For a long time she remained motionless in her chair, absorbed in reverie; but gradually her face brightened, her lips moved, and her eyes glistened with resolution.  As she was endeavoring to fight bravely against misfortune, she suddenly heard the wheels of her father’s caleche returning to Grinselhof.  She ran down instantly to meet him; and as he drew up at the door she perceived the poor sufferer buried in a corner of the vehicle, apparently deprived of all consciousness; and, when he descended from the vehicle and she saw his expression distinctly, the deadly pallor that covered his haggard cheeks almost made her sink to the earth with anxiety.  Indeed, she had neither heart nor strength to utter a word to him; but, standing aside in silence, she allowed the old man to enter the house and bury himself as usual in his chamber.

For some minutes she stood on the door-sill, undecided as to what she should do; but by degrees her brow and cheeks began to redden, and the light of resolution shone in her moistened eyes.

“Ought the feeling of respect to restrain me longer?” said she to herself; “shall I let my father die without an effort?  No! no!  I must know all!  I must tear the worm from his heart; I must save him by my love!”

Without a moment’s further delay, she ran rapidly through three or four chambers, and came to the apartment where her father was seated with his elbows resting on the table and his head buried in his hands.  Throwing herself on her knees at his feet, and with hands raised to him in supplication,—­

“Have mercy on me, father!” exclaimed she; “have mercy on me, I beseech you on my knees; tell me what it is that distresses you!  I must know why it is that my father buries himself in this solitude and seems to fly even from his child!”

“Lenora! thou last and only treasure that remainest to me on earth,” replied De Vlierbeck, in a broken voice, with despair in his wild gaze,—­“thou hast suffered, dreadfully, my child, hast thou not?  Rest thy poor head in my bosom.  A terrible blow, my child, is about to fall on us!”

Lenora did not seem to pay any attention to these remarks, but, disengaging herself from her father’s embrace, replied, in firm and decided tones,—­

“I have not come here, father, for consolation, but with the unalterable determination to learn the cause of your suffering.  I will not go away without knowing what misfortune it is that has so long deprived me of your love.  No matter how much I may venerate you and respect your silence, the sense of duty is greater even than veneration.  I must—­I will—­know the secret of your grief!”

“Thou deprived of thy father’s love?” exclaimed De Vlierbeck, reproachfully and with surprise;—­love for thee, my adored child, is precisely the secret of my grief.  For ten years I have drained the bitter cup and prayed the Almighty to make you happy; but, alas! my prayers have always been unheard!”