rong and active.
Seek not to enfeeble me, but aid me to harden myself; refrain from
complaint, that I may be silent. I think only of him, and I ask nothing
further than to yield my life to free him. Let us never speak of it
again, for I feel that all the firmness which I had gained has been
swept from me in this giving way, and that I must begin anew."

From this hour she commenced to build, and rose upon her grief as on a
column which projects toward heaven; leaned upon it, and received, as
Brisaeus from the earth, the power of life and action. She had already
so conquered herself as to be able to leave her own quiet room, and
descend to that of her parents. There she would sit calmly for hours,
listening attentively to the conversation, hoping to catch some word
that might give her a clew.

They avoided every exciting topic, and were milder and more thoughtful
for her. Even her mother made no reproaches, and never alluded to
the past, because she feared to delay her recovery, and remove the
longed-for goal in hindering the marriage with Ebenstreit. The latter
carefully avoided troubling her by his presence; when he heard Marie's
step in the anteroom, who descended at a certain hour every day, he
withdrew by the other entrance.

"Who goes out every time I come in?" asked Marie, one day as she
appeared in the sitting-room.

The general coughed with embarrassment, and glanced anxiously at
his wife, whose eyes rested upon her daughter with a cold, searching
expression. Their eyes met, and were riveted upon each other. A cold,
cruel smile played around the thin, bloodless lips of the mother as she
recognized the defiance and firmness in her child, and felt that she had
recovered.

"It is your betrothed," she answered, "our dear Ebenstreit--a good,
generous, and self-sacrificing son, for whom we thank God every day, who
wishes to spare you the annoyance of seeing him."

"He need not inconvenience himself on my account. Nothing excites or
wounds my feelings now. It would be a pity for your heartless, thankless
daughter to deprive you of the society of your dear son. Let him remain;
it is not necessary for us to notice one another."

Her parents regarded each other astonished, and, as she ceased, they
still listened to the dying tones of her voice, which sounded so
strangely to them. "She is much changed," mumbled the general to
himself. "She does not seem the same person, she is so haughty and
majestic. She might we