"Yes, yes; but you were not a father at the time that you arranged with Hartwich his testamentary dispositions," Heim briefly interposed.
"Only two months afterwards my wife gave birth to a dead son. From the first moment when I dreamed of one day possessing a child for whom I could prepare a future, I cherished a determination to hold fast to whatever was mine by right. I think you cannot refuse to bear witness that I have endured the destruction of all my hopes with fortitude. My wife has left me, refusing to share with me my cheerless future. I stand alone with my helpless child. You have heard no word of complaint from my lips. Examine yourself, and your upright nature will compel you to acknowledge that I do not deserve your distrust. And now, as regards the last and weightiest consideration,--my relation to my ward,--ask any one whom you may please to interrogate here, whether I have not always been Ernestine's advocate and protector. Every servant in the house--the child herself--will tell you that it has been so. Upon this point my conscience cannot accuse me. For, look you, Herr Geheimrath, this child is the only living being in this world, besides my own daughter, whom I have to love. There is one spot in my nature, hardened as it is by the rough usage of life, that has always remained soft,--the memory of my unhappy childhood. In Ernestine I am reminded of my own early youth, and there is a tender satisfaction in providing her with so much that at her age I was obliged to deny myself. Leave me this child, Herr Geheimrath; I am a poor, unhappy, disappointed man. Do not take from me the last thing that stirs the better nature within me,--it would be too hard!"
Heim stood still for an instant, and seemed about to speak. He bethought himself and walked on a few steps, then paused again: "The case is not psychologically improbable. You may feel as you say, and you may invent it all. What guarantee have I for its truth?"
"I am sorry to say, none, if you do not find it in the honesty of my confession. But, Herr Geheimrath, by what right--pardon me--do you require such a guarantee from me?"
"My anxiety for the child's welfare, I should suppose, would be allowed to give me such a right,--a right that, if you are not dead to human feeling, you would respect even although it has no legal grounds."
"Oh, certainly, certainly,--I do respect it, and thank you for your interest in the child. But I cannot deny that your persistent distrust of me surprises me exceedingly, and prompts me to force you by my conduct to a better opinion of me."
"That is, you will let me have the child?" Heim asked quickly.
"That is, I am more determined than ever to undertake the charge of her education myself, that I may one day convince you of the injustice that you are doing me."
Heim regarded the smiling speaker with a penetrating glance. "You rely upon the fact that I can legally urge nothing against you. Well, then, I can do no more. I confide the fate of this strange child, who has become so dear to me, to a loving Providence, that will watch over her and over you, sir, however you may contrive to withdraw yourself and your designs from the eye of human scrutiny."
As Heim spoke these words, the two gentlemen reached Ernestine's chair. The little girl sat perfectly still, lost in thought. Her uncle laid his hand upon her white forehead, and said to himself, "I will keep you!"