Dissolving in sorrow, Peregrine poured himself forth in protestations of the tenderest love, and repeated, that nothing in the world was so dear to him that he would not sacrifice it to her. Out of words grew kisses, but in these kisses again words, like the breathings of love, were distinguishable.
"You know, my Peregrine, how much I love you. I can be yours; you, mine,--I can recover on the spot--you will see me bloom again in my youthful splendour, like a flower refreshed by the morning dew, and joyfully lifting up his drooping head--but--give me up the prisoner, my dear, beloved Peregrine, or else you will see me perish, before your eyes, in unutterable death-pangs.----Peregrine--I can no more--it is all over!"
With this she sank back upon the cushions, from which she had half raised herself; her bosom heaved tumultuously up and down, as if, in the death-pangs; her lips grew bluer, and her eyes seemed to break.
In wild anguish Peregrine caught at his neckcloth, from which Master Flea now leapt, of his own accord, upon the white neck of the little-one, exclaiming, in a tone of the deepest grief--"I am lost I!"
Peregrine stretched out his hand to catch the Master, but suddenly it seemed as if some invisible power held back his arm; and far other thoughts ran through his head than those which till now had occupied it.
"How!" thought he--"because you are a frail man, and influenced by a mad passion, will you therefore betray him, to whom you have promised your protection? Will you therefore plunge a free, harmless people into eternal slavery, and utterly ruin the friend whose thoughts and words agree?--No--no--recollect yourself, Peregrine!--Rather die than be a traitor!"
"Give--up--the prisoner--I am dying!" stammered the little one, with failing voice.
"No!" cried Peregrine, while in despair he caught her in his arms--"No! never! But let me die with you!"
And now a fine, penetrating harmony was heard, as if little silver bells were struck. Dörtje, with fresh roses on her lips and cheeks, started up suddenly from the sofa, and, breaking into a convulsive laughter, skipt about the chamber. She seemed to have been bit by the tarantula.
Peregrine gazed in terror on the strange spectacle, and the same did the physician, who stood at the door quite petrified, keeping out Mr. Swammer, who had followed him.