Alide by Emma Lazarus

Both Goethe and Alide looked forward with dread to the separation on the morrow; but when it came it was no tragic farewell. At the last moment they found themselves in the midst of the family, where cheerful and affectionate embraces were exchanged, as befitted friends who were separating for a brief term and who would still be but a short distance apart. There was even much merriment among them in the confusion of good-byes. They were all to meet in the autumn at latest for Rahel's wedding, and in the meantime frequent visits to the parsonage were promised by the younger Burkhardts. As for Goethe, he said he would be with them, in a week, if he could snatch a day; and Rahel, who was in high spirits, refused to bid him good-by, in order to insure his coming.

Alide was calm and quiet, and preserved her ordinary appearance and demeanor. All the cheerfulness around her did not deceive her unerring intuitions. "This is the end," she kept repeating mechanically to herself. She was in one of those moods when the necessity of a supreme effort strings the nerves to their utmost tension. She could have laughed as naturally as the rest; she could utter careless words to her kinsfolk, yes, to Wolfgang himself; she could think with a curious accuracy of every detail of their departure and journey; she observed with more than her usual keenness everything around her, whether ludicrous or serious. And all the time there was a leaden weight upon her brain, and she felt as if her heart and soul had been eaten out of her.