From Fraser's Magazine. THE BURGOMASTER'S FAMILY; OR, WEAL AND WOE IN A LITTLE WORLD. BY CHRISTINE MULLER. TRANSLATED FROM THE DUTCH BY BIR JOHN SHAW LEFEVRE. IN the weeks before the marriage Siword went continually backwards and forwards between Dilburg and Sollingen, which were distant from each other two hours by railway or three hours by road. And these weeks were more agreeable to Emmy than she could have ventured to hope. Mrs. Welters, cold as ever, nevertheless helped with a certain readiness in the many preparations which had to be made in this short time. Mina was away on a visit, and was not to return till after the wedding; and Elizabeth, zealous for Emmy's interests as always, had never shown herself more cordial and useful than now when she was on the point of separating from her. The only one whom this last period before the marriage embittered was William de Graaff-William, with his pale, worn countenance, that would have excited Emmy's compassion, had she not observed with some fear, as before, the angry looks, full of hate, which he cast on her. In words, he uttered nothing. If possible he was even less talkative than before, and his restlessness seemed to have reached such a height that it was impos sible for him to sit still. She hoped that absence would calm down the feeling that had been transformed in William de Graaff from passionate love to hate, and would gradually restore the balance of his mind; and that whatever she might have to fear from him while at home would find its natural ter mination in her departure. But in these last weeks before the marriage Emmy had not much time for reflection. There was so much to provide, so many preparations to think off; so much to do and to order: so much to consult about with Siword as to the arrangements of their house; so much to choose and to inspect, that. Emmy's days flew like minutes. In the evenings Elizabeth came to Emmy's room under the pretext of brushing her hair in Emmy's company, but really in order to chatter about the future sometimes till midnight with all those coloured dreams which surrounded Elizabeth's intended marriage. The similarity of both their positions as intended brides produced a greater intimacy between Emmy and Elizabeth than had ever before existed, notwithstanding their previous friendship for each other, and the near approach of their separation seemed to draw them still closer together. When Elizabeth went at last to her own room, sleep did not require to be waited for by Emmy after a long troublesome day, and with the dawn of the following morning the pressure of business recommenced as before. Instead of sitting silently with a book before him, he now walked up and down the room with restless steps the whole So passed the time with Emmy as in a evening; and any of the family who ven-species of intoxication in which both hertured to make a remark upon it, received self and her earlier sensations and emofor answer an angry retort to mind their tions were lost. own business and let him alone. I believe that his mother conjectured something, although not the whole truth, of what was passing in him. The first week - the second week - the third week and Siword and Emmy were betrothed; three, four, five, six, seven days and, as in a fast gallop, when there Her anxious looks frequently rested on is nothing on which the eye can rest, when him. Her voice lost somewhat of its sky and water, mountain and valley, tree ordinary harsh tone when she addressed and bush melt together in a confused panhim, as if it were softened by a compas-orama, and the only sensation is that one sionate tenderness, and more than once is rushing forward so everything hurEmmy met her piercing eyes, as if they ried on and on till the last day before were enquiring of her the confirmation of Emmy's marriage. what she observed in William. Strengthened by the feeling of her own innocence, Emmy endured these enquiring looks as calmly as possible; but even if it were only on account of William, and the uneasiness which his behaviour continued to cause her, she was thankful for the prospect of soon going into a new neighbourhood. All was in order the trunks were packed. Siword had gone for the last time to Sollingen to bring back Seyna, who was to attend the ceremony on the following day. Elizabeth was taking a walk with Lieutenant Smid, and Emmy was alone in her room, sitting before the window in the favourite spot where, during all the time of her stay in her paren tal home, she had suffered so much sorrow, had wrestled with so much fear, where once cheerful dreams and visions of the future had visited her, and where a few months back she had sank down in despairing sorrow. Many thoughts and sensations pressed upon her in that hour. She pictured to herself how on an evening like this a daughter would feel who was leaving her father and mother and her dear home to foliow the husband of her choice. Involuntarily her thoughts took a definite form, and she gazed upon a vision her father and mother still alive, and Bruno Eversberg her bridegroom. The next moment Emmy started up from her chair. It seemed as if she had wakened from a strange dream which had lasted for weeks. It appeared to her an impossibility that it could be herself who was to be married on the morrow and not to him, of whom, in this selfsame room, she had thought with so much love, and for whom she had prayed so fervently every evening. The reality of the actual condition of things came upon her with overwhelming force. She tried to put it away from her able to think of him in so gentle and forgiving a mood as now upon the evening before her marriage. All the bitterness which had so long tortured her heart made way for the mournful tenderness with which we remember a departed friend whose life has been a source both of joy and sorrow, but a source which has been dried up by the all-annihilating power of death. In this frame of mind Emmy resolved to pay a farewell visit to the churchyard where her beloved dead rested, and to strew flowers over their graves as a thankoffering to the loving recollections which she retained of them. With a basket of fresh-plucked flowers in her hand, a light straw hat on her fair hair, a shawl loosely thrown about her to protect her from the evening chill, which after the heat of the day was coming on with the last rays of the setting sun, Emmy went out by the gate at the end of the garden, along a shorter path which led at the back of the next houses to the townwall and through the town-gate to the churchyard outside. The walk did Emmy good; it calmed her feelings, and when she reached the quiet burial ground and had self. She would be true even in thought seated herself upon the bench nearest the to him who to-morrow was to be her hus-graves of Bruno's parents, whilst her eyes band. She wonld compel herself to think rested upon the marble memorial of her of all the blessings which she might ex- father, there came peace and rest into her pect with an upright man like Siword. soul. But notwithstanding all her efforts she could not get rid of that restless, indescribable feeling which every now and then made her heart beat quicker, her cheeks blush without a cause, and filled her with a nameless anxiety. This feeling dated from her betrothal with Siword. It did not exist in his presence, which had a calming effect upon her, but came over her on the few occasions in which she was alone and could think. Her room seemed intolerably narrow and stifling; and without any definite object, except to drive away the feeling, she betook herself to the garden, where she walked up and down sunk in thought. As she stood by one of the flower-beds, amidst the tumult of her thoughts, one flashed upon her which brought the colour to her cheeks. She recollected with a feeling of shame how she had been in the habit of going from time to time to the churchyard to visit the graves of her parents and of the parents of Bruno, and how she had discontinued this practice since the day when Bruno's faithlessness had become known to her. Since that day she had never been She had sat thus more than half-an-hour, and had divided the flowers between the two graves, yet she could not resolve to leave the peaceful stillness of the churchyard. She listened to the wind, which sighed through the weeping willows. She looked at the tomb-stones and monuments, wbich in the approaching twilight assumed strange forms and appearances; and wearied perhaps with the strain of the last few days and the heat of the weather, she felt her eyelids grow heavier and heavier and her ideas become confused, till sleep made her head sink down and her spirit lost itself in the land of dreams. And a strange dream it was which visited Emmy. She dreamt that she was dead, and that she lay in her coffin as she had seen her mother lie, motionless and with her eyes closed, although at the same time she could see all that was going on about her. All those whom she loved hovered round her like shadows, and greeted and beckoned to her, but indistinctly as if in a mist. Two forms, however, disengaged themselves from the mist, and becoming more and more distinct, approached her on either side of the coffin; and, although in her death-like trance she was not able to see them, she felt that Siword and Bruno were standing leaning against the sides of the coffin. With a supernatural exertion she at last opened her eyes, and still she could not see them; but instead, the eyes of William de Graaff-those grey eyes, with the wellknown look of mortal hate-glared at her out of the mist which veiled everything. She shrank back, and the chillness of death seemed to pierce her to the very bones. At that moment a warm hand was laid upon her head, and crying out and wavering between dream and reality, Emny looked up, and saw Siword Hiddema standing before her, and heard him say in his well-known voice, "Child! child! how very imprudent of you to be sleeping in this night air." She got up, shivering with cold and with the recollection of the dream, which had left behind it a strange fear-exciting impression. Clinging to Siword's arm, and pressing close to him, she walked from the churchyard along the dark lane, where the light of the clear starry heaven did not penetrate. She listened in silence to his gentle scolding for her imprudence. She understood but half of what he said; how the open gate at the end of the garden had given him a clue as to where she was gone when, on his return, she could not be found either in the house or in the garden. Only by slow degrees she recovered her calmness, and as she walked home she was more silent than Siword had ever before seen her, and she hardly found words before they reached the house to ask after Seyna. "I promised her if she would let Elizabeth put her to bed quietly to bring you to her," said Siword. When they came upstairs to the child's bed, they found her already asleep, with her dark curly head sunk deep in the pillow, and her little soft white arms resting on the coverlet. Full of tenderness Emmy leant over the little girl. Once more the conflicting emotions of that day were dissolved into a feeling of peace and harmony, and turning to Siword she said, gently and earnestly, "Siword, you must help me to be a good mother to her!" For answer, Siword took Emmy in his arms and pressed her to his heart, and for once abandoning his ordinary calmness, he whispered softly to her, for fear of awakeping the child, words as full of tenderness and passion as the youngest lover could have uttered, and they came to Emmy as the first manifestation of the fire which smouldered under the cool surface, and gave a new field for thought and solicitude, till at last the day came to an end. A short, restless night, full of perplexing dreams, and the wedding day of Siword and Emmy was dawning- -a day so like all other wedding days, that I really don't know how to mention anything particular, always excepting the ceremony itself. When Emmy woke, it was under the caresses of Seyna, who with bare feet had got out of her crib and had come quietly into Emmy's room and climbed into her bed. She took the child in her arms and listened to her childish prattle, which cheered her heart like a sunbeam, and prevented her from realizing the seriousness of the important day before her. The whole morning, up to the last moment, she kept the child with her, and dressed her before she began her own toilet; and with her little daughter in her, hand, she came down to meet her bridegroom when the moment had arrived to set off for the town-hall. Now, for the first time, the consciousness of the high serious interest of the day seemed to reach her, and it was a trembling cold hand which was laid in the calm, strong grasp of her bridegroom, and a deadly pale countenance which met his earnest, loving eyes. Then it all seemned to Emmy like a dream again, as in the last few weeks, and as in a dream they went first to the town-hall, then to the church, all in the proper order; and an hour later Siword and Emmy were man and wife. The déjeuner that followed was like all festivals of the same kind; the proper dishes appeared, the usual wines were drunk, the usual toasts given, and even the usual tears shed by Elizabeth, who, inconsolable at the departure of Emmy, began to cry very early in the day, and threw Lieutenant Smid into despair in his vain attempts to comfort her. Mrs. Welters followed the bride when she left the table to change her bridal dress for her travelling dress; and the same cold kiss on the forehead with which the stepmother had once received her stepdaughter was the fare well between them. Emmy would fain have said a cordial word to the widow of her father, but it was as if her lips refused to speak what her heart could not offer. In silent emotion Emmy gazed at her, whilst Mrs. Welters turned away to go back to the company, and she herself quickly went upstairs. Some moments later, whilst one of the guests was endeavouring to enliven the somewhat languid cheerfulness of the party by some improvised verses, which engaged general attention, there sounded all at once a strange noise as of a scream upstairs. Before anyone comprehended what was going on, Siword and Elizabeth had sprung up and rushed out of the room, while at the same moment the company were thrown into fresh confusion by the breaking of a glass carafe (which William de Graaff let fall out of his hands), and the contents of which streamed down over the beautiful silk dress of his neighbour. In the confusion of the moment, Mrs. Welters broke up the party at breakfast, and the company adjourned to the drawing-room looking into the garden, where they crowded to the piano; and the merriment, which had been interrupted for an instant, had well-nigh returned when Elizabeth came back and declared that the scream which they thought they had heard was mere imagination. Siword and Elizabeth indeed had found Emmy's door locked, and to their anxious questions whether anything was the matter with her, she had given a tranquillizing answer, but had refused to open the door on the plea that she was dressing. It crossed Siword's mind that her voice sounded harsh and strange; but as Elizabeth had gone down-stairs quite satisfied, he did not like to trouble Emmy with further enquiry. Emmy slowly passed her hand over her forehead, as if to bring her confused thoughts into words; and when he once again hastily repeated his question, she answered, in a dull voice, almost without sound: "Nothing, nothing! take me away from here, or I shall go mad; " and grasping Siword's arm, she drew him forward down the stairs. In the passage Elizabeth and Seyna'were waiting for her. She accepted their embraces, then she disengaged herself, and was already sitting in the carriage before her husband had reached the hall door. An instant later the carriage drove away. "Shall we go to the Kurhaus once more this evening? You have seen very little of it since you have been here. Or shall we accomplish our intended expedition to the Platte?" "It is quite the same to me, Siword; do as you think best." Changing his own dress in haste, he found it impossible to go back to the company; he waited therefore outside her room, walking up and down in an anxiety It was thus that, listlessly and without which he could not explain to himself, the slightest sign of interest, Emmy anlistening to every sound which came from swered the questions of her husband, whilst the room. Nearly an hour passed, when she leant back in her chair, with her eyes the servants came to inform him that the half closed and her back turned to the carriage was ready, and upon his repeated beautiful prospect which their room on the knocking, Emmy opened the door and bel étage of the hotel of the "Four Seasons" stood upon the threshold. Siword, in great at Wiesbaden commanded, comprising the alarm, drew a step backwards when he saw Kurhaus and its pretty pleasant grounds, the countenance of his young wife-a where the choicest flowers were intercountenance so strangely altered as scarce-spersed with fountains, of which the fresh ly to be recognized from what she was an hour before as she stood by his side a beautiful but pale bride. splashing sound reached their ears. Her listless, indifferent tone, however, did not seem to be regarded by her husShe had been extraordinarily pale the band as anything unusual-at any rate, whole day; but what was that paleness he did not appear to notice it. Seated in compared with the deathlike pallor which a comfortable arm-chair opposite Emmy, now was spread over her face? What was he took up his book again, after this short the meaning of the blue, lead-coloured lips conversation, and apparently became whol - the fixed eyes, with their despairing ly occupied in reading; but if anyone had look, and her painfully altered features? watched him closely, they would have re"Good heavens, Emmy, what has hap-marked his troubled look as his eyes wanpened?" exclaimed Siword, when he had dered now and then from his book to the overcome his first speechless alarm. pale, worn face of his young wife, who in the fortnight since her marriage seemed to have grown almost ten years older. And there also lay on Siword's own face a shade of seriousness approaching to sternness; but a gentler expression came over it when, upon a deep sigh which seemed almost involuntarily to escape from Emmy's breast, he laid down his book at once and went up to her. Drawing his chair near her, he took one of her hands in his, and said, in a gentle but earnest tone: "Dear Emmy, things cannot go on as they now are between us. Day after day I have waited patiently till you should give me your confidence. I have not teased you with a single question, but I have acted as if I had not observed that anything ailed you, even in the night when you thought I was asleep, and I saw you get up and go to the other end of the room and weep in your distress. I have let it all pass apparently unobserved, in the hope that of yourself you would come to me as your best friend; but I cannot look on at this any longer, and I earnestly entreat you to tell me what is the matter?" He remained silent, as if waiting for her answer; but Emmy withdrew her hand from his and covered her face with it, without saying anything. When Siword resumed, in a pressing tone, "I think, Emmy, that as your husband I have the fullest right to your confidence," she cried out, in a despairing voice, whilst she rose up from her half-lying position: "Oh, Siword, Siword! be merciful to me, and do not torture me so! I cannot tell you what grieves me. Have patience with me, and perhaps I shall learn to bear it." Siword turned pale at these words of his wife. He rose from his chair, and with an involuntary movement drew back a few paces before he answered: "You confess there is something amiss with you, and yet you persist in your silence. Reflect, Emmy, that this is an important moment as regards our whole future life. When entire confidence does not exist between man and wife, happiness and love are impossible." He was again silent, in anxious expectation of her answer. But Emmy answered not. She looked pale as death, and while she clenched her hands convulsively, her fixed and tearless eyes had the timid, wistful expression of a hunted animal, which sees no escape nor any hiding-place where to conceal itself- - an expression which Siword found almost unbearable. Turning away from her, he walked up and down the room in strong emotion; and when he again stood before Emmy all gentleness had vanished from his face. In a cold tone he said: "Make your mind easy, Emmy! I shall not trouble you further. It is not my habit to thrust myself into anyone's confidence, and I will not do so with you. Keep your sorrow to yourself, as you do not place sufficient trust in me to let me share it. I give you my sacred promise that this is the the first and last time I shall ask you for it. I must, however, beg you to understand that we must not continue our tour. Under these circumstances it cannot give any pleasure either to you or to me.' The cold tone of her husband seemed to cut Emmy to the heart; she shuddered when he talked of returning home. Before he could prevent her, she had slipped from her chair on to her knees, and taking his hand, laid it on her cold, pale cheek, while she looked up at him imploringly. "Oh, Siword! do not speak so to me. I cannot bear it. Do not thrust me from you now that I have a double need of your patience and your love. I know how ill I repay your goodness to me, and that thus far I have not answered your expectations; still, have a little patience with me, and trust me when I say that it is better that I should bear my sorrow alone, than in common with you. I cannot tell you, Siword; indeed I can-not.". For a moment Siword seemed to be moved. When Emmy at her last words burst into tears, he lifted her up and kissed her forehead before he let her go back to her chair. Shortly afterwards he left the room, and when a few hours later he returned to his wife, neither of them resumed the subject of their previous conversation. Although quite as attentive to Emmy as before he was courteous rather than cordial or friendly in talking to her; his voice had a cold tone, and the stern, serious expression of his face was no longer relieved by a smile. If anything could distress Emmy still more in her present state of mind, it was this change in Siword; and and when he said in the evening, "I have written to Sollingen to have everything ready for our return home," she had not courage to say a word against it, still less to allow him to perceive the despair which filled her heart at the thought of being back again in Holland in two days' time. The lordship of Sollingen has already |