Victoria Read Online Free Page A

granite quarry. Here he looked for a nice, sun-baked spot. His clothes were steaming. He sat down. A wild, joyous restlessness made him get up again and walk about. He was filled to the brim with happiness! Falling on his knees, he thanked God for this day with hot tears in his eyes. She had been down there, she’d heard the cheers. Go home and put on dry clothes, she’d said.
    He sat down, laughing over and over again in a transport of joy. Yes, she had seen him perform this labor, this heroic deed, she had followed him with pride as he brought in the half-drowned girl by his teeth. Victoria, Victoria! If she just knew how completely, beyond words, he was hers every minute of his life! He would be her servant and slave, sweeping a path before her with his shoulders. And he would kiss her tiny shoes and pull her carriage and lay the fire for her on cold days. He would lay her fire with gilded wood. Ah, Victoria!
    He looked about him. Nobody had heard, he was alone with himself. He was holding the precious watch in his hand; it ticked, it was running.
    Thanks, oh, thanks for this great day! He patted the moss on the rocks and the fallen twigs. Victoria hadn’t smiled at him; oh well, that was not her way. She simply stood there on the pier, a tinge of red fluttering across her cheeks. Maybe she would have accepted his watch if he had given it to her?
    The sun was sinking and the heat tapering off. He felt that he was wet. Then he ran homeward, light as a feather.
     
    There were summer visitors at the Castle—a party from the city—and dancing and festive sounds. The flag was flying from the round tower night and day for a week.
    There was hay to be brought in, but the horses were kept busy by the merry visitors and the hay remained out. And there were great stretches of unmown meadow, but the hired men were being used as drivers and oarsmen, and the hay remained uncut and dried up.
    And the music went on playing in the Yellow Room. . . .
    During these days the old miller stopped the mill and locked up his house. He had become so wise; formerly it had happened that the fun-loving city people had come in a body and played pranks with his grain sacks. For the nights were so warm and light and their whims so numerous. The wealthy chamberlain had once, in his younger days, carried a trough with an anthill in it into the mill with his own two hands and left it there. The chamberlain was now a man of mature years, but Otto, his son, who was still coming to the Castle, amused himself in curious ways. Many stories were told about him. . . .
    Sounds of hoofbeats and shouting rang through the forest. Some young people were out riding, and the Castle horses were glossy and wild. The horsemen came up to the miller’s house, knocked on the door with their whips and wanted to ride in. The door was so low and yet they wanted to ride in.
    “Howdy, howdy!” they cried. “We’ve come to say hello.”
    The miller laughed humbly at this whim.
    Then they dismounted, tied up their horses, and set the mill running.
    “The hopper is empty!” screamed the miller. “You’ll destroy the mill.”
    But his words were lost in the crashing noise.
    “Johannes!” the miller called at the top of his voice, looking up at the quarry.
    Johannes came.
    “They’re grinding up the mill,” his father cried, pointing.
    Johannes walked slowly toward the party. He was terribly pale, and the veins in his temples stood out. He recognized Otto, the chamberlain’s son, who was wearing a midshipman’s uniform; in addition to him there were two others. One of them smiled and bowed, to smooth things over.
    Johannes didn’t shout, gave no hint, but went straight on. He makes a beeline for Otto. Just then he sees two horsewomen riding up from the woods; one of them is Victoria. She is wearing a green riding habit, and her horse is the white Castle mare. She does not dismount but sits there observing everybody with quizzical eyes.
    Then Johannes alters his