Heim went instantly to procure writing-materials, for he knew better than the invalid himself that there must be no delay in the matter. The servants brought him what he wanted, and he looked in upon Ernestine for a moment, while the surgeon went for more ice for the bandages. She was lying there moaning and groaning restlessly. He looked at her lovingly, and said to himself, "Poor child! There are better days in store for you." Then he repaired to Frau Gedike, whom he informed of her dismissal, and appointed Rieka, the elder of the maid-servants,--a girl whose face pleased him,--Ernestine's attendant.

When he returned to Hartwich, he found him in a state of great excitement. His face was purple, the veins greatly swollen.

"Where have you been so long?" he cried out as the Geheimrath entered.

"I was in agony for fear I should have another stroke. I felt just as I did before! There, give me the writing-materials--it would be terrible if I were to die now, before I had atoned for my crime. Pray help me up, Herr Geheimrath,--but do not touch my lame arm,--oh, this pain!

There, there,--thank you. Now the pen. I have thought it all over while you were away. I will arrange it so that he cannot say I broke my word to him, and he cannot harm Ernestine if I should die shortly. Ah, air!--Herr Geheimrath,--open a window! After I have written--I shall be easier. Then my mind will be relieved."

He spoke in breathless haste, while the perspiration stood in beads upon his forehead.

"Be calm, be calm!" said the Geheimrath soothingly. "You are not going to die now, but you will make yourself ill with this excitement."

"Ah, you are kind,--you wish to console me;--but I feel that last night will be my death--there is no time to lose!"

He dipped the pen in the ink, and looked towards the door. "If only Leuthold does not come,--all is lost if he does. Bolt it, I pray, that he may not surprise us. Tell me, will it not be best to make him Ernestine's heir? Then I shall not be quite false to my promise,--it is, alas, alas, more likely that the poor little lamb will die than that she will recover; then all will be as it was, and the property will be his,--and, if she lives, he must have a good legacy."

"Yes, yes," said the Geheimrath good-humouredly, "give the fellow what you think you owe him. But remember that he inherits from Ernestine only in case of her dying unmarried; for if it be G.o.d's will that she lives, marries, and has children, you must not deprive those children of the property. That might make her very unhappy."

"Yes, you are right,--I will insert that clause. But the guardianship,--what do you think? I must make Leuthold her guardian, or he will be terribly angry!"

The Geheimrath shook his head. "I would not do that!"

"Oh, yes, Herr Geheimrath. It would look too ugly, and the child will be in no kind of danger. He always liked Ernestine, and stood up for her; and he will be afraid, too, not to fill his post of guardian conscientiously, for he will be under the supervision of the orphans'

court."

"Then make her minority as short as possible. For my satisfaction, have it expressly stated that she shall be of age at eighteen. Such precaution is necessary with men of Gleissert's stamp. According to our laws, a father can declare his child of age at eighteen. Her property can remain in the orphans' court until then, when it can be placed at her own disposal."

"Yes, yes, I agree to all that,--then it is all settled! G.o.d be thanked!" Hartwich drew a long sigh of relief, and dipped the pen in the ink. But scarcely had he attempted the first stroke when he dropped the pen in despair and cried out, "Merciful Heaven! I cannot form a letter!"

The startled Geheimrath looked at the paper. The letters were entirely illegible.

For one moment the old gentleman lost all hope,--while Hartwich sobbed and groaned like a child. Was he to fail thus, just when the goal was reached? The Geheimrath regarded the invalid thoughtfully, pondering how long a delay his condition would permit. Then he made up his mind, and said with composure, "I will arrange it all; do not be at all anxious. I will drive to the nearest town and procure the services of a couple of lawyers, and you shall dictate your will. I will be back again in two hours. Tell me when Leuthold is used to be away from home, that he may know nothing of our plans."

"At the time of your return he will be at the factory. If you go on foot as far as the corner of the wood, he will not see you. Herr Geheimrath, you are a true man,--my child's benefactor and mine. How shall I ever thank you?"

"There is no need of thanks,--no need at all! I am only doing my duty as a man and a Christian." And the prudent old physician concealed the writing-materials and hurried out.

Hartwich cast his blood-shot eyes upward and prayed, "Let me live until it is complete, O G.o.d,--only until then!" These words he repeated again and again, while his heart beat more wildly and irregularly, and his veins grew blue and swollen. It was the mortal agony of a doomed wretch who feels that a short time will bring him to the bar of an inexorable judge, and who longs to throw off at least a part of his burden of guilt. Of course such anguish would hasten his death.

Frau Bertha came down soon after the Geheimrath's departure, and would have stayed in Hartwich's room, but his state terrified her. She saw that the end was near, and she had not the courage to look on at the death-agony. In her heart she felt herself a murderess, because she had so ardently desired his death. Indeed, fate often makes us by our silent desires accomplices in its severity, and we are stricken with vain remorse when our secret hostility to another suddenly takes form and shape in events. Who has not at some time in his life secretly nourished a selfish desire, and, after it has been crushed down, fervently thanked Heaven for not cursing him with a granted prayer? Or, if the evil has been permitted, who has not in his remorse half believed that his secret desire helped to work the mischief that has been done? Frau Bertha's perceptions were not very delicate. She wished for Hartwich's death that she might enjoy his wealth, and thanked Heaven that it would shortly be hers; but she was too much of a woman not to shudder at the moment of the fulfilment of her evil desires and see an avenging demon in Hartwich's dying form. She resolved, therefore, to disobey her lord and master, and avoid the death-bed. The cogent reasons that Leuthold had for enjoining constant watchfulness she could not comprehend; and therefore, as soon as Leuthold left for the factory, she betook herself to her apartments again.

Hartwich was now left upon his burning couch, devoured by anxiety. The minutes crept slowly on; every quarter of an hour, news of Ernestine was brought him; there was no change for an hour, and then Rieka came in suddenly and cried, "Ah, sir, Ernestine is awake and wants some book; we cannot understand what one, or what she means, she speaks so indistinctly, and whatever we get her is wrong. What is to be done?"

"Send a servant into town to buy every child's-book that is to be had,--let her want for nothing,--do you hear? for nothing! Has she not mentioned me?"

"Oh, no," replied the servant; "she is not herself,--she is continually moaning for her book!"

"Then get her what she wants, as quickly as possible,--only be quick!"

The servant left the room, and the sick man was left to his brooding thoughts again. It worried and tormented him that Ernestine would have to wait several hours for what she wanted. In a few moments he rang again for the maid, who reiterated that the child was still asking for her book. The invalid grew still more restless, and at last sent for the surgeon, who was still with Ernestine.

"Lederer," he called out upon his entrance, "bleed me! Don't you remember how much good it did me?"

"Not for worlds, sir!" said Lederer. "I could not do it without a physician's orders. There seems no reason at all at present for such an extreme remedy!"

"What do you know about it?" cried Hartwich angrily. "I tell you I know I need it. There is a perfect hammering going on inside my head. You must bleed me, or I shall have another stroke!"

"Ah, sir, believe me, you are needlessly alarmed," said the barber.

"Have some compa.s.sion upon a poor man like myself, who cannot take upon himself such a responsibility with a patient of your importance. I would gladly do it if I could! Have patience, I pray you, until the Geheimrath comes back!"

"You are a miserable coward!" screamed Hartwich, foaming with rage.

"For Heaven's sake compose yourself, sir," the terrified surgeon interrupted him; "I will obey you, but I must first go home and fetch my bandages. Perhaps by the time I get back the Geheimrath will be here!"

"Then go," muttered Hartwich, who already repented his violence, which he feared might prove an injury to him. "But first lift me up a little.

Ah! if I could only put my feet out of bed I should certainly feel easier. Try if you cannot lift them out; take out the lame leg first--so--that's right--oh, it's hard. 'Tis better to have wooden legs--they can be unstrapped and taken off--but to have to drag about everywhere a dead, useless limb is horrible! 'tis a dog's life, and I care not how soon it is over, but not just yet--I must do my duty first. Now go, Lederer, and come back soon."

The barber had helped him so that he was sitting upright in bed, with his lame foot upon a cushion. He looked around the room, and noticed Ernestine's book upon the table. "What is that?" he asked. Lederer handed it to him. He turned over the leaves, and his face suddenly brightened. "That must be the book that Ernestine is asking for--some one must have given it to her yesterday at the party. Good heavens! now I understand why the poor little thing crept in here so late last night; she wanted to read by my lamp! Ah, how dearly she paid for her innocent pleasure! Go, my good Lederer, and take the book to the child.

Tell Rieka to come and let me know what she says to it, and then you will get the bandages--will you not?"

"Most certainly, sir, as soon as possible!" said Lederer, and hurried away with the book.

A clock struck nine. Hartwich sighed profoundly. "Only nine. Heim cannot come for an hour yet. The lawyers will need time for preparation. O G.o.d--Thou wilt not punish that poor, innocent child so severely as to let me die before her rights are secured--Thou wilt not!" He tried in vain to fold his hands, and at last dropped them wearily upon his crippled knees.

Suddenly he imagined that his right hand also was stiffening. His incapacity to write could not have resulted merely from want of habit.

He moved his arm up and down to try it--whether in imagination or reality, it certainly felt heavier. It was not the effect of gout, as was the case with his left hand; this could only proceed from an effusion of blood upon the brain. Cold drops of moisture stood upon his forehead; he tried to wipe them away with his right hand; in vain, he could not lift it so high. Thus he sat helpless and alone, every limb crippled. He thought of his child's thin, white hands; how blest he should be if they could now supply the place of his own to him, wipe his damp brow and hand him refreshing drink! He thought how forsaken and alone he sat there awaiting death, and that it was all his own fault; and again he sobbed convulsively. Then Rieka entered.

"Well, was that the right one?" asked Hartwich.

"Oh, yes, sir."

"Thank Heaven! Did she not mention me?"

"No, sir; she said nothing. She only took the book and kissed it, then folded it in her arms and went to sleep again."

"If the child does not forgive me before I die, I shall have no rest in my grave!" moaned Hartwich. "Rieka, I am losing the use of my right arm too. Look at me. Am I not altered?"

"Oh, no, you always look just as purple!" said Rieka consolingly.

"Give me a mirror and let me see myself!"

Rieka handed him a mirror, and he looked at himself long and anxiously.

"I look fearfully. Can you not hear how indistinct my speech is?"

Rieka put away the mirror. "Oh, your tongue is always heavy when you have been drinking. Don't be worried about that."

"I have not drank a drop to-day, you insolent girl!" stammered Hartwich irritated. "Go back instantly, and take good care of the child, or----"

"Yes, sir, I shall do my duty without threats, but I can't mend the mischief that you have done!" And she slammed the door behind her.