VII. At Fault

by Louisa May Alcott

　　Four weeks went by so rapidly that every one refused to believe itwhen the major stated the fact at the breakfast-table, for all hadenjoyed themselves so heartily that they had been unconscious of thelapse of time."You are not going away, uncle?" cried Amy, with a panic-strickenlook."Next week, my dear; we must be off, for we've much to do yet, and Ipromised mamma to bring you back by the end of October.""Never mind Paris and the rest of it; this is pleasanter. I'd ratherstay here--"There Amy checked herself and tried to hide her face behind hercoffee-cup, for Casimer looked up in a way that made her heart flutterand her cheeks burn."Sorry for it, Amy; but go we must, so enjoy your last week with allyour might, and come again next year.""It will never be again what it is now," sighed Amy; and Casimerechoed the words "next year," as if sadly wondering if the presentyear would not be his last.Helen rose silently and went into the garden, for of late she hadfallen into the way of reading and working in the little pavilionwhich stood in an angle of the wall, overlooking lake and mountains.A seat at the opposite end of the walk was Amy's haunt, for she likedthe sun, and within a week or two something like constraint hadexisted between the cousins. Each seemed happier apart, and each wasintent on her own affairs. Helen watched over Amy's health, but nolonger offered advice or asked confidence. She often looked anxious,and once or twice urged the major to go, as if conscious of somedanger.But the worthy man seemed to have been bewitched as well as the youngfolks, and was quite happy sitting by the plump, placid widow, orleisurely walking with her to the chapel on the hillside.All seemed waiting for something to break up the party, and no one hadthe courage to do it. The major's decision took every one by surprise,and Amy and Casimer looked as if they had fallen from the clouds.The persistency with which the English lessons had gone on wasamazing, for Amy usually tired of everything in a day or two. Now,however, she was a devoted teacher, and her pupil did her great creditby the rapidity with which he caught the language. It looked likepleasant play, sitting among the roses day after day, Amy affecting toembroider while she taught, Casimer marching to and fro on the wide,low wall, below which lay the lake, while he learned his lesson; thenstanding before her to recite, or lounging on the turf in frequentfits of idleness, both talking and laughing a great deal, andgenerally forgetting everything but the pleasure of being together.They wrote little notes as exercises--Amy in French, Casimer inEnglish, and each corrected the other's.All very well for a time; but as the notes increased the correctionsdecreased, and at last nothing was said of ungrammatical French orcomical English and the little notes were exchanged in silence.As Amy took her place that day she looked forlorn, and when her pupilcame her only welcome was a reproachful--"You are very late, sir.""It is fifteen of minutes yet to ten clocks," was Casimer's reply, inhis best English."Ten o'clock, and leave out 'of' before minutes. How many times must Itell you that?" said Amy, severely, to cover her first mistake."Ah, not many times; soon all goes to finish, and I have none personto make this charming English go in my so stupide head.""What will you do then?""I jeter myself into the lake.""Don't be foolish; I'm dull to-day, and want to be cheered up; suicideisn't a pleasant subject.""Good! See here, then--a little plaisanterie--what you call joke.Can you will to see it?" and he laid a little pink cocked-hat note onher lap, looking like a mischievous boy as he did so."'Mon Casimer Teblinski;' I see no joke;" and Amy was about to tear itup, when he caught it from destruction, and holding it out of reach,said, laughing wickedly,--"The 'mon' is one abbreviation of 'monsieur,' but you put nolittle--how do you say?--period at the end of him; it goes now inEnglish--My Casimer Teblinski,' and that is of the most charmingaddress."Amy colored, but had her return shot ready."Don't exult; that was only an oversight, not a deliberate deceptionlike that you put upon me. It was very wrong and rude, and I shall notforgive it.""Mon Dieu! where have I gone in sinning! I am a polisson, as I sayeach day, but not a villain, I swear to you. Say to me that which Ihave made of wrong, and I will do penance.""You told me 'Ma drogha' was the Polish for 'My pupil,' and let mecall you so a long time; I am wiser now," replied Amy, with greatdignity."Who has said stupidities to you, that you doubt me?" and Casimerassumed an injured look, though his eyes danced with merriment."I heard Hoffman singing a Polish song to little Roserl, the burden ofwhich was, 'Ma drogha, Ma drogha,' and when I asked him to translateit, those two words meant, 'My darling.' How dare you, ungratefulcreature that you are!"As Amy spoke, half-confusedly, half-angrily, Casimer went down uponhis knees, with folded hands and penitent face, exclaiming, in goodEnglish,--"Be merciful to me a sinner. I was tempted, and I could not resist.""Get up this instant, and stop laughing. Say your lesson, for thiswill be your last," was the stern reply, though Amy's face dimpled allover with suppressed merriment.He rose meekly, but made such sad work with the verb "To love," thathis teacher was glad to put an end to it, by proposing to read herFrench to him. It was "Thaddeus of Warsaw," a musty little translationwhich she had found in the house, and begun for her own amusement.Casimer read a little, seemed interested, and suggested that they readit together, so that he might correct her accent. Amy agreed, andthey were in the heart of the sentimental romance, finding it moreinteresting than most modern readers, for the girl had an improvedThaddeus before her, and the Pole a fairer, kinder Mary Beaufort.Dangerous times for both, but therein lay the charm; for, though Amysaid to herself each night, "Sick, Catholic, and a foreigner,--it cannever be," yet each morning she felt, with increasing force, how blankher day would be without him. And Casimer, honorably restraining everyword of love, yet looked volumes, and in spite of the glasses, thegirl felt the eloquence of the fine eyes they could not entirelyconceal.To-day, as she read, he listened with his head leaning on his hand,and though she never had read worse, he made no correction, but sat somotionless, she fancied at last that he had actually fallen asleep.Thinking to rouse him, she said, in French,--"Poor Thaddeus! don't you pity him?--alone, poor, sick, and afraid toown his love.""No, I hate him, the absurd imbecile, with his fine boots and plumes,and tragedy airs. He was not to be pitied, for he recovered health, hefound a fortune, he won his Marie. His sufferings were nothing; therewas no fatal blight on him, and he had time and power to conquer hismisfortunes, while I--"Casimer spoke with sudden passion, and pausing abruptly, turned hisface away, as if to hide some emotion he was too proud to show.Amy's heart ached, and her eyes filled, but her voice was sweet andsteady, as she said, putting by the book, like one weary of it,--"Are you suffering to-day? Can we do anything for you? Please let us,if we may.""You give me all I can receive; no one can help my pain yet; but atime will come when something may be done for me; then I will speak."And, to her great surprise, he rose and left her, without anotherword.She saw him no more till evening; then he looked excited, playedstormily, and would sing in defiance of danger. The trouble in Amy'sface seemed reflected in Helen's, though not a word had passed betweenthem. She kept her eye on Casimer, with an intentness that worriedAmy, and even when he was at the instrument Helen stood near him, asif fascinated, watching the slender hands chase one another up anddown the keys with untiring strength and skill.Suddenly she left the room and did not return. Amy was so nervous bythat time, she could restrain herself no longer, and slipping out,found her cousin in their chamber, poring over a glove."Oh, Nell, what is it? You are so odd to-night I can't understand you.The music excites me, and I'm miserable, and I want to know what hashappened," she said, tearfully."I've found him!" whispered Helen, eagerly, holding up the glove witha gesture of triumph."Who?" asked Amy, blinded by her tears."The baron.""Where?--when?" cried the girl, amazed."Here, and now.""Don't take my breath away; tell me quick, or I shall get hysterical.""Casimer is Sigismund Palsdorf, and no more a Pole than I am," wasHelen's answer.Amy dropped in a heap on the floor, not fainting, but so amazed shehad neither strength nor breath left. Sitting by her, Helen rapidlywent on,--"I had a feeling as if something was wrong, and began to watch. Thefeeling grew, but I discovered nothing till to-day. It will make youlaugh, it was so unromantic. As I looked over uncle's things when thelaundress brought them this afternoon, I found a collar that was nothis. It was marked 'S.P.,' and I at once felt a great desire to knowwho owned it. The woman was waiting for her money, and I asked her.'Monsieur Pologne,' she said, for his name is too much for her. Shetook it into his room, and that was the end of it.""But it may be another name; the initials only a coincidence,"faltered Amy, looking frightened."No, dear, it isn't; there is more to come. Little Roserl came cryingthrough the hall an hour ago, and I asked what the trouble was. Sheshowed me a prettily-bound prayer-book which she had taken from thePole's room to play with, and had been ordered by her mother to carryback. I looked into it; no name, but the same coat-of-arms as theglove and the handkerchief. To-night as he played I examined hishands; they are peculiar, and some of the peculiarities have lefttraces on the glove. I am sure it is he, for on looking back manythings confirm the idea. He says he is a polisson, a rogue, fondof jokes, and clever at playing them. The Germans are famous formasquerading and practical jokes; this is one, I am sure, and unclewill be terribly angry if he discovers it.""But why all this concealment?" cried Amy. "Why play jokes on us? Youlook so worried I know you have not told me all you know or fear.""I confess I do fear that these men are political plotters as well asexiles. There are many such, and they make tools of rich and ignorantforeigners to further their ends. Uncle is rich, generous, andunsuspicious; and I fear that while apparently serving and enjoying usthey are using him.""Heavens, it may be! and that would account for the change we see inhim. I thought he was in love with the widow, but that may be only acloak to hide darker designs. Karl brought us here, and I dare say itis a den of conspirators!" cried Amy, feeling as if she were gettingmore of an adventure than she had bargained for."Don't be alarmed! I am on the watch, and mean to demand anexplanation from uncle, or take you away on my own responsibility, ifI can."Here a maid tapped to say that tea was served."We must go down, or some one will suspect trouble. Plead headache toexcuse your paleness, and I'll keep people away. We will manage theaffair and be off as soon as possible," said Helen, as Amy followedher, too bewildered to answer.Casimer was not in the room, the major and Mrs. Cumberland weresipping tea side by side, and the professors roaming vaguely about. Toleave Amy in peace, Helen engaged them both in a lively chat, and hercousin sat by the window trying to collect her thoughts. Some one waspacing up and down the garden, hatless, in the dew.Amy forgot everything but the danger of such exposure to her recklessfriend. His cloak and hat lay on a chair; she caught them up andglided unperceived from the long window."You are so imprudent I fear for you, and bring your things," said atimid voice, as the little white figure approached the tall black one,striding down the path tempestuously."You to think of me, forgetful of yourself! Little angel of kindness,why do you take such care of me?" cried Casimer, eagerly taking notonly the cloak, but the hands that held it."I pitied you because you were ill and lonely. You do not deservemy pity, but I forgive that, and would not see you suffer," was thereproachful answer, as Amy turned away.But he held her fast, saying earnestly,--"What have I done? You are angry. Tell me my fault and I will amend.""You have deceived me.""How?""Will you own the truth?" and in her eagerness to set her fears atrest, Amy forgot Helen."I will."She could not see his face, but his voice was steady and his mannerearnest."Tell me, then, is not your true name Sigismund Palsdorf?"He started, but answered instantly,--"It is not.""You are not the baron?" cried Amy."No; I will swear it if you wish.""Who, then, are you?""Shall I confess?""Yes, I entreat you.""Remember, you command me to speak.""I do. Who are you?""Your lover."The words were breathed into her ear as softly as ardently, but theystartled her so much she could find no reply, and, throwing himselfdown before her, Casimer poured out his passion with an impetuositythat held her breathless."Yes, I love you, and I tell it, vain and dishonorable as it is in onelike me. I try to hide it. I say 'it cannot be.' I plan to go away.But you keep me; you are angel-good to me; you take my heart, you carefor me, teach me, pity me, and I can only love and die. I know it isfolly; I ask nothing; I pray to God to bless you always, and I say,Go, go, before it is too late for you, as now for me!""Yes, I must go--it is all wrong. Forgive me. I have been veryselfish. Oh, forget me and be happy," faltered Amy, feeling that heronly safety was in flight."Go! go!" he cried, in a heart-broken tone, yet still kissed and clungto her hands till she tore them away and fled into the house.Helen missed her soon after she went, but could not follow for severalminutes; then went to their chamber and there found Amy drowned intears, and terribly agitated.Soon the story was told with sobs and moans, and despairinglamentations fit to touch a heart of stone."I do love him--oh, I do; but I didn't know it till he was so unhappy,and now I've done this dreadful harm. He'll die, and I can't help him,see him, or be anything to him. Oh, I've been a wicked, wicked girl,and never can be happy any more."Angry, perplexed, and conscience-stricken, for what now seemed blindand unwise submission to the major, Helen devoted herself to calmingAmy, and when at last the poor, broken-hearted little soul fell asleepin her arms, she pondered half the night upon the still unsolvedenigma of the Baron Sigismund.