"Yes, it is well for me," repeated Herr Leonhardt.
A long pause ensued. At last the old man asked kindly, "How are you after that terrible yesterday?"
"Oh, Father Leonhardt, do not ask me how I am! Until this moment I thought myself very miserable, but your calamity teaches me to despise my own pain. In comparison with that, what is all the imaginary unhappiness that comes from being misunderstood? What matters it if people despise me for differing from them? What can their esteem give me or their contempt deprive me of? They cannot bestow upon me or take from me one ray of sunlight, one glimmer of the stars. The golden day shines upon my path, and I am young and able to labour. I see the beauty of the world, the universe is painted upon my organs of sight, my soul is bathed in light, and how can I give room to mortified pride or offended vanity, when I see a great enlightened soul peacefully resigned to endless night? No, Father Leonhardt, holy martyr that you are, I discard all my petty personal trials, and am grieved only for you." She bowed her head upon his hands, and sobbed passionately.
"My daughter," said the old man, much moved, "you are not telling me the truth. The pain that you have suffered must be great indeed, for only a heart that knows what suffering is can feel so for others' woes. Your heart must have been filled before to overflowing with these tears that you are now shedding for me."
"Oh, Father Leonhardt, blind though you are, you see clearly. I came to seek advice and comfort from your paternal heart, and you have comforted me even before I could tell you of my grief. Yes, there was a moment when I forgot myself, but it is past. Your noble example has made me strong again. Let it go. I can think and talk now only of yourself. I pray you take me for your daughter. You have treated me with a father's tenderness,--let me repay you as a child should. Yesterday you perilled that venerable head to save me from the angry mob,--now let me shield you from the menacing phantoms of night and loneliness. Come, live in my house with your wife. I will be with you as much as I can. I will talk to you and read to you. I am so lonely, and,--I cannot tell why,--I begin to thirst so for love."
Herr Leonhardt clasped his hands. "Oh, what comfort and delight Heaven still sends me! Yes, although my eyes are blind, I can see the hidden beauty of the heart that you reveal to me. God bless you, my dear daughter, and grant you the light of His countenance, that you may one day recognize Him as your best friend and benefactor!" He paused, and then added almost timidly, "Forgive me,--I am falling into a tone that you do not accord with. Remember that in my youth I studied theology,--a little of the pulpit still sticks to me. Do not think that I arrogate the right or ability to instruct you. I, old and broken down as I am, am not the one to train that proud spirit. I will accept the crumbs of love that fall for me from your large heart, and gratefully pray for your happiness."
"Father Leonhardt, do not undervalue yourself. You must know how far above me you are. When I saw you in your simple greatness confront those rude men yesterday, I was filled, for the first time since my childhood, with a sentiment of adoration. You understand me, you make allowance for me, while every one else misunderstands and condemns me. You stood by me in the hour of danger, and yet you never boast of your kindness. Oh, you are noble and true! Come to me,--let me find peace upon your paternal heart, let me give you a home and provide for your son's future."
"Thanks, thanks for all your offers, my dear child, but I cannot take advantage of your generosity, and, thank God, I do not stand in need of it. My son has already determined to give up the study of medicine and take my place here as schoolmaster. Thus, our future is provided for, we shall not have to leave the dear old school-house, and I can die where my whole life has been passed."
"Does that thought comfort you?" asked Ernestine, shaking her head.
"Oh, yes, it is all that I desire. Those who, like yourself, my child, pass through life with all sails set, have no idea of the restraint which those in our class must gradually learn to put upon themselves in order not to despair. Yet in this very restraint, in this perpetual narrow round of duties that life assigns us, there is happiness, a content that routine always brings. You may say that routine blunts the faculties,--but, for the most part, it only seems to do so. A nature strong from within will thrust its roots deep into the soil of its abiding-place with the same force that enables it to grasp the universe, and if you should attempt to tear it thence in its old age, you would almost tear its life away also. I love the little spot of ground and the little house that have been the world to me. I believe I should die if I had to leave them."