One evening we were all assembled in a summerhouse in the garden, chatting, laughing, and singing as merrily as if we had met to celebrate the funeral ceremony of Sorrow--there was no one who seemed to have the most distant idea that, even in our gayest moments, Fate, invisible and icy-cold, always stands amongst us ready to choose her next victim.
Suddenly a servant appeared--he inquired for me--he wore Theodore's livery--a fearful foreboding seized me, I grew pale--a suppressed murmur ran through the company, and the gloomy silence which followed made the moment still more dreadful. The servant handed me a letter--I was forced to sit down to prevent myself from falling; everyone remained in intense expectation, awaiting to hear what the contents of the letter might be!
I read it--'She is dead!' I exclaimed, in a low voice to myself--and 'dead!' sounded like an echo through the circle of my friends.
'Emilie!' I cried, and gazed fixedly before me, as if I were reflecting whether Emilie really could be dead. I sprang up like a madman, but suddenly stood as still as a frightened child--'My sister is dead!' I said to those present--'Farewell, my friends.'
I set off in the most terrible state of mind; I had been all at once hurled from the summit of happiness into the unfathomable depths of misery, where not even hope can find its way, and from which there is no other exit, except by death.
I had to travel thirty miles before I could see my Emilie in her coffin, and I arrived just the day previous to the funeral.
I found everything as usual at the country-house of my sister; the oaks were still standing, rustling in the alley; the rivulet, on the banks of which Emilie and I had last sat beside each other, quietly rippled along--everything was the same; she alone was missing--she had passed away, and gone to her Heavenly Father.
Theodore came to meet me; he was pale; and looked confused; he embraced me, and shed a few tears--I remained as cold as a statue.
I could not understand myself; formerly I had so readily sympathized in the happiness, the sorrow, and the fate of my fellow-creatures--but now, I could take no interest in my own.
Emilie's portrait hung on the wall; how beautiful, how blooming she looked, gentleness beamed from those happy eyes, and that smiling mouth seemed only made to shower blessings on all. 'Thus she was,' I thought; 'thus she always looked upon me;--let me go alone to my sister!' I said in an irritable tone, turning to Theodore, who stood beside me; 'I wish to take leave of her undisturbed.'