SIBYLLA.

Adapted from the German.

BY

CORNELIA McFADDEN

CINCINNATI: CURTS & JENNINGS. NEW YORK: EATON & MAINS

Copyright. CRANSTON & STOWE, 1888.

Tenderly Inscribed TO The memory OF A beautiful, little life C. McF.

NEW YORK, 1888.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I. A Difficult Duty II. "Doubt can be Ended by Action Alone" III. The Rescue IV. Hopes Fulfilled V. Airy Castles VI. "All is not Gold that Glitters VII. Drifting VIII. "Enjoyment is Life" IX. Love unto Death X. True Nobility XI. The Enemy sows Tares XII. Life is but a Vapor XIII. Conflict and Victory XIV. The Lot is Cast XV. Chase after Happiness XVI. "Farewell, Thou Golden Sun!" XVII. Three Blows XVIII. Discordant Notes XIX. After the Dark, the Dawn XX. Beyond? XXI. True Heroism XXII. In the Wilderness XXIII. Jerusalem the Golden XXIV. "Teach Us to Pray" XXV. Duty or Love? XXVI. "My Peace I give unto You" XXVII. Old Friends XXVIII. Blessed Reunion XXIX. The Beginning of Life XXX. "Die Wacht am Rhein" XXXI. Saved! XXXII. "Coals of Fire" XXXIII. In the Haven

SIBYLLA.

I.

"Know that the love of thyself doth hurt thee more than any thing in the world.... Forsake thyself, resign thyself, and thou shalt enjoy much inward peace!"—THOMAS À KEMPIS.

"But I must have him!"

"All right. For my part I shall take care not to run after the bones of a mole!"

These last words were spoken by a tall stripling student, about seventeen years old. His natural and elegant mien evidently did not belong to the precincts of a village schoolmaster—his thoughts still less so. Just now he lay indolently reclining on a bank of verdure, and, after looking around on all sides, stealthily drew from his pocket a book, which bore the label of a free library in an adjacent town.

"Arnold! Arnold! I've got him!" exclaimed the voice which had first spoken, after a brief pause. It belonged to a sixteen-years-old companion who held up to view, triumphantly, a mole, while he repeated with a countenance aglow with enthusiasm: "I've got him!"

"Then you've got a great thing," retorted Arnold, sneeringly; "meanwhile he also has captured his princess," pointing significantly to the book in his hand.

"He had almost escaped me," continued the first speaker; "but I caught him just in the nick of time. See, a splendid mole!"

"A splendid book," snarled Arnold. "This is the third time I have brought it here."

"Won't you see how I dissect the fellow? He is a famous example——"

"Yes; full-blooded, noble English blood! Pfui!" he interrupted as he turned to his comrade, who was beginning to cut the creature into sections. "Pfui! you slaughterer! When you shall have dissected him, you will discover the miracle of having no heart in your own body."

"But Arnold," Wulf maintained, "I must know how he looks inside."

Arnold shrugged his shoulders contemptuously, when footsteps were heard. The book was suddenly plunged into his pocket, and the reader became apparently absorbed in the contemplation of the mole.

An older man approached the young students. It was Herr Ericksen, the village teacher, at whose house both lads lived. In an earnest tone he said to Arnold: "Have you finished your task?"

The youth replied hesitatingly, "Not altogether," and comprehending a significant glance from the inquirer, he turned away.

The teacher stood still some minutes, gazing at Wulf in his zealous occupation. An expression of pain passed over his kindly face. Then laying his hand on the boy's shoulder, he said: "Leave your mole, Wulf; come, I wish to talk to you."

Wulf was startled by his uncle's unusual gravity.

"What has happened?" he exclaimed.

"Nothing has happened, my child," replied the master; "but what I have to tell you is a difficult duty for me. You know how much I love you; you understood that; as a child you clung to me when I visited your father's house, while your brothers cared little for me, but tumbled about in the boats on the water. You know, too, Wulf, how you always wanted to discover what was inside of every thing, mussel and snail, animal and flower. Other people deplored this love of investigation, and declared it was a pleasure for you to destroy, but your old uncle recognized the thirst for knowledge. Who was the happier, you or I, when your father consented, eventually, for you to come home with me to study, and when you gave fine promise of becoming a physician in time?"

"Yes, uncle, and——"

"But see, my boy," continued the old man; "this may not be, after all."

"Why not?" asked Wulf, warmly.

"Listen quietly to me," said the uncle persuasively; "I will tell you all. Later, when your brothers died I feared the result, but when, before a year had elapsed, your father perished, I felt assured that your mother would call you home. I have remonstrated with her, and argued that you are not fitted for a sailor's life, and that your heart is in your books; but she can not comprehend why an only son should not follow in his father's footsteps without going contrary to the duty he owes his mother. She is an excellent, sensible woman; but such a departure as you propose is wholly incomprehensible to her."

Wulf turned deathly pale and was silent. After a pause he said with emotion:

"Uncle, do you think she is right?"

"Well, from her stand-point," was the reply; "but I am an old school-master, and every one must judge for himself."

"O, uncle, I do not think it is my duty to go there. Shall I, must I go?"

"Yes, you must go; your mother desires it."

"I love my mother dearly, but I think she should give me liberty to choose my calling. Why should that business be continued? If we are not so well off in worldly matters, we certainly have enough to live on."

"But not enough for you to study. A medical course is expensive."

"O," cried Wulf, "I will take care of myself at the university; and can't the servant at home manage every thing there? He is a far more useful man than I am."

"He is old. How many years can he be depended upon?"

"Until I become a doctor and earn money enough for all."

The two continued their conversation a long while. At last the elder so far succeeded in his argument, that the younger recognized his duty to obey his mother, although the conclusion was reached through burning tears, and Wulf could not change the "I must" honestly into "I wish."

He gave no further thought to the mole, but went to his room and sat there for a time as one stunned. He could eat no supper. The old school-master's heart was also depressed beyond measure.

Naturally enough, Arnold had learned what had befallen his companion. If it had chanced to be his fate to turn his back upon books and study he would have rejoiced; but the prospect of descending to a low sailor's life—such a change could only be contemplated with pity.

Arnold Von Kahring was the son of a distinguished baron, who resided at Berlin. He was also an only son. But it is to be regretted that in no way did he fulfill his parent's expectations. He was naturally phlegmatic, and haughty from a sense of pride which his mother had early instilled and nourished on account of his position and birth. The baron himself had very little concern about his son.

Arnold had been sent to school; but, in the opinion of his parents, blame of every kind could only be attached to his instructors; hence the schools were frequently changed. All said he had good ability, but he was too indolent to exercise it.

But while he acquired his Latin imperfectly, he was an apt scholar in the temptations of city life, and bad companions were not wanting. This was made apparent to his father and mother upon the occasion of their "young hopeful" being brought home wounded in "an affair of honor."

"Sent to some celebrated educational institute," was the comment of the Kahring's circle of friends, while in reality he was in the country with a good man, who was directed to teach him obedience and the art of labor. In this wise the two youths had come to Herr Ericksen, a man of high intellectual force and culture, such as one is apt to find among village pedagogues, and a man admirably adapted in every way to train and guide growing lads.

In this quiet home Arnold painfully missed the pleasures of Berlin, and often related wonderful things concerning this distant paradise to Wulf, who had never seen a large city. Wulf had sometimes dreamed over these glowing descriptions of joys and pleasures; but he was too happy in his books, animals, and experiments to permit these distant attractions to gain possession of him by useless longings. Besides, what really seemed most desirable in city life to Wulf had no charm for Arnold; and yet he felt that life would have its true beginning for him in the struggles of a metropolis.

And now every thing had become so changed!

Arnold pitied Wulf with all his heart, but Wulf did not care for his compassion. Once having made the decision, he declined to be commiserated, and preferred not to talk on the subject.

"I shall see you in Berlin yet," said Arnold, "with a roll under your arm and a surgical case in your pocket, walking solemnly to a hospital in order to cut up dead men; while I, in the uniform of an ensign, shall be tortured to death by living beings around me."

On the following day Wulf begged his uncle to fix the hour of his departure. "Since I go unwillingly," he said, "who knows whether I shall have the courage to go at all a week hence?"

Herr Ericksen appreciated the lad's conflicting resolution and desire.

"Let it be in the morning, then."

"Good! in the morning," responded Wulf, "early; as soon as it is light, then."

When the old school-master returned home that evening after a short walk, a peculiar odor greeted him.

Wulf stood with glowing face by the little kitchen hearth, which flashed and bubbled and flamed, while fragments of boxes, bottles, and flasks were strewn around.

"Wulf! what in the world are you doing?"

"Away with the stuff!" he exclaimed. "I can not bear to see it any longer."

"What! your books, your collections, your manuscripts?"

"Uncle, I burn my ship behind me."

"Poor child!" and pressing him to his heart, tears stood in old Ericksen's eyes, as he added soothingly: "The Fifth Commandment is often-times very difficult to obey; but it is God's law, and it shall surely be well with thee, for the promise is given, 'Thy days shall be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.'"

The next morning a young man walked away with decisive step, a bundle on his back, his face turned to the north. The birds sang cheerily, but he heard them not. He walked rapidly, as though he would fly from the past, and even from himself.

II.

"Remember that in all things lamenting becomes fools, and action wise folk."—SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

On the evening of this same day the sea lay solemn and calm before the young traveler. Dark clouds hovered over its unstirred depths, which trembled only on the surface, like the first awakening of a slumbering child. Wulf stood with folded arms gazing out upon the vast expanse. The water seemed to loom before him like a brazen wall, which threatened to inclose him irrevocably—the grand, free element suggesting only to his perturbed mind the image of eternal imprisonment.

He was not far distant from his home, and yet he hesitated to take the final footsteps thither. How different his previous returns had been! Then his happy heart had flown in advance of his feet, and he was either at the well-known threshold at a bound, or gliding lightly there to surprise suddenly the inmates, in his boyish merriment.

To day he stood still for a long while. At length, when night began to approach, he summoned all his courage, drew a deep sigh, took a step forward, and was once more in the old home, to begin a new life. The door stood open. Wulf entered the familiar room. An elderly, bustling, healthy woman, in the quaint costume of the country, suddenly arose to meet him. It was Frau Ericksen, Wulf's mother; but she did not recognize her son in the darkening twilight.

"Good evening, mother," said Wulf, extending his hand.

She knew the voice at once. "My son! we were not expecting you to-day."

"But I am here," was the response.

Surprised by his tone, Frau Ericksen lighted a lamp and held it before his face. But it reflected no happy expression. Somewhat alarmed, she stepped backward and asked:

"Wulf, are you ill?"

"No, mother, I am not ill. I have come home because you wished it, but it was a reluctant acquiescence on my part."

The mother was silent. Wulf continued:

"I shall work here and learn the business. Uncle sends you greeting."

"You speak and act like a dead man," said his mother; "but this will pass off, and you will soon be happy."

"Happy!" cried Wulf; "no, mother I shall not be happy. I shall do all that you desire, but happiness can never be enforced."

Frau Ericksen left the room. "He will get over it; he will get accustomed to it in time," she repeated to herself.

Meanwhile Wulf greeted his only sister Karen, a stout, active girl of eighteen summers, whose brother was somewhat of a stranger to her on account of his prolonged absences from home.

Soon after, mother, sister, and brother sat down to supper—three estimable, well-disposed persons, but fundamentally different both in character and temperament—and now united in their labor, thoughts, and life!

The next morning Wulf donned a sailor's suit and began his work. There was very little conversation in the home-circle. The mother and Karen were naturally quiet, and Wulf was not disposed to talk. Concerning that which occupied his mind and heart he neither dared nor desired to speak, since he had decided to learn what duty demanded.

Wulf was a robust fellow, with plenty of bone and muscle, but the work he had now undertaken was so different from his former mode of life, and demanded so much physical exertion, that it made him very tired. Nevertheless he could overcome that sensation; and now, if it were only possible to conquer his desires, and overcome his thoughts! So long as he was obliged to work vigorously in the open air, it was all very well. But now Winter approached, and brought with it many idle, gloomy hours. How could he pass away the time? "Tinkering" around did not satisfy Wulf. He felt that he must do something else if he would master his tormenting aspirations and discontented heart.

If he must be a seaman he would, at least, not confine his knowledge to the narrow limits of a common ship. He would learn. But where? How? From books? He had none. From people? No one lived here who could instruct him. Yes; there was one man in the neighborhood who possessed a large fund of information, and who had often invited him to his home.

This was Captain Nielsen, who, after long service, had settled down here for rest in that beautiful residence yonder, with its pretty green blinds. He lived quietly, but was seen every Sunday at church with his only daughter, a girl of fourteen.

Marvelous tales were related of Captain Nielsen by the villagers; how he had married a Spanish countess or Grecian princess, and lived with her in the distant South; how wife and children had died, and only this little daughter had been spared to him; how he had brought her to his northern home, that the fragile plant might gain strength; and it did seem as though the fresh sea-air had improved the child, for instead of being, now, slender and delicate, Ingeborg was a picture of perfect health.

This little strange maiden lived a solitary life. Her father had been her only teacher in worldly matters, and had filled her head with stories of his travels and the wonderful experiences through which he had passed.

Ingeborg's religious instructor was the old pastor of the adjacent village church. She accepted all his teachings, but was often unable to digest it or put it in practice in her secluded life. Besides, as she did not enjoy the companionship of other children, she grew up to be somewhat visionary in character. One could not help observing that Ingeborg was like a flower which had sprung up in a barren soil.

These were the inmates of the dwelling where Wulf began to visit frequently.

Captain Nielsen was very kind to the ambitious youth, and assisted him to the extent of his ability. The aspirations of his deepest soul Wulf did not reveal, for the reason that the old captain firmly believed boys were born in order to become worthy seamen. But Wulf gladly accepted the books Nielsen offered him, assured that he should thereby improve himself in nautical, mathematical, and astronomical science.

Yes, books, books! They look so harmless in themselves; and yet how much trouble some of them have brought into the world! Wulf soon learned other things from them than mere ship knowledge. They aroused in him a thirst to learn more and to search farther; and when for hours he lived in them selfishly, as in another world, and then returned to every-day work-life, as though he were a stranger to it and books alone his existence, he would shut them resolutely, and hasten to the beach to work, leaving their enjoyment to the hours when he was shut indoors on account of storm and rain.

During such times, when the sea raged heaven-high—heaving hills becoming valleys, valleys themselves swelling up to towering mountains again—Wulf felt that in the tumult of the elements without, the battle raged less fiercely in his own breast.

It is true his mother discerned that something was wrong; but in her long life she had learned to labor and to wait, and she hoped that in time her son would become accustomed to the new, or really the old, situation.

Frau Ericksen was a woman of few words. It would have been far better in this case if the mother had talked freely with her son. As it was, silence estranged two hearts which were bound together by the strongest interests.

Since Wulf did not complain outwardly, his mother apparently went on her way as though every thing was right. Wulf, therefore, believed that she understood none of the impulses which stirred him, and thus it happened that time only estranged the more a mother and son who were living together, and yet were far apart.

Perhaps the sister might have been a reconciling medium if she had not had so many other things to think about and to do. A son of the most prominent seaman in the village distinguished her above all the other young women, and this was very gratifying to Karen. Naturally, therefore, she did not trouble herself much about her brother.

But there was one child who perceived most clearly Wulf's discontent and unhappiness. Ingeborg Nielsen had often observed Wulf's eyes sparkle in conversation with her father, especially when the subject was one of higher intellectual culture. Long ago she had discovered that Wulf's employment was beneath him, and she could not divine why he continued it. But Wulf rarely spoke to her or noticed her.

Thus a year passed away, and Winter again fell on the lonely beach. It could be no superficial effort which animated Wulf now, for he had grown much stronger. The poor boy had a trying youth—a joyless, ineffectual struggle with the present. His mother, deceived by his apparent resignation, believed him to be growing more and more reconciled to his enforced calling.

But how was it with Wulf? He toiled faithfully all day, and read his books at night; for he was able to put to a practical use the information gained in this way, and surely no well-wisher could grudge the boy this.