"Poor helpless old woman that I am, what would you all do with me in the
busy life outside?"
But her worst fear was for me, in my journey alone to Wittemberg, which
seemed to her, who for forty years had never passed the convent walls,
so long and perilous. Aunt Agnes always thinks of me as a young girl,
and imagines every one must think me beautiful, because love makes me so
to her. She is sure they will take me for some princess in disguise.
She forgets I am a quiet, sober-looking woman of seven-and-twenty, whom
no one will wonder to see gravely plodding along the highway.
But I almost made her promise to come to us at Wittemberg; and at last
she reproached herself with distrusting God, and said she ought never to
have feared that his angels would watch over me.
Once more, then, the world opens before me; but I do not hope (and why
should I wish?) that it should be more to me than this convent has
been,--a place where God will be with me and give me some little loving
services to do for him.
But my heart does yearn to embrace dear Aunt Cotta and Else once more,
and little Thekla. And when Thekla marries, and Aunt and Uncle Cotta are
left alone, I think they may want me, and Cousin Eva may grow old among
Else's children, and all the grandchildren, helping one and another a
little, and missed a little when God takes me.
But chiefly I long to be near Aunt Cotta, now that Fritz is in that
terrible prison. She always said I comforted her more than any one, and
I think I may again.