Barefoot cried with a loud voice: 

“Marianne!  Marianne!  Wake up, Marianne!  Happiness and blessing are here!  Wake up!”

The old woman sat up in bed; the moonlight fell upon her face and neck.  She opened her eyes wide and said: 

“What is it?  What is it?  Who calls?”

“Rejoice!  Here I bring you my John!”

“My John!” screamed the old woman, “Good God, my John!  How long—­how long—­I have thee—­I have thee!  Oh God, I thank thee a thousand and a thousand times!  Oh, my child, my boy!  I see thee with a thousand eyes, and a thousandfold—­No, there—­there—­thy hand!  Come here—­there—­there in the chest is thy dowry!  Take the cloth!  My son! my boy!  Yes, yes, she is thine!  John, my son, my son! my—­”

The old woman laughed convulsively, and fell back in her bed.  Amrei and John had knelt down beside her, and when they stood up and bent over her, she had ceased to breathe.

“Oh, heavens!  She is dead!  Joy killed her!” exclaimed Barefoot.  “She took you for her son.  She died happy.  Oh, why is it thus in the world, why is it thus?” She sank down by the bed again, and sobbed bitterly.

At last John raised her up, and Barefoot closed the dead woman’s eyes.  For a long time they stood together beside the bed; then Barefoot said: 

“Come, I will wake up people who will watch by her body.  God has been very gracious; she would have no one to care for her when I was gone.  And God has given her the greatest joy in the last moment of her life.  How long, oh, how long, she waited for that joy!”

“Yes, but you cannot stay here now,” said John.  “You must go with me this very night.”

Barefoot woke up the gravedigger’s wife, and sent her to Black Marianne.  Her mind was so wonderfully composed that she remembered to tell the woman that the flowers, which stood on her window-ledge at the farm, were to be planted on Black Marianne’s grave; and especially that she was not to forget to put Black Marianne’s hymn-book under her head, as she had always wished.

When at last she had arranged everything, she stood up erect and, stretching out her arms, said: 

“Now everything is done.  You must forgive me, good man, that I was obliged to bring you to a house of sorrow; and forgive me, too, if I am not now as I should wish to be.  I see now that all is well, and that God has ordered it for the best.  But still I shake with fear in every limb—­it is a hard thing to die.  You cannot imagine how I have almost puzzled my brains out about it.  But now all is well, and I will be cheerful—­for I am the happiest girl in the world!”

“Yes, you are right.—­But come, let us go.  Will you ride with me on my horse?” asked John.

“Yes.  Is it the white horse that you had at the wedding at Endringen?”

“To be sure!”

“And, oh, that Farmer Rodel!  If he didn’t send to Lauterbach the night before you came and have a white horse brought from there, so as to get you to come to his house.  Holloa! white horse, go home again!” she concluded, almost merrily.