l into each other's
arms. Both wept bitterly: for a long time neither of them could find
words in which to express the grief which filled their souls. At length
Viola, her head resting upon Ephraim's shoulder, whispered: "Ephraim,
what do you think of him?"

"He is ill, I think..." said Ephraim, in a voice choked with sobs.

"What, you call _that_ illness, Ephraim?" Viola cried; "if that's
illness, then a wild beast is ill too."

"Viola, for Heaven's sake, be quiet: he 's our own father after all!"

"Ephraim!" said the girl, with a violent outburst of emotion, as she
again threw herself into her brother's arms... "just think if mother had
lived to see this!"

"Don't, don't, Viola, my sweet!" Ephraim exclaimed, sobbing
convulsively.

"Ephraim!" the girl cried, shaking her head in wild despair, "I don't
believe in the _Sechus!_ When we live to see all this, and our hearts do
not break, we lose faith in everything.... Ephraim, what is to become of
us?"

"Hush, dear Viola, hush, you don't know what you are saying," replied
Ephraim, "I believe in it, because mother herself told us... you must
believe in it too."

But Viola again shook her head. "I don't believe in it any longer," she
moaned, "I can't."

Noiselessly, Ephraim walked toward the door of the front room; he placed
his ear against the keyhole, and listened. Within all was silent. A
fresh terror seized him. Why was no sound to be heard?... He opened the
door cautiously lest it should creak. There sat his father asleep in
the arm-chair, his head bent on his bosom, his arms hanging limp by his
side.

"Hush, Viola," he whispered, closing the door as cautiously as he had
opened it, "he is asleep....I think it will do him good. Be careful that
you make no noise."

Viola had seated herself upon a block of wood outside the kitchen door,
and was sobbing silently. In the meantime, Ephraim, unable to find a
word of solace for his sister, went and stood at the street door, so
that no unbidden guest should come to disturb his father's slumbers.
It was mid-day; from the church hard by streamed the peasants and their
wives in their Sunday attire, and many bestowed a friendly smile upon
the well-known youth. But he could only nod his head in return, his
heart was sore oppressed, and a smile at such a moment seemed to him
nothing short of sin. He went back into the house, and listened at the
door of the room. Silence still reigned unbroken, and with noiseless
steps