IV.
He went forth into the street with burning sorrow rankling in his wounded breast. The December air blew sharp and cold over his glowing cheeks—he felt it not. People were talking loud and merrily as they moved up and down the lighted streets, but he heard them not. Sunk in despondency, he stood motionless in the night air, leaning against the corner of a house. Never before had he been so wretched. His spirit was stirred by an indescribable feeling of bitterness, which threatened to destroy the happiness of his life.
In mild solemn tones the bells sounded anew, and awakened in his soul the remembrance of him who brought, and is ever bringing to us all, redemption, help, and consolation; he called to mind the words of Christ which he a short time before had read, and which had so wonderfully cheered him; he thought of the resolution he had this day formed, of his dear mother, of whose entire recovery he had now so lively a hope. Then he took courage, walked down the street, and went to the shop of the apothecary Kremer.
V.
The apothecary, a kind, cordial-hearted man, greeted Ernest in a friendly way as he entered with a "God be with you. Master Theologus. You want the medicine for your [{400}] mother? Here it is; and how is the good woman?"
"Thanks be to God," replied Ernest joyfully, "she is out of danger; but dear Herr Kremer," added he in an under-tone, '"I cannot pay you this time; oh! be so good as to bear with me a little longer."
"Have I ever asked anything of you?" said the apothecary; "do not trouble yourself. I am right glad that your mother is better; I knew she would recover. But you yourself look so pale and weak! what has happened to you?"
Then Ernest, encouraged by the kindness of the cordial-hearted man, related to him how scornfully and hardly the antiquary had dealt with him.
"Yes, yes," said the apothecary angrily, "that is the way with this covetous man; I have known him from his youth; it was his pleasure as a schoolboy to torment us, and, whenever he could, to cheat us. But do not let this disturb you; sit down at the table out yonder near the stove," he continued kindly; "after this vexation a drop of wine will not harm you." Saying this he opened a cupboard, took down a bottle of wine and a tart, and with good-natured haste filled the glass.
Ernest hardly knew what all this meant. "Oh, sir," he exclaimed, greatly surprised, "how have I merited such great kindness?"