Schönau had spoken with decision, but in breathless haste, and the General could not doubt but that the Captain's thoughts had taken the same direction as his own. So long as Ottomar was left to himself, and attempted to save himself in his usual fashion, any delay could only increase the difficulties of his position, perhaps make it impossible for his friends, with the best will in the world, to help him. However painfully his pride was wounded by the conviction that he could not avert the threatening danger by his own efforts, he had made up his mind, even while Schönau was speaking, to accept the help so generously offered to him, supposing that he found it possible to repay the debt thus incurred. This he expressed in the fewest words, at the same time explaining the state of his finances and naming the sum which at the utmost could be raised upon the security of his interest in his house.
"Will that suffice!" he asked, "and for how much shall I be indebted to you?"
"It will suffice," said Schönau; "and I only ask now for a line to your banker, giving me full powers."
"You have not answered my last question," said the General, as with rapid pen he wrote the required words.
"I must beg you to excuse me from answering," replied Schönau; "be satisfied that the remainder does not surpass my means, and that it will be an honour and a pride to me to be able to serve you and your family."
The young man's steady clear voice faltered as he said the last words.
As the General continued writing, he remembered that amongst their friends Schönau's and Elsa's names had been often coupled together in jest, with the regret that it might not be done in earnest, as the two were far too good friends ever to fall in love with each other. He had shared this view, not without some regret. Could he have been mistaken? Could Schönau--it would be no detraction from his generosity--be offering help less to the father of his friend than to the father of the girl he loved? In the excited state of his mind these thoughts had taken no more time than was required to carry his hand from the end of one line to the beginning of another; and moved by the sudden consideration, he stopped in his writing, and looked up at Schönau who stood by him.
A sad smile played round the Captain's firmly-closed lips.
"Do not stop, General," said he; "I desire and expect nothing, I assure you, but the continuation of your friendship and that of your belongings."
The General compressed his lips and went on writing. It was bitter--most bitter to him to have to take everything from the full hands of this generous friend, with no power of returning to him anything from his own empty ones--it was too bitter! A cloud came over his eyes; he was forced to break off.