And a look that was very wonderful was growing upon Karl's face.
"Ernestine," he whispered, dwelling long upon the name, his voice a voice
of wonder, "you did that--for me?"
"I did it because I love you so!" she whispered, and it seemed that
surely death itself could not withstand the tenderness of it.
And then his whole face became transfigured. His blind eyes were opened
to the light of love. His illumined face reflected it as the supreme
moment of his life. In that moment he triumphed over all powers set
against him. He rose out of suffering on wings of glory. He transcended
sorrow and tragedy, blindness--yes, in that moment, death. He saw behind
the veil; he saw into the glory of a soul; he comprehended the wonder of
love. Compensation for suffering and loss--understanding, victory, peace;
it was the human face lighted with divine light. They did not dare to
move or breathe as they looked upon the wonder of his face.
"Ernestine--little one," he whispered, the light not going from his
face--"you loved me--like that?"
"You see, Karl,"--it was this must reach him--"what you have to live for
now?"
But he did not get that.
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