"Now I begin to understand the Great Physician, and the regimen which he has prescribed for me. I feared the gangrene selfishness, and would drink myself free therefrom by the nectar of love; but he said, 'Jeremias, drink not this draught, but that of self-denial—it is more purifying.'
"I have drunk it. I have loved her for twenty years without pretension and without hope.
"To-day I have passed my three-and-sixtieth year; the increasing pain in my side commands me to leave the steps of the patients, and tells me that I have not many more paces to count till I reach my grave. May it be permitted to me to live the remainder of my days more exclusively for her!
"At the 'Old Man's Rose' will I live for her—for it stands in my will that it belongs to her, it belongs to Eva Frank.
"I will beautify it for her. I will cultivate there beautiful trees and flowers for her; vines and roses will I bring there. Old age will some time seize on her, wither her, and consume her. But then 'the rose of age' will bloom for her, and the odour of my love bless her, when the ugly old man wanders on the earth no more. She will take her dear sisters to her there; there hear the songs of the birds, and see the glory of the sun upon the lovely objects of nature.
"I will repose on these thoughts during the solitary months or years that I must pass there. Truly, many a day will be heavy to me; and the long solitary evenings; truly, it were good to have there a beloved and gentle companion, to whom one might say each day, 'Good morning, the sun is beautiful;' or in whose eyes—if it were not so—one could see a better sun;—a companion with whom one could enjoy books, nature—all that God has given us of good; whose hand, in the last heavy hour one could press, and to whom one could say, 'Good night! we meet again—to-morrow—with love itself—with God!'
"But—but—the foundling shall find no home upon earth!
"Now he will soon find another home, and will say to the master there, 'Father, have mercy on my rose!' and to the habitation of men will he say, 'Wearisome wast thou to me, O world! but yet receive my thanks for the good which thou hast given me!'"
When the sisters had ceased to read, several bright tears lay upon the paper, and shone in the light of the sun. Leonore dried her tears, and turning herself to Petrea, inquired, "But, Petrea, how came this paper into your hands?"