“Oh, let me go, let me go!” cried Amrie, “I will undress myself,”—but Rose without this promise had stopped, for, like a spectre sprung from the ground, John stood before her.
He was pale as death—his lips quivered, and he could not bring out a word. He laid his hand protectingly upon Barefoot, who was yet upon the ground.
Amrie was the first who spoke. She cried, “John, believe me, she was never so before—never in her whole life. I am to blame.”
“Yes, you are to blame! But come, go with me. And wilt thou be mine? Wilt thou? I have at last found you without seeking for you. And now you will remain with me. Will you not, and be my wife? It is God’s will!”
What mortal eye has ever looked steadily upon the lightning from heaven? Wait for it ever so firmly, when it comes it blinds the human eye. There are lightnings also in the eyes of men, that no one can look upon. Such was the lightning now from Barefoot’s eyes. There are also emotions in the human heart that no one can at the moment understand—they rise far above the earth, and cannot be caught by others. A lightning glance of ecstasy, as though heaven opened upon her, flashed from Amrie’s eyes; then she covered her face with both hands, and the tears gushed forth between her fingers. John still held his hand upon her.
All the friends collected about them, and looked astonished at what was passing.
“What is the matter there with Barefoot? What has happened?” said Farmer Rodel, coming forward.
“So you are called Barefoot,” said John, laughing merrily; and again he urged, “Come, say only that you will be mine. Say it here where there are witnesses who will establish it. Say yes, and death only shall divide us.”
“Yes—death only shall divide us,” and she threw herself upon his neck.
“Take her instantly from this house,” shrieked Rodel, foaming with rage.