When Gunther had read thus far, Eberhard laid his hand on his lips as if to silence him, and gazed intently into his eyes.
"You have honestly wrestled with yourself and the highest ideas," said Gunther, whose voice was tremulous with something more than grief at approaching death.
Eberhard closed his eyes. When Gunther saw that he was asleep, he rose from his seat.
He now noticed that Irma had been sitting behind the bed-screen. He beckoned to her, and she left the room with him.
"Did you hear everything?" asked Gunther.
"I only came a few minutes ago." Irma wanted to know the whole truth in regard to her father's position. Gunther admitted that there was no hope of recovery, but that the hour of death was uncertain. Irma covered her face with both hands and returned to the sick-room, where she again took her seat behind the bed-screen.
Bruno was with the country physician, in the great hall. As soon as Gunther entered, Bruno hastily arose and, advancing to meet him, hurriedly said: "Our friend here has already quieted me. The danger, thank God"--his tongue faltered at the words "thank God"--"is not imminent. Pray quiet my sister's fears."
Gunther made no reply. He saw that Bruno merely affected ignorance of the imminent danger, and Gunther was enough of a courtier to refrain from forcing the truth upon unwilling ears. He returned to Irma. Bruno followed him and endeavored to cheer his sister; but she shook her head incredulously. He paid no heed to this, but said that he wanted to gain strength and endurance for the sad trial that awaited them. What he really wanted was to ride out, so that he might be absent at the terrible moment. Since his presence could not make things any better, why should he expose himself to such a shock?
The morning began to dawn. The sick man still lay there, motionless.
"His breathing is easier," faintly whispered Irma.