Part 76 (1/2)
He entered the sick-room, and stood looking at Ernestine, who was lying as if half asleep, muttering disconnected, unintelligible words. Should he arouse her from this apparent repose? No, he had not the heart to do it. He drew aside the curtain, and the broad light of day fell full upon the ghost-like face. She moved, as if the light pained her, and turned aside. Willmers, who sat by the bedside, knitting, motioned him away. Johannes let the curtain fall again.
Suddenly the door was flung open, and Gretchen rushed in, her chest heaving, her eyes full of horror and despair. Hilsborn followed, attempting in vain to restrain her.
”Do not keep me!” the girl wailed out. ”There is no comfort, no hope for me in this world! It is my father's work--and I have sworn to repair the injury done by him. How can I repair this wrong? How recall the glorious mind that he has destroyed?” And, almost frantic, she threw herself upon the bed beside Ernestine, and, seizing her hands, ”Ernestine, wake up!--you must not lose your reason! Ernestine, listen--hear--Ernestine, Ernestine!” she cried, in the tone in which she had bidden her father farewell.
And Ernestine trembled at the call. She started up, and stared with a wild expression at the strange figure clad in black. She closed her eyes, then opened them again, only to close them wearily once more, as if she had not had sufficient sleep. Then she asked, ”Who is this?”
Johannes and Hilsborn stood in breathless expectation. They pressed each other's hands with a look that said more than any words could have done, and Johannes made a sign to Willmers.
”It is your young nurse, Fraulein Ernestine,” Willmers replied.
”Oh, indeed!” said Ernestine slowly. Again she closed her eyes, but remained sitting upright. Hilsborn went to the window, and admitted a little more light.
Then she rubbed her eyes and looked around. Gretchen had sunk upon her knees, and did not venture to stir. Johannes stood concealed by the head of the bed.
”What o'clock is it?” asked Ernestine.
”Half-past eleven,” said Willmers.
Again there was silence for awhile. Hilsborn drew the curtains still more aside. Just then the Staatsrathin in the other room, ignorant of what was going on, approached the half-open door. Fortunately, Johannes saw her, and motioned her away: she withdrew instantly, but the door creaked a little.
”Who was coming in?” asked Ernestine.
”The maid,” Willmers replied, with ready presence of mind.
Then there was a long pause, during which the throbbing of the three hearts, agitated by alternate fear and hope, was almost audible.
”Willmers,” said Ernestine.
”Fraulein?”
”Have I been dreaming--or did I really burn the book?”
”What book, dear Fraulein Ernestine?”
”The fairy-book,--the old fairy-book. Ah, I burned it. How sorry I am!”
”Another can easily be procured. Do not fret about that, dear,” said Willmers, suddenly remembering that there had been a fire in Ernestine's library on the day when she was taken ill.
”Oh, no, it will not be the same,--not the same,” said Ernestine sadly, and was silent again for some time.
”Willmers!”
”Fraulein?”
”I thought I was wakened by a terrible shriek. I was so frightened I trembled all over. See how vivid our dreams can be!”
”No one shrieked,” said Willmers.
”Where is my uncle?”