“Rather say rescued from misfortune,” answered Ebenstreit, quietly. “Believe me, there is but one sorrow that may not be borne, may not be conquered, and that is poverty, which is a corroding, consuming malady, annihilating body, and soul, swifter and surer than the most subtle poison. It stifles all noble feelings, all poetical thoughts and great deeds, and, believe me, love even cannot resist its terrible power. One day you will understand this. I will be patient and indulgent, and await it with hope.” “Oh, what a noble and high-minded man!” cried the mother, with emphasis.--“Marie should kneel and thank her Maker for such a magnanimous savior and lover, who will shield her from all evil and misfortune.” Sobbing and sighing, the daughter had stood with her face concealed; now she regarded the cold-hearted, smiling woman, with flashing eyes and keen contempt. “Thank him!” she cried; “no, I accuse, I curse him. He is an atheist, and denies love. He is not capable of a noble thought or action, scorning and defaming all that is beautiful and elevated, worshipping only mammon. I will never marry him. You may force me to the altar, and there I will denounce him.” “She will kill me,” cried the general; “she will murder her aged parents, leaving them to starve and perish, and--” “Silence!” commanded his wife. “Leave off your complaints, she is not worth the tears or remonstrances of her parents. She would try to be our murderess, but she shall not.--My son, inform her of your decision. Answer her.” “The response to your romantic language is simple and natural, my dear Marie. I have already entered into your feelings, and am prepared for this idea of refusing your lover at the altar, which is found in novels, and I supposed that it might occur to you. Money compasses all things and according to our wishes. My fortune procures for me a dispensation from public authorities to be married here in the house of our dear parents. The law demands four witnesses, who will be represented by your parents, my servant Philip, and the sacristan whom the clergyman will bring.” “And they will hear me abjure you.” “It is very possible, dearest, but the witnesses will not listen to you. Money makes the deaf to hear, and the hearing ones deaf. Old parson Dietrich knows the story of your love, and believes, with us, that it is a malady that you must be cured of. Therefore, in pity to you, he will not listen, and the others are paid to keep silent.” “Is there no hope, O Heaven?” cried Marie, imploringly. “O God, Thou hast permitted it--hast Thou no pity in my need, and sendest me no aid?” Rushing to her father, and kneeling at his feet, she continued: “Have mercy upon your poor child! You are an old man, and may live but a few years; do not burden your conscience with the fearful reproaches of your only child, whom you will condemn to an inconsolably long and unhappy life.”