“Oh no; sleep is impossible; the pain in my arm is so great. My head feels quite stunned; the wound is burning!”
Jenny’s tears fell fast afresh.
“Believe me, Jenny,” said the baron, in a low, faint voice, “I would gladly die here, in your arms—only for the thought that”
“Be brave and patient, Edmund; you will not die. The doctor and the carriage will be here very soon now.”
“Will you be my wife, Jenny?”
“If it is only possible, Edmund, I will—gladly!”
“Your voice is trembling, dearest. If it were not for my unhappy mother, you—you would—already”
“Let us hope, dear Edmund.”
“Where is there—a woman of our station—with a heart like yours, my Jenny?”
“I entreat you, Edmund, do not speak. Spare yourself; do not exhaust yourself now with these agitating thoughts.”
The baron was silent for a few moments; then he began again, stopping at intervals. “Prejudices have great weight—from the very cradle they are fostered in us; but real, true feeling cannot be crushed down. These last three weeks—the superhuman effort before the searching eyes of my mother—and of her spies”
“For God’s sake, Edmund, I beg of you not to speak—not to agitate yourself! Every word and thought exhausts your strength in your present state. I beg of you, try to keep calm.”
“I will put my trust in God. He has brought us together here.”
“Thanks be to Heaven! Here is the carriage coming
