“You are a good, a noble man,” whispered Marie, regarding him earnestly. “I thank you for having come, I rejoice in your return.”
“I have not returned to remain,” said Ebenstreit, pressing her hand to his lips. “I only returned to see you, Marie, and to render an account to Heaven, through the avenging angel, whose flaming sword drove me from my sins. You see, Marie, there is something of my former accursed sordidness in me still; I dare to speak of accounts even to God and to you, as if the soul’s burden of debt could ever be cancelled! No, while I live I will be your debtor.—And your debtor, too, Trude,” said he, turning, with a smile, to the old woman, who was regarding him wonderingly.
“I’m sure I don’t know how that can be,” said she, thoughtfully; “you have received nothing from me but abuse; that however you certainly still owe me. If you propose to return this now, and call me a short-sighted fool, and an abominable person, as I have so often called you, you will be perfectly justifiable in doing so. I must say that you have the right, and I am glad that I am compelled to say so. You have become a good man, Mr. Ebenstreit, and the good Lord himself will rejoice over you, for it is written in the Bible: ‘When the unjust man returns to God there is more joy over him in heaven than over a hundred just men.’ Therefore, my dear Mr. Ebenstreit, pay me back for all my abuse, and then give me your hand and say: ‘Trude, we now owe each other nothing more, and after all you may be a very good old woman, whose heart is in the right place, and—her mouth too!’”
Ebenstreit extended his hand, with a kindly smile. “Let us shake hands; the abuse you shall, however, not have. I am your debtor in a higher and better sense; your brave and resolute countenance was often before me, and at times, when a task seemed almost impossible, I seemed to hear a voice at my side, saying: ‘Work, work on! Ransom your soul with the sweat that pours from your brow, you soul-seller, for otherwise old Trude will give you no peace, either on earth or in heaven! Work, work on! Earn your bread by the sweat of your brow, otherwise you can never enter the kingdom of heaven, you soul-seller!’ You will remember that this was the only title you accorded me in former days?”
“Well, Mr. Ebenstreit, I had others for you, to be sure,” said the old woman, blushing, “but that was the main title on account of the five hundred dollars that—”
“Be still!” interrupted Marie, as she slowly arose, and leaned forward in a listening attitude. “Did you hear nothing, Trude?”
“No, my darling. What could I have heard?”
“A carriage stopped before the door, and my heart suddenly ceased to beat, as if expecting a great joy or a great sorrow. I seemed to hear steps in the passage. Yes, I recognize this step—it is his; he—be still! do you hear nothing?”
They all listened for a moment in breathless suspense. “Yes, I seem to hear some one walking in the outer hall,” murmured the old woman. “Let me go and see whether—”
“Some one is knocking,” cried Marie. “Trude, some one is—”