"Do you think, then, my father does not deserve these tears? I know how great his offences were, and that every one is justified in condemning him,--every one but his child,--I cannot blame him. Do you think I ought not to grieve for him as I should for an honourable father? Ah, sir, is it less sad to lose a father thus, just as I was reunited to him, to find that he whom I so revered was a criminal, and to have him vanish in his sin before I could even breathe a prayer to God for mercy upon him? Whatever he may have done, I must mourn for him all the more, for he was and always will be my father. And there never was a kinder father. Let others curse his memory, I can only mourn for him. If the holy words are true, 'With what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again,' I must give him nothing but love, for he never meted to me anything else. Do not despise me. I do not feel his guilt the less, although I cannot love him less."
Hilsborn looked down at her with admiration. "How can you suppose that I could despise this sacred filial affection? I respect you all the more for it. It reveals in you treasures of womanly tenderness! Most certainly he who had such a daughter, and knew how unworthy he was of her, is doubly to be pitied. I will not try to console you. You have in yourself a richer consolation than any that mortal words can give. What can such a stranger as I say to you or be to you? I can only stand ready to protect and advise you, should you need advice or protection."
"If you will be so kind as to direct my first steps in life, it lies all so untried before me, my poor father will bless you from beyond the grave."
She paused, startled, for the door opened hastily, and Bertha entered. She regarded her daughter with a satisfaction that equalled the aversion that she excited in her child. Bertha's beauty had been of a kind that endures only for a season and then gradually becomes a caricature of its former self. Her fresh colour had turned to purple. Her mouth had grown full and sensual, with a drooping under-lip. Her sparkling black eyes had receded behind her fat cheeks, and had an expression of low cunning. An immense double chin and a round, waddling figure added to the coarseness of her appearance. This was the woman who stood ready to claim affection from a daughter whose whole education had tended to create disgust at her mother's chief characteristic--coarseness. What was this woman to her? She had heard that she was her mother, but she had never felt it. She had not seen her since she was scarcely five years old. She could feel no stirring of affection for. She could hardly connect her with the image in her mind of her father's faithless wife. While she was thus regarding Bertha with aversion, the man entered the room whom she was henceforward to consider in the light of a father,--her mother's second husband.
Involuntarily Gretchen retreated a step nearer to Hilsborn, as if seeking in him a refuge from the pair.
"Well," began Bertha, "if Fräulein Gretel is at home to young gentlemen, surely her father and mother----"
"Forgive me," said Gretchen gently but with decision, "my father is just dead, and I lost my mother when I was very young. I pray you to respect my grief and not mention names so sacred to me."
"Just hear the girl!" exclaimed Bertha. "Instead of thanking God that she still has parents to take care of her and not feel her a disgrace, she pretends to have no other father than the thief, the----"
"You must not speak thus in Fräulein Gleissert's presence," cried Hilsborn indignantly. "Can you not see how you wring her heart?"
"Oh, sir, I thank you," said Gretchen with dignity. She turned to Bertha. "Whatever your unfortunate first husband may have been, he was my father in the truest sense of the word, and no one can have a second father. Just so a mother who has once ceased to be such can never be a mother again. Call me false and heartless if you will,--God, who sees my heart, knows how it can love."