"That is right. Better dwell in thought upon the spirit that was all affection for you, than linger beside the senseless clay that it informed----" He ceased, for Frau Bertha entered with breakfast. She had a black dress hanging upon her arm.
"There, Gretel, my dear, is something to eat. I will not let you go until you have taken something. And, if the gentleman will be kind enough to step out one minute, we will try on this dress. You must have some mourning, and where else can you get it, poor child?"
She spread the table hastily, and Hilsborn left the room.
"Now come here, and let us see how this fits. It is the very dress that I bought ten years ago, when your step-uncle Hartwich died. But it is as good as new. I have worn it but little, and, if you put the skirt on over the pointed waist, it has quite a modern air. Just look! It is not much too large. I was smaller then than I am now, and I have taken it in wherever I could. I was afraid it would be too big for you. Look at that little spot,--that is where you threw your cake into my lap when you were a little thing. I hid it so,--in a fold. Dear, dear! I had this very dress on when I left you. I never thought then that you would one day put it on and leave me, as I was leaving you!"
There was something touching in these simple words, and, for the first time, Gretchen threw herself into her mother's arms and burst into tears. "Gretel," said Bertha, crying bitterly, "you must one day feel that you are my child, just as I feel that I am your mother. I hope you will not then repent leaving me."
"Ah, mother," sobbed Gretchen, "how could you be so cruel to my poor father? How could you so wring my heart when I first saw you again that I turned away from you? I might have learned to love you. A child must try to honour its parents. I would never have reproached you for forsaking me, but the abyss into which you plunged my father lies between us, and can never be bridged over."
"But, Gretchen, Gretchen," cried Bertha, "I have done no worse than the young gentleman whom you think so much of. Why do you not blame him?"
"He only did his duty by a friend, and performed it in the kindest way possible. My father saw that, and reposed the greatest confidence in him in intrusting me to his care. But you, mother, permitted Herr Meyer to bring the stranger here who came to hand over my father to punishment, and to whom my father was only the enemy of his friend. It was not his duty to spare my father. But, mother, he had once been your husband, he was the father of your child, and yet, when, hunted and pursued, he sought the shelter of your roof, you had the heart to betray him and deliver him up to death and disgrace. I will not judge you, but ask yourself, mother, did he deserve such treatment at your hands?"
"Ah, merciful Heaven! you may be right, but it really seemed that it was to be so. I had forgotten everything but the wrong he did me. He has had his punishment, and I must have mine, for, indeed, to love you and lose you so is a heavy trial."
Hilsborn knocked at the door. "Frau Meyer, it is almost time to go."