Was she who seemed fragile as a breath, who was like a ray of light from a better world upon this dark sinful earth, to take this earthly burden upon her slender shoulders, to touch with her pure hands these dark sorrows.

"I will go to my father myself!" cried Ferdinanda.

"Then you may just as well stay here altogether," said Bertalda.

"Go, go!" said Cilli.

And now again it was Ferdinanda who thought that Bertalda could not quickly enough put on the cloak which she had thrown off in the hot studio, or find the bonnet which she had flung down anywhere.

"I called a cab as I came," said Bertalda; "it is waiting at the door; we shall be at my house in five minutes." At the house door there were two cabs waiting.

Bertalda helped Ferdinanda to get into the first, and was in the act of following her, when the driver of the second carriage asked whether the gentleman was not coming.

"What gentleman?"

"The one who called me. Doesn't he belong to you?"

"I know nothing about him," said Bertalda, getting in and shutting the door behind her.

The vehicle was hardly in motion before Antonio came out of the house, with a broad-brimmed hat upon his black hair, and a large cloak over his shoulders--he had brought them both from Italy, and they were the first things which he had laid his hands upon--and with a small travelling-bag under his cloak into which he had thrust a change of linen. He rushed up to the driver of the second cab:

"I told you to wait at the corner!"

"I thought as there was another one at the door, and I had seen you run in here--"

"No matter--follow that cab--at the same distance that we are now, not a step nearer, and when the other stops, pull up!"

"All right," said the driver, "I understand."

CHAPTER III.

The door closed behind the retreating figures, and Cilli was left alone in the studio. She sat down on a low stool, holding in her lap the paper which Ferdinanda had given her, and supporting her head upon her hand.

"He will not understand it," she murmured; "he will be very angry; no one will understand it, not even Reinhold himself; even he could not feel with me as I feel. Oh! my poor heart, why do you throb so wildly!

Can you not bear it a little longer, only a little longer! Let me fulfil this, it may be your last service!"

She had pressed her two hands against her bosom, as with stoical fort.i.tude she bore the fearful pain, the agonising breathlessness caused by her palpitating heart, as had so often happened in the last few days. The terrible attack pa.s.sed off, but the exhaustion which followed was so great, that she made several vain efforts to rise. She succeeded at last, and feeling for the table on which she knew a jug of water and gla.s.ses always stood, drank some water.

"I can do it now," she murmured. And yet she often thought she must break down, as she languidly put one weary foot before the other, and slowly, slowly groped her way from the studio, and through the narrow path between the house and garden. As she pa.s.sed the door of her own dwelling, she stood still and listened at the foot of the stairs which led to their rooms above. All was still, and her father was sleeping under good Aunt Rikchen's care. He would not miss her; her poor father did not even know that her dearest wish, that she might die after him, and so remain with him till he breathed his last, and spare him the pain of seeing his child die, could hardly now be fulfilled. Her poor father! and yet not so poor as the proud lonely man to whom she was going.

She had reached the house and got as far as the carpeted marble stairs.

A step came down towards her, and she stood still, leaning against the bal.u.s.trade and smiling up at the new comer.

"Dear Grollmann!"

"Good gracious, Fraulein Cilli! How came you here? And how ill you look! Dear me! you ought to go to bed at once!"

"I have no time for that, dear Grollmann, but I do feel very weak; will you help me up the stairs?"

"Why, where do you want to go?"

"To him--to Herr Schmidt."

Grollmann shook his head.

"Dear Fraulein Cilli, you know that I would do anything in the world to please you, and particularly to-day, when you are in such trouble about your good father; but you really cannot possibly go to Herr Schmidt. If you want anything for your good father--and he has been asking after him already, although he has so many things on his mind--I will take an opportunity of saying it--"

"It is not about my father," said Cilli, "nor about myself, but I have such difficulty in speaking, dear Grollmann."

The old servant was awestruck as she raised her blind eyes to him. He did not venture another word of reply, not even to ask her what was that paper which she had slipped inside her dress, and led her silently and carefully up the remaining steps to the master's door.

"Shall I announce you, Fraulein?" he whispered.

"Only open the door, dear Grollmann."

The old man hesitated for a moment, and then opened the door boldly, guided the blind girl across the threshold with outstretched arm, without himself entering, closed the door behind her, and dropped into a chair close by, resting his chin upon his hands.

"I must take the poor child downstairs again," he muttered; "she will not stay long."

Uncle Ernst, who was walking up and down the room with his hands behind his back, lost in sullen meditation, had not heard the gentle opening of the door. Now, having reached the farther end of the room, he turned and started.

"Cilli!" he exclaimed with a long-drawn breath.

"Cilli," he repeated, as he went up to her, where she silently awaited him.

He was standing before her, strangely moved by the contrast between the dark and dismal thoughts in which he had been plunged, and the angelic, radiant face into which he now looked; and his hand, which had taken hers, trembled, and his voice shook, as he led her to a chair and said: "What brings you to me, my child? Is your father worse?"

"I think not," answered Cilli, "although I know that he cannot last long."

"That is all stuff and nonsense," said Uncle Ernst, the gentleness of his tone contrasting oddly with the rough words. "Those three hundred pounds would not have made you happy. And what have I done to him that he should be afraid that I would not take care of him and you if it came to the worst?--his Socialism--pooh! He will always remain for me what he is--one of the few honest men in a world of rogues."

"I know how kind you are," answered Cilli, "and I had meant to come to you this morning to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all that you have done for us, and will do for my poor father when I am gone."

"I will not hear anything about that," said Uncle Ernst.

The ghost of a smile flitted over Cilli's pale face.

"Death has an eloquent voice," said she; "I trusted to that when I dragged myself to you, and hoped that my voice, which comes from a heart where Death has taken up his abode, might penetrate to your heart, which, stern as it often seems, is so good and kind to the poor and desolate, to the helpless and the unhappy."

Her voice was so low that Uncle Ernst had some difficulty in understanding her. What did the poor child want? she had evidently something still upon her mind.

"Tell me what it is, Cilli," said he; "you know that I can refuse you nothing, however difficult it might be to me to grant it."

"You ought not to refuse me this, although it will be difficult to you; for you are very proud, and the n.o.blest of the angels fell through pride, and your pride is bleeding already today from a deep wound--forgive me if I touch it--I know it must be painful, but our Lord upon the cross forgave His persecutors, forgave all men, and all who sin, however wise they may be in worldly wisdom, they know not what they do. But he who sins in men's eyes because he loves, not himself but another, to whom his whole heart and soul belong, so that he no longer feels his own pangs but suffers a hundredfold from those of another--for such a poor loving soul every good man feels divine compa.s.sion; how should not a father then, who ought to stand in the place of the Father in heaven to His children on earth, and should be perfect even as the Father in heaven is perfect! Oh! have compa.s.sion upon Ferdinanda!"