"She will not die," replied Gotthold, "but you must not decide upon anything hastily; you must no longer struggle on alone, must not disdain my aid as you have done till now." "That I may drag you, who are guiltless of this misery, down to ruin with me? I have already involved you too far, but more--never." "What do you call more, Cecilia? I love you; in those words all is said, in those words our lives are woven into one circle. What could you suffer that I would not suffer with you? Nay, has not even your past life become mine and always belonged to me? Has not all this ever brooded over my soul as a vague, anxious foreboding, drawing a veil over my brightest hours? Yes, Cecilia, when I consider this, I cannot help saying: 'Thank God! thank God that the veil is rent, that life lies before me as it is, although obstacles and difficulties of all kinds threaten to bar our way. We will conquer them. If I ever despaired, I shall do so no longer, now that you are restored to me." He had bent his lips to her ear as he sat behind her; his deep voice grew so low as to become almost inaudible, but she caught every syllable, and each word pierced her to the heart. "Ah! Cecilia, Cecilia! you would not have killed yourself and your child only--you would have slain me too. Well, since a voice you must ever hold sacred, of whose veracity you must never, never have the smallest doubt, has cried, live! live for me, Cecilia, for--you cannot live without me." "Nor with you," cried Cecilia, wringing her hands. "No, do not turn your honest eyes upon me with such a questioning, reproachful look, my own dear love! I would fain tell you all, but I cannot; perhaps I might to a woman, yet to her, if she were a true woman, I should not need to do so, for she would understand me without words." "You do not love me as you must love the man from whom you could and would accept every sacrifice, because love, the true love which bears and suffers all things, perceives no sacrifices, and yours is not the true love!" He spoke without the slightest tinge of bitterness; but his chest heaved painfully, and his lips quivered. "Am I not right in saying that no man, even the best, the most delicate in feeling, can rightly understand us?" replied Cecilia, bending towards Gotthold, and pushing his hair back from his burning brow. For a moment the old sweet smile played around her delicate lips and sparkled in her eyes, the smile of which Gotthold had often dreamed, and then spent the whole day absorbed in reverie, as if under the influence of some magic spell. But it was only for a moment; then it disappeared, and sorrowful earnestness was again expressed in every feature of the beautiful face, again echoed in the tones of her voice. "True love! Dare a woman who has experienced what I have, even take the word on her lips? True love! Would you have called it so, when I--"