"Then God will give it her!" A tear splashed on to the note-paper, and he pressed her hand tighter. "Steady, Frauchen!" he whispered. "I hear some one moving." They listened breathlessly. A second cab rumbled along the street, but this time they did not hear it. Their whole attention was concentrated on that neighbouring room, where life and death kept their silent vigil, and when suddenly the door was softly opened, both started as though an icy hand had touched them on the shoulder. A faint light came through the open doorway, and against the pale background Frau von Arnim’s figure stood out in all its old noble stateliness. They could not see her face, but they felt that it was composed and resolute in its grief. "I think they have come," she said. "I heard a cab outside." Somewhere downstairs a bell rang, and Seleneck rose softly to his feet. "I will light the lamp," he said, but his hand shook, and his wife took the matches from him. "Let me do it, Kurt. I am crying—I can’t help it; but I am quite steady. _Gnädige Frau_, how is he?" "Sleeping," was the answer. Poor Frau von Seleneck was not as good as her word. She could not manage the wick, and the glass shade threatened to fall from her nervous hands. In the end she lighted the little candles on the Christmas tree. "We can at least see each other," she apologised humbly. Thus it was by this frail yet steady light of hope and happiness that Nora entered and stood before them. She was not alone, and yet, as though of intention, Hildegarde had drawn back from her so that she stood apart, looking silently from one to the other. No one spoke. They too looked at her without a gesture of greeting, even of recognition. It was as though she were a total stranger, an intruder, an enemy. And yet that haggard young face might have touched them. It was almost terrible in its look of suspense and agony. "Have I come in time?" she whispered. Her voice broke the spell. Frau von Arnim nodded. Nothing had changed in her expression, but its very calm was a reproach and a punishment. "He is alive," she said. Nora took a step forward so that she came within the pale circle of light. For the first time they saw each other full in the eyes. "You have brought the papers—the proof that he is innocent?" Frau von Arnim asked. "I have brought everything—more than you know; and I have come to be forgiven." A dead, blank silence. Suddenly she stretched out her hands in piteous, reckless appeal. "Forgive me. I am guilty, but not so guilty as you think. I have been foolish and self-deceived, but not heartless, not wicked. Forgive me! Hildegarde has forgiven me!" It was like a broken-hearted child crying in helpless, lonely repentance, and with a quick movement Hildegarde slipped her arm about the trembling shoulders.