"Those words were worthy of you, Cornelia!" cried Henri. "What gratitude can reward you as you deserve?"
Cornelia gazed into his eyes long and earnestly. "Justify my confidence, Heinrich, and you will give me the highest, the only reward I ask. And now farewell for to-day."
"Must I leave you? Ah, one moment more!"
Cornelia shook her head sadly. "No, it cannot be; it is late, and I must rest; but you can go through the room with me,--will you?"
"Yes, my angel, I will go with you to the threshold of your room; and then turn away from the door of heaven like a condemned spirit."
"Come," said Cornelia; and slowly entered the room leaning on his arm.
There lay the corpse in the coffin, a wreath of blossoming myrtle on the head, and Cornelia's red roses on the heart. Her tears flowed again, her grief burst forth anew, as she looked down on the silent, pale, old bride.
"Oh, faithful guardian of my childhood!" she sobbed, "will you leave your Cornelia alone? Open your lips once more and tell me, oh! tell whether I am doing right in what I have just promised my beloved one! Ah, speak to me once, only once more, true, pure heart, which has been my refuge in joy and sorrow!"
"Have you forgotten that I am by your side, Cornelia?" said Henri, reproachfully.
She turned from the body, pressed a fervent kiss upon his lips, and allowed him to lead her through the apartment to her own room. Here she paused. "Thanks, dearest Heinrich! farewell!"