 
 hand on this door, I little thought that the trees around us 
 would stand so safe, and that I should ever live again 
 among my fellow-men. You have made dying difficult to 
 an old man. Mr. Wohlfart." 
 
 The parting hour came. Anton took a short and formal 
 leave of the Baron ; Lenore was quite absorbed in sorrow ; 
 and Fink affectionate as a brother. As Anton stood by 
 him, and looked with emotion at Lenore, he said, " Be at 
 ease, my friend ; here, at least, I will try to be what you 
 were." One last hand-clasp, one last farewell, then Anton 
 jumped into the carriage. Karl seized the reins. They 
 drove past the barn into the village road ; the castle dis- 
 appeared. At the end of the wood, Karl halted. A troop 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 305 
 
 of men were there assembled — the forester, the farmer, the 
 shepherd, the Kunau smith, with a few of his neighbours, 
 and the son of the Neudorf bailiff. 
 
 Anton joyfully sprang down, and greeted them once 
 more. 
 
 "My father sends me to bid you farewell," said the 
 bailiff's son. "His wounds are healing, but he cannot 
 leave his room." And the Kunau smith shouted out as a 
 last farewell, " Greet our countrymen at home for me, and 
 say that they must never forget us ! " 
 
 Silently, as on the day of his arrival, Anton sat by the 
 side of his faithful Karl. He was free — free from the spell 
 that had lured him hither — free from many a prejudice ; 
 but while as free, he was as poor as a bird of the air. He 
 had now to begin life over again. Whether the past year 
 had made him stronger or weaker, remained to be proved. 
 On the whole, however, he did not regret what he had 
 done. He had had gains as well as losses ; he had helped 
 to found a new German colony; he had opened out the 
 path to a happy future for those he loved ; he felt himself 
 more mature, more experienced, more settled. And so he 
 looked beyond the heads of the horses which were carrying 
 him homewards, and said to himself, " Onwards ! I am 
 free, and my way is now clear!" 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 17 
 
306 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT, 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 TT is evening. Sabine stands in her treasui'e-cliamber 
 before the open cupboards, arranging the newly-washed 
 table-linen, and again tying rose-coloured tickets on the 
 different sets. Of course she knew nothing, and guessed 
 nothing. Her white damask shines to-day like silver, the 
 cut-glass cover, which she lifts from the old family goblet, 
 rings cheerily as a bell, and the vibrations thrill through the 
 wood-work of the great presses. All the painted heads on 
 the china cups look singularly cheerful to-day. Doctor Mar- 
 tin Luther and the sorcerer, Faust, positively laugh. Even 
 Goethe smiles, and it is impossible to say how amused old 
 Fritz appears. Yet Sabine, the sagacious mistress of the 
 house, knows not what these know. Or does she .guess 
 it 1 Hark, she sings ! A merry tune has not passed her 
 lips for long, but to-day her heart is light, and as she 
 looks at the shining display of glass and damask, some- 
 thing of their brightness seems to fall upon her, and low 
 as the notes of the wood-bird, a song of her childhood 
 sounds through the little room. And from the cupboard she 
 suddenly moves to the window, where her mother's picture 
 hangs over the arm-chair, and she looks cheerfully at the 
 picture, and sings before her mother's face the self-same 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 307 
 
 song that once, from that very arm-chair, that mother sang 
 to the little Sabine. 
 
 At that moment a cloaked figure is gliding across the 
 ground-floor. Balbus, who is superintending the great 
 scales, stands in the arched room, casts a half-glance at the 
 figure, and thinks to himself, with surprise : " That is rather 
 like Anton." The porters are closing a chest, and the 
 eldest, turning round accidentally, sees a shadow thrown by 
 a lantern on the wall, and leaving off hammering for a 
 moment, says : "I could almost have fancied that was 
 Mr. Wohlfart." And, in the yard a vehement barking and 
 leaping is heard, and Pluto runs in frantically to the ser- 
 vants, wags his tail, barks, licks their hands, and, in his 
 own way, tells the whole stoiy. But even the servants 
 know nothing, and one of them says, " It must have been 
 a ghost, I have lost sight of it." 
 
 Then the door of Sabine's room opens. "Is it you, 
 Franz ?" said she, interrupting her song. No one answered. 
 She turned round, her eyes fixed wistfully upon the figure 
 at the door. Then her hand trembled and clasped the back 
 of the chair, while he hurried towards her, and in passionate 
 emotion, not knowing what he was doing, knelt down near 
 the chair into which she had sunk, and laid his head on her 
 hand. That was Anton. Not a word was spoken. Sabine 
 gazed on the kneeling form as at some beatific vision, and 
 gently laid her other hand on his shoulder. 
 
 She does not ask why he is come, nor whether he is free 
 from the glamour that led him away. As he kneels before 
 her, and she looks into his eyes, that tenderly and anxiously 
 seek hers, she understands that he is returning to the firm, 
 to her brother, to her. 
 
308 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " How long you have been away!" said she reproach- 
 fully, but with a blissful smile upon her face. 
 
 *'Ever have I been here!" said Anton passionately. 
 " Even in the hour when I left these walls, I knew that 
 I was giving up all of joy — all of happiness that I could 
 hope to know ; and now I am irresistibly impelled to 
 come and tell you how it is with me. I worshipped you 
 as a holy image while living near you. The thought of 
 you has been my safety when far away. It has protected 
 me in solitude, in an irregular life, in great temptation. 
 Your form has ever risen protectingly between me and 
 that of another. Often have I seen your eyes fixed upon 
 me as of yore — often have you raised your hand to warn 
 me of the danger I was in. If I have not lost myself, 
 Sabine, I owe it to you." 
 
 And again he bent over her hand. Sabine held him 
 fast and whispered, " My friend ! my dear friend ! we 
 must both feel that we have dreamed and struggled — that 
 we have resolved and overcome. What must you not have 
 6ufi"ered, my friend ! " 
 
 "No!" cried Anton. "It was not the same suffering 
 nor the same strength. I saw and reverenced you at the 
 time when you were silently conquering yourself I was a 
 weak, wilful man. I do not know what would have 
 become of me had not your memory lived in my soul. 
 When far away, the influence you exerted over me went 
 on increasing, and only because I thought of you became I 
 free." 
 
 " And how do you know that it may not have been the 
 same in my case 1 " asked Sabine, looking lovingly at 
 him. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 309 
 
 " Sabine ! " cried Anton, beside himself. 
 
 " Yes, that is your own noble face !" cried she. " Alas ! 
 iu your features, too, I can read the traces of an iron time." 
 She rose. " We have heard of your heroic deeds, though 
 you sent us nothhig during the whole long year but a 
 short message." 
 
 "Could I venture to do more V broke in Anton 
 eagerly. 
 
 Sabine nodded archly. " We have however watched for 
 tidings that reached us through your friends. Oh ! when 
 I, in the midst of these safe walls, thought of my friend 
 exposed to every assault of the enemy ! Wohlfart ! Wohl- 
 fart ! I rejoice that I see you again !" 
 
 "Another has the property now, and the care of the 
 defenceless family," replied Anton. 
 
 " It is the ordering of Providence," cried Sabine ; and 
 looked with delight on the newly-returned one. 
 
 In the uniform tenor of her domestic life, she had for 
 many years had a cordial liking for Anton. Since he had 
 left her, she had found out that she loved him, and had 
 hidden the feeling in her heart. No trace of her love nor 
 her renunciation had appeared in the regular household. 
 Hardly had she by a look betrayed the struggle going on 
 within. Now in the rapture of meeting, her feelings broke 
 out. She looked at Anton in beaming delight, thinking of 
 nothing but the joy of having him with her again, and not 
 remarking the traces of a diflferent feeling in Anton's pale 
 features. He has found her indeed, but only to lose her 
 again for ever ! 
 
 Still does Sabine hold his hand, and now she leads him 
 through the corridor to her brother's study. 
 
310 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 What are you doing, Sabine ? This house is a good 
 house, certainly, but not one in which people feel poetically, 
 are easily moved, open their arms at once, and press new- 
 comers to their heart. It is a straight-forward, prosaic 
 house, where requests are made and refused in few words ; 
 and it is a proud and rigid house besides. Remember 
 this ! It is no tender welcome to which you are leading 
 your friend ! 
 
 This Sabine felt, and delayed a moment before she 
 opened the door ; but her resolve was taken, and holding 
 Anton's hand in hers, she drew him in, crying to her bro- 
 ther with a beaming face : " Here he is — he is returned 
 to us !" 
 
 The merchant rose from his writing-table, but he re- 
 mained standing by it ; and his first words, coldly and 
 peremptorily spoken, were these : "Release my sister's hand, 
 Mr. Wohlfart !" 
 
 Sabine drew back. Anton stood alone in the middle of 
 the room, and looked at the principal. His strongly- 
 marked features were aged during the last year, his hair 
 had grown grey, the lines in his face had deepened. 
 
 " That I should enter here at the risk of being unwel- 
 come," said Anton, " will show you how strong my desire 
 was to see you and the firm once more. If I have excited 
 your displeasure, do not let me feel it in this hour." 
 
 The merchant tui'ned to his sister. " Leave us, Sabine ; 
 I wish to speak to Mr. Wohlfart alone." Sabine went up 
 to her brother, and stood erect before him. She said not 
 a word, but with a bright glance, in which a firm resolve 
 was plainly visible, she looked full into his frowning face, 
 and then left the room. The merchant looked gloomily 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 after her, and turned to Anton. " What brings you back 
 to us, Wohlfartr' said he. "Have you failed to attain 
 what your youthful ambition hoped for, and are you come 
 to seek in the tradesman's house the happiness that once 
 seemed inadequate to your claims 1 I hear that your friend 
 Fink has settled himself on the Baron's property ; — has he 
 sent you back to us because you were in his way there 
 
 Anton's brow grew clouded. " I do not appear before 
 you as an adventurer," said he ; " you are unjust in ex- 
 pressing such a suspicion ; nor does it become me to submit 
 to it. There was a ,time when your judgment of me was 
 more friendly ; I thought of that time when I sought you 
 out ; I think of it now, that I may forgive your injurious 
 words." 
 
 " You once said to me," continued the merchant, " that 
 you felt yourself at home in my house and firm. And you 
 had a home, Wohlfart, in our hearts, and in the business. 
 In a moment of eftervescence you gave us up, and we, with 
 sorrow, did the same with you. Why do you return ? 
 You cannot be a stranger to us, for we have been attached 
 to you ; and, personally, I am deeply indebted to you. You 
 can no more be our friend, for you have yourself forcibly 
 rent the ties that bound us. You reminded me just when I 
 least expected it, that a, mere business-contract alone bound 
 you to my counting-house. What are you seeking now 1 Do 
 you want a place in my office, or do you, as appears, want 
 much more f 
 
 " I want nothing," cried Anton in the utmost excite- 
 ment ; " nothing but a reconciliation with you, I want 
 neither a place in your office, nor anything else. When I 
 left the Baron, I felt that my first step must be to your 
 
312 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 house, my next to seek employment elsewhere. Whatever 
 I may have lost during the past year, I have not lost my 
 self-respect ; and had you met me as kindly as I felt to- 
 wards you, I should have told you in the course of our first 
 hour together what you now demand. I am aware that 
 here I cannot stay. I used to feel this when far away, as 
 often as I thought of this house. Since I have entered its 
 walls and seen your sister again, I know that I cannot re- 
 main here without acting dishonourably." 
 
 The merchant went to the window, and silently looked 
 out into the night. When he turned round again the hard 
 expression had left his face, and he looked searchingly at 
 Anton. " That was well spoken, Wohlfart," said he at 
 length, " and I hope sincerely meant. I will be equally open 
 towards you in saying, that I still regret that you have left 
 us. I knew you as an older man seldom knows a younger, 
 I could thoroughly trust you. Now, dear Wohlfart, you 
 are become a stranger to me ; forgive me what I am about 
 to say. An imregulated imagination allured you into cir- 
 cumstances which could not but be morally unhealthy. 
 You have beeii the confidant of a bankrupt and a debtor, 
 who may have retained many amiable characteristics, but 
 who must have lost, in his dealings with unprincipled 
 men, what we here in this firm call honour. I gladly 
 assume that your uprightness refused to do anything con- 
 trary to your sense of right, but, Wohlfart, I repeat to 
 you what I have said before : any permanent dealings 
 with the weak and wicked bring the best man into danger. 
 Gradually and imperceptibly his standard becomes lowered, 
 and necessity compels him to agree to measures that 
 elsewhere he would have peremptorily rejected. I am 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 313 
 
 convinced that you are still what the world calls an upright 
 man of business, but I do not know whether you have pre- 
 served that proudly pure integrity, which alas ! many in 
 the mercantile world treat as mere pedantry, and to have 
 to tell you this makes your return painful to me." 
 
 Anton, white as the handkerchief he held, with trembling 
 lips replied, Enough, Mr. Schroter. That you should, in 
 the first hour of meeting, say to me the most bitter thing 
 one could possibly say to an enemy, con\4nces me that I 
 did wrong to re-enter this house. Yes, you are right ! I 
 never, during my y^ar of absence, lost the sense of the 
 danger you speak of I ever felt it the greatest mis- 
 fortune to be unable to esteem the man by whom I was 
 employed. But I dare make answer to you, with pride 
 equal to your own, that the purity of the man who care- 
 fully shrinks from temptation, is worth little ; and that, if 
 I have gained anything from a year of bitterness, it is the 
 consciousness of having been tried, and kno^ving that I no 
 longer act as a boy, from instinct and habit, but from prin- 
 ciple, as a man should. I have gained a confidence in my- 
 self that I had not before; and because I know how to 
 respect my own character, I tell you that I perfectly under- 
 stand your doubt, but that since you have given it utter- 
 ance, I look upon all ties between us as by yourself dis- 
 solved, and leave you, never to return. Farewell, LIr. 
 Schroter!" 
 
 Anton turned to go, but the merchant hurried after him, 
 and laid his hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Not so fast, Wohlfart," said he gently ; " the man who 
 saved me from the stroke of the Polish sword, must not 
 leave my house in anger." 
 
314 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 " Do not recall the past," replied Anton ; " it is useless. 
 It is you, not I, who have mixed up injury and indignation 
 with our meeting; you, not I, who have annihilated the 
 power of old recollections." 
 
 "Not so, Wohlfart," said the merchant. "If by my 
 words I have offended you more than I intended, make 
 allowance for my grey hairs, and for a heart full of pain- 
 ful anxiety the past year through, and full of anxiety too 
 on your account. We do not meet as we parted; and 
 whenever friends have a mutual misgiving, let them openly 
 express it, that they may stand and start clear. Had I 
 valued you less, I should have kept back my thoughts, 
 and my greeting would have been more polite. Now, 
 however, I bid you welcome." And he held out his han(L 
 
 Anton took it, and repeated the word, " Farewell !" 
 
 The merchant held his hand firmly, and said with a 
 smile, " Not so fast ; I cannot let you go just yet. Re- 
 member that it is your oldest acquaintance who now 
 entreats you to remain." 
 
 "I will remain then this evening, Mr. Schroter," said 
 Anton coldly. 
 
 The merchant led him to the sofa, and began to com- 
 municate the present state of the firm. It was no cheerful 
 picture that he drew, but it proved his entire confidence, 
 and helped to allay the sting of his harsh reception. 
 
 Gradually Anton became absorbed in the business details, 
 eagerly went over calculations, and unconsciously began to 
 speak of the business as though he still belonged to it. 
 Once more the merchant held out his hand, with a 
 melancholy smile. Anton now grasped it cordiaUy, and 
 the reconciliation w^as complete. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 315 
 
 " And now, dear Wohlfart," said Mr. Schroter, " let us 
 speak of yourself. You once ctmfided to me some parti- 
 culars connected with your exertions in the Baron's cause, 
 and I impatiently cut you short; I now entreat you to 
 tell me all you can." 
 
 Anton accordingly proceeded to mention all matters 
 that admitted of being publicly talked of ; and the mer- 
 chant listened with the utmost attention. 
 
 " And now," said he, rising from his seat, " allow me 
 to touch upon your future. After what you have said, 
 I will not ask you to spend the next few jenrs, with me, 
 welcome as your help would prove just now. But I beg 
 that you will leave it to me to look out for a fitting post 
 for you. We will not be in too great a hurry about it. 
 Meanwhile, spend the few next weeks with us. Your room 
 is empty, and just as you left it. I find from what you 
 tell me, that you have occupation cut out for you for some 
 months to come. If, in addition to this, you are inclined 
 to help me in the counting-house, your help will be very 
 welcome. As for your relations with my family," he gravely 
 continued, " I fully trust you. It is a positive necessity to 
 me to prove this, and hence my present proposal." 
 
 Anton looked down in silence. 
 
 " I am not imposing on you any painful ordeal," said 
 the merchant ; " you know the habits of our household, and 
 how little opportunity there is of much conversation. For 
 Sabine, as well as for yourself, I wish a few weeks of your 
 olden way of life, and when the time comes, a calm part- 
 ing. I wish this on my sister's account, Wohlfart," added 
 he candidly. 
 
 " Then," said Anton, " I remain." 
 
316 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Meanwhile, Sabine was restlessly pacing up and down 
 the drawing-room, and trying to catch a sound from her 
 brother's study. Sometimes, indeed, a sad thought would 
 intrude : but it did not find a resting-place to-day. Again 
 the fire crackled and the pendulum swung; but the fir-logs 
 burnt right merrily, throwing out small feux-de-joie through 
 the stove-door, and the clock kept constantly ticking to her 
 ear — " He is come ! he is there !" 
 
 The door opened and the cousin came bustling in. "What 
 do I hear T cried she. "Is it possible ? Franz will have it 
 that Wohlfart is with your brother." 
 
 " He is," said Sabine, with averted face. 
 
 "What new mystery is this?" continued the cousin in 
 a tone of discontent. " Why does not Traugott bring him 
 liere ? and why is not his room got ready ? How can you 
 stand there so quietly, Sabine 1 I declare I don't under- 
 stand you !" 
 
 " I am waiting," whispered Sabine, pressing her wrists 
 firmly, for her hands trembled. 
 
 At that moment footsteps were heard nearing the room ; 
 the merchant cried out at the door, " Here is our guest." 
 And while Anton and the cousin were exchanging friendly 
 greetings, he went on to say, " Mr. Wohlfart will spend a 
 few weeks with us, till he has found such a situation as I 
 should wish for him." The cousin heard this announce- 
 ment with intense surprise, and Sabine shifted the cups 
 and saucers to conceal her emotion ; but neither made 
 any remark, and the lively conversation carried on at 
 the tea-table served to disguise the agitation which all 
 shared. Each had many questions to hear and answer, 
 for it had been a year rich in events. It is true that a 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 317 
 
 certain constraint was visible in Anton's manner, while 
 speaking of his foreign life, of Fink and the German colony 
 on the Polish estate ; and that Sabine listened with drooping 
 head. But the merchant got more and more animated, 
 and when Anton rose to retire, the face of the former wore 
 its good-humoured smile of old, and heartily shaking his 
 guest's hand, he said in jest, " Sleep well, and be sure to 
 notice your first dream ; they say it is sure to come to pass." 
 
 And when Anton was gone, the merchant drew his sister 
 into the unlighted anteroom, kissed her brow, and whispered 
 in her ear : "He has remained uncorrupted, I hope so now 
 with all my soul ; " and when they both returned to the 
 lamp-light, his eyes were moist, and he began to rally the 
 cousin upon her secret partiality for Wohlfart, till the good 
 lady clasped her hands and exclaimed : " The man is fairly 
 demented to-day !" 
 
 Weary and exhausted, Anton threw himself upon his 
 bed. The future appeared to him joyless, and he dreaded 
 the inner conflict of the next few weeks. And yet he soon 
 sank into a peaceful slumber. And again there was silence 
 in the house. A plain old house it was, with many 
 angles and secret holes and corners, — no place in truth 
 for glowing enthusiasm and consuming passion ; but it 
 was a good old house for all that, and it lent a safe shelter 
 to those who slept within its walls. 
 
318 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 rPHE next morning Anton hurried to Ehrenthal's. The 
 invalid was not to be spoken to on business, and the 
 ladies gave him so ungracious a reception, that he thought it 
 unwise to afford them any inkling of the reason of his visit. 
 That very day he had notice given to Ehrenthal's attorney, 
 by Councillor Horn, of twenty thousand dollars being ready 
 in hand for the discharge of Ehrenthal's claims to that 
 amount. As for his other demands, unsupported as they 
 were by documentary evidence, they were to be referred to 
 proper legal authorities. The attorney refused to accept 
 the payment offered. Anton accordingly took the necessary 
 steps to compel Ehrenthal at once to accept it, and to 
 forego all claims that he had hitherto urged in connexion 
 therewith. 
 
 It was evening when Anton drew on an old office-coat, 
 and with his quickest business-step proceeded to the house 
 of Lobel Pinkus. He looked through the window into the 
 little bar, and seeing the worthy Pinkus there, put a short 
 matter-of-fact inquiry to him : " Mr. T. 0. Schroter wishes 
 to be informed if Schmeie Tinkeles of Brody has arrived, 
 or is expected here. He is immediately to proceed to the 
 firm on business." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 319 
 
 Piukus returned a cautious answer. Tinkeles was not 
 there, and he did not know when he might come. Tinkeles 
 often announced himself, and often he did not. The thing 
 was uncertain. However, if he saw the man he would give 
 the message. 
 
 The next day the servant opened Anton's door, and 
 Schmeie Tinkeles stepped in. " Welcome, Tinkeles !" cried 
 Anton, looking at him with a smile. 
 
 The trader was astonished to see Anton. A shadow 
 passed over his sly face, and a secret disquietude was trace- 
 able through all his , voluble expressions of joy. " God's 
 miracle it surely is that I sliould see you again before me 
 in the body. I have often inquired at Schrotefs house, 
 and have never been able to find out whither you were 
 gone. I have always liked to deal with you, we have 
 made many an excellent purchase together." 
 
 " We have had our quarrels too, Tinkeles," suggested 
 Anton. 
 
 " That was a bad business," said Tinkeles deprecatingly. 
 " Now, too, there is a sad look out for trade ; the grass 
 grows in the streets ; the country has had a heavy time of 
 it. The best man did not know when he went to sleep at 
 night, whether he should have a leg to stand on in the 
 morning." 
 
 " You have got through it, however, Tinkeles ; and I 
 presume you have not found it so bad after all. Sit down ; 
 I have something to say to you." 
 
 " Why should I sit down?" said the Jew distrustfully, 
 as Anton shut and bolted the door. " In business one has 
 no time for sitting down ; and why do you bolt the door 1 
 Bolts are not wanted — business disturbs no one." 
 
320 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " I have something to say to you in confidence," said 
 Anton to the trader. " It will do you no harm." 
 
 " Speak on, then, but leave the door open." 
 
 " Listen to me," began Anton. " You remember our 
 last conversation when we met upon our travels ?" 
 
 " I remember nothing," said the broker, shaking his 
 head, and anxiously looking at the door. 
 
 " You gave me some good advice ; and when I tried to 
 hear further, I found you had vanished." 
 
 " These are old stories," replied Tinkeles, with growing 
 disquiet. " I can't recall them now. I have something 
 to do in the market ; I thought you wanted to speak to 
 me on business." 
 
 " It is business about which we are treating, and it may 
 be a profitable business for you," said Anton significantly. 
 He went to his writing-table, and taking out a roll of money, 
 laid it on the table before Tinkeles. " This hundred 
 dollars belongs to you, if you give me the information I 
 want." 
 
 Tinkeles slyly glanced at the roll and replied, " A hun- 
 dred dollars are all very well, but I can't give you any 
 information. I know nothing ; I cannot remember. When- 
 ever I see you," he irritably went on, " bad luck follows ; 
 whenever I have had anything to do with you, it has 
 brought me trouble and vexation." 
 
 Anton silently went to his desk and laid another roll of 
 money by the first. " Two hundred dollars !" " They 
 are yours if you give me the information I need," said he, 
 drawing a square around them with a piece of white 
 chalk. 
 
 The Galician's eyes fastened greedily upon the square, to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 3:^1 
 
 which Anton kept silently pointing. Tinkeles at first pre- 
 tended indifference, but his eyes grew gradually keener, his 
 gestures more restless. He shrugged his shoulders, raised 
 his eye-brows, and tried hard to shake off the spell that 
 bound him. At length he could bear it no longer ; he 
 reached out his hands for the money. 
 
 " Speak first," said Anton, placing his own hand on it. 
 
 " Do not be too severe with me," implored Tinkeles. 
 
 " Hear me," said Anton. " I want nothing unfair — 
 nothing which an honourable man need object to. I might 
 perhaps expose you tp a legal examination, and get at what 
 I want without cost, but I know of old your objections to 
 law, and therefore I offer you money. If you were amenable 
 to other motives, it would be enough to tell you that a 
 family has been made unhappy, because you did not tell 
 me more long ago. But this would be useless with you." 
 
 " Yes !" said Tinkeles candidly, " it would be useless. 
 Let me see the money that you have put up for me. Are 
 there really two hundred dollars f continued he, looking 
 greedily at the rolls. " Very well, I know they are right. 
 Ask me what you want to know T 
 
 " You have told me that Itzig, Ehrenthal's former book- 
 keeper, was plotting to ruin Baron Rothsattel f 
 
 " Has it not turned out as I said T asked Tinkeles. 
 
 " I have reason to assume that you spoke the truth. 
 You mentioned two men. Who was the other ?" 
 
 The trader stopped short. Anton made a feint of re- 
 moving the money. 
 
 " Let it lie there," entreated Tinkeles. " The other is 
 named Hippus, according to what I have heard. He is an 
 old man, and has lived a long time with Lobel Pinkus." 
 
 VOL. II. X 
 
322 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Is he in business 
 
 "He is not of our people, and not in business. He is 
 baptized. He has been a barrister." 
 
 " Have you ever had any dealings ^\'ith Itzig ?" 
 
 "God preserve me from that man!" cried Tinkeles ; 
 " the very first day that he came to town, he tried to open 
 the cupboard in which my effects were. I had trouble to 
 prevent him from stealing my clothes. I have nothing to 
 do with such men." 
 
 " So much the better for you," replied Anton ; " now 
 hear me out. The Baron has had a casket stolen, in which 
 most important documents were kept. The robbery took 
 place in Ehrenthal's office. Have you chanced to hear of 
 it ? or have you any suspicion as to who the thief may be?" 
 
 The Galician looked restlessly around the room, at 
 Anton, at the money, and then, with closed eyes, and a 
 resolute tone, replied, " I have not." 
 
 " This, however, is just what I want to hear ; and the 
 money is for him who gives me information respecting it." 
 
 " If I must speak, then," said the Galician, " I must. 
 I have heard that the man named Hippus, when drunk, has 
 screamed, and has said, ' Now^, then, we have the red-cock ; 
 he is done for ; owing to those papers, he is doomed.' " 
 
 "And you know nothing more 1 " asked Anton in pain- 
 ful suspense. 
 
 " Nothing," said the Galician ; " it was long ago, and I 
 understood but little of what they said to each other." 
 
 "You have not earned the money," returned Anton, 
 after a pause ; " you have told me scarce anything. How- 
 ever, that you may see the stress I lay upon obtaining in- 
 formation from you, take this hundred dollars ; the second 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 323 
 
 will be given when you can put me on the track of the 
 thief or the lost papers. Perhaps that is not out of your 
 power 
 
 " It is," said the Galician positively, weighing the one 
 roll in his hand, and contemplating the other. " What 
 Itzig does, he does so as not to be overlooked ; and I am a 
 stranger in the place, and have no dealings with rogues." 
 
 " See what you can do, however," replied Anton. " As 
 soon as you hear anything, bring me word, and this money 
 is yours. I need not caution you to avoid exciting Itzig's 
 suspicions. Do notdet it appear that you know me." 
 
 " I am no clnld," answered Tinkeles ; " but I fear that 
 I shall not be of use to you in this matter." 
 
 With that he withdrew, having hid the money in the 
 folds of his caftan. 
 
 Anton had now heard the name of the man who had 
 probably committed the robbery. But the difficulty of 
 obtaining the missing documents without legal aid, seemed 
 greater than ever. Meanwhile, he would risk a bold step. 
 He would enter into negotiations with Itzig himself, and 
 make the best use he could of the small amount of know- 
 ledge he had gained from the Galician. 
 
 Itzig's shrewd boy opened the door to him. Anton 
 stood opposite his former school-fellow, who knew of his 
 return from the Baron's estate, and was prepared for this 
 visit. The two men looked at each other for a moment, 
 both seeking to read the countenance and manner of the 
 other, and to arm themselves for the coming conflict. 
 There were some things that they had in common. Both 
 were accustomed to maintain a calm exterior, and to con- 
 ceal the point at which they were aiming. Both were 
 
324 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 accustomed to rapid induction, careful speech, and cool 
 reserve. Both had, in voice and manner, something of 
 the formality which business gives. Both were to-day in a 
 state of excitement, which reddened Anton's fa(;e, and even 
 suftused Veitel's gaunt cheek-bones. 
 
 But the clear glance of the former encountered one that 
 was unsteady and lowering ; the honest earnestness of his 
 manner was met by a mixture of presumption and ob- 
 sequiousness. Each felt that his opponent was dangerous, 
 and gathered his full strength. The conflict began. Itzig 
 opened it in his own way. " It is a pleasure to me to see 
 you again, Mr. Wohlfart," said he, with sudden friendliness 
 of manner ; " it is long since I have been fortunate enough 
 to meet you. I have always taken a great interest in you ; 
 we were school-fellows, we both came to town the same day, 
 we have both got on in the world. I heard you were gone 
 to America. People will talk. I hope you will remain in 
 town now. Perhaps you will return to Mr. Schroter's 
 ofl&ce ; they say he much regretted your departure." In 
 this way he ran on, really intent to discover from Anton's 
 aspect the purport of his call. 
 
 He had made an error in pretending not to know where 
 Anton had been of late, for his avoidance of the name of 
 Rothsattel firmly convinced Anton that he had cause for 
 peculiar circumspection regarding it. 
 
 Availing himself of this mistake of Veitel's, Anton re- 
 plied as coldly as though he had not heard a word of the 
 former's introductory flourish, " I am come, Mr. Itzig, to 
 consult you on a matter of business. You are acquainted 
 with the circumstances connected with the family property 
 of Baron Rothsattel, now about to be judicially sold." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 325 
 
 I have the sort of general information respecting it," 
 replied Veitel, throwing himself back resolutely against the 
 corner of the sofa, " that people have on such subjects. I 
 have heard a good deal about it." 
 
 " You have yourself for many years, in Ehrenthal's office, 
 conducted transactions with the Baron, relative to his 
 estate, and therefore you must have exact information on 
 the subject," returned Anton. " And as Ehrenthal is too 
 great an invalid to enter upon business-topics, I now apply 
 to you for this information." 
 
 "What I heard in Ehrenthal's office when book-keeper 
 there, I heard in confidence, and cannot impart. I am 
 surprised that you should ask me to do so," added Itzig 
 with a malicious glance. 
 
 Anton coldly replied, " I ask nothing that need interfere 
 with the sense of duty you profess. I am simply anxious 
 to know in whose hands the mortgages on the estate now 
 are." 
 
 "You can easily ascertain that by reference to the 
 mortgage-book," said Veitel with well- assumed indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " You may perhaps have heard," continued the persever- 
 ing Anton, " that some of the mortgages have changed 
 hands during the last few months, and, consequently, the 
 present possessors are not entered in the book. It is to be 
 presumed, that the deeds have been bought to facilitate or 
 to impede a purchase at the approaching sale." 
 
 Hitherto the conversation had been a commonplace pre- 
 amble to a serious contest, something like the first moves 
 in a game at chess, or the beginning of a race. Itzig's im- 
 patience now made a decided advance. 
 
326 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Have you a commission to buy the estate he sud- 
 denly inquired. 
 
 " We will assume that I have," replied Anton, " and 
 that I wish your co-operation. Are you in a position to 
 give me information without loss of time, and will you 
 undertake the measures rendered necessary by the sale 
 of the mortgages '? " 
 
 Itzig took time to consider. It was possible that Anton's 
 only purpose was to secure the property to his friend Fink, 
 or to the Baron himself. In this case he w^as in danger of 
 losing the fruit of his long scheming and bold deeds. If 
 Fink, by his wealth, covered the Baron, Itzig lost the 
 estate. While thus perplexed, he remarked that Anton 
 was watching him, and decided with the subtlety of a bad 
 conscience, that Anton had heard of his plans, and had 
 some ulterior purpose. Possibly, this commission to buy 
 was but a feint. Accordingly, he hastened to promise his 
 co-operation, and to express the hope, that he might suc- 
 ceed, at the right time, in discovering the present possessor 
 of the mortgages. 
 
 Anton saw that the rogue understood him, and was on 
 his guard. Changing his mode of attack, he suddenly 
 asked: "Do you know a certain Hippus ?" and keenly 
 observed the effect of the queiy. 
 
 For a moment Itzig s eyelids quivered, and a slight flush 
 suffused his face. As if lie was trying to recollect the name, 
 he tardily replied : " Yes, I know him. He is a decayed 
 useless creature." 
 
 Anton saw that he had struck home. " Perhaps you 
 recollect, that about a year and a half ago, a casket be- 
 longing to the Baron, and containing deeds and papers of 
 
DEBIT AND CEEDTT. 
 
 327 
 
 j^Cfit importance to him, was stolen from EhrenthaVs 
 office." 
 
 Itzig sat still, but his eyes glanced restlessly to and 
 fro. No stranger would have observed that symptom of a 
 bad conscience, but Anton remembered it in the boy 
 Veitel, when accused at school of some petty theft. Itzig, 
 he saw, knew all about the papers and the robbery. 
 
 At length, the agent replied in a tone of indifference, 
 " I have heard of this ; it occurred a short time before I 
 left Ehrenthal's." 
 
 " Very well," continued Anton, " these papers could 
 have no value for the thief himself. But there is reasoTi 
 to believe, that they have found their way into the hand:^ 
 of a third person." 
 
 " That is not impossible, but I should hardly think it 
 likely any one would keep up worthless papers so long." 
 
 " I know that these papers are extant, nay, I know 
 that they are being used to the Baron's prejudice." 
 
 Itzig writhed upon his seat. " Why do you speak to 
 me upon these subjects ?" said he hoarsely. 
 
 " You will soon discover my drift," said Anton. " I 
 know, as I before said, that the papers are still extant ; and 
 I have reason to believe that you may discover their pos- 
 sessor. You can gain any information you may still want 
 respecting them from Hippus." 
 
 " Why from him T' 
 
 " He has, in the presence of witnesses, made use of ex- 
 pressions that plainly prove him to be acquainted with 
 their purport." 
 
 Itzig ground his teeth, and muttered something very 
 like the words, " Drunken rascal !" 
 
328 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Anton continued, " Tlie casket and papers are the Baron's 
 property ; and as he is less intent upon the prosecution 
 of the thief than on the restoration of the papers, he is 
 prepared to pay a hirge sum to any one who procures 
 them." 
 
 " If," said Itzig, " the Baron lays so much stress upon 
 the recovery of the casket, how came it that so little fuss 
 was made about it at the time of its disappearance 1 I 
 never heard of the police being apphed to, or of any steps 
 being taken in connexion with it." 
 
 This insolence enraged Anton. He replied indignantly, 
 " The robbery was accompanied by circumstances which 
 made an inquiry painful to Ehrenthal ; the casket disap- 
 ]ieared from his locked-up office, and it was probably on 
 that account that no legal investigation was made." 
 
 Itzig rejoined, "If I remember aright, Ehrenthal informed 
 his friends at the time, that the investigation was given up 
 out of consideration to the Baron." 
 
 Anton keenly felt this home-thrust, and could hardly 
 (command himself as he replied, " It is possible that the 
 Baron may have had, at the time, other reasons for letting 
 the subject drop." 
 
 Now, then, Veitel felt safe. He read in Anton's sup- 
 pressed anger how necessary secrecy was felt. It was a 
 bona fide offer ; the Baron was in dread of the thief 
 Recovering all his composure, he quietly went on to 
 say : "As far as I know Hippus, he is a lying sort of 
 fellow who often gets drunk. Whatever he may have 
 said in his cups will not, I fear, help us much in re- 
 covering the papers. Has he given you any sufficient 
 ground for applying to him ? " 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 329 
 
 Now, then, Anton had reason to be on his guard. 
 He has, in the presence of witnesses, made use of ex- 
 pressions which prove that he is acquainted with the 
 papers, knows where they are to be found, and purposes 
 to make use of them." 
 
 <' That may be enough for a la^^^er, but not enough for 
 a man of business," continued Veitel. " Do you know his 
 exact words 1" 
 
 Anton parried the question, and struck at his opponent 
 by saying, " His statements are known exactly by me and 
 by others, and have occasioned my visit to you." 
 
 Itzig had to quit this dangerous ground. " And what 
 sum will the Baron expend in the recovery of these papers ? 
 I mean to say, is it an affair that is worth the outlay of 
 time and trouble ? I have a gi'eat many other matters on 
 hand. You could hardly expect me to devote myself for 
 the sake of a couple of louis-d'or to the search of anything 
 so insignificant and difficult to find as papers that some 
 one has hidden." 
 
 Years ago, when the two were travelling together to the 
 capital, where they noAv met as opponents, it was the Jew- 
 boy who was in search of papers on which his childish folly 
 fancied his fortune dependant. At that time he was ready 
 to buy the Baron's estate for Anton, and now it was 
 Anton who was in search of important documents, and 
 who applied to him for the Baron's property. Veitel had 
 discovered the mysterious receipt he then looked for; he 
 held the Baron's estate in his hands, and his destiny neared 
 its fulfilment. Both thought at the same moment of the 
 day of their common journey. 
 
 Anton replied, " I am authorized to treat with you as 
 
330 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 to the sura ; but I would observe that the matter is a 
 pressing one. I therefore entreat you to inform me whe- 
 ther you are prepared to deliver the documents to the Baron 
 Rothsattel, and to be employed in our interc-st as regards 
 the purchase of the mortgages." 
 
 " I will make inquiries, and consider whether I can 
 serve you," coldly replied Veitel. 
 
 Anton rejoined as coldly, " How much time do you 
 require to make up your mind ?" 
 
 " Three days," said the agent. 
 
 " I can only give you four- and-twenty hours," said Anton 
 positively. " If, in that time, you have not informed me 
 of your intention, I shall, on the Baron's behalf, take every 
 possible step to procure the papers, or to convince myself 
 of their destruction ; and I shall use my present know- 
 ledge, respecting their abstraction and hiding-place, to 
 discover the perpetrator of the felony." Then, taking out 
 his watch, he said — " To-morrow, at the same hour, I 
 shall call for your reply." 
 
 And so the important interview ended. As the door 
 closed behind Anton, Itzig's resolve was taken. " Only 
 one week," muttered he, " to my betrothal to Rosalie '. 
 The following day I shall find the notes-of-hand in a 
 corner of Ehrenthal's office. Then Rothsattel and his 
 friends must come to an arrangement upon my own terms. 
 By the threat of a legal investigation, and of making the 
 Baron's misconduct public, I can force this Wohlfart to 
 anything I like. Only a week ! If I hold out so long 
 the game is mine !" 
 
 When Anton returned at the expiration of the four-and- 
 tweuty hours, he found the office closed. He called again 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 331 
 
 in the evening : no one at home. The following morning 
 the shrewd youth appeared at the door, and informed him 
 that Llr. Itzig was gone on a journey, that lie might 
 perhaps return that very hour, but might, on the other 
 hand, be absent for some days. 
 
 Anton knew, from his fluency, that the youth spoke 
 according to orders given. 
 
 He next went to an ofiicial, who had the reputation of 
 being one of the cleverest detectives in the town — cautiously 
 disclosed the essentials respecting the stolen casket — 
 expressed his suspicions of the robbery having been eff"ected 
 by Hippus, under Itzig's directions — and revealed the in- 
 complete warnings of the worthy Tinkeles. The detective 
 listened with attention, and at length said : " Out of all 
 the inadequate information that you have given, the name 
 of Hippus interests me most. He is a very dangerous 
 character, and hitherto I have not exactly known how 
 to get at him. On account of swindling and petty rascali- 
 ties, he has often been punished, and the police have their 
 eye upon him. I will do all I can for you, so far as he goes. 
 I will have him and his efl'ects searched this very day. 
 I tell you beforehand we shall find nothing. I am fur- 
 ther prepared to repeat this search in the course of a few 
 days, at the risk of lowering my character in the eyes of 
 the brave Hippus. For our trick of making thieves feel 
 safe by means of superficially searching them, may indeed 
 answer with novices, but would never avail with this old 
 hand. It is certaiii that we shall find nothing at our 
 second search." 
 
 "Of what use can the measure be to me, then ?" asked 
 Anton in a tone of resignation. 
 
332 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 " Of more than you fancy. It may further your game 
 with the agent Itzig. For, generally speaking, the effect 
 of a search is to make the parties uncomfortable. And 
 though I am not quite sure how Hippus will take it, I am 
 inclined to believe it will perplex him. That may help 
 you on. I will see, too, that the first search be clumsily 
 and ostentatiously made. Fortunately he has now a settled 
 abode again ; for some time he has had a respite from us, 
 and has grown bold. I hear, too, that he is getting old 
 and feeble. All this may help you to catch Itzig one way 
 or other." 
 
 This decision come to, Anton had to retire. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 333 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TT was a dark November evening ; a fog lay heavily on 
 the town, filling the old streets and squares, and forcing 
 its way into the houses. It gathered round the street- 
 lanterns, which looked like didl red balls, and gave no light 
 a yard oft". It hung over the river, rolled along the black 
 stream, under the bridge, up the steps, and clung to the 
 wooden pillars of the gallery. At times there would be a 
 rift in its masses, through which the inky stream below 
 became visible, flowing like the river of death along the 
 dwellings of men. 
 
 The streets were empty. Here and there, close to a 
 light, a form would be seen to emerge, and then suddenly 
 to disappear. One of these shadows was a short man 
 with a stoop, who unsteadily struggled onwards as fast 
 as he could. He tottered into the court where Itzig's 
 office was, and looked up at the agent's windows. 
 The curtains were drawn, but there was a glimmer of 
 light to be seen through them. The little man tried to 
 stand firm, stared at the light, clenched his fists at it, and 
 then going up the steps, rang twice, thrice. At length a 
 mufiied footstep was heard, the door was opened, and the 
 little man entering, ran through the ante-room, wliich Itzig 
 
334 
 
 DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 shut behind him. Itzig looked still paler than his wont, and 
 his eyes glanced unsteadily at his untimely guest. Hippus 
 had never been a mo^el of manly beauty, but to-day he 
 was positively uncanny. His features were sunken, a mix- 
 ture of fear and insolence sat on his ugly face, and his eyes 
 looked maliciously over his spectacles at his former scholar. 
 Evidently he had been drunk ; but some feverish terror 
 had seized him, and for a moment neutralized the effects of 
 the brandy. 
 
 " They are on me," he cried, grasping recklessly at empty 
 air ; " they are on the look-out for me ! " 
 
 "Who would look out for you?" asked Itzig. But he 
 knew only too well. 
 
 "The police, you villain!" shrieked the old man. "It 
 is on your account, that I am in trouble. I dare not go 
 home ; you must hide me." 
 
 " We are not come to that yet," returned Veitel with aU 
 the composure he could. " How do you know that the 
 police are at your heels 1 " 
 
 "The children in the street are talking of it," cried 
 Hippus. " I heard it in the street when I was going 
 to creep baek to my hole. It was a mere chance that 
 they did not find me in my room. They are in my 
 house, standing on the steps, waiting till I come. You 
 must hide me! I must have money! I will cross the 
 border. I can't stay here any longer ; you must send 
 me off"." 
 
 " Send you off I" repeated Itzig gloomily. " Where to, 
 pray V 
 
 " Anywhere — where the police cannot reach me — over 
 the frontier — to America." 
 
DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 335 
 
 " And suppose I don't choose ?" said Itzig, in a tone of 
 enmity. 
 
 " You will choose, simpleton. Are you green enough 
 not to know what I shall do, if you don't get me out of 
 this scrape, you varlet 1 They'll have quick ears at the 
 criminal courts, for what I have to tell of you." 
 
 " You would not be so wicked as to betray an old 
 friend," said Veitel, in a tone that he vainly tried to make 
 pathetic. " Do look at things more calmly. What danger 
 is there even if they do arrest you ? Who can prove any- 
 thing 1 For want of proof they will have to let you ofi*. 
 You know the law as well as the judges do." 
 
 " Indeed !" screamed the old man spitefully. " You 
 think I shall go to prison for the sake of a fellow like 
 you ? That I shall sit eating bread and water, while you 
 are feeding upon the fat of the land, and laughing at the 
 old ass Hippus 1 I will not go to prison ; I will be off ; 
 and till I can get off, you must hide me." 
 
 " You can't remain here," darkly replied Veitel. " There 
 is no safety here for you or me. Jacob would betray you ; 
 the people in the house would find out that you were 
 here." 
 
 " Where best to take me is your look-out," said the 
 man ; " but I demand your help, or" — 
 
 " Hold your jaw !" said Veitel, " and listen to me. If 
 I were disposed to give you money, and get you oft' by 
 railroad to Hamburg, and over the sea, I could not do 
 so immediately, nor without aid. You must be taken by 
 night a few miles hence to some small station on the line ; 
 I dare not hire a conveyance, that might betray you ; 
 and, as you are, you cannot walk. I must look out for 
 
336 
 
 DEBIT AND CllEDIT. 
 
 some opportunity of getting you off safely, . Meanwhile, 
 I must get you to some place that the police do not know 
 you to frequent, for I fear they will look for you here. 
 If you don't go home, they will probably come here this 
 very night. I must go and inquire for a conveyance, and 
 a safe shelter. Meanwhile, stay in the back-room till I 
 return." 
 
 He opened the door, and Mr. Hippus slipped in like a 
 frightened bat. But as Veitel was about to shut the door 
 upon him, the old creature pushed between it and the 
 wall, crying in high dudgeon, " I w^ill not remain in the 
 dark like a rat ; you must leave me a light. I will have a 
 light, you devil !" 
 
 " They will see from below that there is a light in the 
 room, and that will betray us." 
 
 " I will not sit in the dark !" screamed the old man 
 once more. 
 
 Muttering a curse, Veitel took up the lamp and earned 
 it into the inner room. Then he closed the door and hur- 
 ried into the street. Very cautiously he approached the 
 dwelling of Lobel Pinkus. There all was still ; and, looking 
 into the bar, he discerned Pinkus sitting among his guests 
 in all the security of a good conscience. He crept up the 
 steps to his former abode, then took some rusty keys from 
 a hidden comer, carefully examined the sleeping-room, and 
 saw with satisfaction that it was both dark and empty. He 
 hurried on to the gallery, where he remained for a moment 
 looking at the rolling cloud-masses and the dusky stream. 
 Everything was favourable, but there was not an instant to 
 be lost, for a capricious breeze sometimes blew over the 
 water, and the fog seemed to be breaking up. In a short 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 337 
 
 time the wind would clearly reveal tlie stream, the outlines 
 of the houses and the lanterns, which now looked like re«l 
 specks at the corners of the streets. 
 
 Itzig hurried on next to the end of the gallery, and 
 turned the key in a door which concealed the way down 
 steps. The door creaked as it opened. Itzig went down 
 to the river and tried to ascertain its depth. The platform, 
 which ran along the base of the houses, and which was 
 generally visible the whole year through, was covered ; 
 but a few strides through the water would lead from these 
 steps to those of the neighboming house. Veitel stared 
 down into the river, and put his foot into it to see how 
 deep one woidd have to wade before reaching those steps. 
 So occupied was he with the escape of the old man, 
 that he did .not heed, did not even feel the cold. 
 The water rose to his knee. He looked round once 
 more. All was darkness, mist, silence like that of the 
 grave, but for the wail of the water and the rising 
 wind. 
 
 Meanwhile Hippus tried to make himself comfortable. 
 After having sent all manner of curses after Veitel, he 
 gave his troubled mind to the investigation of the room. 
 He went to a low cupboard, tui'ned the key, and looked 
 for some fluid that might restore his sinldng strength, and 
 refresh his parched gums. He found a bottle of rum, 
 poured its contents into a glass, and gulped it down as 
 fast as the fiery nature of the poison allowed. A cold 
 sweat immediately broke out on his brow, and drawing a 
 remnant of a handkerchief from his pocket, he hurriedly 
 wiped his face, and reeled up and down the room talking 
 to himself. 
 
 VOL. IT. Y 
 
338 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 "He is a fool, a rascally, cowardly hare, a miserable 
 chafferer ; if I wanted to sell him this old handkerchief, he 
 could not help buying, it is his nature ; he is a despicable 
 creature. And he tries to defy me, and put me in prison ; 
 and he is to sit, forsooth, on this sofa, with the rum-bottle 
 at his side — the scoundrel ! " Then taking up the empty 
 bottle, he dashed it against the wood-work of the sofa, and 
 broke it to pieces. "Who was he?" he went on, in in- 
 creasing rage ; " a chaffering jack-pudding. I have made 
 him what he is, the noodle. If I whistle, he dances ; he 
 is only the decoy, I am the bird-catcher." Here Hippus 
 tried to whistle a tune, and to execute a few steps. Again 
 the cold sweat rained from his brow, and taking out his 
 handkerchief, he dried his face, and carefully replaced the 
 rag in his pocket. " He does not return," he suddenly 
 cried ; "he leaves me here, and they will find me." Then 
 running to the door, and violently shaking it : " The villain 
 has locked me in — a Jew has locked me in !" shrieked the 
 miserable creature, wringing his hands. "I am to die of 
 hunger and thirst in this prison. Oh, he has used me ill ! 
 used his benefactor basely ; he is an ungrateful wretch, an un- 
 natural son !" At this he began to sob ; " I have nursed 
 him when he was sick, I have taught him. knowing tricks, I 
 have made a man of him, and this is how he rewards his old 
 friend." The lawyer wept aloud. Suddenly stopping be- 
 fore the mirror, he started at his own reflection. His eyes 
 flashed still more angrily, as, pushing his spectacles firmly 
 on, he examined the frame. He knew that mirror. Had 
 chance brought one of the articles belonging to his better 
 days into Pinkus's secret stores, and thence to Veitel's 
 ri;om ; or did some resemblance mislead the drunkard 'I 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 339 
 
 At all events, the thoughts it awoke of his former position 
 filled him with rage. "It is my mirror ! " he screamed ; 
 
 my own mirror that the rascal has here and rushing 
 wildly about the room, he snatched up a chair, and 
 struck the mirror with it. The glass soon rattled down in 
 a hundred pieces, but he went on belabouring the frame, 
 and screaming like a madman. " It hung in my house ; the 
 rogue has stolen my mirror, he has stolen my prosperity." 
 He poured forth hideous imprecations against the supposed 
 thief. 
 
 At that moment Veitel rushed in, having heard the 
 noise from the ante-room, and guessing its cause. As soon 
 as the lawyer saw him, he ran at him with the raised 
 chair, and crying out, " You have brought me to want, and 
 you shall pay for it," aimed a blow at Itzig's head. 
 But the latter pushed the chair away, and seized hold of 
 the old man with all his strength. Hippus struggled and 
 cursed in vain, 
 
 Veitel forced him down into a corner of the sofa, and 
 whispered, as he held him down, " If you do not keep quiet, 
 old man, it's all over with you." 
 
 When the drunkard saw in Itzig's eyes, which were fixed 
 upon his, that he had the worst to apprehend from his 
 anger, the paroxysm left him, he sank down powerless, and 
 muttered in a low voice, while shuddering all over, " He 
 will kill me!" 
 
 " Not if you are quiet, you drunken fool ; what devil 
 drove you to destroy my room i " 
 
 " He will kill me," mumbled the old man, " because I 
 have found my mirror !" 
 
 "You are mad !" cried Veitel, shaking him. " Collect 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 your senses ; you can't stay liere. You must come away ; 
 I have a hiding-place for you !" 
 
 " I won't go with you," wailed Hippus ; " you want to 
 kill me!" 
 
 Veitel uttered a horrible curse, took up the old man'n 
 shabby hat, forced it on, and seizing him by the neck, 
 cried, — " You must come, or you are lost ! The police will 
 look for you here — and find you too, if you lose any mf>re 
 time. Come ! or you'll oblige me to do you a mischief!" 
 
 The old man s strength was broken ; — he wavered. 
 Veitel took him by the arm and drew him unresistingly 
 away. He took him down the steps, anxiously looking 
 round for fear of meeting any one. 
 
 In the cold night air the lawyer's senses paitially 
 returned, and Veitel enjoined him to be silent, and to 
 follow him, and he would get him off. 
 
 " He will get me off ! " mechanically repeated Hippus, 
 running along at his side. As they neared Pinkus's house, 
 Veitel proceeded more cautiously ; leading his companion 
 through the dark ground-floor, and whispering, " Take my 
 liand, and come quietly up-stairs with me." They reached 
 the large public room, which was still empty. Much 
 relieved, Veitel said, " There is a hiding-place in the next 
 house, you must go there." 
 
 " I must go there !" repeated the old man. 
 
 "Follow me!" cried Veitel, leading him along the 
 gallery, and then down the covered staircase. 
 
 The old man tottered down the steps, firmly holding the 
 coat of his guide, who had almost to carry him. In this 
 way they came down step after step, till they reached the 
 last one, over which the water was rushing. Veitel went 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 341 
 
 fil'st, and unconcernedly stepped up to his knee in the 
 stream, only intent upon leading the old man after him. 
 
 As soon as Hippus felt the cold on his boot, he stood 
 still and cried out, " Water ! " 
 
 " Hush !" angrily whispered Veitel ; " not a word !" 
 
 "Water!" screamed the old man. "Help! he will 
 murder me !" 
 
 Veitel seized him and put his hand on his mouth, but 
 the fear of death had again roused the lawyer's energies, 
 and placing his foot on the next step, he clung as firmly 
 as he could to the bannisters, and again screamed out — 
 " Help !" 
 
 " Accursed wretch !" muttered Veitel, gnashing his 
 teeth with rage at this determined resistance ; then, forcing 
 liis hat over his face, he took him by the neckcloth with 
 all his strength, and hurled him into the water. There 
 was a splash — a heavy fall — a hollow gurgling — and all 
 was still. 
 
 Beneath the leaden clouds that overhung the river, a 
 dark mass might be seen rolling along with the current. 
 Soon it disappeared ; the mist concealed it ; the stream 
 rushed on ; the water broke wailingly over the steps and 
 palings ; and the night wind kept howling out its mono- 
 tonous complaint. 
 
 The murderer stood for a few moments motionless in the 
 darkness leaning against the staircase railings. Then he 
 slowly went up the steps. While doing so, he felt his 
 trousers to see how high up they were wet. He thought 
 to himself that he must dry them at the stove this very 
 night, and saw in fancy the fire in the stove, and himself 
 sitting before it in his dressing-gown, as he was accustomed 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 to do when thinking over liis business. If he Iiatl ever in 
 his life known comfortable repose, it had been when, weary 
 of the cares of the day, he sat before his stove-fire and 
 watched it till his heavy eyelids drooped. He realized 
 how tired he was now, and what good it would do him to 
 go to sleep before a warm fire. Lost in the thought, he 
 stood for a moment like one overcome with drowsiness, when 
 suddenly he felt a strange pressure within him, something 
 that made it difiicult to breathe, and bound his breast as with 
 iron bars. Then he thought of the bundle that he had 
 just thrown into the river ; he saw it cleave the flood ; he 
 heard the rush of water, and remembered that the hat which 
 he had forced over the man's face had been the last thing 
 visible on the surfiice, a round, strange-looking thing. He 
 saw the hat quite plainly before him — battered, the rim 
 half off, and two grease spots on the crown. It had been a 
 very shabby hat. Thinking of it, it occurred to him that 
 he could smile now if he chose. But he did not smile. 
 Meanwiiile he had got up the steps. As he opened the 
 staircase-door he glanced along the dark gallery through 
 which two had passed a few minutes before, and only 
 one returned. He looked down at the grey surface of 
 the stream, and again he was sensible of that singidar pres- 
 sure. He rapidly crept through the large room and down 
 the steps, and on the ground-floor ran up against one of the 
 lodgers in the caravansera. Both hastened away in dif- 
 ferent directions without exchanging a word. 
 
 This meeting turned his thoughts into another direction. 
 AVas he safe ? The fog still lay thick on the street. No 
 one had seen him go in with Hippus, no one had recog- 
 nised him as he went out. The investigation would only 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 343 
 
 begin when they found the old man in the river. Would 
 he be safe then 1 
 
 These thoughts passed through the murderer's mind as 
 calmly as though he were reading them in a book. Mingled 
 with them came doubts as to whether he had his cigar-case 
 with him, and as to why he did not smoke a cigar. 
 He cogitated long about it, and at length found himself 
 returned to his dwelling. He opened the door ; the last 
 time he had opened the door a loud noise had been 
 heard in the inner room. He listened for it now. He 
 would give anything, to hear it. A few minutes ago it 
 had been to be heard. Oh, if those few minutes had 
 never been ! Again he felt that hollow pressure, but more 
 strongly, ever more strongly than before. He entered 
 the room, the lamp still burnt, the fragments of the rum- 
 bottle lay about the sofa, the bits of broken mirror shone 
 like silver dollars on the floor. Veitel sat down exhausted. 
 Then it occurred to him that his mother had often told him 
 a childish story, in which silver dollars fell upon a poor man's 
 floor. He could see the old Jewess sitting at the hearth, 
 and he a small boy standing near her. He could see him- 
 self looking anxiously down on the dark earthen floor, and 
 wondering whether the white dollars would fall down for 
 him. Now he knew — his room looked just as if there had 
 been a rain of white dollars. He felt something of the 
 restless delight which that tale of his mother had always 
 awaked, when again came suddenly that same hollow pres- 
 sure. Heavily he rose, stooped and collected the broken 
 glass. He put all the pieces into a corner of the cupboard, 
 detached the frame from the wall, and put it wrong-side 
 out in a corner. Then he took the lamp, and the glass 
 
344 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 which he used to fill with water for the night ; but as 
 lie touched it a shudder came over him, and he put it 
 down. He who was no more had drunk out of that 
 glass. He took the lamp to his bedside and undressed. 
 He hid his trousers in the cupboard, and brought out an- 
 other pair, which he rubbed against his boots till they were 
 dirty at the bottom. Then he put out the lamp, and as 
 it flickered before it went quite out, the thought struck 
 him that human life and a flame had something in com- 
 mon. He had extinguished a flame. And again that 
 jjain in the breast, but less clearly felt, for his strength 
 was exhausted, his nervous energy spent. The murderer 
 slept. 
 
 But when he wakes I Then the cunning will be over 
 and gone with which his distracted mind has tried, as if 
 in delirium, to snatch at all manner of trivial things and 
 thoughts in order to avoid the one feeling which ever 
 weighs him down I When he wakes ! Henceforth, while 
 still half asleep, he will feel the gradual entrance of 
 terror and misery into his soul. Even in his dreams he 
 will have a sense of the sweetness of unconsciousness and 
 the horrors of thought, and will strive against waking : 
 while, spite of his strivings, his anguish grows stronger and 
 stronger, till, in despair, his eyelids start open, and he 
 gazes into the hideous present, the hideous future. 
 
 And again his mind will seek to cover over the fact 
 with a web of sophistry ; he will reflect how old the dead 
 man was, how wicked, how wretched ; he will try to 
 convince himself that it was only an accident that occa- 
 sioned his death — a push given by him in sudden anger ; — i 
 how unlucky that the old man's foot should have slipped 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 345 
 
 MS it did ! Then will recur the doubt as to his safety — 
 a hot flush will suffuse his pale face, the step of his 
 servant will fill him with dread, the sound of an iron- 
 shod stick on the pavement will be taken for the tramp 
 of the armed band whom justice sends to apprehend 
 him. Again, he will retrace every step he took yesterday, 
 every gesture, every word, and will seek to convince himself 
 that discovery is impossible. No one had seen him, no one 
 had heard, — the wretched old man, half-crazy as he was, 
 had drawn his own hat over his eyes, and drowned 
 himself. 
 
 And yet through all this sophistry, he is conscious of 
 that fearful weight, till, exhausted by the inner conflict, he 
 flies from his house to his business, amidst the crowd, 
 anxiously desiring to find something that shall force him to 
 forget. Jf any one on the street looks at him he trembles, 
 if he meet a policeman, he must rush home to hide his terror 
 from those discerning eyes. Wherever he finds familiar faces, 
 he will press into the thick of the assembly, he will take 
 an interest in anything, will laugh and talk more than 
 heretofore ; but his eyes will roam recklessly around, and 
 he will be in constant dread of hearing something said of 
 the murdered man, something surmised about his sudden 
 end. He may deceive his acquaintance — they will per- 
 haps consider him remarkably cheerful, and one and the 
 other will say, " Itzig is a good fellow, he is getting on 
 in business." He will hang on many an arm that he 
 never touched before, will tell merry stories, and go home 
 gladly with any one who asks him, because he knows 
 that he cannot be alone. He will frequent the coffee- 
 houses and beer-shops, to hunt out acquaintance, and will 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 drink and be as much excited as tliey, because he knows 
 tliat he dare not be alone. 
 
 And when late of an evening he returns home, tired to 
 death and worn out by his fearful struggle, he feels lighter 
 hearted, for he has succeeded in obscuring the truth, he is 
 conscious of a melancholy pleasure in his weariness, and 
 awaits sleep as the only good thing earth still has to offer 
 him. And again he will fall asleep, and when he awakes 
 the next morning he will have to begin his fearful task 
 anew. So will it be this day, next day, always, s(.> 
 long as he lives. His life is no longer like that of an- 
 other man, his life is henceforth a battle, a horrible battle 
 with a corpse, a battle unseen by all, yet constantly going 
 on. Ail his intercourse with living men, whether in busi- 
 ness or in society, is but a mockery, a lie. Whether he 
 laughs and shakes hands with one, or lends money and takes 
 fifty per cent, from another, it is all mere illusion on their 
 part. He knows that he is severed from human companion- 
 ship, that all he does is but empty seeming ; there is only 
 one who occupies him, against wdiom he struggles, because 
 of whom he drinks, and talks, and mingles with the crowd, 
 and that one is the corpse of the old man in the water. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 347 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DESIDES all friendly house-sprites and household divini- 
 ties, there is one^ other in the secret, and silently 
 triumphant at Anton's return, and that is the cousin. 
 
 Strangers indeed may shake their head at much that 
 passes, but she knows better : That Anton should sit all day 
 long pale and silent in the office ; — Sabine evince a ten- 
 dency to blush in her brother's presence, which never 
 appeared before, sit silent for hours over her w^ork, then 
 silently start up and rush through the house, playful as a 
 kitten after a ball of twine ; — the merchant himself keep 
 constantly looking at Anton, and growing more and more 
 merry from day to day, so that at last he positively rallies 
 the cousin without ceasing ; — all this indeed may seem 
 perplexing, but it was not so to one who had known for years 
 what each of them liked best for dinner (although she only 
 ventured to present the favourite dish in order, once a month), 
 who had with her own hands knitted their stockings, and 
 starched their collars. She accounted for all their inconsist- 
 encies most naturally. 
 
 The good lady took all the credit of Anton's return 
 entirely to herself She had determined to restore her 
 favourite to the office, and she had had no ulterior intention, 
 at least so she declared. For, in spite of the rose-lined coverlet, 
 
348 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 and the embroidered curtains, she knew that the house to 
 which she belonged was a proud house, ^Yhich had ways of 
 its own, and required very skilful management. And, in- 
 deed, when told that Anton was onl}'- to be a guest, she was 
 herself in some uncertainty. But soon she got the upper 
 hand of the merchant and his sister, for she made discoveries. 
 
 Tlie second storey of the house had been uninhabited for 
 years. The mercliant and his young wife had occupied it 
 in the lifetime of his parents. When he had lost one after 
 another, parents, wife, and baby-son, he moved to the first 
 floor, and since then had seldom gone upstairs. Grey 
 blinds hung down there the whole year through, the furniture 
 and paintings were all covered up. In short, the whole 
 storey was like an enchanted castle, and even the ladies' foot- 
 steps fell softer when they were obliged to pass through tlie 
 silent region. 
 
 The cousin was coming upstairs one day. In spite of her 
 endless war with Pix, she had contrived to keep one small 
 room to dry linen in. She was just musing upon the change 
 official life made in men s characters, for Balbus, the successor 
 of Pix, on whose humble bearing slie had founded great hopes, 
 fallowed himself in his new post just as aggressive as his prede- 
 cessor. She had once more found a heap of cigar-boxes outside 
 the three compartments which Pix had erected by main force 
 in her own special domain, and she was just going to declare 
 war against Balbus on their account. At that moment 
 she remarked a door of the upper storey wide open, and 
 thought of thieves, and of calling out for help, but upon 
 consideration, judiciously determined first to investigate 
 the mystery. She crept into the curtained rooms, and was 
 in some danger of being petrified with amazement, when 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 she saw her nephew standing there alone, looking at u 
 picture of his departed wife, taken as a bride, in white silk, 
 with a myrtle-NVTeatli in her hair. The cousin could not re- 
 strain a sympathizing sigh. The merchant turned round in 
 amazement. " I mean to remove the picture to my own 
 room," said he softly. 
 
 " But you have another portrait of Mary there already, 
 and this one has always depressed you," cried the cousin. 
 
 " Years make us calmer," replied the merchant ; " and, 
 in course of time, another bride may come here." 
 
 The cousin's eyes flashed as she repeated "Another !" 
 
 " It was only a passing idea," said the merchant, cheer- 
 fully walking through the suite of rooms, followed by the 
 cousin, proudly shrugging her shoulders. They might try 
 to blind her as much as they liked ; it was all in vain. 
 
 Neither did the cautious Sabine succeed any better. 
 
 Anton had silently sat near the cousin at dinner. When 
 he rose, the good lady remarked that Sabine's eyes rested 
 with an expression of tender anxiety upon his pale face, and 
 then filled with tears. As soon as he had left the room, 
 she moved to the window that looked into the com't. The 
 cousin crept behind her, and looked out too. Sabine was 
 gazing down intently, suddenly she smiled, and her face 
 was perfectly transfigured. Yet there was nothing to be 
 seen but Anton, with his back towards them, caressing 
 Pluto, who barked and jumped up at him. 
 
 " Oh !" thought the cousin ; " it is not over Pluto 
 that she laughs and cries at once." 
 
 And soon after, one day that the merchant opened the 
 drawing-room door, and called his sister out, the cousin 
 spied a man with a great parcel standing in the liall. Her 
 
3o0 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 sharp eyes recognised in Lim a porter from one of the gTeat 
 drapers' shops. The brother and sister went into the ante- 
 room, a murmur of voices was heard, and a sound uncommonly 
 like suppressed sobs. When Sabine returned, her eyes w^re 
 veiy red, but she looked happy and basliful. When the 
 cousin went into the ante-room, on some pretext or other, 
 the great parcel was lying on a chak ; and as she touched it 
 — of course accidentally — and the paper was not tied uj), 
 it came to pass that she beheld its contents — a variety of ex- 
 quisite dresses, and one thing that moved her to tears. It was 
 that white robe of thickest silk which a woman only wears once 
 in her life — on one solemn day of devout and trembling joy. 
 
 From that moment the cousin went about her avocations 
 with the comfortable confidence of a good housewife, who for- 
 gives people, even though for a season they do behave them- 
 selves foolishly, knowing that the end of it all will be great 
 excitement in her own especial province, — hard work in the 
 kitchen, a long bill of fare, great slaughter of fowls, and im- 
 mense consimiption of preserved fruit. She, too, waxed mys- 
 terious now. The store-room was subjected to a careful in- 
 spection, and new dishes often appeared at dinner. On such 
 days the cousin would come from the kitchen with veiy red 
 cheeks, and look at the merchant and Sabine with an ex- 
 pression which plainly said, "I have found you out ;" and 
 was met with a severe glance from the master of the house. 
 
 And yet he was no longer severe now. Sabine and 
 Anton grew daily more silent and reserved, he became 
 more cheerful, far less silent than of yore, was never 
 weary of drawing Anton into conversation, and listened 
 with intense attention to each word he spoke. There was 
 still a great flatness in trade, but he did not appear to 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 351 
 
 heed it. When Mr. Braun, the agent, poured out his oj)- 
 pressed heart, he only laughed and returned a dry jest. 
 
 Anton, however, did not observe the change. When in 
 the office, he sat silently opposite Mr. Baumann, and seemed 
 to think of nothing but his correspondence. The evenings 
 he generally spent alone in his room, burying himself in 
 the books Fink had left, and trying to escape from his 
 own dark thoughts. He did not find the firm as he had 
 left it. Several of its old mercantile connexions were dis- 
 solved — several new ones entered into. He found new 
 agents, new descriptions of goods, and new servants. 
 
 The clerks' apartments, too, had grown silent. With the ex- 
 ception of Mr. Liebold and Mr. Purzel, who had never been ex- 
 citing social elements, he only found Baumann and Specht 
 remaining of all his former acquaintance, and they, too, 
 thought of lea\dng. Baumann had, immediately on Anton's 
 return, confided to the principal that he must leave in the 
 spring ; and this time Anton's earnest representations failed 
 to shake the future missionary's firm resolve : — " I can no 
 longer delay," said he ; " my conscience protests against it. 
 I go from hence to the London Training College, and thence 
 wherever they choose to send me ; I confess that I have a 
 preference for Africa — there are certain kings there" — he 
 pronounced several crack-jaw names — " that I cannot think 
 wholly ill of. There must be some hope of conversion among 
 them. I trust to wean them from that heathenish slave-trade. 
 They may make use of their people at home in planting sugar- 
 cane and cultivating rice. In a couple of years I will send 
 you, by way of London, the first samples of our produce." 
 
 Mr. Specht, too, came to Anton. " You have always 
 been friendly to me, Wohlfart, and I should like to have 
 
352 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 your opinion. I am to marry a very accomplished girl ; her 
 name is Fanny, and she is a niece of Pix." 
 
 " What !" said Anton," and do you love the young lady?" 
 
 " Yes, that I do," cried Specht enthusiastically ; " but if 
 I am to marry her, I am to enter into Fix's business, and 
 that is what I want your opinion about. My lady-love has 
 some fortune, and Pix thinks it would be best invested in 
 his firm. Now you know Pix is a good fellow at bottom, 
 but another partner might suit me better." 
 
 " I think not, my good old Specht," said Anton ; " you 
 are apt to be a little too precipitate, and it would be very 
 well for you to have a steady partner." 
 
 " Yes," said Specht ; " but only think of the branches 
 lie has chosen. No one could have believed it possible that 
 our Pix would have taken to them." 
 
 "What are they, then ?" asked Anton. 
 
 " All sorts of things," cried Specht, " that he never saw 
 })efore. Skins and leather, and every kind of fur, from the 
 sable to the mole, and, besides, hemp and brushes; every- 
 thing, in short, that is hairy and bristling. These are very 
 low articles, Wohlfart." 
 
 " Don't be a child !" replied Anton; "marry, my good 
 fellow, and trust to the management of your uncle-in-law, 
 it will do you no harm," 
 
 The next day Pix himself came to Anton's room. " I 
 found your card, Wohlfart ; and come to invite you to 
 coffee on Sunday next. Cuba, and a Manilla ! You will 
 make my wife's acquaintance." 
 
 " And so you are going to take Specht as your partner T' 
 asked Anton, smiling. " You used to have a great horror 
 of partnerships." 
 
DEBIT AND CRPZDIT. 
 
 353 
 
 " I should not enter into one with any body else. 
 Between ourselves, I owe the poor fellow some compensa- 
 tion ; and I can make the ten thousand dollars he is 
 marrying useful in my business. I have undertaken a 
 retail warehouse, in which I will place him. That will 
 amuse him. He can be polite to the ladies all the day 
 long ; and can have a new fur coat every winter. He 
 will come out much stronger there than here in the oflfice." 
 
 " How comes it that you have chosen this branch of 
 trade?" 
 
 " I was obliged," was the reply. " 1 found a great stock 
 on hand left by my predecessor in sorry plight, I can 
 assure you, and was thrown all at once amongst those 
 who valued hare-skins and pig's bristles exceedingly." 
 
 "And that alone decided youT' replied Anton, laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps something else as well," said Pix. " I 
 could not remain here, on account of my wife; and you 
 will admit, Anton, that I, who was manager of the pro- 
 vincial department of this firm, could not open another in 
 the same town of the same nature. I know the whole pro- 
 vincial department better than the principal, and all small 
 traders know me better than they do him. I might have 
 injured this house, though my capital is so much smaller. 
 I should, no doubt, have got on, but this house would 
 have suffered. So I was obliged to turn to something else. 
 I went to Schroter as soon as I had decided, and talked it 
 over with him. I only keep one thing in common with 
 you here, and that is horse-hair, and in that I beat you 
 hollow, I have told the principal so." 
 
 " The firm can bear that," said Anton, and shook the 
 fur-merchant by the hand. 
 
 VOL. II. z 
 
354 
 
 DEBIT AND (^IKDIT. 
 
 But it was not in the office only ; even among the porters 
 around the great scales, a change was observable. Father 
 Sturm, the faithful friend of the house, threatened to quit 
 both it and this little ball of earth together. One of An- 
 ton's first inquiries, on his return, had been for Father 
 Sturm. He was told that Sturm had been unwell for 
 some weeks, and did not leave his room. Full of anxiety, 
 Anton went to the dwelling of the giant the second evening 
 after his arrival. 
 
 While still in the street, he heard a loud hum, as though 
 a swarm of gigantic bees had settled in the red-painted 
 house. When he entered, the hum sounded like the dis- 
 tant roar of a family of lions. He knocked in amazement. 
 No one answered. When he had o])ened the door he stood 
 still on the threshold, for at first he could see nothing but 
 a dense smoke, through which a yellow speck of light ap- 
 peared, with a great halo round it. Gradually he dis- 
 covered in this smoke a few rotund forms, placed around 
 the candle like so many planets around the sun, and at 
 times something was seen to move, possibly a man's arm, 
 but not unlike an elephant's leg. At length the air through 
 the open door partially cleared away the smoke, and he 
 could see further into the room. Six giants sat around 
 the table — three on a bench, three on oaken chairs. All 
 had cigars in their mouths, and wooden beer-mugs on the 
 table, and the loud hum was their speech, duly lowered to 
 suit a sick-room. 
 
 " I smell something !" cried a loud voice, at length. 
 There must be a man there ; I feel a cool draught, the door 
 is open. Let whoever is there say who he is !" 
 
 " Ml'. Sturm !" cried Anton, still on the threshold. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 355 
 
 . The grcHi globes rapidly revolved and eclipsed the light. 
 " Do you hear ?" cried the loud voice ; " a man is there." 
 
 Yes ! and an old friend too !" replied Anton. 
 
 I know that voice !" exclaimed some one at the other 
 side the table. 
 
 Anton drevi^ nearer ; the porters all rose and called out 
 his name. 
 
 Father Sturm moved along to the furthest end of his 
 bench, and held out both his hands. " I heard from my 
 comrades that you had returned. It is a joy to me that you 
 are come safe and sound from that outlandish country," 
 
 Anton's hand now passed first into that of old Sturm, 
 who powerfully grasped it, and then tried to set the broken 
 bones ; next into that of the other five porters, whence it 
 came out red, weak, and slightly dislocated, so that he was 
 glad to put it into his coat-pocket. While the five were 
 exclianging greetings with him, one after the other, Sturm 
 suddenly called out, " When does my Karl come ?" 
 
 " Have you sent for him, then ?" asked Anton. 
 
 " Sent for him ! No," returned Sturm, shaking his head, 
 " that I could not do, because of his situation as bailiff" ; for 
 if I were to write him word ' come,' he would come if even 
 a million scythes lay in his way. But then the family 
 might want him, and therefore unless he comes of his own 
 accord he will not come." 
 
 " He will come in the spring," said Anton, looking 
 anxiously into the father's face. 
 
 Old Sturm shook liis head. " He will not come in the 
 spring — not to me at least. Perhaps my little manikin 
 may come here, but not to his father any more." He 
 raised his can of beer and took a long draught, then shut 
 
356 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 down the lid, cleared his throat, and looking full into Anton's 
 face, solemnly rapped the table. " Fifty !" said he ; <' one 
 other fortnight, and then it comes." 
 
 Anton threw his arm round the old man's shoulders, and 
 looked inquiringly at the others, who held their cigars in 
 their hands and stood round like the chorus in a Greek 
 tragedy. 
 
 " Look you, Mr. Wohlfart," said the chorus-leader, who 
 considered as a man was colossal, but as a giant something 
 less than old Sturm. " I will explain matters to you : This 
 man thinks that he is getting weaker, and shall go on get- 
 ting weaker, and that in a few weeks the day will come 
 when we porters must each take a lemon in our hands, and 
 put a black tail on our hats. We do not wish this." All 
 shook their heads here and looked disapprovingly at Sturm. 
 " There is an old dispute between him and us about the age 
 of fifty. He is determined to be right — that is the whole 
 of it — and our opinion is that he is not right. He has be- 
 come weaker — that may be. Many are stronger at one 
 time, and weaker at another. Why should the man think of 
 leaving this place on that account 1 I'll tell you what it is, 
 Mr. Wohlfart, it is downright absurdity on his part." 
 
 All the giants confirmed this statement by nodding their 
 heads. 
 
 " So, then, he is sick ?" inquired Anton anxiously. 
 " Whereabouts is your complaint, old friend ?" 
 
 " It is here and there," replied Sturm. " It is in the 
 air — it comes on slowly — it takes first the strength, then 
 the breath. It begins with the legs, and then moves up." 
 He pointed to his feet. 
 
 *' Is it a trouble to you to stand ?" asked Anton. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 357 
 
 That is just what it is," replied Sturm. " It is a 
 sour trial, and every day more and more so ; but, Wil- 
 helra," continued he, addressing the spokesman of the 
 party, " in a fortnight that will be all over, and there 
 will then be no more sourness, except, perhaps, a little in 
 your faces for an hour or two, till evening, when you must 
 come back here and sit down, and talk of old Sturm as of 
 a comrade who has laid him down to rest, and who will 
 never lift another burden ; for I fancy that yonder, where 
 we go, there will be nothing heavy." 
 
 " You hear him !" said William anxiously. " He is get- 
 ting absurd again." 
 
 "What says the doctor to your complaint?" suddenly 
 inquired Anton. 
 
 " The doctor !" said old Sturm, " if he were to be asked 
 about me, he would have enough to say. But we do not ask 
 him. Between ourselves, there is no use in a doctor. They 
 may know what is the matter with many men, that I don't 
 deny ; but how should they know what is the matter with 
 us ? Xot one of them can lift a barrel." 
 
 " If you have no doctor, my good Mr. Sturm," cried 
 Anton, throwing open the window, " let me begin at once 
 to play a doctor's part. If your breathing be oppressed, 
 this close atmosphere is poison to you ; and if you suffer 
 from your feet, you ought not to go on drinking." And 
 he moved the beer-mug to another table. 
 
 " Hum, hum, hum !" said Sturm, watching his proceed- 
 ings ; " well meant, but of no use. A little smoke keeps 
 one warm, and we are acc;ustomed to the beer. After 
 I have sat on this bench all day alone, without work or 
 company, it is a pleasure to me that my friends should come 
 
358 
 
 "DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 and enjoy themselves with me of an evening. They talk 
 to me, and I get some tidings of the business, and of what 
 is going on in the world." 
 
 " But you yourself at least might abstain from beer and 
 tobacco," replied Anton ; " your Karl would tell you the 
 same, and as he is away you must let me take his place." 
 Then turning to the others, " I will convince him that he 
 is wrong ; leave me alone with him for half an hour." 
 
 The giants left the room. Anton sat by the invalid 
 and spoke on the father's favourite topic — spoke of his son. 
 
 Sturm forgot all his dark forebodings, and got into ex- 
 cellent spirits. 
 
 At last he turned to Anton with his eyes shut, and said 
 confidentially, " Nineteen hundred dollars. He came here 
 once again." 
 
 " But you gave him nothing ?" anxiously inquired Anton. 
 
 " Only a hundred dollars," said the old man apologeti- 
 cally. "He is dead now, the poor young gentleman ! He 
 looked so handsome with his epaulettes. While a man is 
 a son, he ought not to die — it gives too much sorrow." 
 
 " I have spoken of your claim to Herr von Fink," said 
 Anton ; " he will see that you are paid." 
 
 " That Karl is paid," suggested old Sturm, looking round ; 
 " and you, ]\Ir. Wohlfart, will undertake to give into my boy's 
 hands what remains in the chest, if I do not myself see my 
 little fellow." 
 
 " If you don't give up this idea," cried Anton, "I shall 
 become your foe, and shall treat you with the greatest 
 severity. Early to-morrow morning you may expect me to 
 bring you Mr. Schrciter's doctor." 
 
 " He is a worthy man, no doubt," said Sturm ; " his 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 359 
 
 horses must be remarkably well fed, they are so fat and 
 tstrong, but he can do nothing for me." 
 
 The following morning the doctor visited the invalid. 
 
 " I don't consider his case a serious one as yet," said he ; 
 
 his feet are swollen, indeed, but that might soon be cured. 
 However, his sedentaiy inactive life is so bad for a frame 
 like his, and his diet is so unwholesome, that I am sorry to 
 .«ay the sudden development of some serious complaint is 
 only too likely." 
 
 Anton immediately wrote off this opinion to Karl, and 
 added, — " Under these circumstances, your father's own 
 impression that he shall not survive his fiftieth birthday 
 makes me very uneasy. It would be well that you should 
 be with him at that time." 
 
 Several days had now elapsed since Anton had written 
 this letter, and, meanwhile, he had paid a daily visit to 
 Sturm, who did not appear to change for the worse, but 
 yet remained firm in his resolve of not outliving his birth- 
 day. One morning a servant came to Anton's room, and 
 announced that Sturm the porter urgently wished to see 
 him. 
 
 " Is he worse f inquii'ed Anton in dismay ; " I will go 
 to him immediately." 
 
 " He is at the door in a cart," said the servant. 
 
 Anton hurried out. A carrier's cart w^as standing there ; 
 with great barrel-hoops bent over the wicker-work, and 
 covered by a white sheet, from which — a corner of it being 
 turned back — the head of Father Sturm, ensconced in a 
 colossal fur cap, appeared. He wore an anxious face, and 
 as soon as he saw Anton held out a sheet of paper. 
 " Read this, Mr. Wohlfart ; I have had such a letter 
 
360 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 from my poor Karl ! I must go to him at once. To the 
 estate beyond Rosmin," he added to the driver, a burly 
 carrier who stood by the vehicle. 
 
 Anton looked at the letter ; it was written in the forester's 
 clumsy characters, and the contents amazed him, " My 
 dear father, I cannot come to you, for a scythe-man has cut 
 off the remainder of my hand. On which account I beg you, 
 as soon as you get this, to set out to your poor son. You 
 must take a large conveyance and drive to Rosmin. There 
 you must stop at the Red Deer. A carriage and a servant 
 from the estate will be waiting for you. The servant does 
 not understand a word of German, but he is a good fellow, 
 and will know you when he sees you. You must buy your- 
 self a fur for the journey, and fur boots which must come 
 above your knees, and be lined with leather. If you can't 
 find any large enough for your great legs, god-father 
 Kiirschner must, during the night, sew a skin over your 
 feet. Greet Mr. Wohlfart from me. — ^Your faithful Karl," 
 
 Anton held the letter in his hand, not exactly knowing 
 what to make of it, 
 
 " What do you say to this new misfortune?" asked the 
 giant mournfully. 
 
 " At all events you must go to your son at once," wa« 
 Anton's reply. 
 
 " Of course I must," said the porter ; " this blow comes 
 heavily upon me just now, the day after to-morrow I shall 
 be fifty." 
 
 The meaning of the letter now flashed upon Autou. 
 " Are you accoutred according to Karl's directions ?" 
 
 " I am," said the giant, throwing back the linen cover- 
 ing ; " all is right, the fur and the boots too." 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 361 
 
 Anton looked in and had some trouble to preserve his 
 gravity. Sturm looked like a pre-Adamic bear of colossal 
 dimensions. A great sword leaned against the seat. 
 " Against those scythe-men !" said he, angrily shaking it. 
 " I have still one other request to make you. Wilhelm 
 has got the key of my house ; will you take charge of this 
 box ? it holds what was formerly under my bed. Keep it 
 for Karl." 
 
 " I will give it into Mr. Schroter's care," replied Anton ; 
 " he is just gone to the railway station, and may be back 
 any moment." 
 
 " Greet him from me," said the giant ; " greet him and 
 Miss Sabine, and tell them both how heartily I thank them 
 for all the friendliness they have shown to Karl and me." 
 He looked in with emotion at the ground-floor. " Many 
 a happy year I have worked away there, and if the rings 
 on the hundred-weights are well polished, these hands have 
 done their part to make them so. I have shared the fate 
 of this house for thirty years, good and bad, and I can tell 
 you, Mr. Wohlfart, we were always wide awake. I shall 
 roll your barrels no more," continued he, turning to the 
 servants ; " and some one else will help you to unload the 
 wagons. Think often of old Sturm when you fasten up 
 a sugar-cask. Nothing here below can last for ever, not 
 even the strongest ; but this firm, Mr. Wohlfart, will stand 
 and flourish so long as it has a chief like Mr. Schroter, and 
 men like you, and good hands below there at the great 
 scales. This is my heart's wish." He folded his hands, and 
 tears rolled down his cheeks. " And now farewell, Mr. 
 Wohlfart ! give me your hand ; and farewell, Peter, Franz, 
 Gottfried ! — all of you, think kindly of me. To Rosmin, 
 
362 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 driver I The cart rolled awcay over the pavement, the sheet 
 opening once more, and Sturm's great head emerging for a 
 last look and wave of the hand. 
 
 Anton was exceedingly anxious about him for a few 
 days, when a letter came, in Karl's own hand. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Wohlfart," wrote Karl, " you will of course 
 have seen why I sent that last note to my Goliath. I had 
 to get him out of that room, and to drive that notion about 
 his birthday out of his head. So in my anxiety, I hazarded 
 a white lie. Tliis is how it all came about : — 
 
 " The day before his birthday, the servant was waiting 
 for him at the Red Deer in Rosmin. I had ridden over there 
 myself to see how my father got on, and how he looked. 
 But I kept myself out of sight. About mid-day, the cart 
 came slowly rumbling up. The driver helped my father 
 out — for he had great difficulty in moving — which at first 
 gave me a fright about his legs ; but it was really mainly 
 owing to the fur-boots and the jolting. On the street the 
 old boy took out a letter, and read it. Then he went up 
 to Jasch, who had run to the cart, and who had to pre- 
 tend that he did not understand a word of German, and 
 ])egan to make all manner of alarming gesticulations. He 
 held his hand two feet above the pavement, and when the 
 servant shook his head, the governor stooped down to the 
 ground. This was meant to signify, " My manikin ! " but 
 as Jasch failed to understand it, my father caught hold of 
 one hand with the other, and shook it so violently under 
 Jasch's nose, that the servant, who, without this, was 
 frightened at the great creature, was near taking to his 
 heels. At length my father and his effects were packed into 
 a spring-cart, he having several times walked round, and 
 
DEBIT AND (CREDIT. 
 
 363 
 
 shaken it rather mistrustfully. Then he drove off. I had 
 told the servant to drive straight to the forester's, with 
 whom I had planned everything. As for me, I had gone 
 there by a by-path ; and as soon as the wagon arrived in the 
 evening, I slipped into the forester's bed, and had my hand 
 tied down under the clothes for fear I should stretch it out 
 in my delight. When the old gentleman reached my bed- 
 side, he was so moved that he wept, and it went to my 
 heart to be obliged to cheat him. I told him that I was 
 better already, and that the doctor would allow me to get 
 up on the morrow. • This quieted him ; and he said with 
 a most solemn mien, that he was glad of that, for that the 
 morrow was a great day for him, and that he must then 
 take to his bed. And so he went on with his nonsense. 
 But not long. He soon got cheerful. The forester joined 
 us, and we made a very good supper on what the young 
 lady had sent us from the castle. I gave the old boy beer, 
 which he pronounced execrable ; whereupon the forester 
 made some punch, and we all three drank heartily — I with 
 my amputated hand, my father with, his melancholy fore- 
 bodings, and the forester. ^Vhat with the long journey, 
 the warm room, and the punch, my father soon got sleepy 
 (I had had a strong bedstead placed in the forester's room) ; 
 he kissed my head as he wished me good-night, tapped 
 the quilt, and said, ' To-morrow, then, my manikin ! ' He 
 was asleep in a moment ; and how he slept to be sure ! 1 
 got out of the forester's bed, and watched every breath he 
 drew. It was a weary night. The next morning he woke 
 late. As soon as he began to stir, the forester came in, 
 clapping his hands at the door, and exclaiming over and 
 over again, ' Wliy, Mr. Sturm, what have you done ' 
 
364 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 'What have I done?' asked ray Goliath, still half-asleep, 
 aud looking round in amazement. The birds were scream- 
 ing very loud, and everything looked so strange to him, he 
 hardly knew if he was still on earth or not. ' W^^^^^ ^™ 
 IV cried he; 'this place is not in the Bible:' However, 
 the forester went on exclaiming, ' No ; such a thing never 
 was heard of before !' till the old man was quite alarmed, 
 and anxiously asked what it was. ' What you have done, 
 Mr. Sturm!' cried the forester; 'why, you have slept a 
 night, and then a day, and then another night ! ' ' How 
 soV said my old boy; 'to-day is Wednesday the 13th.' 
 ' No such thing,' affirmed the forester. ^ To-day is the 
 14th : it is Thursday.' So they went on disputing. At 
 last the forester took out his pocket-book, on which he 
 strikes out each day as it passes, and there was a great 
 stroke over Wednesday; and on Tuesday he had put down 
 as a memorandum, ' To-day, at seven o'clock, the bailiff"s 
 father arrived: a very tall man, can drink plenty of 
 punch ;' and on Wednesday, 'The bailiff's father has been 
 asleep the whole day through.' Having read this, my 
 governor got quite composed, and said, ' It's all correct : 
 here we have it in black and white. Tuesday, I arrived 
 at seven — a tall man — plenty of punch ; all this tallies. 
 Wednesday is past. This is Thursday — this is the 14th.' 
 After some musing, he cried, 'Where is my son Karlf 
 Then I entered, my arm bound up, and told the same tale 
 as the forester, till he said, ' I am like one bewitched ; I 
 don't know what to think.' ' Why, don't you see,' said I, 
 ' that I am out of bed? Yesterday, when you were asleep, 
 the doctor came, and gave me leave to get up. Now I am 
 BO well, that I can lift this chair with my stiff ann.' ' No 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 365 
 
 more weights,' said the old man. Then I went on : * I spoke 
 of your case too to the doctor. He is a skilful man, and told 
 us one of two things woidd happen : Either you would go 
 off, or sleep through it. If he sleeps throughout the day,"' 
 said he, he will get over it. It's a serious crisis. Such 
 things will happen sometimes' — ' To us porters,' chimed in 
 the old man. And so it was that we got him out of his 
 bed; and he was very cheerful. But I was anxious all 
 day long, and never left him. At noon all was nearly lost, 
 when the farmer came in to speak to me. Luckily, though, 
 the forester had locked the yard-door, and so he went 
 out and gave the farmer a hint. As soon as the latter 
 came in, my father called out, ' "V\liat day is it, comrade 1 ' 
 'Thursday,' said the farmer, 'the 14th;' at which my 
 father's whole face broke out into a laugh, and he cried, 
 ' Now it's certain ! now I believe it ! ' However, he slept 
 at the forester's that night, too, that we might get the 
 birthday well over. 
 
 "The next day I took my father to the farm-yard, to the 
 room next mine. I had had it hastily furnished for him. 
 Herr von Fink, who knew all about it, sent some good 
 stout things from the castle ; I had his old Blucher hung 
 up, let in some robin-redbreasts, and put in a joiner's bench, 
 and a few tools, that he might feel comfortable. So I said, 
 ' This is your room, father ; you must stay with me now.' 
 * No !' said he ; ' that will never do, my manikin.' 
 ' There is no help for it,' I replied ; ' Herr von Fink will 
 have it so, Mr. Wohlfart will have it so, Mr. Schroter will 
 have it so ; you must give way. We won't part again as 
 long as we are on earth.' And then drew my hand out 
 of its bandages, and gave him such a fine lecture about his 
 
36G 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 unheulthy way of life, and his fancies, that he got quite soft, 
 and said all manner of kind things to me. Next came Herr 
 von Fink, and welcomed him in his own merry way ; and 
 in the afternoon, our young lady brought the Baron in. The 
 poor blind gentleman was (juite delighted with my father : 
 he liked his voice much, felt him all over, and as he went 
 away, called him a man after his own heart. And so he 
 must be, for the Baron has come every afternoon since to 
 my father's little room, and listened to his sawing and 
 hamraering. 
 
 " My father is still a good deal perplexed at all he sees 
 here, and he is not quite clear about that day he is said 
 to have slept, though he must be up to it too, for ever 
 since, he often catches me by the head, and calls me a 
 rascal. This word now replaces ' dwarf ' and ' manikin ' 
 in his talk, although it is a still worse appellation for a 
 bailiff. He is going to be a wheel-wright, and has been 
 (jutting out spokes all day. I am only afraid he will work 
 too hard. I rejoice to have him here, and if he once gets 
 over the winter, he will soon walk off the weakness in his 
 feet. He means to sell the little house, but only to a 
 porter. He begs that you will offer it to Wilhelm, who 
 now rents one, and say, that he shall have it cheaper than 
 a stranger. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDH'. 
 
 367 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 WEEK after the death of Hippus, Anton was sitting in 
 
 his own room, writing to Fink. He was telling him, 
 that the lawyer's corpse had been taken out of the river at 
 the wear at the end of the town, and that the cause of liis 
 death was uncertain. A child belonging to the house in 
 which the wretched man lived, had told that, on the even- 
 ing of the search made by the police, Hippus had been met 
 in the street, near his own dwelling ; since then, nothing 
 had been seen of him. Under these circumstances suicide 
 did not appear unlikely. However, the police were of 
 opinion that the crushed hat afforded evidence of violence. 
 No papers had been found at his dwelling, and a second 
 search had been made there without results. Anton gave 
 it as his own opinion respecting the fearful event, that Itzig 
 was in some way connected with it. 
 
 At that moment the door was opened, the Galician liastily 
 entered the room, and without speaking a word, laid an old 
 pair of spectacles, set in rusty steel, on the table, before 
 Anton, who looking at the agitated face before him, sprang 
 from his seat. 
 
 " His spectacles," hoarsely whispered Tinkeles ; "I found 
 
368 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 them close to the water. Just God ! that any one should 
 have such a fright as that I" 
 
 " Whose spectacles are they, and where did you fiiid 
 them?" inquired Anton, guessing at what the Galiciaii 
 lacked strength to tell, and looking with horror at the dim 
 glasses before him. " Compose yourself, Tinkeles, and 
 speak." 
 
 " It cannot remain concealed, it cries to Heaven !" said 
 Tinkeles, in great excitement. " You shall hear how it 
 came to pass. Two days after I had spoken with you 
 about the two hundred dollars, I went in the evening to 
 the sleeping-room at Lcibel Pinkus's. As I entered the court 
 a man ran against me in the dark. I thought, Is that Itzig, 
 or is it not 1 I said to myself. It is Itzig ; that is his nm 
 when he mns in haste. When I got up into the large 
 room, it was empty, and I sat down at the table, and looked 
 into my pocket-book. And as I sat there, the wind rose 
 outside, and there was a knocking in the gallery, as if some 
 one was knocking who wanted to get in, and could not 
 open a door. I was frightened, and put up my letters, 
 and cried : * If any one is there, let him say so.' No one 
 answered, but the knocking went on all the time. Then I 
 summoned up courage, took up the lamp, and went into 
 the gallery, and searched every room. I could see no one. 
 And again, there was the knocking close to me, and then a 
 great crack, and a door flew open, which had never been 
 open before, and from the door steps led down to the water. 
 When I put the lamp near the steps, I saw that a wet foot 
 had come up them, and the marks of it were to be seen 
 all the way to the room — wet spots on the floor. And I 
 marvelled, and said to myself : ' Schmeie,' said I ; ' who has 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 369 
 
 gone by night out of the water, into the room, leaving the 
 door open, like a spirit?' Ajid I was afraid ; and before 
 I closed the door, I once more looked along the steps with 
 the lamp, and then I saw something sparkle in the light 
 close to the water, on the last step of all, and I ventured 
 down one step after the other : woe is me, Mr. Wohlfart, 
 it was a hard task ! The wind howled, and blew my lamp 
 about, and the staircase became as dark as a well ; and 
 that which I picked up is yonder" — pointing to the spec- 
 tacles — " the glasses that he wore before his eyes." 
 
 " And how do you know that they are the dead man's 
 spectacles ?" asked Anton in painful suspense. 
 
 " I know them by the joint, which is tied round with 
 black worsted. I have often seen him in Pinkus's room 
 with those spectacles on. So I hid the spectacles, and 
 thought to myself that I would say nothing about them to 
 Pinkus, but give them mj^self to Hippus, and see whether 
 he could be of use to me in business. I carried about 
 the glasses till to-day, expecting to see him ; and when 
 he did not come, I asked Pinkus for him, and he answered 
 — ' I know not where he is hiding.' And to-day, at noon, 
 as I entered the inn, Pinkus came running towards me, and 
 said — ' Schmeie,' said he, ' if you want to speak to Hippus, 
 you'll have to go into the water ; he has been found in the 
 water !' It went through me like a shot when he said 
 this, and I had to hold on by the wall." 
 
 Anton went to his writing-table, dashed off a few lines 
 to the detective, who had not long left him, rang the bell, 
 and desired the servant to take the note in all haste. 
 
 Meanwhile Tinkeles had sunk down on a chair, and 
 kept muttering unintelligibly. 
 
 VOL. II. 2 a 
 
370 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 Anton, scarcely less agitated, paced up and down the 
 room. At last the silence was broken by the Galician 
 raising his voice, and inquiring — " Do not you think that 
 the spectacles will be worth the hundred dollars you have 
 for me in your writing-desk 1 " 
 
 " I don't know," curtly replied Anton, continuing to 
 pace up and down, Schmeie relapsed into exhaustion and 
 silence. At length he looked up again and said — "At 
 least fifty ?" 
 
 "None of your bargaining at present," replied Anton 
 dryly. 
 
 "Why nof?" cried Tinkeles in dudgeon. "I have had 
 a great fright ; is that to go for nothing V And he was 
 again absorbed in distress. 
 
 The interview was interrupted by the appearance of the 
 detective. This experienced officer made the Galician re- 
 peat his tale, took the spectacles, ordered a coach for him- 
 self and the reluctant Tinkeles, and said to Anton as he 
 left, " Prepare for a sudden clearing-up ; whether I shall 
 carry out my purpose, is still uncertain, but there is a 
 prospect for you of finding the documents you seek." 
 
 "At wdiat a cost !" cried Anton, shuddering. 
 
 The drawing-room in Ehrenthal's house was brilliantly lit 
 up, and through the drawn curtain, a slight glimmer fell 
 upon the small rain that sank down like mist on the streets. 
 Several rooms were opened, heavy silver candelabra stood 
 about, bright tea-services, gay sets of porcelain ; everything 
 in the house had been brushed up, washed, and displayed, 
 the dark floor had been newly v/axed, even the cook had a 
 newly plaited cap, in short, the wdiole house was renovated. 
 The fair Rosalie stood in the midst of all this si)lendour, in 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 371 
 
 a dress of yellow silk, trimmed with purjile flowers, gorgeous 
 as a hoiiri of Paradise, and, like them, prepared to receive 
 her elect. Her mother smoothed the thick folds of her 
 dress, looked triumphantly at her, and said, in a transport 
 of motherly love, " How beautiful you are to-day, Rosalie, 
 my only child !" 
 
 But Eosalie was too much accustomed to this admiration 
 to heed it, and went on trying to fasten a bracelet on her 
 round arm. " It was really too bad of Itzig to bring me tur- 
 quoises ; he ought to have known that they are out of 
 fashion." 
 
 " They are very handsomely set," said her mother sooth- 
 ingly. " The gold is massive, and the pattern quite new." 
 
 " And where is Itzig ? To-day, at least, he ought to 
 come early ; the relatives will all be here before the bride- 
 groom !" said Rosalie complainingly. 
 
 " He w^iU be here in time," repKed Itzig's patroness. 
 " You know how he toils and moils that you may have a 
 brilliant establishment. You are fortunate," said she with 
 a sigh ; " you are now entering upon life, and you will be 
 a lady of consequence. You must go to the capital for a 
 few weeks after your marriage to spend the honeymoon 
 quietly, and be introduced to my relations ; and, meanwhile, 
 I shaU have this storey furnished for you, and will move 
 up-stairs, and spend the rest of my life in nursing Ehrenthal." 
 
 " Will my father make his appearance to-day ? " inquired 
 RosaUe. 
 
 " He must do so on account of our relations. He must 
 pronounce the paternal blessing upon you." 
 
 "He is sure to bring disgrace upon us, and to talk 
 nonsense again !" said the dutiful daughter. 
 
372 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 I have told him what he is to say," answered her 
 mother ; " and he nodded, to show that he understood me." 
 
 The bell rang, the door opened, and company appeared. 
 The room soon filled. Ladies in gorgeous gold-embroidered 
 silk dresses, with sparkling chains and ear-rings, occupied 
 the large sofa and arm-chairs around. They were mostly 
 large in figure, with here and there a pair of lustrous eyes, 
 and a set of handsome features. They looked like a gay 
 tulip-bed out of which the gardener has rooted every sober- 
 coloured flower. Behind them stood the gentlemen, with 
 cunning faces, and hands in their pockets — altogether 
 much less imposing and agreeable to behold. Thus all the 
 company waited for the bridegroom, who still delayed his 
 coming. 
 
 At length he appeared. His eyes wandered suspiciously 
 around ; his voice faltered as he accosted his betrothed. 
 He strove to the utmost to find some polite words to say 
 to the beautiful girl, and could almost himself have 
 laughed savagely at the blank he felt within. He did not 
 see her brilliant eyes, her gorgeous bust, and magnificent 
 attire. Even when at her side, he was obliged to think of 
 something else — of that of which he was always thinking. 
 He soon turned away from her and joined the gentlemen, who 
 became more conversable after his arrival. A few common- 
 place observations, made by the younger men, were heard 
 from time to time ; such as, " Miss Kosalie looks enchant- 
 ingly beautiful !" and, " I wonder whether Ehrenthal will 
 appear!" and, "This long continuance of fog is unusual, 
 and veiy unhealthy — ^one is obliged to wear flannel." At 
 length some one uttered the words, " Four-and-a-half per 
 c;ent." There was an end of detached remarks, a subject of 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 .373 
 
 conversation liad been found. Itzig was one of the loudest, 
 gesticulating on all sides. They spoke of the funds ; of 
 wool ; of the failure of a money-broker who had over- 
 speculated in paper. The ladies were forgotten ; and, 
 being quite accustomed to it on such occasions, they 
 solemnly held their tea-cups in their hands, smoothed the 
 folds of their dresses, and moved their throats and arms so 
 as to make their bracelets and chains sparkle in the light. 
 
 The conversation was now interrupted by a strange 
 sound : a door was opened, and in the midst of profound 
 silence, a heavy armvchair was rolled into the room. 
 
 In the arm-chair sat an old, white-haired man, with a 
 fat, swollen face, with staring eyes, bent frame, and arms 
 supinely hanging down. It was Hirsch Ehrenthal, the im- 
 becile. The chair l^eing rolled into the midst of the assem- 
 bly, he looked slowly round, nodded, and repeated over 
 and Over again the words he had been taught : " Good- 
 evening ; good-evening." His wife now bent over him, and 
 raising her voice, said in his ear, "Do you know the com- 
 pany here assembled? They are our relatives," 
 
 " I know," nodded the figure ; " it is a soiree. They all 
 went to a great soiree, and I remained alone in my room, 
 and I sat on his bed. Where is Bernhard, that he does not 
 come to his old father?" 
 
 The guests who had surrounded the arm-chair now re- 
 treated in confusion ; and the lady of the house again 
 screamed in the old man's ear, " Bernhard is travelling, but 
 your daughter Rosalie is here." 
 
 " Travelling ?" mournfully inquired the old man. " How 
 can he be travelling? I wanted to buy him a horse, that 
 he might ride it. I wanted to buy him an estate, that he 
 
374 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 might live on it, like a respectable man, as he always was. 
 I know," he cried, " when I last saw him, he was in bed. 
 He lay on a bed, and he raised his clenched hand, and 
 shook it at his father ! " 
 
 " Come here, Eosalie," cried her mother, distressed at 
 these reminiscences. "When your father sees you, my 
 child, he will have other thoughts." 
 
 Rosalie approached, and spreading out her handkerchief, 
 knelt down before the arm-chair. "Do you know me, 
 father ?" she cried. 
 
 " I know you," said the old man. " You are a woman. 
 Why should a woman lie on the earth? Give me my 
 praying-cloak, and speak the prayer. I will kneel in your 
 place, for a long night has come upon us. When it is past, 
 we will kindle the lights, and will eat. It will be time to 
 put on gay garments then. Why do you wear gay gar- 
 ments now, when the Lord is wroth with the congregation ? " 
 He began to murmur a prayer, and again collapsed. 
 
 Rosalie rose impatiently ; and her mother said in much 
 embarrassment, "He is worse to-day than he has ever 
 heen. I wished your father to be present at his daughter's 
 betrothal, but I see that he cannot perform the duties of 
 the head of the family. I have, then, in my character of 
 mother, to make a happy announcement to the company 
 assembled. Then solemnly taking her daughter's hand, she 
 said, " Draw nearer, Itzig." 
 
 Hitherto, Itzig had silently stood with the rest, and 
 stared at the old man, from time to time shrugging his 
 shoulders, and shaking his head over the melancholy spec- 
 tacle, as became his position in the family. But there was 
 another form present before his eyes : he knew better than 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 375 
 
 any who it was that wailed and groaned ; he knew too 
 who had died, and had not forgiven. Mechanically he 
 advanced, his eyes still fixed on Ehrenthal. The guests 
 now formed a circle around him and Rosalie, and her 
 mother took his hand. 
 
 Then the old man in the arm-chair began again. 
 "Hush!" said he distinctly; "there he stands — the in- 
 visible. We go home from the burial, and he dances among 
 the women. He will strike down all he looks upon. 
 There he stands !" he screamed, and rose from his chair. 
 " There ! there ! Throw down your water-jars and fly into 
 the house ; for he who stands there is cursed of the Lord. 
 Cursed ! " he screamed, and clenching his hands he tottered 
 like a madman towards Itzig. 
 
 Itzig's face grew ghastly ; he tried to laugh, but his 
 features quivered with fear. Suddenly the door was opened, 
 and his errand-boy looked anxiously into the room. One 
 glance sufficed to tell Itzig all that the youth had to say. 
 He was discovered — he was in danger. He sprang to the 
 door and disappeared. 
 
 Lay aside your bridal attire, fair Rosalie ; throw off the 
 turquoise bracelet. For you there is no betrothal — no mar- 
 riage feast ! Soon you will leave the town with drooping 
 head, glad, by flying amongst strangers, to escape the mockery 
 of cruel hearts at home. The gold that your father heaped 
 up for his children by usury and fraud, will again roll from 
 hand to hand, will serve good and bad alike, will swell 
 the mighty tide of wealth by which human life is sustained 
 and adorned, peoples and states made great and powerful, 
 and individuals, strong or weak, each according to his work. 
 
 Without, the night was dark, small rain was falling, and 
 
376 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 the air was chill. Itzig rushed down the steps. A trem- 
 bling voice called out after him, " The police are in the 
 house, they are breaking open the room-door." He heard 
 no more, a horrible dread filled his soul. Thought after 
 thought passed through his brain with delirious rapidity. 
 He felt his pocket, in which he had for the last week kept 
 a large sum of money. It was not the hour of departure of 
 any train that would take him to the sea ; and at all the 
 stations he would be watched for. He ran along through 
 narrow streets in remote parts of the tov.Ti, turning back 
 whenever he got near a lamp — his pace increasingly rapid, 
 his thoughts increasingly confused. At last his strength 
 failed him, and he cowered down in a corner to collect him- 
 self. But soon he heard a watchman's hollow horn sound 
 near him. Here too was danger. Again he rushed on- 
 ward to the one and only place that stood out clearly de- 
 fined in his thoughts — the place he shuddered at, yet turned 
 to as a last refuge. As he neared the inn he saw a dark 
 shadow at the door. The little lawyer had often stood 
 there in the dark, waiting for Veitel's return. Was he 
 standing there now and waiting 1 The wretched fugitive 
 started back, then approached — the door was free, he stepped 
 in, but the shadow rose again behind him and stood at the 
 door. Veitel took off his boots and crept up-stairs, groped 
 in the dark for a room-door, opened it with trembling hand, 
 and took down a bunch of keys from the wall, with which 
 he hurried to the gallery, - hearing, as if at a great 
 distance, the long-drawn breath of sleeping men. He 
 stood at the door of the staircase, a violent shudder con- 
 vulsed him as he went down step after step. When he 
 first put his foot into the water he heard a lamentable 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 377 
 
 groan. He clung to the bannisters as that other had done, 
 and looked down. Agam there was a groan, and he now 
 found out it was only his own breathing. He felt the depth 
 of the water with his foot. It had risen since that time — it 
 was higher than his knee, but he found a footing and stood 
 safely in the stream. 
 
 The night was dark, the rain still came down, the mist 
 hung thick over the houses — a gable, a paling, peeping out 
 here and there ; the water rushed along, the only sound 
 to break the silence of the night, and in this man's ear 
 it roared like thunder. He felt all the torments of the 
 lost, while wading on and groping for his way. He had 
 to cling to the slippery palings, in order not to sink. He 
 reached the staircase of the next house, felt in his pockets 
 for the key — one swing round the corner, and his foot 
 would be on the lowest step. Just as he was about to 
 turn he started back, his raised foot fell into the water ; 
 he saw a dark stooping figure on the staircase. There it 
 sat motionless. He knew the outline of the old hat ; dark 
 as it was, he could see the ugly features of the w^ell-known 
 face. He wiped his eyes, he waved his hands to dispel it ; 
 it was no illusion, the spectre sat there a few steps ofiF. At 
 length the horrible thing stretched out a hand towards him. 
 The murderer started back, his foot slipped off the platform, 
 he fell up to his neck in water. There he stood in the 
 stream, the wind howling over him, the water rushing 
 ever louder and louder. He raised his hands, his eyes still 
 fixed upon the vision. Slowly it rose from its seat — it 
 moved along the platform, it stretched out its hand. He 
 sprang back horror-stricken into the stream — a fall, a loud 
 
378 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 scream, the short drowning struggle, and all was over. 
 The stream rolled on and carried the corpse away. 
 
 Tliere was a stir along the river's edge ; torches flared, 
 arms glistened, loud shouts were heard, and from the foot 
 of the steps a man waded into the water and exclaimed, 
 " He was gone before I could reach him ! To-inorrow we 
 shall find him at the wear." 
 
DEBIT AxND CREDIT. 
 
 379 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 rpHE tavern of Lobel Pinkiis was thoroughly searched, 
 the secret stores in the next house brought to light, 
 and several stolen goods of new and old date being therein 
 found, the tavern-keeper himself was sent to prison. Amongst 
 the things thus discovered was the Baron's empty casket, 
 and, in the secret door of a locked-up press, the missing 
 notes-of-hand, and both the deeds of mortgage. In Itzig's 
 house a document was found, by which Pinkus declared 
 Veitel possessor of the first mortgage of twenty thousand, 
 Pinkus's obdurate nature being a good deal softened by the 
 search, he confessed what he had no longer any interest 
 in denying, that he had been commissioned by Veitel to pay 
 the money to the Baron, and that the sum only amounted 
 to about ten thousand dollars ; so the Baron recovered his 
 claim to the half of the first mortgage. Pinkus was sen- 
 tenced to long imprisonment. The mysterious tavern was 
 given up ; and Tinkeles, who had, immediately upon Veitel's 
 death, demanded his second hundred dollars from Anton, 
 carried his bundle and his caftan to another retreat. His 
 friendly feeUngs for the firm of T. 0. Schroter had been so 
 quickened by the late occurrences, that they had to be on 
 their guard, and to decline some weighty commercial trans- 
 
380 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 actions on which he was most anxious that they should enter 
 with him. The natural consequence of their shyness was, 
 to impress Tinkeles with their wisdom, and he continued to 
 frequent the counting-house, without, by any further auda- 
 cious speculations, hazarding its favour. Pinkus's house 
 was sold to a worthy dyer, and blue and black wool were 
 seen hanging down from the gallery over which Yeitel's 
 haggard form had so often leant. 
 
 After long discussions with the attorney and the humbled 
 Ehrenthals, Anton received the notes-of-hand and the last 
 mortgage, in return for a payment of twenty thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 Meanwhile the sale of the family property came on. A 
 purchaser sought out Anton even before the term, and 
 arrangements were made which more than insured the cover- 
 ing of all mortgages. 
 
 The day after the term, Anton wrote to the Baroness, 
 inclosing the Baron's notes-of-hand. He sealed up the 
 letter with the cheerful feeling that out of all the wreck 
 and ruin, he had saved for Lenore a dowry of about thirty 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 The white snow again lay heavy on the Polish castle, 
 and the crows left the print of their feet on its roof. 
 Winter's holiday robes were spread over wood and field, 
 the earth was hushed in deepest slumber, no sheep-dog 
 barked in the meadows, the farming implements were all 
 laid by ; and yet there was life and animation on the estate, 
 and workmen we're busy in the second storey with foot-rule 
 and saw. The ground was uneven in the farm-yard, for 
 the foundation of a new building had been dug ; and in the 
 rooms around, and even out in the sunshine, workmen from 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 381 
 
 the town — ^joiners, whecl-wrights, and cabinetmakers — were 
 busily employed. They whistled cheerily at their work, 
 and the yellow shavings flew far and wide. New energies, 
 in short, are visible in all directions, and when spring comes, 
 a colony of labourers will spread over the country, and force 
 the long dormant soil to yield the fruits of industry. 
 
 Father Sturm sat in his warm room, hammering away. 
 
 Opposite him, in the only cushioned chair, reclined the 
 blind Baron, staff" in hand, listening intently. 
 
 " You must be tired, Sturm," said the Baron. 
 
 " Nay," cried the giant ; " my hands are as strong as ever, 
 and this is only a small barrel for rain-water — mere child's 
 work." 
 
 " He once hid in a little barrel," said the Baron to him- 
 self " He was a delicate child. His nurse had put him 
 in to bathe him, and he had bent his back and knees in 
 such a way that he could not get out. I was obliged to 
 have the hoops knocked off, to extricate the boy from his 
 prison." 
 
 The giant cleared his throat. " Were they iron hoops ?" 
 he asked sympathizingly. 
 
 " It was my son," said the Baron, his features quiver- 
 ing. 
 
 " Yes," whispered Sturm; " he was stately, he was a 
 handsome man, it was a pleasure to hear his sword rattle, 
 and to see how he twisted his little beard." Alas ! how 
 often he had said this before to the blind father. 
 
 " It A\'as the will of Heaven !" said the Baron, folding his 
 hands. 
 
 " It was," repeated old Sturm. " Our Lord God chose 
 to take him when at his best. Tliat was an honour ; and 
 
382 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 no man could leave the world more beautifully. It was for 
 his parents and his fatherland that he put on his coat with 
 epaulets, and he was ^ictorious, and driving those Poles 
 before him, when the Lord called out his name and en- 
 rolled him in his own guard." 
 
 " But I must remain behind," said the Baron. 
 
 "And I rejoice that I, too, have seen our young master," 
 continued Sturm more fluently ; " for you know that he 
 was our young master then. You trusted my Karl with 
 the whole management of the farm, and so it was an honour 
 for me to be able to show that I trusted your son." 
 
 " It was wrong of him to borrow money from you," said 
 the Baron, shaking his head. And this he said, because he 
 had often heard old Sturm's comforting reply, and longed to 
 hear it again. 
 
 The giant laid his tool aside, ran his hand through his 
 hair, and tried to look very bold, as he began in a light- 
 hearted tone, "Do you know, sir, that one must make 
 allowance for a young gentleman ? Youth will be wild. 
 Many have to borrow money in their young days, particularly 
 when they wear such a beautiful coat, with silver fringe upon 
 it. We were no niggards either. Baron," he continued depre- 
 catingly, gently tapping the blind man's knee with his tool. 
 " And the young officer was very polite, and I believe that 
 he was somewhat basliful. And when I gave him the 
 money, I could see how sorry he was to want it. I gave 
 it him all the more readily. Then when I helped him into 
 the drosky, and he leant out of the carriage, I can assure 
 you he was much moved, and reached out both of his little 
 hands to clasp my fist, and shake it once more. And while 
 he was sitting there, the light fell on his face — a sweet, kind 
 
DEBIT AND CKEDIT. 
 
 383 
 
 face it was at that moment, something like yours, and still 
 more like the Baroness, as far as I have been able to see 
 her." 
 
 The blind man, too, stretched out his hands to grasp the 
 porter s fist. Sturm pushed his bench forward, took the 
 Baron's hands in his right one, and stroked them with his 
 left. Both sat silent, side by side. 
 
 At last the Baron began with broken voice to say, " You 
 were the last who showed kindness to my Eugene. I thank 
 you for it from my inmost heart. An unfortunate, broken- 
 down man thanks you. So long as I live, I shall implore 
 the blessing of the Most High on your head. My son will 
 never support my feeble footsteps in my old age, but 
 Heaven has preserved a good son to you. All the blessings 
 that I wished for my poor Eugene, I now pray to God may 
 be the portion of your Karl." 
 
 Sturm wiped his eyes, and then clasped the Baron's 
 hands again. The two fathers sat together in silence, till, 
 with a sigh, the Baron rose. Sturm carefully took his 
 arm, and led him through yard and meadow to the castle- 
 terrace. For there is a road now up to the tower — a road 
 with a stone parapet, and the door can be reached by car- 
 riages, and on foot. Sturm rings the bell, the Baron's 
 valet hurries down, and leads his master up the steps, for 
 Father Sturm still finds a staircase hard work. 
 
 Meanwhile, a carriage stops in the farm-yard. Karl 
 respectfully hurries from his room, and the new proprietor 
 jumps down. 
 
 " Good-day, sergeant," cried Fink ; " how goes it in the 
 castle, and on the farm ? How are the Friiulein and 
 Baroness ?" 
 
384 
 
 DEBIT A^'D CREDIT. 
 
 " All right," reported Karl ; " oiily the Baroness is very 
 feeble. We have been expecting you for a week past. 
 The family have been daily asking whether there were any 
 tidings of you." 
 
 " I was detained," said Fink ; " and perhaps I should 
 not be back now, but that, since this fall of snow, there is 
 is no judging of land. I have bought Dobrowitz." 
 
 "Zounds !" cried Karl in delight. 
 
 " Capital ground," continued Fink ; " five hundred acres 
 of wood, in which the manure lies nearly a foot deep. Ih 
 the Polish hole close by, which they call a town, the Jews 
 thronged like ants, when they heard that henceforth our 
 spurs would jingle daily over their market-place. I say, 
 bailiff, you will be delighted when you see the new pro- 
 perty. I have a great mind to send you over there next 
 spring. But what have you there ? a letter from Anton. 
 Let's have it." He hastily tore it open. " Is the Fraulein 
 in the castle ?" 
 
 "Yes, Herr von Fink." 
 
 " Very well. A messenger goes this evening to Neudorf ;" 
 and with rapid step, he hurried into the house. 
 
 Lenore sat in her room sewing, with a good deal of cut- 
 out linen round her. She diligently passed her needle 
 through the stiff cloth, sometimes stretching the seam on 
 her knee, smoothing it with her thimble, and looking 
 doubtfully to see whether each individual stitch was small 
 and even. Then that rapid footstep was heard in the pas- 
 sage, and springing up, she comnilsively pressed her work 
 together. But she composed herself by a mighty effort, 
 and sat down again to her task. He knocked at her door. 
 A deep blush spread slowly over her face, and her " Come 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 in I" hardly reached her guest's ear. As Fink entered, he 
 glanced with some curiosity around the 2:>lainly-furnished 
 room, which had a few chalk drawings by Lenore on tlu^ 
 walls, but nothing else, except absolutely necessary furni- 
 ture. Even the little panther-skin sofa was gone. 
 
 When Fink bowed before her, she inquired in a tone of 
 indifference, "Have you been detained by anythini;- un- 
 pleasant ? we were all uneasy about you." 
 
 "A property that I have bought interfered with my 
 return. I come now in all haste to report myself to my 
 mistress ; and, at the same time, I bring a packet which 
 Anton has sent for the Baroness. If she feels sufficiently 
 well to see me, will you prepare her to do so ?" 
 
 Lenore took the letter. " I will go immediately to my 
 mother; pray excuse me," and slightly bending, she tried 
 to pass him. 
 
 Fink waved her back, and said jokingly, " I find you 
 most housewifely busy with needle and scissors. Who is the 
 happy one for whom you are sewing those wedge-shapeil 
 pieces together ] " 
 
 Lenore blushed again. " Gentlemen must not inquire 
 into the mysteries of feminine work," said she. 
 
 " I know, however, that the thimble did not usually stand 
 high in your favour," said Fink good-humouredly. " Is it 
 necessary, dear lady, that you should min your eyes V 
 
 " Yes, Hen- von Fink," returned Lenore firmly ; " it is, 
 and it will be necessary." 
 
 "Oh, hoi" cried Fink, shaking his liead, and comfort- 
 ably leaning against the back of a chair. " Do you sup- 
 pose then that I have not long ago remarked your secret 
 campaigns with, needle and scissors '? and also your grave 
 
386 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 face, and the magnificent bearing you assume toward me, 
 naughty boy that I am ? Where is the panther-sofa ? 
 Where is the brotherly frankness that I have a right to 
 expect after our understanding 1 You have kept very im- 
 perfectly to our agreement. I see plainly that my good 
 friend is inclined to give me up, and withdraw, with the 
 best grace possible. But, permit me to remark, that this 
 will hardly avail you. You will not get rid of me." 
 
 " Be generous, Herr von Fink," cried Lenore in extreme 
 excitement. "Do not make what I have to do, still 
 harder. Yes, I am preparing to part from this place — to 
 part from you." 
 
 "You refuse then to remain with me?" said Fink, with 
 a frowning brow. " Very well ; I shall return, and implore 
 till I am heard. If you run away, I shall run after you ; 
 and if you cut off' your beautiful hair, and fly to a convent, 
 I'll leap the walls, and fetch you out. Have I not wooed 
 you as the adventurer in the fairy tales does the king's 
 daughter? To win you, proud Lenore, I have turned sand 
 into grass, and transformed myself into a respectable far- 
 mer. Therefore, beloved mistress, be reasonable, and do 
 not torment me by maidenly caprices." 
 
 "Oh! respect such caprices!" cried Lenore, bursting 
 into tears. " In the solitude of these last weeks I have 
 MTCstled hourly with my sorrow. I am a poor girl, whose 
 duty it is to live for her afflicted parent. The dower that 
 I should bring you would be sickness, gloom, and poverty ! " 
 
 " You are mistaken," replied Fink earnestly. " Our 
 friend has provided for you. He has hunted two rascals 
 into the water — and has paid your father's debts. The 
 Baron has a nice little fortune remaining ; and I can tell 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 387 
 
 your perverse ladyship you are no bad match after all, if 
 you lay any stress upon that. The letter you hold upsets 
 all your philosophy." 
 
 Lenore looked at the envelope, and threw the letter away. 
 
 " No !" cried she, beside herself. " When, shattered by 
 sorrow, I lay upon your breast, you then told me I was to 
 get stronger. And every day I feel that when I come 
 into contact with you, I have no strength, no opinion, no 
 will of my own. Whatever you say appears to me right, 
 and I forget how I thought before. What you require I 
 must needs do, imresisting as a slave. The woman who 
 goes through life at your side should be your equal in in- 
 tellect and power, and should feel reliant in her own pro- 
 vince. But I am an uncultivated, helpless girl. In my 
 foolish love I let it appear that I could do for your sake 
 what no woman should. You find nothing in me to 
 respect. You would kiss me and — endure me !" Lenore's 
 hand clenched, and her eyes flashed as she spoke. 
 
 " Does it then repent you so much that for my sake you 
 sent a bullet into that villain's shoulder?" said Fink. 
 " What I now see looks less like love than hatred ! " 
 
 " I hate you "?" cried the poor girl, hiding her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 He took her hands, drew her to him, and pressed a kiss 
 upon her lips. " Trust me, Lenore !" 
 
 " Leave me ! leave me ! " cried Lenore, struggling ; but 
 her lips were pressed to his, and her arms twined around 
 him ; and looking into his face with a passionate expression 
 of love and fear, she gradually sank down at his feet. 
 
 Thoroughly moved. Fink stooped and raised her. " Mine 
 you are, and I hold you fast !" cried he. " With rifle and 
 
388 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 bullet I have bought your stormy heart. In the same 
 breath you tell me sweet things and bitter ! What then ! 
 am I such a despot that a noble-minded woman should 
 fear to come under my yoke 1 Just as you are, Lenore 
 — resolute, bold, a little passionate devil — ^just so I will 
 have you remain. We have been companions in arms, 
 and so we shall continue to be. The day may return 
 when we shall both raise our guns to our cheeks, and the 
 people about us need natures more disposed to give than to 
 take a blow. Were you not my heart's desire, were you a 
 man, I should like to have you for my life's companion I 
 So, Lenore, you will be to me not only a beloved wife, but 
 a courageous friend, the confidante of all my plans — my 
 best and truest comrade." 
 
 Lenore shook her head, but she climg to him firmly. 
 " I ought to be your housewife," sighed she. 
 
 Fink caressingly stroked back her hair, and kissed her 
 burning brow. " Be content, sweet heart," said he tenderly, 
 " and make up your mind to it. We have been together 
 in a fire strong enough to bring love to maturity ; and 
 we know each other thoroughly. Between oiu'selves, we 
 shall have many a storm in our house. I am no easy- 
 going companion, at least for a woman ; and you will very 
 soon find that will of yours again, the loss of which you are 
 now lamenting. Be at rest, darling, you shall be as head- 
 strong as of yore ; you need not distress yourself on that 
 account. So you may prepare for a few storms, but for 
 hearty love and a merry life as well. I will have you 
 laugh again, Lenore. You will have no need to make 
 niy shirts ; and if you don't like account-keeping — why, 
 let it alone. And if you do sometimes give your boys a 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 389 
 
 box on the ear, it will do our brood no harm. I think you 
 will give yourself to me 1" 
 
 Lenore was silent, but she clung closer to his breast. 
 Fink drew her away. " Come to our mother !" cried he. 
 
 Both bent over the bed of the invalid. A brightness 
 passed over the pale face of the Baroness, as she laid her 
 hands on Fink's head, and gave him her blessing. 
 
 " She is still a child," said she. It remains with you, 
 my son, to make a good woman of her ! " 
 
 She sent her children out of the room. " Go to your 
 father ; bring him to me, and leave us alone together." 
 
 WTien the Baron sat by the side of his wife, she di-ew 
 his hand to her lips and whispered, " Let me thank you, 
 Oscar, to-day, for many years of happiness — for all your 
 love." 
 
 " Poor wife !" murmured the blind man. 
 
 " What you have done and suffered," continued the 
 Baroness, " you have done and suffered for me and my 
 son, and we both leave you behind in a joyless world. 
 You were not to have the happiness of transferring an 
 inheritance ; you are the last to bear the name of Roth- 
 sattel." 
 
 The Baron groaned. 
 
 " But the reputation we leave behind will be spotless as 
 was your whole life, till two hours of despair." She 
 placed the bundle of notes-of-hand in the blind man's 
 grasp, then having torn each one up, she rang the bell, 
 and told the servant to put them piece by piece into the 
 stove. The flames leaped up and threw a red light over 
 the room, till the last was consumed. The evening closed 
 in, and the Baron lay on the sick lady's bed, and hid his 
 
390 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 face in the pillows, while she held her hands folded over 
 him, and her lips moved in prayer. 
 
 In the early morning light the ravens and jackdaws 
 fluttered over the snowy roof. Their black wings hovered 
 awhile above the tower, then, with loud cries, they broke 
 away to the wood to announce to their feathered race 
 that the castle walls contained a bride and a corpse. 
 The pale lady from a foreign land has died in the night, 
 and the blind man who is lying in his daughter's arms 
 has but one consolation, that of knowing that he shall 
 soon follow her to her endless rest. And the ill-omened 
 birds scream out to the winds that the old Slavonic curse 
 has fallen on the castle, and the doom has lighted on 
 the foreign settlers too. 
 
 But little cares the man who now holds sway within 
 the castle walls whether a raven croak or a lark sing, and 
 if a curse lie on his property, he will laughingly blow it 
 away. His life will be a ceaseless and successful conflict 
 with the dark influences around, and from the Slavonic 
 castle will come out a band of noble boys, and a new 
 German race, strong and enduring in mind and body, 
 will overspread the land — a race of colonists and con- 
 querors. 
 
 In a few cordial lines, Fink announced to his friend 
 his own betrothal and the death of the Baroness. A 
 sealed note to Sabine was enclosed in the envelope. 
 
 It was evening when the postman brought the letter to 
 Anton's room. Long did he sit pondering its contents ; at 
 length he took up the note to Sabine, and hurried to the 
 front part of the house. 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 391 
 
 He found the merchant in his study, and gave him the 
 letter. 
 
 The merchant immediately called in Sabine. " Fink h 
 betrothed — here is his announ(^ement." 
 
 Sabine clasped her hands in delight, and was hurrying 
 off' to Anton, but she stopped with a blush, took her note to 
 the lamp and opened it. There could not have been much 
 in it, for she read it in an instant ; and though she tried 
 hard to look grave, could not suppress a smile. At another 
 time Anton would have watched her mood with passionate 
 interest — to-day he scarcely heeded it 
 
 " You will spend the evening with us, dear Wohlfart 
 said the merchant. 
 
 Anton replied, " I was going to ask you to spare me a 
 few moments. I have something to say to yo^i." He 
 looked uneasily at Sabine. 
 
 " Let her hear it. Remain, Sabine," said the merchant to 
 his sister, who was just going to slip away ; " you are good 
 friends ; Mr. Wohlfart will not object to your presence. 
 Speak, my friend, what can I do for you 
 
 Anton bit his lips and looked again at the beloved form 
 that leant with downcast eyes against the door. " May I 
 inquire, Mr. Schroter," he at length began, " whether you 
 have found the situation for which you kindly promised to 
 look out ? " 
 
 Sabine moved uneasily, and the merchant looked up in 
 amazement. ^' I believe I shall soon have something to 
 off'er you, but is there any great hurry about it, dear 
 Wohlfart?" 
 
 " There is," replied Anton gravely. " T have not a day to 
 lose. My relations to the Rothsattel family are now entirely 
 
392 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 closed, and the fearful events with which I have been 
 connected, during the last weeks, have affected my health. 
 I yearn for repose. Regular employment in some foreign 
 city, where nothing will remind me of the past is, however, 
 ])ositively essential to me." 
 
 Again Sabine moved, but a look from her brother kept 
 her back. 
 
 " And could you not find that repose which I too wish 
 for you, here Avith us?" inquired the merchant. 
 
 " No," replied Anton, in a faint voice ; I beg you noi 
 to be offended if I leave" you to-day." 
 
 " Leave us !" cried the merchant. " I see no reason 
 for such haste. You can recruit here ; the ladies must 
 take better care of you than hitherto. Wohlfart complains 
 t)f you, Sabhie. He looks pale and worn. You and our 
 cousin must not allow that." 
 
 Sabine did not answer a word. 
 
 "I must go, Mr. Schroter," said Anton, decidedly. 
 " To-morrow I set oat." 
 
 " And will you not at least tell your friends the reason 
 of so hasty a departure f said the merchant gravely. 
 
 " You know the reason. I have done vdih my past. 
 Hitherto I have ill provided for my future ; for I am about to 
 seek and win, in some subordinate situation, the confidence 
 and good opinion of strangers. I have become, too, very 
 poor in friends. I must separate for years from all I love. 
 I have some cause to feel alone, and since I must needs 
 l)egin life again, it is best to do so as soon as possible, 
 for every day that I spend here is fraitless, and only makes 
 my strength less, the necessaiy parting harder." He 
 spoke ill deep emotion, his voice trembling, but he did not 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 lose his self-control. Then going np to Sabine, he took her 
 hand. " In this last hour I tell you, in the presence of 
 your brother, what it cannot oftend you to liear, for you 
 have known it long. Parting from you pains me more than 
 I can say. Farewell !" And now lie fairly Ijroke down, 
 and turned to the window. 
 
 After a pause the merchant said, " Yom- sudden de- 
 parture, dear Wolilfart, will be inconvenient to my sister as 
 well as to me. Sabine was anxious to request such a service 
 from you as a merchant's sister is likely to require. I, too, 
 wish very much that you should not refuse her. Sabine 
 begs that you will look over some papers for her. It will 
 be no great task." 
 
 Anton turned, and made a deprecating gesture. 
 
 " Before you decide, listen to a fact that you have pro- 
 bably not known before," continued the merchant. " Ever 
 since my father's death, Sabine has secretly been my part- 
 ner ; and her advice and opinion has decided matters in our 
 counting-house oftener than you think. She, too, has been 
 your principal, dear Wohlfart." He made a sign to his 
 sister, and left the room. 
 
 Anton looked in amazement at the principal in white 
 muslin, with black braided hair. For years, then, he had 
 served and obeyed the youthful figure which now blush- 
 ingly approached him. 
 
 " Yes, Wohlfart," said Sabine timidly ; "I, too, have 
 had a small hold upon your life. And how proud I was of 
 it ! Even those Christmas-boxes you used to receive, I 
 knew of them ; and it was my sugar and coffee that the little 
 Anton drank. When your worthy father came to us and 
 asked for a situation for you, it was I who persuaded my 
 
394 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 brother to take you. For Traiigott asked me about it, he 
 himself objecting, and thinking you were too old. But I 
 begged for you, and from that time my brother always 
 called you my apprentice. It was I who promised your 
 father to take care of you here. I was but an inex- 
 perienced child myself, and the confidence of a stranger 
 enchanted me. Your father, good old gentleman, would 
 not wear, while with us, the velvet cap that peeped out 
 of his pocket, till I drew it out and put it on his white 
 curls ; and then I wondered whether my apprentice would 
 have such beautiful curls too. And when you came, and 
 all were pleased with you, and my brother pronounced you 
 the best of all his clerks, I was as proud of you as your 
 good father could have been." 
 
 Anton leant on the desk, and hid his face with his 
 hand. 
 
 " And that day when Fink insulted you, and again after 
 that boating excursion, I was angry with him, not only for 
 his presumption, but because he had taken my true appren- 
 tice into danger ; and because I always felt that you be- 
 longed a little to me, I begged my brother to take you with 
 him on that dangerous journey. It was for me too, Wohl- 
 fart, that you toiled in that foreign land, and when you 
 stood by the loaded wagons, amidst fire and clash of arms 
 that fearful night, they were my goods that you were 
 saving. And so, my friend, I come to you now in the 
 character of a merchant, and pray you to do me a service ; 
 you shall look over an account for me ?" 
 
 " I will," said Anton, turning away ; " but not at this 
 moment." 
 
 Sabine went to a book-case, and laid out two books, with 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 395 
 
 gilt leaves and green morocco binding, on the desk. Then 
 taking Anton by the hand, she said in a trembling voice, 
 " Please come and look at my Debit and Credit." She 
 opened the first volume. Beneath all manner of skilful 
 flourishes, stood the words, " With God — Private Ledger 
 of T. 0. Schroter." 
 
 Anton started back. " It is the private book of the 
 firm," cried he. " This is a mistake." 
 
 " It is no mistake," said Sabine. " I want you to look 
 over it." 
 
 " Impossible !" cried Anton. " Neither you nor your 
 brother can seriously wish this. God forbid that any one 
 should venture to do so but the heads of the concern. So 
 long as a firm lasts, these pages are for no human eyes but 
 those of its head, and after that of the next heir. He who 
 reads this book, knows what no stranger should ; nay, 
 as far as this book goes, the most intimate friend is a 
 stranger. Neither as merchant nor as upright man can I 
 comply with your wish." 
 
 Sabine held his hand fast. " But do look at it, Wohl- 
 fart ; look at least at its title." She pointed out its cover. 
 " Here you have T. 0. Schroter." Then turning over the 
 pages, " There are few empty columns here ; the book ends 
 with the last year." Then opening the second volume, she 
 said, " This book is empty, but here we find another firm ; 
 look at least at its title." 
 
 Anton read, "With God — Private Ledger of T. 0, 
 Schroter and Company." 
 
 Sabine pressed his hand, and said gently, and as with 
 entreaty, " And you are to be the new partner, my friend." 
 
 Anton stood motionless ; but his heart beat wildly, and 
 
306 
 
 DEBIT AND CREDIT, 
 
 his face flushed up brightly. Sabiue still held his hand ; 
 he saw her face near his, and light as a breath, her lips 
 touched his. He flung his arms around her, and the two 
 happy lovers were clasped in speechless embrace. 
 
 The door opened, and the merchant appeared. " Hold 
 fast the runaway!" cried he. "Yes, Anton, I have 
 wished this for years. Since that time when you knelt by 
 my bed, and bound up my wound in a foreign land, I have 
 (cherished the hope of uniting you for ever to our life. 
 When you left us, I was angry at seeing my hope baffled. 
 Now then, enthusiast, we have you safe, safe in our private 
 book, and in our arms." He drew the lovers to him. 
 
 " You have chosen a poor partner," cried Anton on his 
 new brother's breast. 
 
 " Not so, my brother. Sabine has shown herself a 
 judicious merchant. Neither wealth nor position have any 
 value for the individual or the community, without the 
 healthy energy which keeps the dead metal in life-producing 
 action. You bring into the business the courage of youth, 
 and the wisdom of experience. Welcome to our house 
 and to our hearts ! " 
 
 Radiant with joy, Sabine held both the hands of her 
 betrothed : "I have been hardly able to bear seeing you so 
 silent and so sad. Every day when you rose from the 
 dinner-table, I used to feel that I must fly after you, and 
 tell you before that you belonged to us. You blind one, you 
 never found out what was passing within me, and Lenore's 
 betrothed has known it all !" 
 
 "He!" exclaimed Anton. "I never spoke of you to 
 him." 
 
 " Look here !" cried Sabine, taking Fink's note from her 
 
DEBIT AND CREDIT. 
 
 pocket. There was nothing in it but the words : " Hearty 
 friendship, best Avishes, Mrs. Sister-in-hiw." 
 
 Again Anton caught his beloved in his arms. 
 
 Deck thyself out, old house ! rejoice, discreet cousin I 
 dance, ye friendly house- sprites on the shadowy floor ! The 
 poetic dreams that the boy Anton nursed in his early 
 home, beneath the prayers for blessings of his worthy 
 parents, were honourable dreams ; and here is their fulfil- 
 ment. That which allured and unsettled, and diverted liim 
 from his life-purpose, he has with manly heart overcome. 
 
 The old diary of his life is at an end, and henceforth, ye 
 gracious house-sprites, in your private book, will be in- 
 scribed : " With God, his future career of Debit and 
 Credit." 
 
 THE EMI). 
 
 RDI.NEDROH 
 
LIST OF WORKS 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 THOMAS CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 
 Memoirs of Frederick Perthes : 
 
 Or^ Literary, Religious^ a nd Political Life in Germany from 1789 to 
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 Or, Passages in the Life of an Italian. 
 
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 By the same Author. 
 
 Doctor Antonio : a Tale. 
 
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 The materials are so skilfully managed, and are woven together in such a 
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WORKS PUBLISHED BY THOMAS CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 
 NEW BOOK BY MISS BREWSTER. 
 
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