umbled in the dust, He
who never fails will lift him up again, for it is far easier to avoid
sin than, before God and one's own soul, to confess having sinned."

After a pause of a few moments, Richard continued: "There is an
excellent painting of the Prodigal's Return. It is by Fuehrich. The
artist has chosen the moment when the father is embracing his long-lost
son, now kneeling at his feet; the son, however, dares not venture to
embrace his father; bent down towards the earth, he folds his hands
upon his breast in humble, silent gratitude."

Johanna seemed to think that she might as well abandon all attempts to
change our views of religious matters. She arose from her seat and,
pressing the Bible to her bosom, left the room without uttering another
word.

"Come into the garden with me," said my wife to Richard. I was left
alone with Annette. Great tears were rolling down her cheeks. After a
little while she said that now she was at last really converted, but
not in the way that the church would wish her to be. She could at last
understand that the best consolation and the most elevating reflection,
in time of sorrow, is to consider individual suffering a part of a
great whole, and as a phase of the soul-experience of advancing
humanity.

She regretted that Bertha had not been with us. She felt sure, also,
that her husband would have been a delighted listener. He had always
felt attracted to Richard, although he had never become intimate with
him.

She hurried home in order, as I fancy, to write out for her husband's
benefit her impressions of what she had just heard.

Johanna left us that very day. She said that she now felt as a stranger
in our home, and consoled herself with the thought that she could feel
at home in the house of a Father whom we, alas! did not know.

We were neither anxious nor able to prevent her departure. And why
should I not confess it?--we felt more at our ease without her.

CHAPTER VII.

As far as she could, Bertha led a self-contained and secluded life. She
frankly admitted that she was not in the mood to worry about her lost
brother; her heart was filled with thoughts of her husband, the father
of her children.

When haymaking began on the mountain meadows, Bertha would go out and
assist in scattering the newly mown grass. She hoped that physical
exercise would enable her again to enjoy the refreshing sleep of her
childhood, and was quite