Part 11 (1/2)

A few large tears ran down Cecilia's pale cheeks, and Gotthold's own eyes grew hot. He asked whether she had a certain kind of bandage which he described; one was brought, exactly what he needed. As he rolled it he said:

”It is fortunate, that during the years I spent in study I visited, in the interests of my art and also from real love of the profession, various anatomical and other medical colleges. I have already been able, on several occasions, to make my little knowledge useful, when no other aid was at hand and the case was rather worse than this. I repeat, there is not the least danger, and I would, if necessary, undertake to effect a cure without the least hesitation.”

”I have perfect confidence in you.”

Gotthold's lips quivered. They had always addressed each other by the familiar ”thou,” nor had he, either in dreams or waking visions, called her by any other t.i.tle during the last ten years.

The bandage was adjusted to Gotthold's satisfaction. Gretchen, exhausted by weeping, and now entirely free from pain, had laid her head on her pillow and seemed about to fall asleep. Gotthold left the chamber and went back to the sitting-room. While groping about in the dark for his hat, the most singular sensation overpowered him.

He had not forgotten that he wished to find Brandow and tell him of the child's condition, but it seemed as if the intention was entirely unnecessary; as if Carl Brandow cared as little about the child as he did about Carl Brandow's horse; as if only he and Cecilia had anything to do with it, and as though this had been not only during the last quarter of an hour, but always, and could never be different.

Oppressed by this strange bewilderment, he stood motionless, and only regained his senses when Cecilia entered quietly, but hastily, held out both hands to him, and said in a low, rapid tone:

”I thank thee, Gotthold, and--I noticed that the formal 'you' wounded thee, but the girl was looking at us in such astonishment; she repeats everything, and besides, it must be, but once--for the last time--I wanted to speak in the old way, as thou wert here once more.”

”That sounds, Cecilia, as if you[2] had not wished me to come.”

She had now released her hands, which he had clasped firmly in his own, and thrown herself into a chair by the window, supporting her head on her hand. He went up to her.

”Cecilia, did you not wish me to come?”

”Yes, yes,” she murmured, ”I have longed to see you again--for years--always; but you ought not to have come; no, you ought not to have come!”

”Then I will go, Cecilia.”

”No, no,” she exclaimed, hastily raising her head, ”I do not mean that.

You are here--the mischief is done. And now you can stay--you must stay until--”

She paused suddenly. Gotthold, who was following the direction of her eyes, glanced through the open window and saw at the end of the court-yard Carl Brandow talking with Hinrich Scheel, whom he now left and came hurriedly towards the house.

”He has returned already,” she murmured; ”what will you say to him?”

”I don't understand you, Cecilia,”

”He hates you.”

”Then I don't know why he sought me out and gave me such a pressing invitation to his home, which I certainly had never intended to enter.”

”He sought you out--invited you--that is impossible.”

”Then he meant to make me--us--but that is no less impossible.”

She looked at him in astonishment.

”Impossible!” she said, ”impossible!”

A strange, sad smile flitted over her pale face.

”Then everything can remain as it was,” she said, ”it is all right.”