"Only for persons, Father Leonhardt, who have never so soared above their surroundings as to find the centre of their being in the life of the mind and what pertains to it. Those who have so far forgotten themselves as to make the interests of the world their own, can only live with and for the world, and it is as impossible for them to be content in a narrow round of private satisfactions as for the plant to retreat into the seed whence it sprung." "Indeed, Ernestine?" cried a familiar voice behind her. She turned, startled. Johannes had been listening on the threshold to the conversation. He was evidently in a state of feverish agitation. His chest heaved passionately as he approached. "Would you escape me thus--thus?" He took her hand, and his eyes sought hers, as if to dive into the depths of her soul in search of the pearl of love deeply hidden there. There was a fervent appeal in his glance,--he clasped her hand, and every breath was an entreaty, every throb of his heart a remonstrance. Pain, anxiety, and the haste of pursuit so shook him that he trembled. Ernestine saw, heard, felt it all, but she stood mute and motionless,--she could not open her lips or utter a sound,--she was as if stunned. "Ernestine!" Johannes cried again, "Ernestine!" The tone went to her very soul,--a low moan escaped her lips,--she inclined her head towards his breast, and would have fallen into his arms,--but a shadow, the shadow of his mother, stepped in between them and darkened Ernestine's eyes so that she no longer saw the noble figure before her, or the tears of tenderness in his eyes. All around her was cold and dim, as when clouds veil the sun,--his mother's shadow scared her from his heart. She raised her head, and slowly withdrew her hand from his. His arms dropped hopelessly. A moment of utter exhaustion followed his previous emotion. He put his handkerchief to his forehead, that seemed moist with blood. His veins throbbed,--there was a loud singing in his ears,--he could hardly stand. He exerted all his self-control, and went towards Leonhardt. "God strengthen you, Herr Leonhardt!" he said in broken sentences. "I know it all from your messenger to your son, whom I met on the road. I need not offer to console you,--you are a man, and will endure like a man." "I am a Christian, my dear Herr Professor, and that stands to feeble age in the stead of manhood!" "True, true!" said Johannes with a troubled glance at Ernestine. She approached, and said in a trembling voice, "Father Leonhardt, I must say farewell to you now and go home. When your son comes, send him to me." She offered Möllner her hand. "Forgive me, I could not help it!" Johannes mastered his emotion, and said, with apparent composure, "I shall write to you." Ernestine silently assented, and went. The old man listened. He heard her retreating footsteps and Johannes' labouring breath, and again he saw for all his blind eyes.