Again Gottlob sought to spring forward and speak; but a sign from the Ober-Amtmann to the guards caused them to place their pikes before him, and arrest him in his impulse.
“How and what is this, my child?” said the Ober-Amtmann. “Knowest thou that youth? and in what has he, consciously or unconsciously, done thee ill?”
“He has done me no ill,” replied the innocent girl in still greater confusion, as her bosom heaved, and the blood suffused her cheeks. “I am sure he would not do me ill for all the treasures of the world!”
“Thou knowest him then?” said her father, somewhat more sternly.
“No, I know him not,” replied Bertha in trouble; “but I have met him sometimes in my path, and I have seen him”—she hesitated for a moment, and then added, with downcast eyes, “at his window, which overlooks our garden.”
“Why then this trouble, Bertha?” continued the Ober-Amtmann, in a tone that rendered their conversation inaudible beyond their own immediate circle.
“I cannot tell myself, my father. I feel troubled and sad, it is true; and yet I know not why. I have no cause”——
“And when thou hast met yonder youth, as thou sayest, hast thou felt this trouble before?”
“Alas! yes, my father. I remember now that at his aspect my heart would beat; my head grow giddy, and my ears would tingle; and then a faintness would come over me, as though it were a pain I felt, and yet it was a pleasant pain. There was nothing in him that could cause me ill; was there, father?”
The Ober-Amtmann’s brow grew dark as Bertha proceeded; but, after a moment’s reflection, he murmured to himself—“Love! oh, no! It is impossible! She and he! The noble’s daughter and the low-born youngster. It could not be! There is no doubt! Witchcraft has been at work! How long has it been thus with thee, my child?” he added with solicitude.