ved clover last summer, that you ask me this
question?"

Without replying, Magde hastily opened a clothes press, and produced an
old compass box, from which she took a handful of withered clover
leaves.

"See here," said she.

"And do these not convince you?" inquired Ragnar.

In this old box, Magde preserved, so to speak, the tokens of her wedded
joys. From the first year of her marriage, she, whenever her husband
was absent, would seek in the meadow for four-leaved clovers, under the
conviction that so long as she continued to find them, she might rely
upon the continued love and fidelity of her husband. And she was
invariably successful, and each year she deposited the clover leaves in
the old compass box. As Ragnar uttered his last question, Magde cast
herself upon his breast, and gazed tenderly into his face.

"O don't look at me too closely, to-morrow I will look better, after I
am washed and dressed," said Ragnar, arranging his shirt bosom, and
smoothing down his jacket collar.

"You are so good already, that if you should be better it would be
dangerous; but Ragnar, you have forgotten to measure the children to see
how much they have grown since your departure. You used to do that as
soon as you entered the house after a return from a long voyage."

"This time," replied Ragnar, "you greeted me with such strange news that
I quite forgot all my usual habits. It grieves me to observe that Carl
is upon the verge of the grave. True, he was ill last winter; but he
soon recovered."

"He exerted himself too much during our troubles," said Magde, "then he
has taken no care of himself, and then--yes, yes, there is something
very strange about Carl."

"What do you mean by strange, Magde?" inquired her husband. "Do you
think that he is really insane?"

"Oh no, I did not mean that; but--"

"Speak on, speak your mind."

"Now, do not laugh at my fancy--or be vexed with poor Carl. I think
that--he loves me too much, and his passion has weighed heavily upon
him, although he does not, himself, understand it."

"Your words are worthy of reflection, Magde; now I remember, his conduct
did appear peculiar when he said he envied me the privilege of kissing
you. Poor fellow, how could I be vexed with him? He, probably, never
desired to vex either you or myself."

"Never. Frequently during the summer I have placed flowers in his room,
and in them he took his greatest delight. Even now he loves to hear me
sing to him,