“Ah, ha!” cried the old man, and jumped from his chair, so that one could see his former helplessness was put on. “Ah, ha,” he cried again, as though a twinge of gout seized him. But his wife held him firmly by the hand and said, “Let her go on.”
And Amrie continued, “Believe me, I have sense enough to know that no one can accept a daughter-in-law from compassion. You might make me a present; but to make one a daughter-in-law out of pity! that, no one could do. Neither would I have it so. I have no money. Yes, I have that groschen that you gave me on the Holder Common. I have it yet, because no one would take it for a groschen,” she said, turning to the farmer who smiled furtively. “I have absolutely nothing! And yet more, I have a brother, for whom, though he is strong and healthy, I must provide. I have also kept the geese, and have been less considered than any girl in the village. That is all! No one can say the smallest thing against my character. That is again all! In what men receive from God alone, I would say to any princess, that I placed myself no hair’s-breadth behind her; ah, if she had seven golden crowns upon her head—I should rather another spoke for me. I speak not willingly for myself; but my whole life long, I have had to be the only protector of my character, and I do it to-day for the last time, when the decision must be made between my life or death!
“Do not misunderstand me. If you reject me, I shall go calmly away. I shall do no harm to myself; neither spring into the water, nor hang myself on a tree. I shall seek another service, and thank God that a good man would have had me for his wife—and will believe that it is God’s will that it shall not be.” Amrie’s voice trembled, and her form seemed taller than before. But as she now sank down she cried, “Examine yourselves. Ask your deepest consciousness if it be God’s will, however you decide.”
For a moment neither spoke. At length the old man said, “You can preach like any parson.” The mother dried her eyes with her apron and said, “Why not? Pastors have but one brain and one heart.”
“As for you,” said the old man contemptuously, “you are something of a parson yourself. With a couple of soft speeches they can do what they please with you.”
“And with you, they will never be able to do any thing till you die,” said his wife, with spirit.
“See!” stormed the old man. “Do you see, you saint from the Unterland, you bring fine peace into our house. You have already made my wife take your part against myself; now, you may both wait till I am dead—then you may do as you please.”
“No!” cried Amrie, “that I will never do. John shall never have me for his wife without your blessing; much less will I have the sin in both our hearts, of waiting for your death. I have scarcely known my parents; I cannot remember them, but I love them as we love God, whom we have never seen. And I know what death is. Last night I closed the eyes of Brown Mariann, for whom, during my whole life, I have done what I could; what she would have me do; but now that she is dead, I often think how reluctantly I sometimes did it, and how much more I might have done for her. It is all over now; she lies there in her dark bed; I can do nothing more for her, nor ask her forgiveness. Yes, I know what death is, and I will not”—
“But I will!” shrieked the old man, and clinched his fists and ground his teeth. “But I will!” he cried again. “You shall remain and belong to us! And now let what will come. Let them say what they will; you, and you alone, shall have my John.”
The wife threw her arms about his neck and embraced him. The old man, unaccustomed to such demonstration, cried out, “What are you doing?”