"Unworthy?" repeated Thoma, for this expression, from a higher sphere of thought, affected her strangely; and the judge's wife continued: "Child, your thoughts at first were not so hard, but by degrees they have grown sharper, have become bitterer and more poignant; and that which should have softened you only made you more harsh. When your father was humble it revolted you, and when he was proud, likewise."
Thoma's eyes grew larger and larger. She was like a patient whom the physician tells exactly how he feels; and this amazement at another's knowledge becomes a preparation for, and the commencement of a cure.
The judge's wife laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Dear Thoma, in imprisonment a man can only do no evil; but at liberty he can do good. My child, your love of truth is good, beautiful, and excellent, but--how shall I say it?--it is not in place now----"
The good lady was sensible of a deep embarrassment, and her face reddened as though with shame. She, who was always urging straightforwardness, should she now shake this girl's strict truth?
But she recovered herself, and continued: "If your father did deny the truth, he is suffering a heavy punishment, because you also deny it."
"I?"
"Yes. You disown your child's heart. Don't tremble. You need not promise me anything, except that you will once again examine yourself earnestly and conscientiously. And your doing so will show itself in the matter for which in reality I sent for you. My brother may soon come, and I must arrange this with you quickly."
The judge's wife then told her about Anton; how much every one esteemed and loved him; and how honorably and beautifully he had expressed himself after his return from Holland. She showed Thoma her mistake--how she, from upright and honorable feeling--and this commendation did good--was acting wrongly, both toward her parents and her lover.
"You think," she added, "you think you cannot call your lover yours again, because you cannot bring him the same honor that he brings you."