"Insane!" Johannes completed the sentence--"oh!--insane!" He buried his face in his hands, in an agony that convulsed his whole frame.
Moritz laid his hand upon his shoulder. "Johannes," he said, "be strong. For years we have looked to you, in joy and sorrow, as the very ideal of manly self-control and firm determination. Your example has shown as the true dignity of manhood,--and shall pain upon a woman's account have power to move you thus? No indeed! she is not worth it. Ten of these fools are not worth one throb of agony in such a man!"
"Do not speak to me. Leave me, I pray you, to myself," cried Johannes.
"We had better go," said Heim. "He will soon come to himself."
"Good-by, Johannes," Moritz said, pressing his hand. "And listen--open the shutters in Ernestine's room. Speak to her, call to her. It is not good for her to be in that gloomy twilight. It is a case where you must try to awaken reason--not let it smoulder away with too much care and nursing. Some convalescents would never leave their beds if they were not driven from them, because they are too weak to exert themselves. And it is just so with a diseased brain. The mind must be helped upon its feet, especially with women, who are only too ready to let themselves go."
"Moritz is right," said Heim. "I agree with him. Today is the ninth that she has been without fever. We may risk something. Farewell, Johannes. I will come again this evening."
The gentlemen motioned to Hilsborn to accompany them, and left the room.
Johannes clasped his hands, and there burst from his heart such a prayer as comes from the soul only in moments of deepest anguish. "O God, who knowest my heart and its thoughts and desires, canst Thou enter into judgment with me so heavily? Must I be the ruin of her whom I would have saved? Shall I be the cause of worse than death to her whom I would have rescued from death? Can I bear this and still retain my own reason? Have I destroyed the treasure, the hope of my existence? Have I shattered the glorious image to whose perfection I would have lent an aiding hand? And yet I meant to fulfil my duty. O God, if I have erred, mine be the punishment, mine,--not hers through me. No burden can be laid upon me that I will not gladly bear, save this alone!"
He entered the sick-room, and stood looking at Ernestine, who was lying as if half asleep, muttering disconnected, unintelligible words. Should he arouse her from this apparent repose? No, he had not the heart to do it. He drew aside the curtain, and the broad light of day fell full upon the ghost-like face. She moved, as if the light pained her, and turned aside. Willmers, who sat by the bedside, knitting, motioned him away. Johannes let the curtain fall again.
Suddenly the door was flung open, and Gretchen rushed in, her chest heaving, her eyes full of horror and despair. Hilsborn followed, attempting in vain to restrain her.