He soon returned, bringing the water with him, but she seemed to have forgotten that she had asked for it. When Richard lifted her up in bed, and placed the glass to her lips, she motioned him away. I heard a voice from without the house. A cold shudder came over me; my hair stood on end. It is the voice of our son Ernst! If Ernst were to come at this time! Could he have been drawn here by a presentiment of what is happening? And if he were here, what power could dare take him away from us, at this moment--and how will he enter his mother's presence? I hurried out. It was Julius--his voice is just like Ernst's. He brought a letter that Edward Levi had handed to him. It was from Ernst, and was dated at Algiers. I could not stop to read the letter. I could not remain away from the bedside--every moment was yet a drop of blood to me, and everything glimmered before my eyes. I hurried back to the sick-room; my wife looked at me with strangely bright eyes. "There is a letter here from Ernst!" I called out. I do not know whether she understood me, but she reached for the sheet that was in my hand, and held it with a convulsive grasp. I lifted her head, and moved it towards the cooler side of the pillow; she opened her eyes, and tried to raise her arms; I bent towards her and she kissed me. It was just striking the hour of noon, when she breathed her last. I tottered to her room at last; it seemed to me as if I must still find her alive; and when I was in her chair, I could not realize that I was seated there, and that she lay so near me, while I could do nothing for her. I do not know how it was, but I felt awed by the very silence of the place. Martella said, "I have stopped the clock; it, too, shall stand still." They had withdrawn the letter from her convulsively closed hand, and I read it. It has since disappeared--whither, I know not. I remember only this--that it contained news from Algiers, and that Ernst said in it that if Martella and Richard were fond of one another, he was quite ready to release her from any promise to him. With the exception of Ernst and Ludwig, all of my children were present. Many friends, too, were there. I recollect that I grasped the hands of many of them; but what avails that? They all have their own life left them--I have none. All arose to attend to the funeral. They set down the coffin in front of the house, and not far from the spring. They told me that my grandson, the vicar, delivered an impressive address in the name of the family. I heard nothing but the rushing of the water. How I reached her grave, or who led me, I know not. This alone do I know. I saw how Martella kissed the handful of earth that she threw into the empty grave, and when I returned homeward, the waters were still roaring in our fountain. It roars and roars. I felt borne down as if by a load of lead. Tears were not vouchsafed me. I could not realize that my hands could move, my eyes see--in fact that I was still alive.