"What will you do?" said the old man, "lend him money! What becomes of the water you take in your hand? What becomes of the money loaned to a gambler? I brought him one evening the savings of sixty years; it was no inconsiderable sum, the farm-rent of my few fields and meadows at interest and compound interest; the next morning he had not a shilling of it left. You told me just now that you were a rich man, perhaps you can give him more. He will take as much as he can get, and the moment he can obtain no more, show you the door and forbid you his house, as he did me. He knew very well I would not accuse him, that I could not; I had not required a written proof that I had given my great-granddaughter what I had."
"And Cecilia?"
"She is the true child of her ancestors; too proud to do anything but shed secret tears over the misery which has come upon her. I know those tears of old; they give the eyes which shed them at night upon lonely pillows, the fixed sad expression with which she has looked at me, whenever I have met her since--it has not been often. Where are you going so fast?"
Gotthold had started up.
"I have been here a long time already--too long."
"Is she expecting you, Gotthold?"
The old man had laid his hand upon his shoulder; Gotthold noticed how steadily the keen eyes rested upon him.
"No," he said, "I do not think she is."
"And it is better so," replied the old man. "It is enough for one to experience what I have done. When, shall I see you again?"
"I intended to go away early to-morrow morning, but I will come here from Prora."