"I have enough to begin with," said Ferdinanda, still writing; "a thousand thalers! There! take up the packet--thank God! I only received it yesterday."
"That is always something to begin with," said Bertalda; "I had already offered him what I had, but of course he would not take it from me. But do let that scribbling alone. What are you doing now?"
"Here!" cried Ferdinanda.
She folded the paper on which she had been writing, and held it out to Bertalda.
"What am I to do with it?"
"Take it to my father, whilst I go to Ottomar."
"Oh! I dare say!" said Bertalda. "I am not generally afraid of people, but I won't have anything to do with your father. Just leave it there. Some one will find it and give it to him, and if not it can't be helped."
"I will give it to him," said a gentle voice.
Ferdinanda started up with a cry, as she saw Cilli, who had entered as usual by the door which led from the studio into the narrow passage between the house and garden, and unnoticed by the others had been present for some minutes, and had heard with her quick ears every word of the latter part of their conversation.
"Oh! my better self, my good angel," cried Ferdinanda; "you are come to tell me that I am doing right, that I may, that I ought to follow him as my heart tells me, through shame and grief, through misery and death!"