In the midst of Sebastian’s story, Caroline, who had been looking towards the corner where Cloister street runs into Thomas’ church-yard, sprang to her feet with a cry of surprise.
“What is the matter?” asked her mother, alarmed: while the others all rose, leaving the venerable father alone sitting on the bench. Before the maiden could answer, the tall figure of a man was seen hastily crossing the church-yard towards the house, and now Sebastian rose too, for he recognized his son Friedemann.
“Salve!” cried the old man. “Do you come to stay?”
“I have kept my word!” answered Friedemann, “and if you think right, I will stay!”
Sebastian, nodding a pleased assent, held out his hands to his son, and embraced him with transport. His mother and the rest crowded round him, all but Caroline, who stood in her place, looking inquiringly at her brother. After he had returned the greeting of his family, he turned and addressed her. Then her eyes sparkling, her lovely face suffused with the flush of joy, she cried—
“I also bid you welcome!”
After the first surprise was over, Sebastian led his son into his chamber, and with gentle earnestness repeated his question.
“Come as you will, you are welcome;” said he: “yet what brings you here so suddenly?”
“That it is not the old story, my father,” replied Friedemann, “you will believe upon my assurance. Ah! thirteen years are enough to blunt one sorrow—the more certainly, the greater it is! But a thousand new ones are born to me, and one among them yields not in bitterness to the first!”
“And what is that, Friedemann?”