"And do you not believe, Ernestine, that there is a third power subjecting the more delicate sex to the stronger--a higher power than the right of the strongest--more effective than the power of the intellect,--the power of love?" Ernestine looked at him with calm surprise. "I do not believe love can accomplish what reason fails to prove." "Is that really so?" Johannes was silent for a moment, then walked to and fro with folded arms, and finally stopped before her. "You speak of a sentiment that you have no knowledge of. But of all my hopes that you have destroyed to-day in the bud, one there is that you cannot take from me. You will learn to know it!" The Staatsräthin entered. "Fräulein von Hartwich, your room is ready for you. Will you allow me to conduct you thither?" "Mother," cried Johannes, "do not be so cold and formal to Ernestine. You cannot keep at such a distance one so near to me." "I really cannot see wherein I have failed of my duty towards Fräulein von Hartwich,--we are as yet entire strangers to each other." "You are right, Frau Staatsräthin," said Ernestine. "I am not so presuming as to expect more from you than you would accord to the merest stranger. I am very sorry to be obliged to accept even so much from you. I will go to my room, that I may not any longer keep you from your rest; but be assured I shall trespass upon your hospitality for a single night only." She turned to Johannes, and, with a grateful look, offered him her hand. "Good-night, kind sir." "God guard your first slumbers beneath this roof!" said Johannes fervently, and it seemed as if the wish took the airy shape of her lost guardian angel, and hovered before her up the stairs to the cosy little room whither the Staatsräthin conducted her, and then, placing itself by the side of her snowy couch, fanned her burning brow with cooling wings. "Mother," said Johannes gravely, when the Staatsräthin rejoined him, "to-day, for the first time in my life, you have been no mother to me!" CHAPTER XI. INHARMONIOUS CONTRASTS. The morning sun streamed brightly through the white muslin curtains of Ernestine's windows, yet she still slept in peaceful and childlike slumber. For the first time for many years, she was not cheated of her repose by haste to go to her work. The guardian angel, that Johannes had invoked to her side, forbade even her uncle's ghost to knock at her door, and still kept faithful watch beside her bed. It seemed as if the whole house were aware of its sacred presence, for a quiet as of a church reigned among its inmates. They were all up, but, at the command of their head, every door was softly opened and shut, every footfall noiseless. Johannes knew how much need Ernestine had of repose, and he would not have her disturbed. He even controlled the throbbing of his own heart, that longed to bid her good-morning.