He threw himself forward on the stove,
covering it with kisses, and sobbing as though his heart would burst
from his bosom.
What could he do? Nothing, nothing, nothing!
"August, dear August," whispered Dorothea piteously, and trembling all
over--for she was a very gentle girl, and fierce feeling terrified
her--"August, do not lie there. Come to bed: it is quite late. In the
morning you will be calmer. It is horrible indeed, and we shall die of
cold, at least the little ones; but if it be father's will--"
"Let me alone," said August, through his teeth, striving to still the
storm of sobs that shook him from head to foot. "Let me alone. In the
morning!--how can you speak of the morning?"
"Come to bed, dear," sighed his sister. "Oh, August, do not lie and
look like that! you frighten me. Do come to bed."
"I shall stay here."
"Here! all night!"
"They might take it in the night. Besides, to leave it _now_."
"But it is cold! the fire is out."
"It will never be warm any more, nor shall we."
All his childhood had gone out of him, all his gleeful, careless,
sunny temper had gone with it; he spoke sullenly and wearily, choking
down the great sobs in his chest. To him it was as if the end of the
world had come.
His sister lingered by him while striving to persuade him to go to his
place in the little crowded bedchamber with Albrecht and Waldo and
Christof. But it was in vain. "I shall stay here," was all he answered
her.
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