osition which I can not leave without the consent of others.
I was not prepared for this proposal, and beg to have time allowed me
for consideration. It is a step which will decide my whole future life."

"I do not press you," said the baroness; "I only request your
consideration. Whatever your decision be, our warmest gratitude will
still be yours; if you are unable to uphold our feeble strength, I fear
that we shall find no one to do so. You will think of that," she added,
beseechingly.

Anton hurried through the street with throbbing pulse. The noble lady's
glance of entreaty, Lenore's folded hands, beckoned him out of the
gloomy counting-house into a sphere of greater liberty, into a new
future, from whose depths bright images flashed out upon his fancy. A
request had been frankly made, and he was strongly inclined to justify
the confidence that prompted it. Those ladies required an unwearied,
self-sacrificing helper to save them from utter ruin, and if he
followed his impulse he should be doing a good work--fulfilling a duty.

In this mood he entered the merchant's dwelling. Alas! all that he saw
around him seemed to stretch out a hand to detain him. As he looked at
the warehouse, the good-humored faces of the porters, the chains of the
great scales, the hieroglyphics of the worthy Pix, again he felt that
this was the place that he belonged to. Sabine's dog kissed his hand,
and ran before him to his room--his and Fink's room. Here the childish
heart of the orphan boy had found a friend, kind companions, a home, a
definite and honorable life-purpose. Looking down through his window on
all the long-familiar objects, he saw a light in Sabine's store-chamber.
How often he had sought for that light, which brightened the whole great
building, and brought a sense of comfort and cheerfulness even into his
room. He now sprang up suddenly, and said to himself, "She shall
decide."

Sabine started in amazement when Anton appeared before her. "I am
irresistibly impelled to seek you," cried he. "I have to decide upon my
future life, and I feel undetermined, and unable to trust to my own
judgment. You have always been a kind friend to me since the day of my
arrival. I am accustomed to look up to you, and to think of you in
connection with all that interests me here. Let me hear your opinion
from your own lips. The Baroness Rothsattel has to-day proposed to me
permanently to undertake the situation of confidential adviser and