e pages are for no human
eyes but those of its head, and after that of the next heir. He who
reads this book knows what no stranger should--nay, as far as this book
goes, the most intimate friend is a stranger. Neither as merchant nor as
upright man can I comply with your wish."

Sabine held his hand fast. "But do look at it, Wohlfart; look at least
at its title." She pointed out its cover. "Here you have T. O. Schroeter."
Then turning over the pages, "There are few empty columns here; the book
ends with the last year." Then opening the second volume, she said,
"This book is empty, but here we find another firm; look at least at its
title."

Anton read, "With God--Private Ledger of T. O. Schroeter and Company."

Sabine pressed his hand, and said gently, and as with entreaty, "And you
are to be the new partner, my friend."

Anton stood motionless; but his heart beat wildly, and his face flushed
up brightly. Sabine still held his hand. He saw her face near his, and,
light as a breath, her lips touched his. He flung his arms around her,
and the two happy lovers were clasped in speechless embrace.

The door opened, and the merchant appeared. "Hold fast the runaway!"
cried he. "Yes, Anton, I have wished this for years. Since that time
when you knelt by my bed and bound up my wound in a foreign land, I have
cherished the hope of uniting you forever to our life. When you left us,
I was angry at seeing my hope baffled. Now then, enthusiast, we have you
safe--safe in our private book and in our arms." He drew the lovers to
him.

"You have chosen a poor partner," cried Anton, on his new brother's
breast.

"Not so, my brother. Sabine has shown herself a judicious merchant.
Neither wealth nor position have any value for the individual or the
community without the healthy energy which keeps the dead metal in
life-producing action. You bring into the business the courage of youth
and the wisdom of experience. Welcome to our house and to our hearts!"

Radiant with joy, Sabine held both the hands of her betrothed: "I have
been hardly able to bear seeing you so silent and so sad. Every day when
you rose from the dinner-table I used to feel that I must fly after you,
and tell you before that you belonged to us. You blind one, you never
found out what was passing within me, and Lenore's betrothed has known
it all!"

"He!" exclaimed Anton. "I never spoke of you to him."

"Look here!" cried Sabine, taking Fink's note from her po