"Master, I've brought you the first ears from our new field, and hope your health may be spared, so that you may eat the bread from it for many a year to come."
Eberhard seized the ears and, with his other hand, pressed that of the servant, who now left the room and went down to the barn, where he sat down on a sheaf and wept.
"Shall I remain with you, or would you rather be alone with your child?" asked Gunther.
Eberhard dropped the ears, and they lay upon the coverlet. He reached for Irma's hand. Gunther went out.
And now Eberhard dropped his daughter's hand, pointed to her heart and then to the ears of corn.
She shook her head and said: "Father, I don't understand you."
An expression of pain passed over Eberhard's features, and he placed his finger on his lips, as if grieved that he could not speak. Who knows but what he meant to say: "Good seed will grow from the swamp, if we rightly cultivate it; and out of your own heart, too, my child; out of your lost, ruined--"
"I'll call Gunther," said Irma; "perhaps he will understand what you mean."
Eberhard shook his head, as if in disapproval. His features betrayed something like anger at Irma's inability to understand him.
He bit his speechless lips and tried to raise himself. Irma assisted him, and he now sat up, supported by the pillows.