Rejoice in your life!

There was no light in Manna's chamber, but Manna was standing at the
window.

CHAPTER XVII.

THE SERPENT IN EDEN.

As Manna stood at the window, looking out into the darkness, she laid
her burning bands upon the window-sill, uttering brief exclamations to
herself of hope and desolation, of rejoicing and complaint. Only the
stars saw her face with its changing expression of rapture and of
agony, and her kisses were given to the empty air. She looked up to the
well-known stars, and all their glittering host seemed but the
reflection of Eric's beaming eyes.

"Why am I alone? Why should I ever be alone again for an instant?" she
asked of the night.

A feeling of utter loneliness came over her. She thought of the nun
whom she had seen the day before at the station, who looked neither to
the right or to the left, going from convent to convent, and from one
sick-bed to another, and who wanted nothing that the world could give.
How would it be if a voice should now say to her; Thou art mine; turn
thy gaze, put off that disfiguring disguise; look around; let others
look at thee and greet thee with smiles; hope, despair, be joyous, be
sad, be not forgetful of all else in subjection to one fond, painful
idea!

It seemed to Manna as if she were standing upon the verge of a dizzy
precipice, now about to be dashed over it, and now drawn back; she
looked round, for she felt as if Eric's arm were actually about her,
and lifting her up into the world. Into the world! What a world! She
passed her hand over her face, and the hand seemed no longer to be
hers. Turning back into the room, she threw herself on her knees.

"Woe is me! I love!" she cried. "No; I thank thee, O God, that thou
hast laid this trial upon me. This trial? no, I cannot help it! Thou,
Thou who art Love itself, whom a thousand lips name, and whom yet none
can comprehend, forgive and help me, help him, and help us all! May I
live in him and in all that is holy and great, all that is beautiful
and pure! Here I lie, slay me--slay me, if it is a sin! Heimchen, thou,
my sister, a part of my own soul, thou didst flutter a moment in the
air, like a blossom fallen from the tree. I, I must, amidst storm and
tempest, remain upon the tree of life. O, let the fruit of good deeds
ripen in me, O Thou to whom I pray, and whom he reveres, though he
prays not, he whose thought is prayer, whos