Greatly agitated, torn by conflicting emotions, Gabrielle pressed both hands on her bosom, as though forcibly to keep down some rising feeling. "I cannot--cannot. And George would not accept the poor affection I have now to offer him."
"He will accept it, for he is one of those unselfish beings who give more than they receive."
Gabrielle raised her eyes to the speaker. They were full of a grave, sad reproach.
"And you can speak these words to me? You, Arno's friend, can wish to put another in his place?"
"No, by Heaven, not that!" cried Brunnow, with a flash of the old fire. "His place shall remain to him. No Winterfeld can rob him of that. These noble spotless characters, who quietly pursue their path through life, to whom no shadow of blame attaches, we admire and set on high. Natures such as Arno's are not created to dispense happiness. They cast over all they love a shade from the cloud which covers them; yet it is better worth to suffer with and for them--to share their fate, than to be serenely happy at the ideally good man's side. You yourself have felt something of this, Gabrielle--have you not?"
The old glow suddenly flamed from the ashes. Brunnow's bent form was drawn erect as he spoke these words with passionate warmth, and for a moment the bright enthusiasm of youth kindled in his eyes again. Gabrielle leaned her head on his shoulder, and wept--wept as though her heart would break.
"And now, do not let me go from you without an answer," said the Doctor, after a pause. "I have so seldom in my life brought happiness to those about me, that I would fain do so once before I depart hence, and my time here is growing short. May I give George any hope? Will you see him again?"
"I will try," she said faintly.
The proceedings of the Brunnow family that afternoon were decidedly peculiar. In the first place, the Doctor called his son into his study, and a strictly private conference took place between them. The subject discussed seemed to produce a most exhilarating effect on Max, for he caught his father in his arms and gave him a vigorous hug, such as he had once threatened to bestow on his papa-in-law, the Councillor. Directly after this the young surgeon held a parley, likewise strictly private, with his wife in their own sitting-room, and from this interview the pair came back somewhat fluttered and excited. Then Madame Agnes disappeared, and was lost to sight for some time, during which interval Max took possession of his friend, not stirring from his side an inch. Under other circumstances, George would have perceived that something unusual was going on; but the news he had heard that morning had greatly disturbed him, and he had some difficulty in preserving his usual outward composure. Unfortunately, Max showed no sympathy whatever with his friend's interesting melancholy, though he was well aware of its cause. On the contrary, he tormented the unhappy lover with all sorts of questions and suggestions, and dragged him out at last under some crudely imagined pretext into the garden again.
"But what should I go to the summer-house now for?" asked George, almost impatiently. "I was in there this morning, admiring the prospect."