It was afternoon of the following day. Sara was much in the same state–no stronger, no weaker. She saw, with something like apathy, how Wilhelmi, his wife, and Luise came into her room together, spoke to her, and seated themselves side by side. She had a faint remembrance that Rudolf had said something about witnesses; she was not quite sure what it all meant, but no doubt it was right. Falkenberg was there too, seated beside her, and, in an unconscious appeal to his protecting power, she had moved her hand into his, and then lay back in her chair, silent and indifferent. He said something to her, an explanation, it seemed, of the circumstances; something about– ‘In cases like this, Sara, they dispense with the usual notice, so there has been no difficulty about getting it done at once.’ She looked rather blankly at him, and in her own mind wondered vaguely what it meant. Then some strangers entered–the Bürgermeister and his clerk. Words were read. Something was brought to her to sign, which deed, with Rudolf’s assistance, she accomplished. Questions were asked as to her age, her name, parentage, and occupation. At each of these she looked helplessly at Falkenberg, or at Ellen, who stood at the other side of her couch. Then more reading; then a wedding-ring was put upon her finger, and would have rolled off again had not Rudolf caught her hand and held it fast in his. Then the Bürgermeister and his clerk took their hats, murmured severally, ‘_Empfehle mich zu gnaden_,’ bowed to the assembled company, and were gone. Frau Wilhelmi and Luise came up and kissed her tenderly, and she saw that their eyes were full of tears. Then the Professor came up and took her hand–the good Wilhelmi–and she remembered his generous kindness to her, and smiled what was intended for a grateful smile at him, whereat his eyes too filled with tears, and he too stooped, and kissed her forehead, and said something incoherent about a _geliebtes Kind_, a _beste Schülerin_. Then they were all gone, and she was left alone with Ellen and Rudolf. And then Ellen left the room too, while he still sat beside her holding her hand, till at last a little pressure from her fingers caused him to turn and look at her. She saw that his eyes were moist, and she paused as she beheld the expression upon his face–the love that transfigured it. At last she asked: ‘Are we married now?’ ‘Yes, we are married.’ ‘I am afraid I have done you a great wrong in consenting.’ ‘Are you? It is rather early to begin with such forebodings. What makes you think so?’ ‘I feel as if I should never be worth anything again, and that if I were I should not make you happy.’ ‘My child, it was not happiness I wanted, but you, glad or sorry, “loving or loth.” Rest content. I shall never repent.’ ‘Promise me that.’ ‘I promise it fully and freely.’ ‘Then I am more satisfied.’ ‘That is all I ask of you.’