"This is very much the tone of a man in love," said the good man simply.
"In love!" cried Wilfrid, "yes, to ordinary apprehensions; but, my dear Mr. Becker, no words can describe the frenzy with which I rush to meet this wild creature."
"Then you do love her?" said Minna reproachfully.
"Mademoiselle, I endure such strange agitation when I see her, and such deep dejection when I see her not, that in any other man they would be symptoms of love; but love draws two beings ardently together, while between her and me a mysterious gulf constantly yawns, which chills me through when I am in her presence, but of which I cease to be conscious when we are apart. I leave her each time in greater despair; I return each time with greater ardor, like a scientific inquirer seeking for Nature's secrets and for ever baffled; like a painter who yearns to give life to his canvas, and wrecks himself and every resource of art in the futile attempt."
"Yes, that strikes me as very true," said the girl.
"How should you know, Minna?" asked the old man.
"Ah! father, if you had been with us this morning to the summit of the Falberg, and had seen her praying, you would not ask me. You would say, as Wilfrid did the first time he saw her in our place of worship, 'She is the Spirit of Prayer!'"
A few moments of silence ensued.
"It is true!" cried Wilfrid. "She has nothing in common with the creatures who writhe in the pits of this world."
"On the Falberg!" the old pastor exclaimed. "How did you manage to get there?"