"One cannot live on genius," cried Bertram, impatiently; "and with all my knowledge I might have starved, if you had not taken me by the hand."
Gotzkowsky would have denied this, but Bertram continued still more pressingly: "Father, if I were, indeed, your son, could you then deny me the right of falling and being ruined with you? Can you deny your son the right of dividing with you what is his?"
"No!" cried Gotzkowsky, "from my son I could demand the sacrifice, but it is not only a question of earthly possessions, it is a question of my most sacred spiritual good, it is the honor of my name. Had I a son, I would exact of him that he should follow me unto death, so that the honor of my name might be saved."
"Well, then, let me be, indeed, your son. Give me your daughter!"
Gotzkowsky stepped back in astonishment and gazed at Bertram's noble, excited countenance. "Ah!" cried he, "I thank you, Bertram; you are a noble man! I understand you. You have found out the sorrow which gnaws most painfully at my heart; that Elise, by my failure, becomes a beggar. You wish most nobly to assist her and protect her from want."
"No, father, I desire her for her own sake—because I love her! I would wish to be your son, in order to have the right to give up all for you, and to work for you. During your whole life you have done so much for others; now grant me the privilege of doing something for you. Give me your daughter; let me be your son."
Gotzkowsky was silent for some minutes, then looked at Bertram sadly and sorrowfully. "You know that this has always been the wish of my heart. But what I have longed for, for so many years, that I must now refuse. I dare not drag you down in my misfortune, and even if I were weak enough to yield to your request, I cannot sacrifice the happiness of my daughter to my welfare. Do you believe, Bertram, that Elise loves you?"
"She is kind to me, and is anxious for my welfare—that is enough," said Bertram, sadly. "I have learned for many a long year to renounce all claim to her love."
"But if she loves another? I fear her heart is but too true, and has not forgotten the trifler who destroyed her happiness. Ah! when I think of this man, my heart trembles with anger and grief. In the hour of death I could forgive all my enemies, but the hatred toward this man, who has so wantonly trifled with the faith and love of my child, that hatred I will take with me into the grave—and yet, I fear, Elise has not forgotten him."
"This dead love does not give me any uneasiness," said Bertram. "Four years have passed since that unlucky day."