"Troubled days were in store. Martha slunk about the house like a ghost. Papa rode like wild through the woods, stayed away at meal-times, and had not a good word for any of us. Mama, our good, fat mama, sat knitting in her corner, and from time to time wiped the tears out of her eyes, while she looked round anxiously, lest any one should notice it. Yes, it was a sad time!
"Two urgent letters from Robert had arrived. He wrote that he was in great trouble, and I was to send him tidings forthwith. I told Martha nothing of them, but I kept my promise.
"A week had passed by, when I noticed that our parents were discussing what answer they would send to aunt. In order to exclude any suspicion of sneaking into a marriage, papa had the intention of binding himself by a final promise, and mama said 'yes,' as she said yes to everything that did not concern jellies and sweets.
"The same day Martha declared that she felt unfit to leave her bed--that she had no pain, but that her limbs would not carry her.
"Thus I saw misfortune gathering more and more darkly. I dared not hesitate any longer.
"'Come! Redeem your promise before it is too late.' These words I wrote to him. And to be quite sure, I myself ran down into the town, and handed the letter to the postillion who was just preparing to start for Prussia.
"At the moment when the envelope left my hands, I felt a pang at my heart as if I had thereby surrendered by soul to strange powers.
"Three times I was on the point of returning to ask my letter back, but when I did so in good earnest the postillion was already far away.
"When I climbed up the slope leading to the manor house I hid myself in the bushes and wept bitterly.
"From that hour an agitation possessed me, such as I had never before in my life experienced. I felt as if fever were burning in my limbs--at nights I ran about my room restlessly, all day long I was on the look-out, and every approaching carriage drove all the blood to my heart.