Johannes watched every expression of her countenance. No shade of thought passing across that broad white brow escaped him. He gazed at her and almost forgot to speak, she was so wondrously beautiful, this shy, grave girl, pale and suffering from her devotion to the studies to which she was sacrificing herself with such religious zeal. The saddest error would be touching in such a form,--yes, we must bow before it, instead of laughing at it. So thought Johannes as he sat silent before her, and something of what was passing in his mind must have been mirrored in his features, for Ernestine turned away with a shade of embarrassment, and asked suddenly, "Well, sir, and what news do you bring me of Father Heim? Is he still vigorous in mind and body?" The indifference of her tone rather nettled Johannes. "Yes, Fräulein Hartwich, he is indeed. Beloved and revered by his associates, as well as by his patients, the evening of his days is calm and cheerful." "I am very glad to hear it. I am bound to him by ties of gratitude, he has done much for me, at one time he saved my life. Therefore I hoped for benefit now from his prescriptions. He is a great practitioner, although he has not quite kept pace in his old age with the march of modern science." "He certainly is. But he can do nothing for your gravest malady, and therefore he has sent me in his place." "You are, then, famous for some _spécialité_. But how can Dr. Heim know that I need such a physician?" "He does know it, for you were attacked as a child by the malady of which I speak, and Dr. Heim was powerless to effect a cure. Now that he is convinced that my method of cure is efficacious, he has adopted me as his assistant. Therefore I ask you frankly and openly, Will you have me for your physician? Yes or no!" For a moment Ernestine made no answer, and then said firmly, "Yes, if Dr. Heim believes that you can restore me to health, it is sufficient, and I will follow your prescriptions implicitly." "I thank you," said Johannes; "but I warn you beforehand, I am a strict physician, and my medicines are bitter!" "Scarcely as bitter as disease?" said Ernestine inquiringly. "Who can say? To speak with perfect sincerity, Fräulein Hartwich, the malady from which I come to relieve you, the disease that poisons your past and your future, is your uncle's influence!" Ernestine stood up. "Sir!" "Hear me before you condemn me! I assert nothing that I cannot prove." "No, sir, I will not hear you. You do my uncle gross injustice; whatever proofs you may adduce. A life of self-sacrifice and devotion far outweighs the accusation of a stranger. What do I not owe to him? What has he not done for me? I owe to him my scientific culture. He has made me what I am." "And may I be so bold as to ask if you are so very sure that you are what you should be?" A pause ensued. Ernestine retreated a step, and, offended and confused, cast down her eyes.