Part 17

Below, gazing up at her, as the moon below gazed up to the moon above, floated Sulemair; her white form gleaming through the still water, her yellow hair floating out upon the waves, her snowy arms extended upward.

“Veria, Veria, stay!” shouted the young man in agony.

“Veria, Veria, come!” floated up from the water like a mocking echo, in the silvery voice of Sulemair.

Ernest sprung forward; but Veria, with one wild glance backward, leaped from the cliff, and was clasped in the white arms of Sulemair.

Mechanically, more with the idea of saving Veria than of greeting her rival, Ernest rushed down the path leading to the beach, and stood a moment, with the little laughing waves curling and plashing round his feet.

A white, floating figure rose to the surface, and was borne gently toward him;--plunging in, the young man swam toward her, reached her, and drew her out. Then, standing on the moon-lit beach, he gazed in astonishment at the being beside him. Fair and golden-haired, she had the dove-like, spiritual eyes of Veria, but the laughing, rose-red mouth and dimpled cheek of Sulemair. Upon her head and neck and arms shone the crown and pearls of the sea-princess, but her form was clothed in the modest garments of the earth-maiden. All that he had loved, all that was best and dearest of each, was there. Who was it?

“Veria!--Sulemair!” stammered Ernest. “Which are you? What does this mean? Speak to me!”

“Dear Ernest!” said a voice as true and loving as Veria, as arch and playful as Sulemair, “I am both,--all. What each wanted, the other possessed,--I am the childlike, frolicsome mer-maiden joined to the true heart and immortal soul of Veria. When we clasped our arms about each other, the heart of each leaped to meet that of the other; in a moment we were one,--two in one. Do you like me, Ernest?”

“Like you, my queen, my angel?” exclaimed the youth, clasping her to his heart; “I love you with twofold love. All my old love for Sulemair, all my new love for Veria, has mingled in my heart, as you two have mingled soul and body; and my love is as much stronger for you than for either of those, as you now are more perfect and more charming than either half could have been alone.”

“But my name?” murmured the maiden, “what will you call me, now that I have lost both those which I bore before?”

“I will call you Una now, for you are perfect--you are one,--a woman; and can be no better, no higher.”

And the moon beamed, and the wavelets crisped in her pure light at their feet; and their hearts had room for no more joy.

THE CASTLE ON THE CLIFF

Perched upon a high cliff which overhung the mouth of a mighty river, stood the castle of the Baron von Hoche, and beneath it, in a little harbor sheltered by the huge rocks stretching into the water on either side, lay the boats in which the baron with his crew of ruffians used to attack and plunder all vessels which tried to pass up or down the river; so that after a while, no ship thought of attempting the passage, unless it was armed with sufficient force to beat off the pirates, who would be sure to assail it.

Other times, the baron and his troop would mount their horses, and, swooping down the road which led to the plains below, would pounce upon unwary travellers or rich trains of merchandise, and force them to give up all they had of value. In short, the Baron von Hoche and his followers were so wicked and so bold that the whole country trembled when only his name was mentioned.

A little distance below the castle stood the hut of old Hans the fisherman, who dwelt there alone with Fritzchen, his little son; and thither came, one Christmas morning, a servant from the castle, with a message that the baron would make a great feast that night, and that Hans must supply twice the amount of fish, which he carried daily to the castle as Reiter-malle or black-mail, with which to purchase the baron’s protection and good-will.

So Hans, bidding Fritzchen follow him, went down to the shore, and, loosing his little boat, spread the tattered sail, and set out for his favorite fishing-ground. All day Hans and Fritzchen, fearful that they were wrong in laboring even at the command of their master, upon the birthday of the Lord Jesus, sung hymns and anthems, and repeated pious sentences from good books which they had heard read in the convent chapel, where they sometimes went; and this pious conduct had its reward, for the fish, crowding to the boat to hear the holy music, were taken in crowds, and it was hardly more than noon when Hans again hoisted his ragged sail and turned his boat’s head homeward.

“Now, my Fritzchen,” said he, as they landed, “here are more fish than the baron bade us bring, or than they can use; so we will take out four for ourselves, and will make a little Christmas feast of our own.”

“Good, dear father!” said Fritzchen. “And let me take out this great turbot, the finest of the whole load, and carry it to the convent, that the good fathers may add it to their feast to-night. The baron will then have three times as many as we carry him every day.”

“But, my Fritzchen, it is far to the convent, and the ground is covered deep with snow,” said the father anxiously.

“Oh, that will not hurt me.” said Fritzchen skipping about; “I shall run so fast that I shall keep myself warm, and the way will seem so short that I shall hardly start before I reach there.”

“Go, then, good child,” said the old man, fondly patting the boy’s shoulder. “But first carry this fish to the castle, with our humble duty and Christmas greeting.”

So Fritzchen, taking the great sack of fish upon his shoulder, trudged away to the castle, where he went to the kitchen to leave his load. Here he found old Brigitta, the housekeeper, fuming round and scolding everybody, because she had so much work to do. Fritzchen, cap in hand, laid his sack of fish upon the floor and gave his father’s message.

“Yes, yes, a merry Christmas to idlers like you, who have nothing to do but catch a few miserable fish, it may be,” said the cross old woman. “But for me, who have the whole castle on my shoulders, and no one to do a hand’s turn to help me;--but, there now, why can’t you go, my Fritzchen, to the town and buy the candles?” pursued the old woman, changing to a wheedling tone as a new thought crossed her mind.

“The candles, ma’am?” asked Fritzchen.

“Yes, child; we have not more than half candles enough to illuminate the castle, and the baron has ordered that every window shall blaze to-night; so go you to the town and buy me a dozen pounds, and you shall have three pennies for yourself to buy a Christmas-box.”

“Yes, indeed, ma’am, I will go; and I can go to the convent on the way,” said the boy, gayly.

“And what do you go to the convent for?” asked the dame curiously.