"Do you know the story of the little brother and the little sister? They lost themselves in the wood, and then found their way home again. And we are like two children in the wild forest. But we are children no longer; you are grown up, you are strong, you must be so."
"Oh, don't speak," replied Roland, "every word goes through my brain, even the sound of your voice. O sister! no, there's none like it! Do you think in all these hundreds and hundreds of books there's one single fate like ours? No, there can't be."
After a longer interval, Manna again began:—
"Now I can tell you what I meant, when I said that I would be an Iphigenia; I wanted to sacrifice myself for you all, in order to take the expiation from you."
"Oh, don't speak. What do these stories of the children in the wood, of Orestes and Iphigenia, have to do with us? Orestes was happy, he could consult the gods at Delphi; at that time the gods could be offended and appeased; they were obliged to give a response—but now? we? Where, in these times, is there a single mouth which gives a response in the name of the gods? The Greeks had slaves too; and we? Now they tell us that love has come into the world, and that all men are the children of God! Is this love? And the priests blessed the marriage of a man who held slaves—children of God as slaves,—and they baptized these children, letting them still be slaves! Alas! I'm getting crazed! O, my youth! O, my youth! Alas! I am still so young, and I must bear for a long, long life-time—must bear this—everything! There's a blackness before my eyes, a spot upon everything I see—all is black—black! At the time when Claus was imprisoned—Children do not suffer for the crime of their father; they can have no part in it, but they do suffer from it a whole lifetime. Where is justice—help me, sister!—do help me!"
"I cannot, I do not comprehend it! O, it was that drove me out of the sanctuary! I don't comprehend it!"
The brother and sister sat together in silence, until Roland suddenly threw himself into Manna's arms, and hiding his head on her bosom, said:—
"Manna, I wanted to kill myself, I could not bear it. Yesterday, everything so beautiful—and here on your heart I cry—I must live—I don't know what I am to do—I must live! Were the children to kill themselves for their parent's guilt, that guilt would be made still greater."
Again Roland leaned his head on the arm of the sofa, murmuring to himself:—
"He did not carry it out at once, and now it will never be done."