But will the young girl be able to love the much older man? Was her ready trust a proof of love, or not, rather qualified to awaken doubt of it? Because perhaps the delicate reserve of love would have been more reticent towards a companion of her own age; the trust reposed so freely in him was in the experienced, older man who should respect it with friendly counsel. And yet the enthusiastic illumination of the gazelle-like eye often excited sympathy, a slight quiver in her voice and her whole being, whenever he approached her, on pressing her hand in his, which Blanden once ventured to offer her, when she was speaking so sweetly and fervently of her childhood's dreams. And yet, if Eva did really love him, would it be for her own good? Is the chasm not much too great between the unconscious girl, whose life is spent in one single emotion, and the man who has fought his way through every passion, has weathered life's storms in every latitude, to whom graceless womanhood had often offered sweet temptation, who had also felt the charm of danger that lies in forbidden paths, and who on outlawed ways and in a daring manner had sought to unriddle the dark secret in combining the spirituality with the sensuality of human nature? Was it not cold egotism which strove to purchase its own peace, too dearly perhaps, with the price of that of another human being? Could not, sooner or later, the confessions which he had no right, which it was least of all a duty to make to such innocence, be completed by some chance, by gossiping report; and must not some internal rift gradually extend through the beloved one's heart; must she not suddenly feel that she had built the bridge of her happiness across an unknown abyss, from out of whose depth unnatural spirits arose and spread a gloom over her life? The more serious the affection which Blanden felt for Eva, the more powerful did these considerations become; yes he walked back by her side with a moody brow. "You are not cheerful," said Eva, "oh you must not cling to gloomy thoughts! What would I not give if I could banish all sadness out of your life!" "You are good, my child," said Blanden, as he again pressed her hand, "but oh I am not! True goodness of heart, innocence alone can possess; we others have only momentary touches of it; our good works are often but a species of atonement! If you knew what we have lived through, must live through, who have been so tossed about by fate! Often we ask ourselves, if it is really we who have done this or been guilty of that, it seems so strange, so incredible to us; we would gladly sever the thread which binds the present with the past, but always this self, this indestructible I, that cannot set itself free from its deeds, that often grins at us like a spectre. Even the tree can shake off its withered leaves; but the withered leaves of our life cling indissolubly to us, and no coming spring sweeps them away with its rejuvenating breath."