Ernestine looked at him, and observed with dismay that the pupils of his eyes did not contract with the light. "Herr Leonhardt, what is the matter with your eyes?" He smiled. "Their work is done." "Good heavens! already? I thought they would last months at least." "What matters a few months more or less?" said the old man quietly. Ernestine looked amazed. Involuntarily she clasped her hands. "Is this possible? I tremble from head to foot at the mere sight of such a calamity, and you--you upon whom it has fallen--are so perfectly calm and composed. Tell me, oh, tell me, what gives you such superhuman strength?" The old man turned to her his darkened eyes. "My faith, Fräulein Ernestine." Ernestine's gaze fell. "It is well for you." "Yes, it is well for me," repeated Herr Leonhardt. A long pause ensued. At last the old man asked kindly, "How are you after that terrible yesterday?" "Oh, Father Leonhardt, do not ask me how I am! Until this moment I thought myself very miserable, but your calamity teaches me to despise my own pain. In comparison with that, what is all the imaginary unhappiness that comes from being misunderstood? What matters it if people despise me for differing from them? What can their esteem give me or their contempt deprive me of? They cannot bestow upon me or take from me one ray of sunlight, one glimmer of the stars. The golden day shines upon my path, and I am young and able to labour. I see the beauty of the world, the universe is painted upon my organs of sight, my soul is bathed in light, and how can I give room to mortified pride or offended vanity, when I see a great enlightened soul peacefully resigned to endless night? No, Father Leonhardt, holy martyr that you are, I discard all my petty personal trials, and am grieved only for you." She bowed her head upon his hands, and sobbed passionately. "My daughter," said the old man, much moved, "you are not telling me the truth. The pain that you have suffered must be great indeed, for only a heart that knows what suffering is can feel so for others' woes. Your heart must have been filled before to overflowing with these tears that you are now shedding for me." "Oh, Father Leonhardt, blind though you are, you see clearly. I came to seek advice and comfort from your paternal heart, and you have comforted me even before I could tell you of my grief. Yes, there was a moment when I forgot myself, but it is past. Your noble example has made me strong again. Let it go. I can think and talk now only of yourself. I pray you take me for your daughter. You have treated me with a father's tenderness,--let me repay you as a child should. Yesterday you perilled that venerable head to save me from the angry mob,--now let me shield you from the menacing phantoms of night and loneliness. Come, live in my house with your wife. I will be with you as much as I can. I will talk to you and read to you. I am so lonely, and,--I cannot tell why,--I begin to thirst so for love."