"I have, and therefore am here; but I am no longer in the eyes of others what I once was. You had a wife free from all taint; she who now stands before you is evilly talked of, both on account of father and son."
"The noise of tongues dies away like the surging of the water beneath your feet. It signifies little what others think when we have done what is satisfactory to our own consciences."
"I am glad that you do not care for the talk of others. But I am not quite so proud and independent as I was. I conceal my sorrow, but I feel it always. I am lowered in my own eyes, and, I fear, Felix, in yours also; for I have brought on my own misfortune--I have been too frank with strangers, and given them a right over me."
"You have been brought up to trust in those who hold high positions. Who can give up loyal trust without pain?"
"I have been awakened, Felix. Now answer me," she continued, with agitation, "how do you return to me?"
"As a weary, erring man, who seeks the heart of his wife and her forgiveness."
"What has your wife to forgive, Felix?" she again asked.
"That my eyes were blinded, and that I forgot my first duties to follow a vain chase."
"Is that all, Felix? Have you brought me back your heart, unchanged to me as it was before?"
"Dear Ilse," exclaimed her husband, embracing her.