Ernestine felt as though she should sink into the ground. She clasped her hands in entreaty. "Oh, forgive me! I have all kinds of thoughts!--I do not know what I say or do! I only know that I am a wretched, wretched child!"
Heim shook his head, and drew the trembling child towards him. "My darling, tell me about it: is your uncle severe with you? does he treat you unkindly?"
"No, oh, no! he is very kind,--he is never cross to me--it is not that,--not that."
"I understand. In spite of his kindness, you feel that he is not near to you; you have no father nor mother, and you need warmth and sunshine, you poor frail little flower. Only be patient! when you get to the lovely, sunny south, with its flowers and birds, you will be better, and your heart will be lighter. I would have liked to keep you with me, I would have brought you up lovingly, and would have tried to fill a father's place to you. But it could not be,--God best knows why,--and I am sure it is better for you, mind and body, to leave this northern climate for a time."
These kind words melted Ernestine's very heart. She pressed Heim's hands to her lips. She wanted to confess all to him. "Oh, do not speak so to me!" she cried with streaming eyes,--"not so kindly!--I do not deserve it."
"My poor innocent child, what can you have done, not to deserve kindness? Ernestine, what is it? What disturbs you so?"
"Oh, if you knew--" cried Ernestine, and just then the door opened, and Leuthold appeared, just in time to prevent what would have ruined all his plans.
"Ah, Herr Geheimrath,--then I was not mistaken. It was your carriage that drove up. The Frau Staatsräthin is with me upon business, and requests your presence at the signing of a paper."
"I will come immediately," Helm said briefly, and went up-stairs with Leuthold.
"Now uncle will drive home with us," cried Angelika delighted. "Isn't he kind, Ernestine?"