"Gotthold!"
There was despair in the tone; the young man's hand fell from the latch.
"Can it be, Cecilia? I have frightened you by my vehemence; but it shall not happen again. Only say one word--tell me you love me, and I will bear all; everything else is a matter of indifference to me; we must and shall see some way of escape; but you cannot let me go so, not so, I implore you!"
But he searched her face for some token of assent in vain. Her features seemed set in a horrible smile.
"No," she said, "not so: not before you have promised that you will save my husband, whom I love and honor; from whom I cannot, will not part."
She uttered the words slowly, in a monotonous tone, like something learned by rote, and now paused like a scholar who has forgotten her lesson.
"What does this farce mean?" said Gotthold.
The door of the sleeping-room opened, Gretchen put her curly head in, and then came bounding towards her mother. Cecilia clasped the child passionately in her arms, and hastily continued, while a feverish flush replaced her former death-like pallor: "Save him from the bankruptcy into which he will fall, if you do not help him. The matter concerns--concerns--"
She released Gretchen, and pressed both hands upon her brow.
"Mamma, mamma," screamed the little one, beginning to cry aloud, as Gotthold supported the tottering figure to the nearest chair.