e him wait, and was not so
completely engrossed with his own hopes of happiness but that he could
perceive its cause and could feel sorrow for it. All these years had
Andreas cared for this sweet Roschen, and had cherished her as his
dearest treasure; and now, when the best time of her life had come, he
was asked to give her up to a love that rested its claim for recognition
upon nothing more substantial than promises of care taking which
the future might or might not make good. That Andreas, under such
circumstances, even should consider his request, touched Ludwig's good
heart with gratitude; and the love that he had for a long while felt
towards the old man led him now to pat an arm around his shoulder, as
a son might have done, and to tell him that the home which he had ready
for Roschen was ready for Roschen's father too. And Lud wig's voice also
trembled a little. Andreas did not speak, but he put his thin hand into
the big brown hand--much stained with the dark wax which shoemakers use
and with long handling of leather--that Ludwig held out to him; and
when they had stood together thus affectionately for a little time they
parted, silently.

In truth, Andreas was more deeply moved than even Ludwig, for all his
affectionate sympathy, had divined. His love for Roschen was a double
love. With the love of a father he had watched over her these many
years; yet even stronger had come to be his love for her as her mother
born again. Sometimes, for whole days together, confusing the past with
the present, he would call her Christine; and in his heart he ever
gave greater room to the fancy that the life which he had hoped for was
realized, and that the life which he was living was a dream. No wonder,
then, that he asked for a little time in which to school himself to meet
the fate that at a single blow brought destruction to his dear home on
earth and to his dearer castle in the air.

Roschen was abroad that afternoon, and as Andreas, alone with his birds,
turned over in his mind the answers which he must give to these young
men--who sought to take to themselves, for the greater pleasure of their
young lives, the single happiness which his old life had left to it--a
great bitterness possessed his soul. When they had so much and he so
little, it was cruel of them to seek to rob him thus, he thought. And
their love, after all, was but the growth of a day, while his love had
been growing steadily for forty years. Roschen wa