She wrote a fervent, heartfelt farewell letter to Leonhardt, and begged him to keep her books and apparatus until she should claim them again. As she did not know yet where her future home would be, she could not make use of them herself. Walter might find them useful. Thus delicately she bestowed upon Walter the costly gift of the instruments for the further pursuit of his studies. After their departure, her uncle was to be informed of her disposal of the physiological works and apparatus, which he had ordered Willmers to sell. He would never have consented to it, for Ernestine had often, to her surprise, noticed how desirous he was of ready money. She bound Willmers by a solemn promise not to deliver the letter to Herr Leonhardt until the writer had departed, and thus everything was provided for,--everything was thought of,--everything except Ernestine's physical condition. The inflexible girl had been accustomed to take so little care of her health that she had given no heed to her increasing exhaustion,--the natural consequence of the superhuman efforts of the last few weeks. But to-day she could hardly stand, and the thought of undertaking so long a journey began to alarm her. She sat there before her uncle the picture of weariness. He regarded her dubiously. Could he succeed in getting her on board of the steamer? Then, if she were taken ill, it would of course be ascribed to seasickness, which scarcely any one escapes. And if she died? Then all would be well with her. He would bury her under the billows of the ocean, and all his hatred, his alarm, and his crimes would sink with her beneath the waves, which, as they swathed her dead body, would wash away from him all disgrace and guilt. This thought was as boundless in comfort as the ocean that was beginning to open upon his horizon. "Uncle, do not gaze so strangely at nothing," said Ernestine. "You look as if you were devising no good." Leuthold smiled. "You are nervous indeed, my child. Since when has my face looked strange to you?" Ernestine did not reply. She went on wrapping a book in paper, to pack it in the chest. "Is that old fairy-book to go too?" asked Leuthold ironically. "Yes," was the curt, decided reply. "Well! well! Have you not a doll somewhere that I can pack with it?" Ernestine started up. "Uncle, I told you once before that I will not endure that tone!" "Beg pardon, but such folly provokes a jest. Or perhaps the book has a deeper value for you? You need not blush,--I can guess. It is a remembrance of the knight of the oak,--Möllner! Ah, then indeed we must certainly take it with us." "Uncle," cried Ernestine, taking the book from him as he was about to put it in with some others, "you know how to depreciate with your sneering speeches everything that I have held dear. Let the book alone; I will give it to little Käthchen."