"Well, since you will have it, listen, and may it prove your cure in a twofold sense. You could bestow upon me, madame, all that the world holds precious, but there is one thing that is no longer yours to give,--your honour! And were a goddess to descend from the skies for my sake, wanting this jewel, she could be nothing to me. I should send her back to her glories, and choose rather to abide here below, a poor solitary man."
A low cry followed these words, and then silence ensued. The Worronska stood like a statue, with eyes, for the first time in her life perhaps, seeking the ground. Johannes approached her and said quietly, "You can never forgive what I have said. I do not ask you to do it; it is best thus. You will hate me for awhile, and then forget me. I shall, all my life, have a melancholy remembrance of you, for you wished to be kind to me and I was obliged to wound you in return. Pour out your hatred upon me; I deserve it at your hands."
"Möllner," said the beautiful woman, drawing her breath with effort, "at this moment I am expiating all the sins I have ever committed. Farewell, and if you hear that I have fallen back into my old manner of life, sign the cross above my memory, and tell her whom you love, 'I might have saved that soul, but I would not.'"
Johannes looked at her sadly. "Madame, if the agony of this moment does not make the thought of your former life hateful to you, my love never could have saved you. I disclaim the terrible responsibility you would thrust upon me. I have done what I could. I have told you the truth, and I cannot believe it will be without effect."
"I thank you," said the despairing woman with bitter irony. Then, with one last tender look at Johannes, which he, standing calmly before her, did not return, she turned to go, with the bearing of a queen. He offered to conduct her to her carriage, but she refused his aid. Her face was ashy pale, and not another word passed her compressed lips.
He looked after her as she entered her carriage and buried her face in her hands. He saw how her whole frame was shaken with emotion. The carriage whirled away, the dust rose in clouds. Johannes re-entered his lonely room. "Ernestine!" he exclaimed, as if she could hear him, "Ernestine!"
[CHAPTER III.]
SILVER-ARMED KÄTHCHEN.
That was wonderful news for the village of Hochstetten! The oldest people there could remember nothing to match it! The Kellers' terrible accident had turned out the greatest good fortune. The Kellers--poor despised day-labourers that they had always been--had come to be rich people, and were to be richer still. Käthchen might well do without her arm, and, since that was all the harm that had been done her, it really was hardly worth so much money. Many a one had suffered greater injuries, and not a mouse had stirred in their behalf,--not even when everything had been pawned in the long idleness that followed. And this lucky child got immense wealth in exchange for her useless little arm! Where was the justice of that, pray? It would have been some comfort to think that it was devil's money, and could bring the Kellers no good, and that it would be better to starve than to use it. At first, indeed, the Kellers thought of refusing it, but the Reverend Father had been too much for the devil. He had advised the Kellers to erect a crucifix by the side of the road where the accident had occurred, and to give the church three hundred gulden for masses for their benefactress's soul. Thus the gift was consecrated, and they could accept it with a clear conscience.
Scarcely four weeks had passed, and the cross was already standing by the roadside just, where Käthchen had been run over. It was finer than any other in all the country round; and the Kellers, husband and wife, tossed their heads, as they passed it, as proudly as if they had placed the Lord Jesus Christ himself there in person. The cross was ten feet high, and stood upon a pedestal five feet high, upon which were inscribed the words, "Erected to the glory of God by Pankratius Keller and Columbane his wife, Anno Domini 18--. 'Let little children come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven!'" And directly beneath was a beautiful painted tablet, whereon all might read, "Wanderer, pause, and mark how wondrously the promise has been kept to our child!" The painting that was to illustrate these words represented Käthchen with one arm; the other lay upon the ground, and a broad stream of blood was gushing from the maimed shoulder. A carriage was driving furiously away. Above Käthchen's head the heavens were opened, and the infant Christ was seen in the arms of the Madonna, handing down a silver arm.