Johanna had all the more leisure to ponder her plans for the future. There was much to arouse her anxiety. She had no idea of the value of literary labour; she knew no one who could advise and help her. She could hardly expect that Ludwig Werner, who could have done so, would sympathize with her desire; and, moreover, she was separated from him by many leagues of sea and land. Through all her care and anxiety she persisted in writing. Her strong healthy nature rebelled against the pressure that had been brought to bear upon it. Grief and pain seemed but to increase her ability to work, and when one day Dr. Wolf was again announced, she had just completed her first story. The pale little man, with his quiet, melancholy eyes, was so sympathetic to her that involuntarily she held out her hand as to a friend, and suddenly it occurred to her that she could ask of him the advice which she needed. She had learned at Dönninghausen, through Löbel Wolf, the _nom de plume_ of his son, and had discovered that she had read various of his essays and criticisms with much interest and pleasure. If his verdict upon her literary attempt should be favourable, she could proceed with confidence. She told him how in her changed circumstances she had occupied herself, and she informed him also that she had begun to write some time before leaving Dönninghausen. Suddenly she paused, unable to proceed. He came to her aid. "If you think that I can be of any service to you, pray command me," he said. "I do wish to ask a favour of you," she said. "Will you read over my attempt, and tell me frankly what you think of it?" "Gladly. You look as if you could bear the truth," the young man replied. And while Johanna was wrapping up her manuscript, he added, "And your answer for the Freiherr? May I say that you accept his proposal?" With trembling hands she laid the package on the table before him. "I cannot," she said. "Do not misunderstand me. I do not act, as you think, from a want of tenderness. On the contrary, I know that my refusal will gratify my grandfather." Dr. Wolf looked at her inquiringly. "If the jewels are mine, I cannot--as they are a family heirloom--sell them. If they are not mine, I do not choose to lend myself to a farce," she said. "You know what induced the Freiherr to make the proposal." "Why does he not tell me that he cares for me, and would like to help me?" the girl cried. "If he does not consider me worthy of his sympathy, I cannot accept his aid." Dr. Wolf arose. "You are right," he said, with a gentle smile. "You are the old Freiherr's genuine grand-daughter." With these words he took his leave, carrying with him her manuscript.