He pressed his hands to his beating temples; it seemed as if he should go mad if this torture did not cease, and then a thought occurred to him more terrible than all the rest. Was she afraid of him? Did shame withhold her from appearing before the eyes of him against whose heart her own had throbbed yesterday, whose kiss she had received and answered? No, no, a thousand times no! Whatever kept her from him, it was not that, not that! It was a crime against her proud nature even to think it! She might die, but not live to be dishonorable. Perhaps she was ill, very ill, helpless, alone--ah! that was Gretchen's voice: "Mamma, I want to go with you; I want to go with you to Uncle Gotthold. I want to bid Uncle Gotthold 'good morning!'" and then low soothing tones, then the door opened and she entered.
Gotthold rushed toward her, but only a few steps. She had raised both hands with a gesture of the most imploring entreaty, and the most imploring entreaty looked forth from the large tearful eyes, and pure pale face. So she approached, so she stood before him, and then almost inaudible words fell from her quivering lips.
"Will you forgive me, Gotthold!"
He could not answer; gesture, expression, words--all told him that his haunting fear had become reality; that in one way or another all was lost.
A fierce anguish overpowered him, and then anger arose in his heart; he laughed aloud!
"So this is all the courage you have!"
Her arms fell, her lips closed, her features quivered convulsively, and her whole frame trembled.
"No, Gotthold, not all. But I thank you for being angry; or it might have been impossible for me to perform my task. No, don't look at me so; don't look at me so. Laugh as you laughed just now! What can a man do but laugh, when a woman by whom he believes himself beloved comes and says--"
"You need not," cried Gotthold; "you need not; a man does not comprehend such things, but he feels them without words."
He turned towards the door.