"I have to think of you in this matter, as well as of myself," he replied. "And certainly I gathered from what Ulrich said that you shuddered at the thought of a meeting. Above all, it was your wish that my harmless meetings with him should cease."
"What else could I do," she said, "after you had expressed yourself so harshly about the child?"
"Harshly? Felicitas, take care what you say. I have considered the child's good. I would not have him taught to love me, and then learn to hate me--and you too."
"And yet you intended to take him with us to America?" she answered obstinately.
"That would have been quite a different thing, Lizzie. There no one would have known who I was. I should have passed as his father. But here, where every servant-girl--but, my God! why do I waste words? You yourself must have thought of it long ago. Otherwise you wouldn't have sent him so far away."
"The child is gone," she said in a low tone. "Every night I pray and weep for him; but he is out of your way."
He gave a start of horror. "Then that is why, Felicitas," he stammered, "that is why you sent him?"
"If you wish to rebuke me for being a bad mother," she said, "do it.... I won't defend myself."
She folded her hands in her lap, and looked into the distance with appealing helplessness.
"Ah, it cost me a severe struggle," she continued, as if talking to herself. "Every night my poor boy appeared to me in my dreams, and I became icy cold when I saw how pale and wretched he looked. But, I told myself, he is young; he will fight it through, live and be happy; but I ... well, you see, Leo, that this is my last battle; I know it. The torture of having to keep silence can't be borne much longer, remorse chokes me. Had I kept the child, I must have given up you, the only person who can help and advise me, and give me any comfort. What could I have done, then, but have thrown myself in the river. For they say in death it is easy to be silent."