It was like a broken-hearted child crying in helpless, lonely repentance, and with a quick movement Hildegarde slipped her arm about the trembling shoulders.
"You will know everything soon," she said. "Then you will see that we have all been to blame—that we all need to pardon and to receive pardon. Forgive now—for Wolff's sake!"
Something quivered in Frau von Arnim's frozen face. The little woman by the tree was crying openly, and her husband turned away as though the light blinded him.
"Nora," Frau von Arnim said.
That was all. Nora took a stumbling step forward; the elder woman caught her and held her. They clung to each other in a moment's agony of grief. Years of life would not have brought them together nor broken their stubborn pride. The hand of death had touched them, and pride and hatred vanished. The barriers had yielded and left free the road from heart to heart.
"Forgive?" Nora whispered brokenly.
Very gently she was drawn towards the closed door.
"Let us go to him," Frau von Arnim said.
It was her forgiveness, and they entered the room together, hand clasped in hand. For one instant Nora shrank back as she saw the white face on the pillow. Then she loosened herself from her companion's clasp and went forward alone. They did not follow her. It was as though at this hour of crisis she had claimed her right above them all, as though without a word she yet demanded back from them what was her own; and they watched her in awed, unbroken silence. She took the white, feeble hand upon the coverlet, and kissed it.
"Wolff!" she whispered. "Wolff!"