Never had he guided the brush so joyously; in painting this picture he only wished to give, to give—give his beloved father the best he could accomplish, so he succeeded.
The young wife, attired in a burgher dress, stood with her bewitching eyes and a melancholy, half-tender, half-mournful smile on her lips.
Adam was not permitted to enter the studio again until the portrait was completed. When Ulrich at last unveiled the picture, the old man—unable longer to control himself—burst into loud sobs and fell upon his son's breast. It seemed to Adam that the pretty creature in the golden frame —far from needing his forgiveness—was entitled to his gratitude for many blissful hours.
Soon after, Adam found Moor at home, and a few hours later took Ulrich to him. It was a happy and a quiet meeting, which was soon followed by a second interview in the smith's house.
Moor gazed long and searchingly at Ulrich's work. When he had examined it sufficiently, he held out his hand to his pupil, saying warmly:
"I always said so; you are an artist! From to-morrow we will work together again, daily, and you will win more glorious victories with the brush than with the sword."
Ulrich's cheeks glowed with happiness and pride.
Ruth had never before seen him look so, and as she gazed joyfully into his eyes, he held out his hands to her, exclaiming: "An artist, an artist again! Oh, would that I had always remained one! Now I lack only one thing more—yourself!"
She rushed to his embrace, exclaiming joyously "Yours, yours! I have always been so, and always shall be, to-day, to-morrow, unto death, forever and ever!"
"Yes, yes," he answered gravely. "Our hearts are one and ever will be, nothing can separate them; but your fate shall not be linked to mine till, Moor himself calls me a master. Love imposes no condition—I am yours and you are mine—but I impose the trial on myself, and this time I know it will be passed."