"These are the last words I shall ever address to you. We are treading the wrong path, a path full of peril. I expiate my crime. You do not belong to yourself alone; you belong to her and to your country. Death is my expiation. Life must be yours. Be at one with the law that binds you to her and to the state. You have denied both, and I have aided you to do so. Our life, our love, has dealt terribly with you. You could no longer be true to yourself. But now you must again become so; and that completely. These are my dying words, and I shall gladly die, if you will but hearken to me and to your better self. God knows we did not mean to sin; but we sinned, for all. My judgment is written on my brow; inscribe yours in your heart and live anew. All is still yours. I receive the kiss of eternity from death. Listen to this voice and forget it not, but forget her who calls to you. I do not wish to be remembered."
She sealed the letters and hurriedly hid them in the portfolio, for she was interrupted. Emma, or rather Sister Euphrosyne, was announced.
CHAPTER IX.
Gunther had sent a messenger to inform Emma of Count Eberhard's death and Irma's despair. The prioress suggested that Emma should hasten to her young friend, to whom they owed so great a debt; and, as nuns were not allowed to travel alone, she was accompanied by a sister who was an experienced nun.
When the maid announced them, Irma started from her seat. This is deliverance! In the convent, shut out from the world, a living death--there shall you wait until they bear you to the grave.
Suddenly the old boatman's words flashed upon her: "A life in which nothing happens."
Her lips swelled with proud defiance. I shall not wait for the end; I'll force it. It was long before she answered the maid:
"My best thanks, but I don't care to see or hear any one."
After uttering these words, Irma felt as if inspired with new strength. That, too, was over.
All was silence and darkness again, and the clock kept on saying: Father--daughter; daughter--father.