were under
mine; but you wouldn't claim me. There is some disgrace!" The old man
nodded. "Ah, then it's my mother!" cried Helene.

"Your mother? No! No!" cried Von Barwig. "No! she was an angel; an
angel of goodness, of purity."

"Then what are you concealing?" cried Helene; "of what are you ashamed?
Of what is he ashamed?"

Von Barwig rocked himself in agony, but at last he forced himself to
speak.

"It's a little story of life, of love--foolishness; of--of folly. Ah,
it is ended, ended!" wailed the old man. "It is over and done with.
Why should we bring it out into the daylight when it has slept so long
over there in Leipsic. Surely it has slept itself into silence. No!
no! The secret is buried there in Leipsic. I--I put these orange
blossoms on its grave!" and Von Barwig gently took the flowers from
her. "I take them back to Leipsic; a little token of silence she would
love."

"Now I know why she cried so constantly," sobbed Helene. "She was
thinking of you!" She grasped his hand and looked pleadingly into his
face. "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?"

Von Barwig shook his head. "Silence is best! The marriage is over; I
have the orange blossoms," and the old man kissed them tenderly.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" entreated Helene.

"Your husband, what does he say?" said Von Barwig, in a low voice. He
felt he could not restrain himself much longer.

Beverly came forward. "He says: 'Who giveth this woman to be married
to this man?'"

Von Barwig shook his head. The tears were running down his cheeks, and
when he tried to withdraw his hand from hers Helene refused to let it
go.

"Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" she said
entreatingly.

Von Barwig could restrain himself no longer. "Well, perhaps I do," he
said in a voice trembling with emotion; "perhaps I do!" Taking her in
his arms, he kissed her again and again.

"At last, at last! My little Elene! My little baby--my little baby!"

"Father, father!" was all Helene could say. Beverly looked out of the
window.

"Now we mend that doll with the broken eye," said the old man, gulping
down a sob and smiling through his tears.

"Yes, father," and Helene took his face between her two hands.

"Say it again!" he murmured. "It is the sound I have listened for
these sixteen years."

"Father!" repeated Helene.

Beverly looked at his watch. "The steamer leaves in less than an