, there was
traceable, together with her pride in having so good a son, her sorrow
at being unable to embrace him at such a time, and her anxious fear
that it was not so much work that kept him away, but rather the
melancholy unsocial mood which even made his letters short.

"Are you still reading them?" he at length asked. "They are simple
people, and when they write, the best that is in them does not always
get put on paper. Good God! thou art weeping, Lottka!"

She laid the letters on the box, rose hurriedly, and pressed back the
tears that still welled from between her long eye-lashes. "I will go
now," she faintly said. "I shall be better out of doors."

"Go? now? and where? The storm would blow you down. Remain here for
to-night, and if you like--the kitchen is close by--two chairs will do
for me--and besides I have not a thought of sleeping."

She shook her head, and looked down. Then she suddenly raised her eyes,
and looked full at his with an expression that made his heart beat
wildly.

"Not so," she said. "But it is true that the storm without would blow
me down, and where too could I go? Is this not Christmas Eve, and the
last that we shall ever spend together. And I must give thee something,
my presents to the children gave me no real pleasure, and why should I
not on this day at least think of _myself_ as well? Am I not right,
Sebastian?"

She had never before called him by his name.

"Thou wilt give me something?" enquired he, amazed and uncertain.

"The only thing I still possess--myself," she gasped, and wound her
arms about his neck.

* * * * *

When he woke in the dark on the morrow, and half raised himself from
bed, still uncertain whether it had been real or only the most wondrous
of dreams, the chamber was empty, not a trace remained of the last
night's visitor. He felt all round his little sitting-room, called her
gently by name, thinking she had perhaps stolen into the kitchen just
for a freak, and would soon return. But all was silent. The intense
cold overcame him, and with teeth chattering he slipped back into bed,
and there, propped by pillows, tried to collect his thoughts.

Before long a horrible fear sprung up within him. With burning brow,
despite the icy air, he hastily drew on his clothes, and kindled a
light. The Christmas gifts of his family were still on the table, and
he suddenly discovered a sheet written over in pencil pushed betwe