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

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

The invalid was silent for awhile, and then said, "Yes,--ah, yes, we have all abused her; but God knows I never intended this last! I was sound asleep yesterday evening when Ernestine came home and crept in to me here and waked me with her sobs."

"Poor child! she had cause to weep," the Geheimrath interrupted him.

"Yes, yes,--but I did not understand that yesterday. When I awoke, I was thirsty, and sent her up to my brother to bring me a little--a little--a few drops----"

"To bring you liquor," the Geheimrath completed the sentence.

"Yes, I confess it," Hartwich continued; "but in her uncle's room there was a telescope, and she looked through it and forgot her father's errand. I waited and waited, with my throat on fire, but she did not come. I grew more and more impatient; and when, at the end of a full half-hour, she came down without what I had sent her for, I seized hold of her to beat her; she clung to my lame arm so that the pain made me wild,--and in my senseless rage I flung her off and hurled her away with my healthy arm;--may it be crippled forever! She fell backward, and struck the back of her head first against the marble top of my wash-stand,--you can see the blood there still,--and then upon the floor, where she lay like one dead. Everything grew black before my eyes, as it did when I had the stroke. I rang for my people; no one came. I could not move,--could not leave my bed to go to the child. I saw her blood flow, I heard her gasp as if in the death-agony, and I lay here a miserable cripple, thinking that I had killed my child. Oh, Herr Geheimrath, at such a time our inmost selves are revealed to as; in such agony one learns to pray. At last, after repeated ringing and calling, my good-for-nothing servants made their appearance. Herr Geheimrath, I cannot tell you how I felt when they laid the child upon my bed,--my poor, beaten child. As the little bleeding head lay on my arm, it seemed as if my heart opened wide with the gaping wound, and, for the first time, real, warm, paternal affection gushed from it. Before, when I chastised the child, she was all defiance and stubbornness; then I did not care if I hurt her; but now, as she lay mute and crushed before me, she spoke to me in a language that recalled me to myself. And, Herr Geheimrath, I have not been myself,--I have drunk myself down to the level of a brute; and the poor victim of my fury has recalled me from my degradation."

The Geheimrath listened to the speaker with growing sympathy. When he had finished, he took his hand. "You are right, Herr von Hartwich, to be frank with me. Men who are not evil by nature can best excuse their evil deeds by frankness, for their intentions are seldom as bad as their actions. Compose yourself,--your condition is indeed worthy of compassion. If the physician might be allowed to usurp in a measure the confessor's chair at such a time as the present, I would say for your consolation, in the event of the worst termination to the child's illness, that your irresponsible condition, which rendered you incapable of appreciating the consequences of your act, and which would excuse you before an earthly tribunal, should have some weight with your inward judge. Besides, you have certainly acted paternally towards the child in one respect," he added with significance. "You have accumulated a fine property for her. That will enable her to occupy such a position in the world as will make her life, if it is spared, a happy one."

Hartwich seized Heim's hand and whispered quickly and anxiously "Ah, my dear sir, I have not done this; it now lies heavy on my soul that I have not been a father to the child in any way!"

"What do you mean?" cried Heim with apparent surprise. "You have not set Ernestine aside in favour of another?"

Hartwich looked anxiously towards the door. The Geheimrath understood his look, and opened it,--no listener was near. Hartwich then confessed all to the Geheimrath that the latter already knew. Heim shook his head. "It is incredible that a father should do so by his own child; but, now that your sense of duty is aroused, you will of course atone for your injustice?"

"Ah, Herr Geheimrath, if I only could, how gladly would I do so! If my poor Ernestine recovers, I would gladly make over to her the whole estate during my lifetime. Tell me, how shall I begin to make amends? how shall I begin to atone to the child for all the misery I have caused her? I will do anything, everything, if I only can. Assist me, advise me!"