anxiety, for one evening my heart suddenly ceased beating, and I
experienced such distress that I thought it would never beat again.
But that is past, and why should we recall it? Only one thing troubles
me, I have hitherto believed I should some time close my eyes in
perfect repose, but now I feel that my sufferings will disturb and
embitter my departure from life." Then she placed her hand upon her
heart, and said: "But tell me, where have you been, and why have I not
heard from you all this time? The old Hofrath has given me so many
reasons for your sudden departure, that I was finally compelled to tell
him I did not believe him--and at last he gave me the most incredible
of all reasons, and counselled--what do you suppose?"

"He might seem untruthful," I interrupted, so that she should not
explain the reason, "and yet, perhaps he was only too truthful. But
this also is past, and why should we recall it?"

"No, no, my friend," said she, "why call it past? I told the Hofrath,
when he gave me the last reason for your sudden departure, that I
understood neither him nor you. I am a poor sick, forsaken being, and
my earthly existence is only a slow death. Now if Heaven sends me a
few souls who understand me, or love me, as the Hofrath calls it, why
then should it disturb their joy or mine? I had been reading my
favorite poet, the old Wordsworth, when the Hofrath made his
acknowledgment, and I said: 'My dear Hofrath, we have so many thoughts
and so few words that we must express many thoughts in every word. Now
if one who does not know us understood that our young friend loved me,
or I him, in such manner as we suppose Romeo loved Juliet and Juliet
Romeo, you would be entirely right in saying it should not be so. But
is it not true that you love me also, my old Hofrath, and that I love
you, and have loved you for many years? And has it not sometimes