Chapter Two.

A Thunderclap!

It was late in the autumn when Eric left Lubeck on his way to Rotterdam, where he was to go on board the good ship Gustav Barentz, bound on a trading voyage to the eastern isles of the Indian Ocean; and, as the year rolled on, bringing winter in its train—a season which the Dort family had hitherto always hailed with pleasure on account of its festive associations—the hours lagged with the now sadly diminished little household in the Gulden Strasse; for, the merry Christmas-tide reminded them more than ever of the absent sailor boy, who had always been the very life and soul of the home circle, and the eagerly sought-for guest at every neighbourly gathering.

“It does not seem at all the same now the dear lad is away on the seas,” said old Lorischen, the whilom nurse, and now part servant, part companion of Madame Dort. “Indeed, I cannot fancy him far-distant at all. I feel as if he were only just gone out skating on the canal, and that we might expect him in again at any moment!”

“Ah, I miss him every minute of the day,” replied Madame Dort, who was sitting on one side of the white porcelain stove that occupied a cosy corner of the sitting-room, facing the old nurse, who was busily engaged knitting a pair of lambs-wool stockings on the other.

“It is now—aye, just two months since the dear lad left us,” continued Lorischen, “and we’ve never had a line from him yet. I hope no evil has befallen the ship!”

“Oh, don’t say such a thing as that,” said Madame Dort nervously. “The vessel has a long voyage to make, and would only touch at the Cape of Good Hope on her way; so we cannot expect to hear yet. I wonder at you, Lorischen, alarming me with your misgivings! I am sure I am anxious enough already about poor Eric.”

“Ach himmel! I meant no harm, dear lady,” rejoined the other; “but, when one has thoughts, you know, they must find vent, and I’ve been dreaming of him the last three nights. I do wish he were safe back again. The house is not itself without him.”

“You are not the only one that thinks that,” said Madame Dort. “Why, even the very birds that come to be fed at the gallery window miss him! They won’t take their bread crumbs from my hand as they used to do last winter from his; you remember how tame they were, and how they would hop on his shoulder when he opened the window and called them?”

“Aye, that do I, well! He was a kind lad to bird and beast alike. There is my old cat, which another boy would have tormented according to the nature of all boys where poor cats are concerned; but Eric loved it, and petted it like myself! Many a time I see Mouser looking up at that model of his ship there, blinking his eyes as if he knew well where the young master is, for cats have deeper penetration than human folk give them credit for. I heard him miaow-wowing this morning; and, when I went to look for him, there he was on the top of the stove, if you please, gazing up at the little ship, with his tail up in the air as stiff as a hair-brush! I couldn’t make it out at all, and that’s what made me so thoughtful to-day about the dear lad, especially as I’d dreamt of him, too.”

“My dear Lorischen, you absurd creature,” laughed out Madame Dort. “I’m glad you said that. Don’t you know what was old Mouser’s grievance? Was I not close behind you at the time the cat was making the noise, and did not Burgher Jans’ dog rush out of the room as the door was opened? Of course, Mouser got on the stove to be out of his way, and that was why you thought he was speaking in cat language to poor Eric’s little model ship. What a superstitious old lady you are, to be sure!”

“Ah well, you may think so, and explain it away, madame,” said Lorischen, in no way convinced; “but I have my beliefs all the same; and I think that cat knows more than you and I do. Dear, dear! There, I declare it is snowing again. What a Christmas we will have, and how the dear lad would have enjoyed it, eh?”

“Yes, that he would,” rejoined the other. “He did love to watch the snowflakes come down, and talk of longing to see an Arctic winter; but I hope it will not fall so heavily as to block the railway, and prevent us from getting any letters.”

“I hope not,” replied Lorischen sympathisingly. “That would be a bad look-out, especially at Christmas time! Look, the roof of the Marien Kirche is covered already: what must it not be in the open country!”

The old town presented a very different aspect now to what it had done when Madame Dort had walked by Eric’s side to the railway station, for the red tiles of the houses were hidden from view by the white covering which now covered the face of nature everywhere—the frozen canal ways and river, with the ice-bound ships along the quays and the tall poplar trees and willows on the banks, as well as the streets and market-place, being thickly powdered, like a gigantic wedding-cake, with snow-dust; while icicles hung pendent, as jewels, from the masts of the vessels and the boughs of the trees alike, and from the open-work galleries of the market hall and groined carvings of the archways and outside staircases that led to the upper storeys of the ancient buildings around. These latter glittered in every occasional ray of sunshine that escaped every now and then from the overhanging clouds, flashing out strange radiant shades of colouring to light up the monotonous tone of the landscape.

Madame Dort rose from her chair and went to the window where she remained for some little time watching the fast descending flakes that came down in never-ceasing succession.

“I’m afraid it is going to be a very heavy fall,” said she presently, after gazing at the scene around in the street below. Then, lifting her eyes, she noticed that the heavy mass of snow-clouds on the horizon had now crept up to the zenith, totally obscuring the sun, and that the wind had shifted to the north-east—a bad quarter from whence to expect a change at that time of year.

“But, dear me, there is Fritz! I wonder what brings him home so early to-day?” she exclaimed again after another pause. “See,” she added, “the dear child! He has got something white in his hand, and is waving it as he comes up the stairway. It’s a letter, I’m sure; and it must be from Eric!”

Old Lorischen bounced out of her chair at this announcement and was at the door of the room almost as soon as her mistress; but, before either could touch the handle, it was opened from without, and Fritz came into the apartment.

“Hurrah, mother!” he shouted out in joyful tones. “Here’s news from Eric at last! A letter in his own dear handwriting. I have not opened it yet; but it must have been put on board some passing vessel homewards bound, as it is marked ‘ship’s letter,’ and I’ve had to pay two silbergroschen for it. Open it and read, mother dear; I’m so anxious to hear what our boy says.”

With trembling hands Madame Dort tore the envelope apart, and soon made herself mistress of the contents of the letter. It was only a short scrawl which the sailor lad had written off hurriedly to take advantage of the opportunity of sending a message home by a passing ship, as his brother had surmised—Eric not expecting to have been able to forward any communication until the vessel reached the Cape; and, the stranger only lying-to for a brief space of time to receive the despatches of the Gustav Barentz, he could merely send a few hasty lines, telling them that he was well and happy, although he missed them all very much, and sending his “dearest love” to his