Louise said laughingly, that the time for that was over with her.
The sisters also, among themselves, made their observations on Louise. They were rejoiced to see her, among all her things, so exactly herself again.
Handsomer she certainly had not become—but people cannot grow handsomer to all eternity. She looked well and she looked good, had no more of the cathedral about her; she was an excellent Archdeacon's lady.
We transport ourselves now to Sara's chamber.
When a beloved and guiltless child returns, after sufferings overcome, to the bosom of parents into a beloved home, who can describe the sweet delight of its situation? The pure enjoyment of all the charms of home; the tenderness of the family; the resigning themselves to the heavenly feeling of being again at home? But the guilty——
We have seen a picture of the prodigal son which we shall never forget! It is the moment of reconciliation: the father opens his arms to the son; the son falls into them and hides his face. Deep compunction of the heart bows down his head, and over his pale cheek—the only part of his countenance which is visible, runs a tear—a tear of penitence and pain, which says everything. The golden ring may be placed upon his hand; the fatted calf may be killed and served up before him—he cannot feel gay or happy—embittering tears gush forth from the fountains of memory.
Thus was it with Sara, and exactly to that degree in which her heart was really purified and ennobled. As she woke out of a refreshing sleep in her new home, and saw near her her child sleeping on the soft snow-white bed; as she saw all, by the streaming in light of the morning sun, so festally pure and fresh; as she saw how the faithful memory of affection had treasured up all her youthful predilections; as she saw her favourite flowers, the asters, beaming upon the stove, in an alabaster vase; and as she thought how all this had been—and how it now was—she wept bitterly.
Petrea, who was reading in the window of Sara's room waiting for her awaking, stood now with cordial and consoling words near her bed.
"Oh, Petrea!" said Sara, taking her hand and pressing it to her breast, "let me speak with you. My heart is full. I feel as if I could tell you all, and you would understand me. I did not come here of my own will—your father brought me. He did not ask me—he took me like a child, and I obeyed like a child. I was weak; I thought soon to die; but this night under this roof has given me strength. I feel now that I shall live. Listen, to me, Petrea, and stand by me, for as soon as my feet will carry me I must go away from here. I will not be a burden to this house. Stained and despised by the world, as I am, I will not pollute this sanctuary! Already have I read aversion towards me in Gabriele's look. Oh, my abode here would be a pain to myself! Might my innocent little one only remain in this blessed house. I must away from here! These charms of life; this abundance, they are not for me—they would wake anguish in my soul! Poverty and labour beseem me! I will away hence. I must!—but I will trouble nobody: I will not appear ungrateful. Help me, Petrea—think for me; what I should do and where I should go!"