"Is that your husband? Don't let him come here. He must not see me," said Irma.
"Stay there!" cried Walpurga. "Send mother here, and tell her to bring some of the wine along that I brought home with me. It's in the blue chest, with the child's things. Be quick about it!" In a few hurried words, Irma told her that her father was dead, and that she had sought to drown herself in the lake. She put her hand to her brow, and drew it back in alarm.
"Woe's me! How is this?"
"You've been bleeding. You must have fallen and struck your head against a stone. Just look!" said she, forcing herself to assume a cheerful tone; "this is the green kerchief you sent my child."
Irma tore off the bandage, and silently looked at the blood-stained handkerchief.
"That quenches the fire; let it run," said she to herself. Then, with a sudden access of emotion, she said:
"Oh, Walpurga! I can't die! I can't kill myself--and yet I can't live. I've--I've been wicked--"
She hid her face against Walpurga's heart, which beat loud and violently.
"Help me! tell me what to do! Tell me quickly, before your mother comes!"
"I don't know--I don't know at all--but mother will know. She knows how to help every one. See there, it's stopped bleeding, already. Only keep calm."