completed, she says: 'There's no hurry
about that, father.' Yes, yes, Herr Koenig, it's just as I say: the will
is good, for she still means to marry him; but what notion she's taken
into her head, to be suddenly absorbed in Schiller when she ought to be
thinking of making up underclothes and bed-linen--if I've got the least
idea, I'll never attempt to tell the difference between neat's leather
and calf skin again. By the way, where's your daughter? It's an age
since I've had the honor--"

The little artist, who had listened with evident sympathy, was so much
disturbed by this question that his only answer was a heavy sigh. At
last he said: "The dear God some times tries us very severely, Herr
Feyertag. He has long showered blessings upon me, I was happy in my
home and in my art, and really always strove hard to keep my mind
humble that I might not be rendered arrogant by so many mercies. Since
I've become a court-artist, especially, I've examined my heart and
uprooted every fibre of pride, for after all there are many far more
deserving and talented than I, who yet accomplish nothing, while my
modest speciality--but now I've been chastised in what was dearest to
me. My Leah's health is failing, no one knows what to do for her, even
Dr. Marquard can say nothing except that it may improve when the
weather is more favorable, when we can travel. But its now February,
who knows how matters will be in April or May. Oh! my dear friend, all
my life I've clung to the consolation that our heavenly father
chastises us because he loves us, but if I should be compelled to
endure--"

He paused suddenly and without, as usual, leaving his regards for
Madame Feyertag, hastily quitted the shop.

At this time, Edwin had been out of danger for several weeks and even a
relapse was no longer to be feared. His physical health was visibly
improving; but his intellect seemed inexpressibly slow in regaining its
clearness and strength. He could sit at the window for hours with a
very cheerful face, without seeking any amusement or occupation. Not
until the first days of early spring came and he could drive out in the
noonday sun, did the mist which had settled on his mind gradually
dissolve. His memory regained its power slowest of all. When the events
which had occurred during the last few months before Balder's death
were mentioned, it was with the greatest difficulty that he could
re-unite the sundered threads.

Even after nursing was n