"You shall not wait in vain. How could I refuse to gratify a wish of yours?"
And with these words, that were more to the young man than she herself dreamed of, she left him, and entered the sick-room with her heart filled with mingled joy and pain.
Johannes was kneeling by the bed, his forehead leaning upon Ernestine's arm, that was hanging down outside the coverlet. His mother gave Gretchen a kindly nod. No one ventured to speak. Ernestine seemed asleep.
Gretchen sat down beside the Staatsräthin and gratefully pressed her offered hand.
Thus they sat for an hour, motionless, and then Ernestine had a fresh access of delirium. Her whole illness seemed to be only a vain effort of nature to banish the evil, unnatural ideas nestling in her brain like destructive parasites. At last Johannes induced his mother and Willmers to take a little rest while he and Gretchen watched. He suffered so much at the sight of Ernestine's sufferings that it was a relief to him to know that his mother was not in the room,--his mother, in whose presence his affection forced him to exercise such difficult self-control.
Gretchen was a faithful assistant, although the poor child's heart was well-nigh broken at the constant reference to her father that filled Ernestine's ravings. Fragments of the past were brought to light, detached scenes rehearsed incoherently, but running through all the unfortunate daughter could perceive the dark crimson thread of her father's guilt.
The hot tears coursed down her cheeks. Johannes never noticed them. He had eyes and ears only for Ernestine. The poor orphaned child felt alone indeed. But no! How could she entertain such a thought? Had she not a friend and protector near? And had she not promised to bestow a kindly glance now and then upon the faithful sentinel? How could she forget him for one moment? While Johannes stood by Ernestine, she softly opened the door and looked out. There he sat, his eyes full of expectation, and a bright smile broke over his face at the sight of Gretchen. He started up and tore a leaf, upon which he had been writing, out of his note-book.
"Gretchen," he whispered, "here is something for you. Take it, as it is meant,--kindly. You are having a hard night. I can imagine all you are suffering. Do not forget that there is one sitting here thinking of and for you."
Gretchen held out her hand, and he put the paper into it.
"I thank you, even before I know what it contains," she whispered in reply. "It must be something kind, since it comes from you." And she re-entered the sickroom and seated herself by the table upon which the night-lamp stood. She shivered, for Ernestine's words were all full of horror. But she held a talisman in her hand, and Hilsborn's handwriting banished all haunting sorrow. She unfolded the paper and read: