"Then I need not die?" asked Ernestine with a long breath, as if awaking from an oppressive dream.
"On my honour, Ernestine, you are quite out of danger."
She could not speak. She could only look fondly and gratefully at the blue heavens outside the window. Then she silently pressed Möllner's hand to her breast, and the large tears gathered in her eyes.
The Staatsräthin then entered. "May I come in?" she asked. "May I say good-morning to the invalid?"
Ernestine drew the old lady towards her, put her arm around her, and whispered, "You have so much to forgive, but you granted me your forgiveness before I could ask you for it. I feel so humiliated in comparison with you, I will not conceal the shame this confession causes me. It is your only reward for all that you have done for me."
"How she has been purified in the terrible furnace that she has passed through!" the Staatsräthin said to Johannes, who was looking down enraptured upon the pale, beautiful features, once more informed by the clear light of reason.
"I thank you all, and you, too, dear Willmers. Every breath that I draw of this new gift of life shall be full of gratitude to you and"--she looked timidly upwards--"to God. In that dark, dark night of horror, I felt that His hand prostrated me, and now His hand lifts me up again. Oh, yes, He is a merciful God!"
"Then, Ernestine," said Johannes, "a blessing has come even from the terror that I caused you,--the blessing of faith."
"Yes, dear friend, you were right when you said, 'To some God comes in fear.' You were right in everything, and I am only a woman!" Her head drooped. She was exhausted.
Johannes and his mother looked significantly at each other, joy in their eyes. It seemed to them that Ernestine was born again.