"You misunderstand me," she said, offended.
"I always did," was his reply.
At the moment Johanna was hurt by such speeches from Ludwig, but she never resented them for long. Perhaps she had an involuntary suspicion that his mistrust and misconception sprang from disappointed affection, or perhaps her heart was full of other things. The explanation she gave herself was that for the sake of the help and comfort he gave to Johann Leopold, to her grandfather, and to Aunt Thekla, she must forgive her childhood's playmate any harshness of demeanour.
For a series of years it had been the custom for all the family to stay over Twelfth-Night at Dönninghausen, and to leave on the seventh of January. On the morning of the sixth the Wildenhayns were consulting with Otto and Magelone as to whether they should depart as usual, or, without any announcement of their intentions, stay until there was some change in Johann Leopold, or, lastly, ask their grandfather what his wishes were in the matter.
"I must go to-morrow; my leave is at an end," said Otto; and he added, in a tone intended for Magelone alone, "I will come back for the funeral."
"You should not talk so," she replied, reproachfully. She had been thinking the same thing herself.
At this moment the Freiherr entered. "Children!" he cried, approaching the group, "thank God with me. Johann Leopold is out of danger."
There were loud exclamations of delight. Otto's silence was unnoticed. Magelone grew pale, tottered, and would have fallen if Eduard, who stood next her, had not caught her in his arms.
"It is nothing,—nothing," she said, recovering herself. The Freiherr looked keenly at her. "Dear Magelone, compose yourself," he said kindly; but she could not endure his gaze. She bent down and kissed his hand, bursting into tears as she did so.
"Nonsense, child! All is well now. Come, come, command yourself!" And as he conducted her to a seat he said to himself, "She is a warm-hearted little thing after all, and loves the lad better than I thought."