he many tricks
he played her which had caused her real alarm. She hated the dark and
always imagined she was stifling when she knew she was a prisoner in an
unlit place. The same feeling came over her now, and she beat her hands
frantically against the door, calling her mother loudly the while. But no
answer came. She groped her way across the room till she felt her hand
touch the window. She found the fastening and, opening the casement,
leaned far out into the still night air. From across the market-place
came the sound of men's voices, and a glow of light shone beneath the
hostelry door. An occasional burst of song and drunken laughter told her
that the bad characters of the town were carousing, as usual, on a
Saturday night. Otherwise the silence was intense and the darkness
unbroken by moon or star. The calm air of the winter night soothed
Wilhelmine, and she was ashamed of having knocked and called so wildly;
but now a dull feeling of resentment rose in her against her mother for
locking her into her room like a naughty child. She leaned her head
against the window-frame and wondered if any one on earth had ever been
as lonely and miserable as she. Her mother disliked her, her brother was
too selfish to care for any one save himself. Anna, her friend, was
something in her life; but it is small avail to be loved by those who
manage to make their affection tiresome. Mueller loved her! She smiled
bitterly to herself; yes, that was a love which could give her happiness!
That was what some people called love, she had been told. All at once a
wonderful feeling came to her, a wave of infinite relief, like balsam to
her wounded heart: it was the thought of Monsieur Gabriel's gentle
friendship and trust in her. She saw his kind, dim eyes; the good,
discriminating smile, and the thought was as though he laid his delicate,
blue-veined hand on her head, soothing her unutterably. She heard a step
coming on the stair, a flicker of light crept under her door, and some
one fitted the key into the lock. 'Mother!' she called in a softened
voice. When the door opened, she saw Frau von Graevenitz standing there, a
rush-light in one hand and a plate of food balanced between her breast
and the other hand, in which she held a pitcher of milk. The old woman's
eyes were red with weeping, and vaguely Wilhelmine realised for the first
time in her life that, in spite of grumbling, reproaches, and grudging
meanness, her mother had for her a spa