g these four years of gloom and despair. I
bow before you, Marie, and implore you, upon my knees, to forgive me
all the cruel, harsh words that I have uttered--that I have dared as
a wretched fool to doubt you in this long night of despair. The day is
dawning again upon us; a new sun will yet cheer us with its rays. Do not
turn from me, but look at me, and grant me forgiveness.--My dear friend
and father, speak for me, for you know what I have suffered. Beg of her
to forgive me."

"Marie," said the venerable old man, approaching her, gently putting
his arm around her, "God has willed that you, my poor, long-tried child,
should pass through a season of extreme sorrow. You are now released,
and all that belonged to you has vanished!"

As he spoke, he signed to the guests to withdraw. Many had already
escaped the painful scene by the side-door. Marie was now alone in the
magnificent apartment, with Herr Gedicke and Moritz. She still stood,
with concealed face, in the centre of the room.

"Oh, Marie," implored Moritz, "hide not your dear face from me! Read in
mine the deep grief of the past and the bliss of the future. I thank
God that this unnatural union is severed, and that you are free. Be
courageous to the end!" Moritz impetuously drew her hand away, revealing
her tearful countenance, as her head sank upon his shoulder. "Can
you not forgive me, Marie?" he cried, with deep emotion. "We have both
wandered through a waste of grief, and now approach life radiant with
happiness. Oh, speak to me, Marie; can you not love me and forgive me?"

She gazed into his eyes, and in their depths read that which gradually
softened her hardened features, and caused a smile to play upon her lip.
"I love you dearly, devotedly; let this be our parting word. Go forth
into the world, Moritz; my affection will follow you whithersoever you
wander, and my soul will be true to you through all eternity, though we
are forever separated. The poor wife, with her dismal retrospections,
must not cast a shadow upon your future. Go, my beloved--Italy awaits
you, and art will console you!"

"Follow me, dear Marie; only by your side am I happy. You are free and
independent," cried Moritz.

"Oh, father," cried Marie, leaning upon the venerable old man, "explain
to him that I am still the wife of that hated man!"

"She is right, Philip; do not urge her further. She must first be
legally separated, and this weary heart must have time to recover its
wo