"Yes. Those who suffer have quick eyes, quicker intuitions. She saw this coming, and she asked me to tell you—should it come—that she loved you too much to accept a useless sacrifice. For it would have been useless, Wolff. You deceive yourself doubly if you believe you could have made Hildegarde happy. Yes, if you had brought your whole heart—then, perhaps; but it is almost an insult to have supposed that she would have been satisfied with less. Since her illness she has told me everything, and we have talked it over, and this is our answer to you: Take the woman you love; be happy, and be to us what you always were. In any other form we will have nothing to do with you!" She was smiling again, but Arnim turned away from the outstretched hands. "It is awful!" he said roughly. "I cannot do it—I cannot!" "You must, Wolff. Let time pass over it if you will, but in the end you must yield. You dare not trample on your own happiness, on Nora’s, on Hildegarde’s—yes, Hildegarde’s," she repeated emphatically. "In the end she will find happiness in her own renunciation. She loves you both, and the first bitterness is already past. And why wait? There may be struggles enough before you both, though I shall do my best to help you. Go to Nora and make her happy. Believe me, _lieber Junge_, the heart-ache has not been all on your side." He had taken her hands now and was kissing them with a passionate, shame-faced gratitude. "You make me feel the lowest, meanest thing on earth," he said. "And Hildegarde is an angel—far too good for me." "Yes; that is the best way to put it," she said. "Hildegarde is too good for you. And now perhaps it would be wise for you to go in search of the woman who is your equal." "Not now," he said. "I could not. I must be alone a little. It has all happened so suddenly. My whole life and future has changed in a minute." "Do as you think best, dear Wolff. But do not wait long." He pressed her hand again in farewell. "You love Nora?" he asked. "Yes; otherwise I would not have let things drift. There are many barriers between you—race and language are not the least—and we had thought of a match—since Hildegarde’s illness—more, perhaps, in accordance with our family traditions. But Nora is a dear, sweet child, and, I believe, will make you a good wife. At any rate, I shall do all I can to smooth your path, and Hildegarde and I will be happy to welcome her as one of us." He smiled, half in gratitude, half in doubt. "You seem very sure that she will have me," he said. "Everybody does not think me such a fine fellow as you do." "_Lieber Junge_, I am a woman, and when I see a girl grow thin and pale without apparent cause—well, I look for the cause. Nora has been very unhappy in the last days. I suspect strongly she has been suffering from your conflict, and no doubt looks upon her life and happiness as ruined. That is why I tell you not to wait too long."