chimney-piece, and clasped her hands in silent
rapture. When she was able to speak, she put her arm round Minna's waist.

"Let me teach you, my love, to admire this glorious work," she said, and
delivered quite a little lecture on the merits of the chimney-piece. "Oh,
if I could but take the merest sketch of it!" she exclaimed, by way of
conclusion. "But no, it is too much to ask." She examined everything in
the room with the minutest attention. Even the plain little table by the
bed-side, with a jug and a glass on it, did not escape her observation.
"Is that his drink?" she asked, with an air of respectful curiosity. "Do
you think I might taste it?"

Mr. Engelman laughed. "It's only barley-water, dear lady," he said. "Our
rheumatic old housekeeper makes as few journeys as possible up and down
stairs. When she sets the room in order in the evening, she takes the
night-drink up with her, and so saves a second journey."

"Taste it, Minna," said the widow, handing the glass to her daughter.
"How refreshing! how pure!"

Mr. Engelman, standing on the other side of her, whispered in her ear. I
was just behind them, and could not help hearing him. "You will make me
jealous," he said; "you never noticed _my_ night-drink--_I_ have beer."

The widow answered him by a look; he heaved a little sigh of happiness.
Poor Mr. Engelman!

Minna innocently broke in on this mute scene of sentiment.

She was looking at the pictures in the room, and asked for explanations
of them which Mr. Engelman only could afford. It struck me as odd that
her mother's artistic sympathies did not appear to be excited by the
pictures. Instead of joining her daughter at the other end of the room,
she stood by the bedside with her hand resting on the little table, and
her eyes fixed on the jug of barley-water, absorbed in thought. On a
sudden, she started, turned quickly, and caught me observing her. I might
have been deceived by the lamp-light; but I thought I saw a flash of
expression under her heavy eyelids, charged with such intensity of angry
suspicion that it startled me. She was herself again, before I could
decide whether to trust my own strong impression or not.

"Do I surprise you, David?" she asked in her gentlest tones. "I ought to
be looking at the pictures, you think? My friend! I can't always control
my own sad recollections. They will force themselves on me--sometimes
when the most trifling associations call them up. Dear Mr. Engelman
u