No, William, but whether I know it or not, that really does not matter.
William.
No?—This hand, that you, that you have often,—this hand (to Mrs Buchner), it was that?
Mrs Buchner (nods as before).
William (to Ida).
How shamefully I have deceived you! No, I can’t tell you—another time!
Mrs Buchner.
William, I know what I am asking, but I—you must humble yourself before your poor father; till then you will never feel quite free! Call to him, pray to him. Ah! William! you must! You must cling to his knees, and if he spurns you with his foot, you must not defend yourself! You must not speak a word! patient as a lamb! Believe me, a woman who wishes the best for you!
William.
You don’t know, you cannot know, what you are asking of me! Ah! you may thank God, Mrs Buchner, that he has hidden the extent of your cruelty from you! Infamous it may have been what I did! Sacrilegious!—But what I have gone through, here—fought through, suffered—those fearful tortures—he laid the full burden, all the burden on me, and at the end of all, that accursed sin! But in spite of all (after a long deep look into Ida’s eyes, bracing himself as if to a firm resolution), perhaps I shall succeed—in spite of all!