“The best should be the most loved, and in this love there should be no consideration of advantage or disadvantage, gain or loss, honor or dishonor, praise or blame, or anything else, but of that which in reality is the noblest and best, which should be the dearest of all; and for no other reason, but because it is the noblest and best.  According to this a man should plan his inner and outer life.  From without:  if among mankind there is one better than another, in proportion as the eternally good shines or works more in one than in another.  That being in whom the eternally good shines, works, is known and loved most, is therefore the best among mankind; and in whom this is most, there is also the most good.  As now a man has intercourse with a being, and apprehends this distinction, then the best being should be the dearest to him, and he should fervently cling to it, and unite himself with it. . . . . .”

“Because you are the most perfect creature that I know, Marie, therefore I am good to you, therefore you are dear to me, therefore we love each other.  Speak the word which lives in you, say that you are mine.  Deny not your innermost convictions.  God has imposed a life of suffering upon you.  He sent me to bear it with you.  Your sorrow shall be my sorrow, and we will bear it together, as the ship bears the heavy sails which guide it through the storms of life into the safe haven at last.”

She grew more and more silent, A gentle flush played upon her cheeks like the quiet evening gleam.  Then she opened her eyes full—­the sun gleamed all at once with marvellous lustre.

“I am yours,” said she.  “God wills it.  Take me just as I am; so long as I live I am yours, and may God bring us together again in a more beautiful life, and recompense your love.”

We lay heart to heart.  My lips closed the lips upon which had just now hung the blessing of my life, with a gentle kiss.  Time stood still for us.  The world about us disappeared.  Then a deep sigh escaped from her breast.  “May God forgive me for this rapture,” she whispered.  “Leave me alone now, I cannot endure more. Auf wiedersehen! my friend, my loved one, my savior.”

These were the last words I ever heard from her.  But no—­I had reached home and was lying upon my bed in troubled dreams.  It was past midnight when the Hofrath entered my room.  “Our angel is in Heaven,” said he; “here is the last greeting she sends you.”  With these words he gave me a letter.  It enclosed the ring which she had given me, and I once had given her, with the words:  “As God wills.”  It was wrapped in an old paper, whereon she had some time written the words I spoke to her when a child:  “What is thine, is mine.  Thy Marie.”