er our griefs.

I have experienced much bitter suffering:--I have gazed into the grave
that had received all that had been dearest to me on earth, but no pain
can be compared to that of grief for a son, who, though living, is
lost.

Morning had already dawned. The birds were singing in the trees; the
sun had returned; all life seemed to awake anew; and at last I found an
hour's sleep.

"Destroyer of sleep!" were the first words I uttered when I awoke.

How can he enjoy a moment's rest, or swallow a morsel of food while he
knows that his parents are sorrowing for him.

I have often been advised--it is easy enough to say the words--"Make up
your mind to blot his name from your memory." But it is not so easy to
follow such counsel.

My wife softly slumbered through the whole night. Will she ever again
have so refreshing a sleep?

CHAPTER IV.

The morning was bright and clear. We were seated around the breakfast
table, every one of us doubly oppressed. We were grieved on our own
account, and troubled by the thought that the mother's heart was soon
to become rent by the sad tidings.

Richard had told the news to Bertha.

My wife seemed to be watching Bertha, and at last reproved her for
having been weeping again. "It is our duty," said she, "to accept the
inevitable with resignation. Mankind might well be likened to the
plants in the field, which are obliged quietly to submit to the storm
that descends on their heads."

We exchanged hurried glances, but Bertha did not reply.

"Will my wife be as strong in a few moments from now?" was the question
I inwardly asked myself.

Rothfuss was heard cracking his whip in front of the house. He was
about to drive out into the fields, taking Martella with him.

His intention was to tell her all that had happened as soon as he
reached the fields, so that she might there spend her rage, and not
annoy the household by her noise.

Victor rode along with them.

My wife inquired whether the newspaper had not yet come, or why I was
not reading it, and wished to know what was the matter.

The moment had arrived. I gathered up all the courage that was yet left
me, and said, "We will take you at your word--'It is our duty to accept
the inevitable with resignation.'"

"What is it? Tell me."

"Our son Ernst has--deserted!"

"After all!" exclaimed my wife, while she laid her clinched fists on
her heart, as if to prevent it from burstin