AFTER the sounds of rejoicing for the victory of Leipzig had died away, life went on smoothly and quietly enough in the quaint German city. A sense of security, the more delightful from its novelty, began to replace the alarms and dangers of the previous year; and thoughts of siege and capture by storm receded gradually into the distance. It is wonderful how soon life resumes its quiet, everyday course after the most terrible catastrophes. The same hand that clothes with soft verdure the chasms rent by the volcano and earthquake gives men strength to work for bread, women power to care for household comfort, and little children happy hearts to laugh and play, even when yesterday's sky has been black with the smoke of their burning homes, and the yet smoldering fires may be rekindled tomorrow.
Jeanie went on her quiet way, improving rapidly in the German tongue and in the household industries dear to the hearts of German maids and matrons; while she watched anxiously for tidings of those who were with the Swedish host, which was now advancing triumphantly into the heart of Germany. Meanwhile she contrived to weave a slender thread of romance into the gray texture of her daily life, by a distant worship of the dark-robed lady. Very young girls often cherish this kind of passion; and though Jeanie's circumstances and training had been severely repressive, nature had gifted her bountifully with imagination and enthusiasm. That day was marked with white when she was so happy as to behold Fraulein Gertrud at church, or to receive a smile of recognition as they passed each other in the street. Great then was her joy when one morning the Frau Doctorin actually came to see her, and begged her to return with her and visit her cousin. “She is ill,” said the friendly little lady, who was far more popular than her reserved and stately relative. “And she likes you, my Fraulein, actually she even wishes to see you. The only wish I have heard her utter for ten long years! It would be a pity―would it not? ―that she should be disappointed.”
Jeanie's face flushed crimson with surprise and pleasure. But though inwardly much excited, she only answered quietly, “I will come with you, Frau Doctorin.”
She found the Lady of Savelburg on a couch in her own apartment. She received her young visitor with kindness, and soon drew out her simple history, to which she listened with some appearance of interest. But when Jeanie would have spoken of what her own heart at the time was full of―the war, its progress and its prospects,― she grew constrained, and apparently indifferent, and soon turned the conversation into another channel.
This proved the first of many visits. Fraulein Gertrud; though always reserved, evidently took pleasure in the young girl's society, and treated her with uniform kindness. After a time she offered to instruct her in certain rare kinds of embroidery, in which she was herself an adept. No word on the subject had ever passed between them, yet Jeanie felt sure that her friend was aware of her lonely and dependent position, and wished to furnish her with the means of self-support. So she thankfully accepted her offer, and thenceforward spent some hours of almost every day at the house of Doctor Heimskirk. Fraulein Gertrud proved an excellent teacher, thoughtful, painstaking, and considerate. Clearness of perception seemed her distinguishing characteristic; and it showed itself in everything she said or did, from her rare but valuable observations on the books Jeanie read to her occasionally, to her manner of arranging a pattern or explaining the mysteries of an intricate stitch. “You always see at once the best and quickest way to do a thing,” said her admiring pupil one day. “I sometimes wish you were at the head of our armies.”
“Our armies? Which are they?” asked Fraulein Gertrud with a slight smile.
“Our―us―we Protestants,” said Jeanie ungrammatically, but expressively. It was not the first time she had felt a little shocked by her friend's assumption of indifference to “the Cause.” “But that was a foolish thing for me to say,” she added, after a moment; “I forgot there is One greater, and that He rules.”
“You mean the King of Sweden?”
“No, Fraulein,” Jeanie answered gravely. “I mean the King of kings, the God of battles.”
"You believe He rules? Now, in this age? Here, in Germany? Well, dear child, keep that faith as long as thou canst.”
“I shall keep it forever and ever,” said Jeanie, with deep earnestness. “Oh, Fraulein, if I lost it I should die.”
“No, you would not. Perhaps your better self might die, but you would live on without it, the ghost and shadow of what you were.”
“Dear Fraulein, I cannot understand you, and you trouble me.”
“That would I not willingly do,” said Fraulein Gertrud, drawing her near and kissing her, “for I love thee, my child. The dark knowledge that brings death may come to thee soon enough. Meanwhile go on trusting as long as trust is possible to thee. And remember, whatever happens, we are always Mends. Little Jeanie, call me ‘thou.’”
Jeanie gave her the proof of intimacy she asked, and went home full of a new pity, which shaded and softened, but hardly diminished, her admiring love for her friend.