Suddenly she was startled by a profound sigh from her father, and, looking up, she saw him sitting pale as ashes, staring at the paper that had fallen from his hands. In an instant he sprang to his feet and walked up and down the room in mute despair.
"What is the matter, dear, dear father? what is it?" she asked in alarm, but, receiving no reply, she picked up the newspaper, to see if she could discover from it what had caused his agitation. She read unobserved by him--he was leaning out of the window for air--read what seemed to her a strange tongue, to be deciphered only in her heart's blood. It was a telegraphic order from the magistrate of W----. "Dr. Leuthold Gleissert, former Professor in Pr--, is charged with having appropriated, by means of forgery, and expended upon his own account, the property, amounting to upwards of ninety thousand thalers, of his ward Ernestine von Hartwich, of Hochstetten, and also of having robbed the mail. You are desired to arrest and detain him." A personal description of him followed, but Gretchen had read enough. "Father!" she screamed, "father! father!" And, as if in these three words she had summed up all there was to say, she fell forward with her face upon the floor, as though never to raise it again.
There stood the guilty man, forced to behold his child crushed beneath the ruins of his shattered existence. He did not venture to touch the sacred form extended before him in anguish. He looked down upon her like one almost bereft of reason. God had visited his sin upon him, probing the only place in his heart sensitive to human feeling--his punishment lay in the sight of his child's agony without the power to relieve it.
Suddenly Gretchen raised her head and looked at him with those clear, conscious eyes whose gaze he had always endured with difficulty, and before which his own eyes now drooped instantly. "It is not true--it cannot be! Father, you are innocent--you cannot have done this thing!"
"For God's sake, Gretchen, do not speak so loud," Leuthold entreated.
"You tremble--you will not look at me. Father, if you have thus burdened your soul, I cannot be your judge--I will be your conscience. I will not let you enjoy a single hour of rest or sleep until you have restored what does not belong to you. I will die of hunger before your eyes, rather than taste a morsel that is not honestly earned. But what am I saying? I am beside myself! It is not possible!--not possible! Relieve me from my misery by one word. My soul is in darkness, cast one ray of light into it." She clasped his knees imploringly. "Father, swear to me that you are innocent----"
"My child----"
She interrupted him. "No, no oath, no asseveration--there is no need between us of any such--only a simple yes or no, and I will believe you! Look at me, father,--oh, look at me! Do not speak, do not even say yes or no,--let me but look into your eyes, and my doubts will disappear."
"Gretchen," whispered Leuthold, trying to extricate himself from her clasping arms, "listen to me!"
"No, father, no, I will not let you go. I want no explanation, no argument. If you have committed this crime, nothing can extenuate it. I will hear nothing, know nothing, but whether you have committed it or not." She sought, in childlike eagerness, to meet his eye--she unclasped her arms from his knees to seize his hands and cover them with kisses, while a flood of tears relieved her heart. "Forgive me, forgive me for daring to speak thus to you, a child to a father. Oh, God! how unworthy I am of your affection! The false accusation invented by evil men could lead me astray, and I dare to ask if you are innocent! Forgive me, my kind, patient father--see, I will not ask you again, I will not even look inquiringly into your eyes. The touch of your hand, this dear, faithful hand, suffices to reassure me and lead me back to the knowledge of a daughter's duty." And she laid her face, wet with tears, upon his hands, with a touching humility that cut him more deeply than any accusations could have done.