True, she was altered,
but never since she had been. Bertram's wife had her brow been
darkened or her eye dimmed. Her face was always bright and clear: for
her husband, when he returned home, she had always a smile of welcome,
a cordial greeting--never a word of complaint or of mourning over the
privations she was obliged to undergo, or the wealth she had lost.
Elise felt rich--for she loved her husband; not with that ardent,
consuming passion which she had once felt, and which had been the
cause of so much disappointment and so many tears; but with that
gentle, affectionate flame which never dies out, but is constantly
supplied and nourished by esteem and appreciation.

Bertram was no longer her brother; he was her beloved, her friend, her
counsellor, and comforter, above all. With him she was always certain
to be understood and appreciated, to find comfort and help. As on a
rock, she could now rely on the noble heart of one who was at the same
time so firm, and yet so soft in loving, that he had never doubted
her, never turned away from her. Her whole heart was given up to him
in gratitude and affection, and with her whole life did she wish to
reward him for his noble love, for the self-sacrificing gratitude with
which he had given up his entire fortune to her father, and saved
the name and honor of his house from disgrace and shame. She desired
neither splendor nor jewels. Surrounded by the halo of her love, and
of her quiet, peaceful happiness, this poor, little dwelling seemed
to her as a temple of peace and of holy rest; and, locked in Bertram's
embrace, her wishes never reached beyond its narrow sphere.

But Gotzkowsky was not as yet able to attain this resignation. This
repose was to him an annihilating torment, and the inactive vegetation
a living death. With each day the torture increased, the soreness of
his heart became more corroding and painful. At times he felt as if he
must scream out aloud in the agony of his despair. He would strike his
chest with his clinched fists, and cry to God in the overflow of
his sufferings. He who his whole life long had been active, was now
condemned to idleness; he who through his whole life had worked for
others, was now obliged to lay his hands in his lap, and allow
others to labor for him. How had he deserved this? What crime had he
committed, that after he had toiled and worked honestly, he should go
down, whilst others who had enriched themselves by fraud and lying,