there, the light fell on his face--a sweet, kind
face it was, something like yours, and still more like the baroness, as
far as I have been able to see her."

The blind man, too, stretched out his hands to grasp the porter's fist.
Sturm pushed his bench forward, took the baron's hands in his right one,
and stroked them with his left. Both sat silent, side by side.

At last the baron began with broken voice to say, "You were the last who
showed kindness to my Eugene. I thank you for it from my inmost heart.
An unfortunate, broken-down man thanks you. So long as I live I shall
implore the blessing of the Most High on your head. My son will never
support my feeble footsteps in my old age, but Heaven has preserved a
good son to you. All the blessings that I wished for my poor Eugene, I
now pray to God may be the portion of your Karl."

Sturm wiped his eyes, and then clasped the baron's hands again. The two
fathers sat together in silence, till, with a sigh, the baron rose.
Sturm carefully took his arm, and led him through yard and meadow to the
castle terrace; for there is a road now up to the tower--a road with a
stone parapet, and the door can be reached by carriages and on foot.
Sturm rings the bell, the baron's valet hurries down, and leads his
master up the steps, for Father Sturm still finds a staircase hard work.

Meanwhile a carriage stops in the farm-yard. Karl respectfully hurries
from his room, and the new proprietor jumps down.

"Good-day, sergeant," cried Fink; "how goes it in the castle and on the
farm? How are the Fraeulein and the baroness?"

"All right," reported Karl, "only the baroness is very feeble. We have
been expecting you for a week past. The family have been daily asking
whether there were any tidings of you."

"I was detained," said Fink; "and perhaps I should not be back now, but
that, since this fall of snow, there is no judging of land. I have
bought Dobrowitz."

"Zounds!" cried Karl, in delight.

"Capital ground," continued Fink; "five hundred acres of wood, in which
the manure lies nearly a foot deep. In the Polish hole close by, which
they call a town, the Jews thronged like ants when they heard that
henceforth our spurs would jingle daily over their market-place. I say,
bailiff, you will be delighted when you see the new property. I have a
great mind to send you over there next spring. But what have you
there--a letter from Anton? Let's have it." He hastily tore it open. "Is
the