He drew near and leant over the child.

"You will be well to-morrow, my sweet pet. Do you see, Herr Frank has
come to see you?"

"Mamma!" whispered the child.

"Your mother will come to-morrow, my Eliza. She will bring you
something pretty. My wife has been for the last two weeks at her
sister's, who lives a few miles from here," said Siegwart, turning to
Frank. "I sent a messenger for her early this morning."

While the father sat on the bed and held Eliza's hand in his, Frank
observed Angela, who scarcely turned her eyes from the sick child. Her
whole soul seemed taken up with her suffering sister. Only once had she
looked inquiringly at Frank, to read in his face his opinion of the
condition of Eliza. She stood immovable at the foot of the bed, as
mild, as pure, and as beautiful as the guardian angel of the child.

Both men left the room.

"I will immediately seek the doctor, who is now on his walk," said
Frank.

"Shall I send my servant for him?"

"That is unnecessary," returned Frank. "And even if your servant should
find the doctor, he would probably not be inclined to shorten his walk.
Our gardener, who works in the chestnut grove, will show me the way the
doctor took. In an hour and a half at furthest I will be back."

The young man pressed the outstretched hand of Siegwart, and hastened
away.

In the mean time the doctor and the professor had reached a narrow,
wooded ravine, on both sides of which the rocks rose almost
perpendicularly. The path on which they talked passed near a little
brook, that flowed rippling over the pebbles in its bed. The branches
of the young beeches formed a green roof over the path, and only here
and there were a few openings through which the sun shot its sloping
beams across the cool, dusky way, and in the sunbeams floated and
danced dust-colored insects and buzzing flies.

The learned saunterers continued their amusement without altercation
until the professor's presumption offended the doctor and led to a
vehement dispute.

Klingenberg did not appear on the stage of publicity. He left boasting
and self-praise to others, far inferior to him in knowledge. He
despised that tendency which pursues knowledge only to command, which
cries down any inquiry that clashes with their theories. The doctor
published no learned work, nor did he write for the periodicals, to
defend his views. But if he happened to meet a scientific opponent, he
fought him with sharp, cutting weapo