"Yes--I know--in that way. But in the old way of the first days? I was so
different then. How _can_ you love me now, the way you did then? What do
I do now but sit in a chair and try to be patient? Look at a man like
Parkman! That's life. Ernestine"--drawing her close, a sob in his
voice--"liebchen,--_can_ you?"
She longed to tell him then; it would mean so much to tell him now,--Karl
was so troubled to-night. But the time was not ripe yet; she must not
spoil it all. And so instead she talked to him of how real power
comprehended more than activity, how depth of understanding, great things
of the soul, were more masterful than those outer forces men called
"life." Ernestine seldom failed in being convincing when she felt things
as she now felt this.
"You always have the right word," he said at last. "You can always get
ahead of the little blue devils."
"Oh, Karl," she murmured, very low, her heart too full to resist
this--"some day I can show you better what I expect of life."
"Of course," he mused, after a silence, "you have your work.
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