“My child, you have often asked me if I had heard any thing of Mr. Ebenstreit, and if I knew what had become of him. In your goodness you have even gone so far as to observe that you have been hard and cruel toward him.”
“And I have been, Trude, I presumed to play the rôle of fate and take upon myself the punishment which is God’s prerogative only. True, I had bitter cause of complaint against him, and he was to blame for my unhappiness, but I am not free from blame either, and he, too, had just cause of complaint against me. I had stood before God’s altar with him—had, at least, recognized him as my husband before the world, and yet I have hated and detested him, and have fulfilled none of the duties which devolved upon me from the moment of our marriage.”
“But you were never married, Marie. You did not utter a single word at the wedding? You did not pronounce the ‘Yes.’”
“Do not speak so, Trude; we deceive our conscience with such pretences, and only persuade ourselves that we have done no wrong. But when we lie sleepless on our couches during the long night, as I do, then the slumbering conscience awakens, all self-deception vanishes, and we see things as they really are. Yes, I know that I have not behaved toward Ebenstreit as I ought to have done, and I wish I knew where he is, so that I could write to him and make peace with him before—”
“Before you marry, you would say, Marie? Then, listen! I know where Mr. Ebenstreit is. I also know that he is doing well, and that he, too, longs to see and speak with you. What do you say to this news, my child?”
“I am glad to hear it, Trude, and wish to see Ebenstreit as soon as possible, for all things are uncertain on earth, and if he came later—”
“Yes, if he came later,” said Trude, interrupting her, “our dear professor might be here, and then we would not have time to occupy ourselves with any one else. You see I thought of this when I saw Mr. Ebenstreit, and therefore—”
“What? You have seen and spoken with him?”
“Of course I have, my child. From whom could I have otherwise learned all this? He entreated me to procure him an interview with you. I told him to come here in two hours and wait outside, promising to call him in if you should permit me to do so. The two hours have now passed, my child. Will you see him?”
“Wait a moment,” said Marie, turning pale. “I must first collect my thoughts, I must first nerve myself. You know I am very weak, Trude, and—there! I feel that thorn piercing my breast again! It pains fearfully!”