"And do you not see that it will be no infringement of the duty that you impose upon yourself, if you grant me the reparation that I ask of you, even although I should ask for nothing less than yourself,--your entire life, Gretchen,--would you think me too bold? would you think the compensation for what your father deprived me of too great?"
"No, oh, no! much too small," whispered Gretchen, with glistening eyes.
"Not too small. I know it is too great. But love, Gretchen, will not weigh deserts. Everything is in your hands, dearest. Your father injured my father, but he gives me his child."
The girl put her hands to her throbbing brow. "Can this be so?--can so great a blessing spring from a curse? I do not deserve such joy. Can it be no wrong, but a duty, to love you, whom I would have renounced for duty's sake? I longed to labour and suffer for my father's crime, and is this my penance--to give myself to him whom I love? It is too much,--I cannot believe it. But what shall I do? How shall I reconcile my duty to Ernestine and to you? Help me, advise me, that I may not neglect one duty for the sake of the other,--there can be no true happiness without a clear conscience. Help me, then, to be really happy."
"My darling," said Hilsborn, "I understand you now, just as I have always understood you, and I will help you to satisfy your conscience. If I could, I would shower every precious gift upon you,--how then could I deprive you of that priceless possession--peace of mind? True love brings true peace in its train, and this peace shall be yours. Therefore do for Ernestine all that your heart dictates, as long as you can be of service to her. I shall be near you, and we can at least exchange a word now and then. True love is easily content, it prizes even the smallest token. I will not claim one moment that you think belongs to Ernestine,--that would trouble you. We will tell no one as yet of our betrothal but my faithful foster-father Heim, without whose blessing I can take no step in life. The knowledge of our happiness might grate upon poor Möllner, who has so much to endure. But when, Gretchen, Ernestine has entirely recovered, it will be ours to enjoy our bliss without a pang. And if,--which I can scarcely believe,--she should still refuse to share Möllner's lot, then, I swear to you, I will aid you truly in all that you do for her. She shall live with us and be to me as a sister. Is not this all that you desire, my dearest one?"
"Yes, yes, you read my very soul, for I could never consent to be your--wife, until I knew that Ernestine was well and content. And I have hardly thought myself grown up--I am hardly fit to be a wife. How can I accustom myself to the thought?"
"I will do all I can to teach you, dear little wife,--the lesson will not, I hope, be hard to learn," said Hilsborn gaily.
"Perhaps not," Gretchen replied, and for the first time there was an arch sparkle in the melancholy brown eyes.
Thus these two hearts were united, speedily, in childlike faith, after the manner of youth, and without a struggle. But above in the sick-room two hearts were wrestling in mortal pain. Love, for poor Ernestine, must attain the light only through the dark night of error and illusion that was around her,--that light in which Gretchen and Hilsborn innocently basked, driven from their Eden by no angel with the flaming sword. Such strong natures as Möllner's and Ernestine's could not unite without a struggle. Each had framed a world for itself, and one of these worlds must be shattered before they could become one world. The farther apart they were, the more powerful the attraction between them, the more certainly would the weaker crumble to pieces in contact with the stronger. It is the mysterious condition under which gifted natures receive their talents from God, that they must strive and labour for a happiness that often falls unsought into the lap of weaker natures. Thus Eternal Wisdom maintains the balance of its gifts,--the weak and the simple receive without asking what the strong must earn. And these two gifted creatures were earning hardly their portion of life's joy, that they might fulfil the law prescribed by God for creatures so constituted. His laws are inscribed not upon the heavens, but in the human heart, and all our striving for perfection is, in fact, only an endeavour to read these laws correctly. And how often do we read them falsely, in spite of all our honest pains!
How much more was this the case with one like Ernestine, who had never been taught to heed the still small voice in her heart as the voice of God! All her errors and sufferings were the result, as are those of most men, of a misconception of the Divine will. If she had known that she was destined to purchase happiness by self-sacrifice, she would have paid for it voluntarily, and would not have wrestled with her destiny to the last, until she almost succumbed in the conflict. Her life had well-nigh been ruined by the want of true Christian culture; she was ready to make every sacrifice, except that which is alone well pleasing in God's sight--the sacrifice of self.