While he supported his wife, and the old countess was seeking to relieve her, Isabella also prepared to hasten to her mother’s assistance, but her husband stopped her with resistless strength, whispering:  “You know that these convulsions are not dangerous.  Come with me to the children.  I want to bid them farewell.  Show me in this last hour, at least, that these women are not more to you than I.”  He released her as he spoke, and the mental struggle which for a short time made her bosom heave violently with her hurried breathing ended with a low exclamation, “I will come.”

The nurse, whom Isabella sent out of the room when she entered with her husband, silently obeyed, but stopped at the door to watch.  She saw the turbulent knight kneel beside the children’s cradle before the wife whom he had so basely neglected, raise his tearful eyes to the majestic woman, whose stature was little less than his own and, lifting his clasped hands, make a confession which she could not hear; saw her draw him towards her, nestle with loving devotion against his broad breast, and place first one and then the other twin boy in his arms.

The young mother’s cheeks as well as the father’s were wet, but the eyes of both sparkled with grateful joy when Isabella, in taking leave of her husband, thanked him with a last loving kiss for the vow that, wherever he might go, he would treasure her and the children in his heart, and do everything in his power to secure a fate that should be worthy of them.

As Siebenburg went downstairs he met his father-in-law on the second-story landing.  Herr Casper, deadly pale, was clinging with his right hand to the baluster, pressing his left on his brow, as he vainly struggled for composure and breath.  He had forgotten to strengthen himself with food and drink, and the terrible blows of fate which had fallen upon him during these last hours of trial crushed, though but for a short time, his still vigorous strength.  The knight went nearer to help him, but when he offered Herr Casper his arm the old merchant angrily thrust it back and accepted a servant’s support.

While the man assisted him upstairs he repented that he had yielded to resentment, and not asked his son-in-law to try to discover Wolff’s hiding place, but no sooner had food and fiery wine strengthened him than his act seemed wise.  The return of the business partner, without whose knowledge he had incurred great financial obligations, would have placed him in the most painful situation.  The old gentleman would have been obliged to account to Wolff for the large sum which he owed to the Jew Pfefferkorn, the most impatient of his creditors, though he need not have told him that he had used it in Venice to gratify his love of gaming.  How should he answer his son if he asked why he had rejected his betrothed bride, and soon after condescended to receive her again as his daughter and enter into close relations with her father?  Yet this must be done.  Ernst Ortlieb was the only person who could help him.  It had become impossible to seek aid from Herr Berthold Vorchtel, the man whose oldest son Wolff had slain, and yet he possessed the means to save the sinking ship from destruction.