"I know it," replied Gunther.

At the first posting-house, where they came upon noisy crowds, the postmaster informed them that the election was going on, and that the contest was quite an excited one. The "Blacks" would certainly be defeated.

Bruno, who had alighted, asked the postillion:

"My n.o.ble fellow-citizen, have you exercised your sovereign right of voting to-day?"

"Yes, and against the 'Blacks'."

They drove on.

Bruno did not get out at the other stations. They were drawing near to Eberhard's district. While they were changing horses at the a.s.size town, they heard loud cries of: "Long live Count Eberhard! Victory!"

"What's that?" inquired Gunther, putting his head out of the carriage door.

He was informed that, in spite of the "Blacks," Count Eberhard would prove the victor. The opposition had started a contemptible rumor, intended to disgrace the old count. But, although meant to injure others, it had proved a stumbling-block to themselves; for every one had said: "A father can't help what his child does, and, for that very reason, greater respect should now be shown him."--Irma drew back into the dark corner of the carriage and held her breath.

They drove on without saying a word.

After they had started, Bruno said it was too warm for him in the carriage, and that it did not agree with him to ride backward. Still, he would not suffer Gunther to change seats with him. He ordered the carriage to stop and, telling the lackey to sit up with the driver, placed himself on the back seat, next to the waiting-maid. Irma took off her hat and laid her head back. It was heavy with sad thoughts. Now and then, when the road lay along the edge of a precipice, she would quickly raise herself in her seat. She felt as if she must plunge into the abyss; but, weak and feeble, she would fall back again. Gunther, too, remained silent; and thus they drove on through the night, without uttering a word.

At one time, the waiting-maid would have laughed out aloud, but Bruno held his hand over her mouth and prevented her.

CHAPTER IV.

It was near midnight when the travelers reached castle Wildenort. The servant said that the count was sleeping, and that the physician who lived in the valley was with him. The country doctor left the sickroom and came out into the ante-chamber to welcome the new arrivals. He was about to describe the case to Gunther, who, however, requested him not to do so until he had himself seen the patient. Accompanied by Irma and Bruno, he went into the sick-room.

Eberhard lay in bed, his head propped up by pillows. His eyes were wide open, and, without showing the slightest emotion, he stared at those who entered, as if they were figures in a dream.

"I greet you, Eberhard, with all my heart," said Gunther. The sick man's features twitched convulsively, and his eyelids rose quickly and as quickly fell again, while he gropingly put forth his hand toward his old friend. But the hand sank powerless on the coverlet. Gunther grasped it and held it fast.

Irma stood as if rooted to the spot, unable to move or utter a word.

"How are you, papa?" asked Bruno.

With a sudden start, as if a shot had whizzed by his ear, Eberhard turned toward Bruno and motioned to him to leave the room.

Irma knelt down at his bedside, while Eberhard pa.s.sed his trembling hand over her face. It became wet with her tears. Suddenly, he drew it back, as if it had been touching a poisonous reptile. He averted his face and pressed his brow against the wall; and thus he lay for a long while.

Neither Gunther nor Irma spoke a word. Their voices failed them in the presence of him who had been deprived of speech. And now Eberhard turned again and gently motioned his daughter to leave the room. She did so.

Gunther remained alone with Eberhard. It was the first time in thirty years that the two friends had met. Eberhard pa.s.sed Gunther's hand across his eyes, and then shook his head.

Gunther said: "I know what you mean; you would like to weep, but cannot. Do you understand all I say to you?"

The patient nodded affirmatively.

"Then just imagine," continued Gunther, and his voice has a rich and comforting tone, "that the years we've been separated from each other were but one hour. Our measure of time is a different one. Do you still remember how you would often in enthusiastic moments exclaim: 'We've just been living centuries'?"

There was again a convulsive twitching of the patient's features, just as when a weeping one is enlivened by a cheerful thought and would fain smile, but cannot.

Eberhard attempted to trace letters on the coverlet, but Gunther found it difficult to decipher them.

The sick man pointed to a table on which there lay books and ma.n.u.scripts. Gunther brought several of them, but none was the right one. At last he brought a little ma.n.u.script book, the cover of which was inscribed with the t.i.tle, "Self-redemption." The sick man seemed pleased, as if welcoming a fortunate occurrence.

"You wrote this yourself. Shall I read some of it to you?"

Eberhard nodded a.s.sent. Gunther sat down by the bed and read:

"May this serve to enlighten me on the day and in the hour when my mind becomes obscured.

"I have been much given to introspection. I have endeavored to study myself, without regard to the outward conditions of time, standpoint, or circ.u.mstance. I perceive it, but, as yet, I cannot grasp it. It is a dew-drop shut up in the heart of a rock.

"There are moments when I am fully up to the ideal I have formed for myself, but there are many more when I am merely the caricature of my better self. How am I to form a conception of my actual self? What am I?

"I perceive that I am a something belonging to the universe and to eternity.

"During the blessed moments, sometimes drawn out into hours, in which I realize this conception, there is naught but life for me--no such thing as death, either for me or the world.

"In my dying hour, I should like to be as clearly conscious as I now am that I am in G.o.d, and that G.o.d is in me.

"Religion may claim warmth of feeling and glory of imagination as her portion. We, on the other hand, have attained to that clear vision which includes both feeling and imagination.

"In troubled, restless days, when I endeavored to grasp the Infinite, I felt as if melting away, vanishing, disappearing. I longed to know: What is G.o.d?

"And now I possess our master's answer: Although we cannot picture G.o.d to ourselves, yet we have a clear idea or conception of Him.

"For us, the old commandment: 'Thou shalt not make unto thyself any image of G.o.d,' signifies _thou canst_ not make to thyself any image of G.o.d. Every image is finite; the idea of G.o.d is that of infinity.

"Spinoza teaches that we must regard ourselves as a part of G.o.d--

"While endeavoring to grasp the idea of the whole, I came to understand what is meant by the words: 'The human mind is part of the divine mind.'

"A single drop rises on the surface of the stormy ocean of life. It lasts but a second--though men term it threescore years and ten--and then, glowing with the light it receives and imparts, sinks again.

"Man, regarded as an individual, is both by birth and education a thought entering upon the threshold of the consciousness of G.o.d. At death, he simply sinks below that threshold, but he does not perish. He remains a part of eternity, just as all thought endures in its consequences.

"When I combine a number of such individuals or thoughts and term them a nation, the genius of that nation enters upon the threshold of such consciousness as soon as the nation begins to have a history of its own.

"Combining the nations into a whole, we have mankind or the totality of thought, the consciousness of G.o.d and of the world.

"I have often felt giddy at the mere thought of standing firm and secure, on the highest pinnacle of thought.

"May these thoughts inspire and deliver me in the hour of dissolution.

There is no separation of mortal and immortal life, they flow into each other and are one.