“I believe you. Call my parents. But first—you are a father, and love your children well. I have never had a father who loved me, or ever laid his hand upon my head to bless me. You say that you love Moritz as a son! Oh, love me for a moment as your daughter, and bless me!”
The old man folded her in his arms, tears streaming down his cheeks. “God bless you, my daughter, as I bless you!”
“I dare not tarry,” she shuddered. “Let my parents enter.”
Slowly the venerable man traversed the room. Marie pressed her hands to her heart, looking to heaven. As the door opened, and the general entered, leaning upon Ebenstreit’s arm, followed by his wife, Marie approached them with a haughty, determined manner, who regarded her with astonishment.
“Father,” she said, slowly and calmly, “I am ready to follow your wishes. Send for the clergyman: I consent to marry this man to-day, upon one condition.”
“Make it known, my dear Marie. Name your condition. I will joyfully fulfil it,” said Ebenstreit.
“I demand that we leave to-day for the East, to go to Egypt—Palestine—and remain away from this place for years. Are you agreed to it?”
“To all that which my dear Marie wishes.”
“You can now weave the bridal-wreath in my hair, mother. I consent to the marriage.”
Three hours later the preparations were completed. Every thing had awaited this for three months.