"I hope it will be a boy,--Ernestine longs for a boy," sighed Angelika.

"Past two o"clock," said Hilsborn. "I wish they would send us some one to say how she is."

Suddenly the door was flung open, and old Heim"s deep voice cried, "It is over."

"Thank G.o.d!" they all exclaimed as with one breath.

"Is it a boy?" asked Angelika.

"No, a girl!"

"A girl!" said Moritz. "Well, ""tis not pretty, but sin is uglier," as the Suabian said."

"Do be quiet! What would Ernestine say if she heard you, you mocker?"

said Angelika. "May we not go to her, Uncle Heim?"

"No, stay where you are," said the old man, closing the door.

Within Ernestine"s apartment all was quiet and repose. Johannes was standing, mute with happiness, by Ernestine"s side, supporting her head, when he was called to look at his little daughter, a bundle of snowy wrappings in her grandmother"s arms.

He took the little creature from her and laid it by his wife"s side.

"Mother," was all he said, leaning over her enraptured for awhile, gazing into the pure delight mirrored in her eyes. At last he raised his head, and said, laughingly, "But, Ernestine, "it is only a girl.""

"Be it so. I do not question what G.o.d has sent me. I am a mother. I envy no man now, and our daughter shall never do so. We will cherish and train our child to be what a true woman should be, and some day she may say to one whom she loves, as I do to you, my dearest, "Thank G.o.d that I am a woman, and that I am yours.""

"Ernestine," said Johannes, "those are the dearest words you could utter. Happy the daughter of such a mother! Father Heim, mother dear, did you hear Ernestine"s confession? She is reconciled at last to the destiny of her s.e.x."

Ernestine gazed at the atom of being by her side, as if it were a miracle. She quite agreed with the Staatsrathin that it was a wonderfully pretty child for a new-born baby, and, as she laid her hand upon its little heart and felt its regular beating, she smiled amid her tears, and would gladly have clasped it in her arms, only it seemed so frail and slight she was afraid of breaking it.

"Uncle Heim," she said, "I once thought that it would have been better if you had left me to die when my father gave me that almost fatal blow, but since then I have been often grateful to you for preserving my life, although never so grateful as at this moment."

"Ah, bah!" said the old man, "I was only the physician of your body.

Reserve your grat.i.tude for this fellow," he laid his hand upon Johannes" shoulder,--"he was the physician for your soul, and so judicious was his treatment, that now you can have some comfort of your life."

Ernestine looked up gratefully at her husband. "Yes, faithful physician of my soul,--your medicines were very bitter, but they were my salvation."

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 1: See Du Bois Reymond: _Voltaire, in Relation to Natural Sciences_. Berlin, 1868.]

THE END