“Bertram!  Bertram!” she cried, trembling in every limb, “protect me.  Do not shut me out from your heart! have pity on me!” She leaned her head on his breast and wept aloud.  Now, in her sorrow, she felt it to be a blessing that he was present, and for the first time she had a clear consciousness that God had sent him to her to be a helping friend, a guardian angel.

The illusions and errors of her whole life fell from before her eyes like a veil, and she saw in a clear light both herself and Bertram.  And now, as she leaned her head upon his breast, her thoughts became prayers, and her tears thank-offerings.  “I have entertained an angel unawares,” said she, remembering, unintentionally, the language of Holy Writ.  When Bertram asked the meaning of her words, she answered, “They mean that an erring heart has found the right road home.”

She wiped away her tears with her long locks.  She would no longer weep, nor shed a single tear for the false, intriguing traitor, the degenerate scion of a degenerate race.  He was not worthy of a sigh of revenge, not even of a reproach.  A mystery had slept in her breast, and she thought to have found the true solution in the word “Feodor!” but she was mistaken, and God had allowed this long-mourned, long-desired man to return to her, that she might be allowed to read anew the riddle of her heart more correctly, to find out its deceitful nature, its stubborn pride, and to conquer them.  Thus thinking, she raised her head from Bertram’s breast, and looked at him “You asked my father for my hand.  Do you still love me?”

Bertram smiled.  This question seemed so strange and singular!  “Do I love you?” asked he.  “Can he ever cease to love who has once loved?”

“Do you still love me?” she repeated.

“Faithfully and honorably,” said he, with feeling.

“Faithfully and honorably!” cried Elise, deeply moved.  “Oh those are words as strong as rocks, and like the shipwrecked sailor, I will cling to them to save myself from sinking.  Oh, Bertram, how good you are!  You love my father, and desire to be his son, only for the sake of helping him.”

“And if need be, to work for him, to give up my life for him!”

With her bright eyes she looked deeply into his, and held out her hand to him.  “Give me your hand, Bertram,” said she, softly.  “You were a better son to my father than I have been a daughter.  I will learn from you.  Will you be my teacher?”

Bertram gazed at her astonished and inquiringly.  She replied to this look with a sweet smile, and like lightning it shot through his heart, and a happy anticipation pervaded his entire soul.  “My God! my God! is it possible?” murmured he, “is the day of suffering, indeed, past?  Will—­”

He felt Elise suddenly shudder, and pressing his hand significantly, she whispered, “Silence, Bertram, look there!”

Bertram followed the direction of her eyes, and saw Gotzkowsky, who had opened the door of his study, and was entering the room, his features pale and distorted, and his gaze fixed.  “He does not see us,” whispered Elise.  “He is talking to himself.  Do not disturb him.”