Both women felt a sense of relief in the entrance of the Major, who now
prepared to go home with Fraeulein Milch. After they had gone a few
steps, the Professorin called Fraeulein Milch back, and asked in a
whisper,--

"Does the Major know, too?"

"Oh no, he could not bear it. Forgive me for having laid such a burden
on you. Believe me that it is not made lighter to me, but heavier."

The guests departed; and soon after, the postman brought a letter from
the University-town. Professor Einsiedel, who for twenty years had
brought his New Year's greeting to Frau Dournay, did not choose to fail
in it to-day; they were cordial and significant words which he wrote,
but they seemed to come from a different world. Twice she read the
postscript, for there was a greeting for Eric, with the message, that
the Professor would soon send him a book on slavery which was announced
as just published; and he added the exhortation that Eric should finish
his work within the new year.

The Professorin looked thoughtfully at the words. What did it mean?
Eric had never spoken to her of any such work. She passed her hand
through the air before her brow, as if she would drive away every
strange thought. A recollection rose within her. This very morning she
had been expressing her sorrow to Aunt Claudine that she could no
longer dispense any charity of her own, though it was the duty of every
one to give from his own store. What she did seemed nothing; only the
gifts seemed of importance. Almost involuntarily, she opened the box in
which lay the money that Sonnenkamp had intrusted to her. How could she
say in future to those who received it: You must not thank me, but Herr
Sonnenkamp.

She collected herself, and went to the library, where she stood gazing
out of the window. It seemed as if something were actually gnawing at
her heart. In spite of inward reluctance, she had allowed herself to be
brought into these relations, and her power of clear and intelligent
perception seemed clouded.

Down the river there was a heavy roar, with a sharp cracking sound, as
if a new world were opening; the ice had broken up. Great blocks were
floating down the stream. They were hurled, against each other, turned
over, crushed into fragments, brought together again, and floated on.
Every block, large and small, was crowned with a wreath of snow, formed
by the icy splinters that were ground to powder and thrown on top by
the breaking up; the fragments