"I will keep you, save you, and tear you from the arms of death," cried
Gotthold, clasping Cecilia's hands, "you and your child, whom you would
kill, if, while ill and feverish, you exposed it to the dangers of a
journey, which, under any circumstances, would be a useless cruelty,
for he would know how to find you there or anywhere if he wants to do
so--there as well as here, and therefore you must not stay here. You
can remain nowhere, except under my protection, I repeat it. I will
guard you. Cecilia, have you then no faith in me, my courage, my
strength, my judgment? And I too cannot tell you all, how I intend to
save you, will save you; I must beg you to let me take my own way,
without explanation. Is not what is fair for women, right for men? May
not cases occur for us also, in which we act as duty and honor command,
and which we can confide only to a man? And, Cecilia, when I tell you
that I have trusted to a man, to whom from childhood you have looked up
with deep reverence, without suspecting that you owed him the respect
so freely paid--and this man approves of my plan and resolution, and
will himself do all in his power that the plan may not remain a plan,
that the resolution may be executed--and this man will assure you of
the fact with his own lips--Cecilia, I will bring this old man, your
ancestor, to you, and when kneeling before him with his hand resting
upon your head, the past, which seems as brazen and immutable as fate,
reels and totters, you will perhaps believe that the present is not
unalterably fixed for those who live and love!"