"I am not in the mood to mind your insinuations," said Johannes wearily. "You war with an unarmed foe. Go in, and bring me some good news if you can."
Moritz repented his hasty words when he saw how troubled Johannes really was, and immediately entered the sick-room with Heim.
Johannes sank into the chair by the window and leaned his heavy head against the panes. Such terrible thoughts and fears had lately assailed him! He would not heed them. But if the two physicians should share them also? His heart beat louder and louder with every moment's delay. He could hardly breathe. Hilsborn stood beside him, and, without speaking, pressed his hand. They heard Moritz speak to Ernestine, and her wild, confused replies. Then the murmur of Heim's and Moritz's voices was alone audible.
At last the door opened. Even Moritz looked very grave.
"Well?" asked Johannes.
"Yes," said Moritz with a shrug, "I agree with Heim, the fever is a secondary consideration now. It is subdued--there is something worse than death to be dreaded."
"Ah! I feared it!" Johannes said with a low suppressed cry. "Be brief,--I am upon the rack--you fear--good God I you fear for her mind?"
He could say no more.
Moritz and Heim exchanged glances. "Be calm, Johannes. Remember, this is only conjecture. We are mortal, and cannot be certain. Only it cannot be denied that it looks now more like an affection of the brain than anything else."
"It is a well-known fact," Helm continued, "that patients affected in this manner are often slightly deranged in mind for some time after the fever is subdued, but such cases are most frequent among the aged, and the derangement is not of as long duration as with Ernestine. Her continual harping upon the same idea troubled me from the beginning,--it was like monomania,--always her death and a terrible eternity ensuing upon it. She must have pondered upon it far too much lately,--it has grown to be a fixed idea. If there are not shortly signs of returning reason, I am afraid she will be----"