"Well?"

"Take me to where my father is lying, and let me bid him farewell once more."

"My dear Fraulein Gleissert, I would do so with all my heart, but it would take us half an hour to reach the house where he lies, and the train starts in three-quarters of an hour. If you will remain here another day, I will do what you ask."

"No, oh, no!" cried Gretchen in alarm. "I would not for the world trespa.s.s any longer upon Herr Meyer's hospitality, or wound my mother's new-found affection any further. It is better to go as quickly as possible. If my poor father still sees and hears me, he must know that I feel the pain of parting from him thus quite as much as if I were allowed to weep beside his lifeless body."

"That is right. Better dwell in thought upon the spirit that was all affection for you, than linger beside the senseless clay that it informed----" He ceased, for Frau Bertha entered with breakfast. She had a black dress hanging upon her arm.

"There, Gretel, my dear, is something to eat. I will not let you go until you have taken something. And, if the gentleman will be kind enough to step out one minute, we will try on this dress. You must have some mourning, and where else can you get it, poor child?"

She spread the table hastily, and Hilsborn left the room.

"Now come here, and let us see how this fits. It is the very dress that I bought ten years ago, when your step-uncle Hartwich died. But it is as good as new. I have worn it but little, and, if you put the skirt on over the pointed waist, it has quite a modern air. Just look! It is not much too large. I was smaller then than I am now, and I have taken it in wherever I could. I was afraid it would be too big for you. Look at that little spot,--that is where you threw your cake into my lap when you were a little thing. I hid it so,--in a fold. Dear, dear! I had this very dress on when I left you. I never thought then that you would one day put it on and leave me, as I was leaving you!"

There was something touching in these simple words, and, for the first time, Gretchen threw herself into her mother's arms and burst into tears. "Gretel," said Bertha, crying bitterly, "you must one day feel that you are my child, just as I feel that I am your mother. I hope you will not then repent leaving me."

"Ah, mother," sobbed Gretchen, "how could you be so cruel to my poor father? How could you so wring my heart when I first saw you again that I turned away from you? I might have learned to love you. A child must try to honour its parents. I would never have reproached you for forsaking me, but the abyss into which you plunged my father lies between us, and can never be bridged over."

"But, Gretchen, Gretchen," cried Bertha, "I have done no worse than the young gentleman whom you think so much of. Why do you not blame him?"

"He only did his duty by a friend, and performed it in the kindest way possible. My father saw that, and reposed the greatest confidence in him in intrusting me to his care. But you, mother, permitted Herr Meyer to bring the stranger here who came to hand over my father to punishment, and to whom my father was only the enemy of his friend. It was not his duty to spare my father. But, mother, he had once been your husband, he was the father of your child, and yet, when, hunted and pursued, he sought the shelter of your roof, you had the heart to betray him and deliver him up to death and disgrace. I will not judge you, but ask yourself, mother, did he deserve such treatment at your hands?"

"Ah, merciful Heaven! you may be right, but it really seemed that it was to be so. I had forgotten everything but the wrong he did me. He has had his punishment, and I must have mine, for, indeed, to love you and lose you so is a heavy trial."

Hilsborn knocked at the door. "Frau Meyer, it is almost time to go."

"Yes, yes. Come in," cried Bertha. "Gretchen is dressed."

Hilsborn entered. He regarded compa.s.sionately the touching figure in the black dress,--the lovely childlike face, with those sad, large eyes, reminding him of a wounded doe's. His heart overflowed with pity, and he held out his hand, with, "Come, we must be upon our way."

"I am ready," Gretchen murmured.

"Stop," cried Bertha. "You must take something first." And she poured out a cup of chocolate, and followed Gretchen, who was collecting her various trifles for her travelling-bag, about the room, until she persuaded her to take some of it. "And you must eat some of this cake.

You used to be so fond of it, and your lamented,--well, yes,--your lamented father too. Ah, I used to be well treated when I put that cake on the table! Will you not taste it? Well, then, take some with you." And she crammed as much of it as she could into the girl's travelling-bag.

One minute more, and Gretchen was ready to leave the room. "Good-by, mother," she said, throwing herself once more into the arms of her mother, whose hot tears fell upon her child's neck. "I will never forget your kindness to me to-day, and if you ever need me you will find me a daughter to you."

"My child, my good child!" sobbed Bertha. "Try to think as well of me as you can."

"Yes, yes, dear mother. G.o.d bless you and yours!"

Hilsborn hurried the girl away. She gently extricated herself from her mother's arms, and, in anguish of soul, descended the stairs that her father had on the previous day ascended for the first and last time.

"Write to me now and then," Bertha called after her.

"Indeed I will, I promise you."

When they reached the hall, they found there a crowd of curious idlers, all eager to see the suicide's daughter. Gretchen paused, overcome with dismay. She could hardly trust her limbs to bear her through the throng. A soft, warm hand clasped hers,--it was Hilsborn's.

He drew the little hand under his arm, and led her through the gaping loiterers to the carriage. Gretchen was scarcely conscious, she only felt that, supported by this arm, she could raise her head once more, and she was filled with grat.i.tude towards the man who did not shrink from thus espousing the cause of the child of a criminal.

Herr Meyer made them a formal bow as they entered the carriage, and it rolled away past the gay, sparkling waters of the Alster, now swarming with boats.

Gretchen looked out of the carriage window. Yesterday all this had been the world to her,--to-day her world was within, and all this was mere outward show.

CHAPTER VIII.

BLOSSOMS ON THE BORDER OF THE GRAVE.

"Come quick, Johannes, Hilsborn has arrived," the Staatsrathin whispered from the door of the apartment. Johannes was seated by Ernestine's bedside, her head leaning upon his hand, while the poor girl moved restlessly from side to side, muttering unintelligibly. He motioned to Willmers to take his place, and went softly out.

"Thank G.o.d, you are back again. Have you brought him with you?"

"He has escaped."

"Hilsborn, that is terrible!"

"He is gone whither he cannot be pursued, and whence he can work no more mischief."

"Is he dead?"

"He is dead, and he died in fearful agony.

"G.o.d have mercy on his soul! Did he take poison?" asked the Staatsrathin.

"Yes, just after his arrest I arranged matters as well as I could, but he had only a little over two thousand gulden in his possession. He had put all the property in the Unkenheim factory."

"And that is bankrupt, so we shall not be able to save anything for Ernestine," said Johannes.

"I am very sorry for that."

"But Hilsborn, faithful friend, I am quite forgetting to thank you. How shall I repay you for taking this journey for me?" said Johannes warmly.

"I am already paid."

"Indeed? What possible pleasure could result from such a mission?"

inquired the Staatsrathin.

Hilsborn smiled. "Such pleasure as I never dreamed of. Gleissert bequeathed me a treasure whose possession no one, G.o.d willing, shall dispute with me. May I show it to you? I would like to intrust it to your keeping, dear friends, for awhile."

Johannes and his mother exchanged looks of surprise. Was Hilsborn quite right in his mind?

"I will tell you nothing more," he said. "See for yourselves." He left the room, and appeared again in a few moments with Gretchen upon his arm. The poor child ventured only one timid, beseeching look at the strangers, but the touching expression of her eyes won their hearts immediately.

"Good G.o.d! his child?" asked the Staatsrathin.