The Lost Manuscript: A Novel. Gustav Freytag

her father had robbed from a merchant on the king's highway. And when the house was assaulted by enemies. Ilse stood among the men on the wall and drew the great crossbow, like a knight's squire.

      Again, hundreds of years later, she sat in the hunting-lodge of a prince, with her father, an old warrior of Swedish times. Than she had become pious, and, like a city dame, she cooked jams and preserves, and went down to the pastor to the conventicle. She would not have worn flowers, and sought to know what husband Heaven destined for her by putting her finger at hazard on a passage in the Bible.

      And now his friend had met this same Saxon child, tall and strong in body and soul, but still a child of the middle ages, with a placid expression in her beautiful countenance which only changed when the heart was excited by any sudden passion; a mind as if half asleep, and of a nature so child-like and pliant that it was sometimes impossible to know whether she was wise or simple. In her character there still remained something of all those Ilses of the two thousand years that had passed away-a mixture of Sibyl, mead-dispenser, knight's daughter, and pietist. She was of the old German type and the old German beauty, but that she should suddenly become the wife of a Professor, that appeared to the troubled Doctor too much against all the laws of quiet historical development.

       CHAPTER X.

      THE WOOING

      A few hours after his friend had left the estate, the Professor entered the study of the Proprietor, who exclaimed, looking up from his work: "The gypsies have disappeared, and with them your friend. We are all sorry that the Doctor could not remain longer."

      "With you lies the decision whether I too shall be permitted to tarry longer here," rejoined the Professor, with such deep earnestness that the host arose, and looked inquiringly at his guest. "I come to ask of you a great boon," continued the Professor, "and I must depart from here if you refuse it me."

      "Speak out. Professor," replied he.

      "It is impossible for us to continue longer in the open relations of host and guest. For I now seek to win the love of your daughter Ilse."

      The Proprietor started, and the hand of the strong man grasped the table.

      "I know what I ask of you," cried the Scholar, in an outburst of passion. "I know that I claim the highest and dearest treasure you can give. I know that I shall make your life thereby the poorer. For I shall take from your side what has been your joy, support, and pride."

      "And yet," murmured the Proprietor gloomily, "you spare me the trouble of saying that!"

      "I fear that at this moment you look upon me as an intruder upon the peace of your home," continued the Professor; "but though it may be difficult for you to be indulgent towards me, you ought to know all. I first saw her in the church, and her religious fervor impressed me powerfully. I have lived in the house with her, and felt more every hour how beautiful and lovable she is. The influence she exercises over me is irresistible. The passion with which she has inspired me has become so great, that the thought of being separated from her fills me with dismay. I long to be united to her and to make her my wife."

      Thus spoke the Scholar, as ingenuously as a child.

      "And to what extent have you shown your feelings to my daughter?" asked the father.

      "I have twice in an outburst of emotion touched her hand," answered the Professor.

      "Have you ever spoken to her of your love?"

      "If I had I should not stand before you now as I do," rejoined the Professor. "I am entirely unknown to you, and was brought here by peculiar circumstances; and I am not in the happy position of a wooer who can appeal to a long acquaintance. You have shown me unusual hospitality, and I am in duty bound not to abuse your confidence. I will not, unbeknown to you, endeavor to win a heart that is so closely bound up in your life."

      The father inclined his head assentingly. "And have you the assurance of winning her love?"

      "I am no child and can see that she is warmly-attached to me. But of the depth and duration of the feelings of a young girl neither of us can judge. At times I have had the happy conviction that she cherished a tender passion for me, but it is just the unembarrassed innocence of her feelings that makes me uncertain; and I must confess to you that I know it is possible for those feelings to pass away."

      The father looked at this man who thus endeavored to judge impartially, but whose whole frame was trembling. "It is, sir, my duty to yield to the wishes of my child's heart, if they are powerful enough to induce her to leave her home for that of another man-provided that I myself have not the conviction that it would be detrimental to her happiness. Your acquaintance with my daughter has been so short that I do not feel myself in the difficult position of having to give my consent, or to make my daughter unhappy, and your confession makes it possible for me to prevent what would, perhaps, in many respects, be unwelcome to me. Yes, even now you are a stranger to me, and when I invited you to stay with us I did something that may have an unfortunate sequel for me and mine."

      As the Proprietor spoke thus in the excitement of the moment, his eyes fell upon the arm which had bled yesterday, and then on the manly features of the pale countenance before him. He broke off his speech, and laying his hand on the shoulder of the other exclaimed: – "No, that is not the sentiment of my heart, and I ought not to answer you thus."

      He paced up and down the room endeavoring to find composure.

      "But you must listen to a word of confidence, and regard what I say as not the promptings of importunacy," he continued, more tranquilly. "I know well that I have not brought up my daughter for myself, and that I must at some time accustom myself to do without her. But our acquaintance is too short to judge whether my child would find peace or happiness if she were united to you. When I tell you that I honor you and take pleasure in your society, that admission does not affect the question I have to solve. If you were a country gentleman like me, I should listen to your communications with a lighter heart, for during the time of your stay here I should have been able to form a definite opinion of your qualifications. The difference of our vocations makes it not only difficult for me to judge of you, but also dangerous for the future of my child. If a father wishes his daughter to marry a man who pursues an occupation similar to his own, he is justified in so doing in every sphere of life, and more especially is it so with a country gentleman of my stamp; for the qualifications of our children consist partly in this, that they grow up as the helpmeets of their parents. What Ilse has learnt in my house gives me the assurance that, as the wife of a country gentleman, she would fill her place perfectly; nay, she might supply the deficiencies of her husband, and that would secure her a comfortable life, even though her husband did not possess all that was to be desired. As the wife of a Professor, she will have little use for what she knows, and she will feel unhappy at not having learnt many other things."

      "I admit that she will be deprived of much; I lay little stress on what you call her deficiencies," said the Professor. "I request you to trust this matter to me and the future."

      "Then, Professor, I will answer you as candidly as you have spoken to me. I must not decline your proposal hastily. I will not oppose what may perhaps be for the happiness of my daughter. Yet I cannot, with the imperfect knowledge which I have of your position, assent to it. And I am at this moment in the awkward position of not knowing how I can obtain this knowledge."

      "I can well understand how unsatisfactory to you must be any opinion concerning me which you may gather from strangers. Yet you will have to be content to do so," continued the Professor, with dignity.

      The father assented silently.

      "First," continued the Professor, "I beg to inform you concerning my pecuniary circumstances."

      He mentioned his income, gave a faithful account of the sources from which he derived it, and laid a written statement on the writing-table.

      "My legal adviser, who bears a high repute in the University, will give you any confirmation you may wish of these details. With respect to my capacity as teacher and my position at the University, I must refer you to the judgment of my colleagues and the opinion which is held concerning it in the city."

      The Proprietor looked at the statement.

      "Even