_ THE HISTORY
CHAPTER XII
The Search for the Missing Girl.--
The Lover's Judgment.--
Henry Schulte's Grief.--
The Genial Farmer becomes the Grasping Miser. Half an hour later, Henry Schulte, who had been delayed beyond his wont in the village, came walking briskly along the road that led to the abode of Emerence. His heart was gay, and a blithe, merry song rose to his lips as he journeyed along. All unconscious of the dark deed that had been committed, he stood upon the rustic bridge, where he had expected to meet his betrothed, and gazed at the beauty of the landscape that was spread before him. No sound came from that gurgling stream, to tell the impatient lover of the fate of her he loved, and little did he dream, as he stood there in quiet contemplation of the glorious night, that directly beneath his feet, with her calm, dead face upturned towards him, could be seen, through the transparent waters, the lifeless body of the fair maiden, whose head had nestled on his bosom and whose loving lips had made him happy with their kisses of love.
Ah, nevermore for thee will the bright moon shine in its translucent splendor, and never again will you know the happiness and the peace of this beautiful evening, as you waited on that bridge for her who nevermore would come to your call again.
After waiting a short time, and not hearing the footsteps of his affianced, Henry resumed his journey and soon arrived at the residence of the wealthy brewer, whose hospitable doors flew open at his knock, and the mother of Emerence stood in the low, broad passage-way.
"Where is Emerence?" quickly inquired the mother of the girl, in surprise, at seeing him alone.
"Emerence! Is she not at home?" exclaimed Henry, equally surprised.
"No," replied the mother. "She went out about an hour ago, to meet you on the way."
Henry immediately became alarmed. He had not seen her, and it seemed incredible that she could have gone to visit any friends on the evening when she expected him, and certainly not without informing her parents of the fact.
"I will go at once in search of her," he said, as he turned away from the house, and hurriedly retraced his steps towards the village, with a terrible fear for her safety pressing upon his heart.
He inquired at every house where her friends resided, but everywhere was met with a wondering negative. No one appeared to have seen her, or to know anything of her whereabouts, and at length, wearied with his fruitless inquiries, and rendered almost desperate at his want of success, he went to the village tavern, and requested the aid of his comrades in searching for the missing girl, for whose safety and happiness he would willingly have laid down his life.
In a moment all was bustle and excitement; torches were procured and the party started upon their mission, resolved to discover some clue of the missing lady before the dawning of another day. Henry was in advance, and under his direction every part of the road which led from the residence of the brewer to the village, and the adjacent woods, were carefully examined, but all with no success. No trace could be discovered, and the superstitious villagers began to regard the disappearance as a supernatural mystery.
Utterly fatigued with their bootless investigation, and saddened by the thought that some harm must have come to the innocent maiden, they reluctantly left the house of the brewer and turned their footsteps towards the village, determined to continue their search in the morning. To Henry the suspense was agonizing. He seemed almost crazed at the uncertainty which shrouded the fate of the girl he loved so dearly, and he vainly attempted to discover some solution of the awful mystery.
As the silent party were crossing the bridge, they stopped for a temporary rest before proceeding further on their way, and indulged in subdued conversation upon the mystery which thus far had defied their efforts to solve.
Suddenly they were startled by an exclamation from one of their number, who, on looking casually over the railing into the stream beneath, discovered in the bright reflection of the brilliant moon, the figure of the murdered girl lying in the shallow water. With an agonizing cry Henry sprang into the river, and in a few moments clasped the lifeless body in his strong arms and bore her to the shore.
It was too true--the pale, beautiful features that met their frightened gaze were none other than those of the village beauty--Emerence, and a stillness like that of death fell upon the assembly as they looked upon her.
At first it was supposed that she had been accidentally drowned, but upon the lights being brought, and that cruel blow upon the head being discovered, each one looked at the other, and the words burst almost simultaneously from the lips of all:
"
Nat Toner!"
After the first cry which escaped him, Henry Schulte never spoke again during that painful time, but with reverent hands he smoothed the wet drapery about her shapely limbs, and closed the great staring eyes, which, when he last looked upon them, were full of love, and hope, and happiness--and then, as the men gathered up the fair form and bore it to her once happy home, he followed silently, and with faltering steps.
It had needed no words from the villagers to tell him of the author of this crime. Before they had spoken, his own mind had discovered the murderer, and he had resolved upon the course to be pursued, and when, immediately after the sad funeral rites had been performed, and the body of the fair young Emerence had been placed in the ground, Henry disappeared from the village, one and all felt that the mission he had gone upon was a righteous one, and no one disputed his right to go.
At the end of a month he returned, but with a face so changed that he was scarcely recognized. The happy light was gone forever from his eyes, and the hard stern lines about the mouth told the sad story of long suffering, and of a harsh judgment that had been fulfilled.
No one questioned him upon his journey, or its result, and he gave no explanations, but when some weeks later a party of hunters in the forests on the mountains, near Werne, discovered the lifeless body of Nat Toner, with his pistol by his side, and a bullet-hole through the low, white forehead, the villagers felt that Henry's search had not been in vain, or his revenge incomplete.
To this day no one can tell, whether, suffering the pangs of remorse, the miserable man had put an end to his own life, or whether the wound in the low, white forehead was planted there by the man whom he had so dreadfully wronged.
No inquiries were made, however, and as time passed on, the history of Nat Toner passed out of the conversations of the simple village-folk, and, save as it was occasionally recalled by some romantic and unfortunate event abroad, was never mentioned.
To Henry Schulte the record of that sad night was always present, and was never effaced from his memory. The change that was wrought in him was apparent to all. He no longer mingled with the villagers in their merry-makings, but isolated himself entirely from their meetings and their pleasures.
A few years afterwards his parents died, and his elder brother assuming the control of the farm and estates of his father, Henry removed to the farm where we now find him, and to the lowly cottage which he had occupied to the time of which we write. He became a settled misanthropist, whose only aim in life seemed to be the acquirement of wealth, and whose once genial and generous nature had now become warped into the selfishness and avarice of the miser.
So he had lived, a social hermit, until in 1845 he had become a prematurely old man, with whitened hair and furrowed brow, whose love for gold had become the passion of his life, and whose only companions were a hired man and the old violin with which, in his younger days, he was wont to make merry music at the festivals in the village, but which now was tuned to mournful harmonies "cadenced by his grief." _