Suddenly he imagined that his right hand also was stiffening. His incapacity to write could not have resulted merely from want of habit. He moved his arm up and down to try it--whether in imagination or reality, it certainly felt heavier. It was not the effect of gout, as was the case with his left hand; this could only proceed from an effusion of blood upon the brain. Cold drops of moisture stood upon his forehead; he tried to wipe them away with his right hand; in vain, he could not lift it so high. Thus he sat helpless and alone, every limb crippled. He thought of his child's thin, white hands; how blest he should be if they could now supply the place of his own to him, wipe his damp brow and hand him refreshing drink! He thought how forsaken and alone he sat there awaiting death, and that it was all his own fault; and again he sobbed convulsively. Then Rieka entered. "Well, was that the right one?" asked Hartwich. "Oh, yes, sir." "Thank Heaven! Did she not mention me?" "No, sir; she said nothing. She only took the book and kissed it, then folded it in her arms and went to sleep again." "If the child does not forgive me before I die, I shall have no rest in my grave!" moaned Hartwich. "Rieka, I am losing the use of my right arm too. Look at me. Am I not altered?" "Oh, no, you always look just as purple!" said Rieka consolingly. "Give me a mirror and let me see myself!" Rieka handed him a mirror, and he looked at himself long and anxiously. "I look fearfully. Can you not hear how indistinct my speech is?" Rieka put away the mirror. "Oh, your tongue is always heavy when you have been drinking. Don't be worried about that." "I have not drank a drop to-day, you insolent girl!" stammered Hartwich irritated. "Go back instantly, and take good care of the child, or----" "Yes, sir, I shall do my duty without threats, but I can't mend the mischief that you have done!" And she slammed the door behind her. "And I must bear this from an ignorant peasant!" wailed Hartwich. "How they will abuse me to my child, if she recovers! Oh, oh, I deserve it all; 'tis wretched,--wretched! But I must be calm. I must not be excited." Thus he murmured, with trembling lips, exerting all his energy to repress his excitement, and to force the breath regularly from his laboring breast. Again the clock struck--ten this time. "They must soon be here now!" thought Hartwich. "If I can only keep my head clear!" The wretched man in his anguish now exercised his mental faculties in every way that he could devise, repeating the formula which he had composed for his will a hundred times, that it might be so stamped upon his mind as to be forthcoming even in his last moments. At last steps were heard in the hall. "It is Lederer with the bandages," he thought, suddenly remembering his desire to be bled. But there were several people there. It must be the lawyers. The door opened. "Ah, thank God! thank God!" Hartwich stammered, and fainted.