"Do not keep me!" the girl wailed out. "There is no comfort, no hope for me in this world! It is my father's work--and I have sworn to repair the injury done by him. How can I repair this wrong? How recall the glorious mind that he has destroyed?" And, almost frantic, she threw herself upon the bed beside Ernestine, and, seizing her hands, "Ernestine, wake up!--you must not lose your reason! Ernestine, listen--hear--Ernestine, Ernestine!" she cried, in the tone in which she had bidden her father farewell.
And Ernestine trembled at the call. She started up, and stared with a wild expression at the strange figure clad in black. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, only to close them wearily once more, as if she had not had sufficient sleep. Then she asked, "Who is this?"
Johannes and Hilsborn stood in breathless expectation. They pressed each other's hands with a look that said more than any words could have done, and Johannes made a sign to Willmers.
"It is your young nurse, Fräulein Ernestine," Willmers replied.
"Oh, indeed!" said Ernestine slowly. Again she closed her eyes, but remained sitting upright. Hilsborn went to the window, and admitted a little more light.
Then she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Gretchen had sunk upon her knees, and did not venture to stir. Johannes stood concealed by the head of the bed.
"What o'clock is it?" asked Ernestine.
"Half-past eleven," said Willmers.
Again there was silence for awhile. Hilsborn drew the curtains still more aside. Just then the Staatsräthin in the other room, ignorant of what was going on, approached the half-open door. Fortunately, Johannes saw her, and motioned her away: she withdrew instantly, but the door creaked a little.
"Who was coming in?" asked Ernestine.