"Before you decide, listen to a fact that you have probably not known before," continued the merchant. "Ever since my father's death, Sabine has secretly been my partner, and her advice and opinion has decided matters in our counting-house oftener than you think. She, too, has been your principal, dear Wohlfart." He made a sign to his sister, and left the room.
Anton looked in amazement at the principal in white muslin, with black braided hair. For years, then, he had served and obeyed the youthful figure which now blushingly approached him.
"Yes, Wohlfart," said Sabine, timidly, "I, too, have had a small hold upon your life. And how proud I was of it! Even those Christmas-boxes you used to receive, I knew of them; and it was my sugar and coffee that the little Anton drank. When your worthy father came to us and asked for a situation for you, it was I who persuaded my brother to take you; for Traugott asked me about it, he himself objecting, and thinking you were too old. But I begged for you, and from that time my brother always called you my apprentice. It was I who promised your father to take care of you here. I was but an inexperienced child myself, and the confidence of a stranger enchanted me. Your father, good old gentleman, would not wear, while with us, the velvet cap that peeped out of his pocket, till I drew it out and put it on his white curls; and then I wondered whether my apprentice would have such beautiful curls too. And when you came, and all were pleased with you, and my brother pronounced you the best of all his clerks, I was as proud of you as your good father could have been."
Anton leaned on the desk, and hid his face with his hands.
"And that day when Fink insulted you, and again after that boating excursion, I was angry with him, not only for his presumption, but because he had taken my true apprentice into danger; and because I always felt that you belonged a little to me, I begged my brother to take you with him on that dangerous journey. It was for me, too, Wohlfart, that you toiled in that foreign land; and when you stood by the loaded wagons, amid fire and clash of arms that fearful night, they were my goods that you were saving; and so, my friend, I come to you now in the character of a merchant, and pray you to do me a service. You shall look over an account for me."
"I will," said Anton, turning away, "but not at this moment."
Sabine went to a book-case, and laid out two books, with gilt leaves and green morocco binding, on the desk. Then taking Anton by the hand, she said, in a trembling voice, "Please come and look at my Debit and Credit." She opened the first volume. Beneath all manner of skillful flourishes stood the words, "With God—Private Ledger of T. O. Schröter."
Anton started back. "It is the private book of the firm," cried he. "This is a mistake."
"It is no mistake," said Sabine. "I want you to look over it."
"Impossible!" cried Anton. "Neither you nor your brother can seriously wish this. God forbid that any one should venture to do so but the heads of the concern. So long as a firm lasts, these pages are for no human eyes but those of its head, and after that of the next heir. He who reads this book knows what no stranger should—nay, as far as this book goes, the most intimate friend is a stranger. Neither as merchant nor as upright man can I comply with your wish."