Only a Girl: or, A Physician for the Soul.

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

Her step-father broke the silence. "We shall never come to any conclusion in this way. Where's the good in talking? You must be taken care of, whether you like us or not. You might at least show some gratitude to us for taking any trouble about you." He stroked his smooth, oily head as he spoke, and his artistic fingers gave a fresh curl to the lock just above his ear. "The case is simply this: My wife thinks it her duty to support you. As you may suppose, it comes rather heavy upon us with our four children, and it stands to reason that you should do a little something for yourself. We will not ask anything unsuitable of you, for I can see plainly that you are a young lady of education. But, if we are to fulfil the duty of parents towards you, it is only fair that we should claim some filial duty from you in return."

He concluded his speech with the bow that he always made in presenting travellers with their little account.

"Oh, is that all?" said Gretchen, greatly relieved. "Then do not have any anxiety on my account. I renounce all claim to a support, and, in the presence of this witness, to any parental duties from you. I ask nothing of you, and shall never ask anything of you, but that you will allow me to depart without hindrance."

The man looked significantly at Bertha, who clasped her hands in amazement. "Do you want to go, then? Why, what will such a child as you do without money or friends?"

Here Hilsborn interposed. "You forget that your deceased husband appointed me his daughter's guardian, and I assure you solemnly, I have never valued my life as I do now that this duty is mine,--a duty that I am determined not to give up."

Gretchen looked confidingly at Hilsborn. "You see, I am not without friends. I will go with this gentleman. There is but one path for me in this world, and that leads me to Ernestine's feet. There is but one duty for me,--atonement for my father's sin. I cannot restore to Ernestine what has been taken from her,--that I learned from the papers yesterday. I can offer her nothing but two strong young arms to work for her. The Bible says, 'The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children,' but I will not wait until they are visited upon me. I will blot them out, as far as I may, and make the curse powerless, that rests upon my unhappy father's grave. I will do what he had no time to do here,--make atonement for his crime." She raised her hands to Bertha in entreaty. "Oh, if you are my mother, open your heart to the first and last request of your child, and do not take from me the hope of obtaining pardon for my father by my labour and suffering!"

And she fell upon her knees before Bertha, who sobbed aloud.

"Ah, Gretel, my child, you are a dear, good girl. How could I ever forsake such a true, brave child? I see now how wrong and foolish I was. But I will do better. You shall learn to love me again. Only give up this silly idea of doing penance for your father. Why should you, innocent creature, suffer for his fault? you are not responsible for his actions."

"I am his flesh and blood, a part of him,--his honour is mine. The curse that strikes him strikes me too. Whatever burdened his conscience weighs upon mine. How could I find rest, living or dying, if I did not do all that I could to make good what he did that was wrong? If he took what was not his, ought I to keep it? Is it not my duty to restore it? And, if I cannot do this, should I not try to pay the debt, although I can do so in no other way than by constant labour?"

"But tell me what you want to do. Your cousin has nothing more. What will you both live upon?" asked Bertha.