With an impatient oath he set to work upon the little heap that had so far been lying unnoticed on the pedestal. Offers of wine--profitable investments--a poor, blind father with a new-born infant--and then suddenly he stopped short, while once more a satisfied smile overspread his features.
"Upon my word! I should not have expected this," he growled, contentedly. "She, too, could not rest without confiding her happiness to her old uncle. That is nice of you, children! You shall have your reward for this."
With the same happy haste with which he had opened Hellinger's letter, he tore this envelope asunder.
But hardly had he commenced reading when with a low moaning cry he staggered back two paces, like one who has been dealt a treacherous blow. His grey face became ashy pale; his eyes started from their sockets, and like claws his old withered fingers clutched the fluttering paper.
When his housekeeper brought in the coffee, she found her master sitting as stiff as a log in the corner of the sofa, his forehead covered with great drops of perspiration, and staring with fixed lustreless eyes at the paper which his hands still held as if in a cramp.
"Gracious heavens, doctor!" she cried, and let the tray drop clattering on to the table. Her lamentations brought him back to consciousness. He asked for water, and drank two long eager draughts, wetted his forehead and temples with the remainder, and signed to his housekeeper to leave him.
Hereupon he bolted the door, picked up the letter from the floor, and read with trembling, choking voice:
"My dear, my Fatherly Friend,--When you read these lines I shall have ceased to live. The draughts of morphium which you gave me when I had forgotten how to sleep after Martha's death were carefully collected and kept by me; I trust they will be powerful enough to give me peace.
"You who have watched over me like a second father, you shall be the only one to learn why I have decided to take this terrible step. In long winter nights, when the storm shook my gable-roof and I could not sleep, I wrote down everything that has been tormenting me for so long, and will not let me be at rest till I fall asleep for ever. On my bookshelf, hidden behind some volumes of Heine, you will find a blue exercise-book. Take it with you, without letting the others notice. And when you have read all, go out to my grave and there say a prayer for my soul.
"See that I am laid to rest at Martha's side.