Hast thou thyself, then thou hast all!"

--WAHLMANN.

 

 

In the summer of 1834 the friends had been absent for two years. In the last year, violet-colored gillyflowers had adorned a grave in the little country church-yard.

 

 

"A heart which overflowed with love,

Was gone from earth to love and God,"

were the words which might be read upon the grave-stone.

 

 

A withered bouquet of stocks had been found by Louise, with the certificate of Eva's birth and her hymn-book. These were the flowers which Wilhelm had given her that evening at Roeskelde. Among the dry leaves there lay a piece of paper, on which she had written,--"Even like these flowers let the feelings die away in my soul which these flowers inspire it with!"

 

And now above her grave the flowers which she had loved sent forth their fragrance.

 

It was Sunday; the sun shone warm; the church-goers, old and young, assembled under the great lime-tree near Eva's grave. They expected their young preacher, who to-day was to preach for the third time.

 

The gentlefolks would also certainly be there, they thought, because the young Baron was come back out of foreign parts, and with him the other gentleman, who certainly was to have Miss Louise.

 

"Our new preacher is worth hearing," said one of the peasant women; "such a young man, who actually preaches the old faith! as gentle and as meek in conversation as if he were one of ourselves! And in the pulpit, God help us! it went quite down into my legs the last time about the Day of Judgment!"

 

"There is Father!" [Note: The general term applied to the preacher by the Danish peasants.] exclaimed the crowd, and the heads of old and young were uncovered. The women courtesied deeply as a young man in priest-robes went into the church-door. His eyes and lips moved to a pious smile, the hair was smooth upon his pale forehead.

 

"Good day, children!" said he.

 

It was Hans Peter. He had, indeed, had "the best characters," and thus had received a good living, and now preached effectively about the devil and all his works.

 

The singing of the community sounded above the grave where the sun shone, where the stocks sent forth their fragrance, and where Eva slept: she whose last wish was to live.

 

 

"There is no love i' th' grave below,

No music, warmth, or pleasure."

 

The earth lay firm and heavy upon her coffin-lid.

 

During the singing of the second hymn a handsome carriage drove up before the church-yard. The two friends, who were only just returned to their home in Denmark, entered the church, together with the mother and Louise.

 

Travelling and two years had made Wilhelm appear somewhat older; there was a shadow of sadness in his otherwise open and life-rejoicing countenance. Otto looked handsomer than formerly; the gloomy expression in his face was softened, he looked around cheerfully, yet thoughtfully, and a smile was on his lips when he spoke with Louise.

 

There was in the sermon some allusion made to those who had returned home; for the rest, it was a flowery discourse interlarded with many texts from the Bible. The community shed tears; the good, wise people, they understood it to mean that their young lord was returned home uninjured from all the perils which abound in foreign lands.

 

The preacher was invited to dinner at the hall. The Kammerjunker and Sophie came also, but it lasted "seven long and seven wide," as Miss Jakoba expressed herself, before they could get through all the unwrapping and were ready to enter the parlor, for they had with them the little son Fergus, as he was called, after the handsome Scotchman in Sir Walter Scott's "Waverley." That was Sophie's wish. The Kammerjunker turned the name of Fergus to Gusseman, and Jacoba asserted that it was a dog's name.

 

"Now you shall see my little bumpkin!" said he, and brought in a square-built child, who with fat, red cheeks, and round arms, stared around him. "That is a strong fellow! Here is something to take hold of! Tralla-ralla-ralla!" And he danced him round the room.

 

Sophie laughed and offered her hand to Otto.

 

Wilhelm turned to Mamsell. "I have brought something for you," said he, "something which I hope may find a place in the work-box--a man made of very small mussel-shells; it is from Venice."

 

"Heavens! from all that way off!" said she and courtesied.

 

After dinner they walked in the garden.

 

Wilhelm spoke already of going the following year again to Paris.

 

"Satan!" said the Kammerjunker. "Nay, I can do better with Mr. Thostrup. He is patriotic. He lays out his money in an estate. It is a good bargain which you have made, and in a while will be beautiful; there is hill and dale."

 

"There my old Rosalie shall live with me," said Otto; "there she will find her Switzerland. The cows ............