ith in me. I have worked--I am rich--I have
amassed wealth--only for her. I thought of my child as I sat at
my desk during the long, weary nights, busied with difficult
calculations. I remembered my daughter when I was wearied out and
overcome by this laborious work. She should be happy; she should be
rich and great as any princess; for this I worked. I had no time to
toy or laugh with her, for I was working for her like a slave. And
this," continued he with a sad smile, "this is what she reproaches me
with. There is nothing in which I believe, nothing but my child, and
my child does not believe in me! The world bows down before me, and I
am the poorest and most miserable beggar."

Overpowered by these bitter thoughts, which crowded tumultuously upon
his brain, he leaned his head upon his hand and wept bitterly. Then,
after a long pause, he drew himself up erect, and, with a determined
gesture, shook the tears from his eyes.

"Enough!" said he, loudly and firmly, "enough; my duty shall cure me
of all this suffering. That I must not neglect."

He rang the bell, and ordered the servant-maids, who appeared, to
raise up the insensible girl and bear her to her room.

But when the maidens called the waiting-man to their assistance to
raise their mistress, Gotzkowsky pushed them all aside, and carried
her softly and gently, as carefully and tenderly as a mother, to a
couch, on which he placed her. He then pressed a fervent kiss upon her
brow. Elise began to move, a faint blush overspread her cheeks, she
opened her eyes. Gotzkowsky immediately stepped back, and signed to
her maids to carry her into her room.

He looked after her until she had disappeared, his eyes dimmed with
tears. "My child," said he, in a low voice, "she is lost to me. Oh, I
am a poor, pitiable father!" With a deep groan he pressed his hands
to his face, and nothing was heard but the painful sobs wrung from the
heart of this father wrestling with his grief.

Suddenly there arose from without loud lamentations and cries for
help. They came nearer and nearer, and at last reached Gotzkowsky's
house, and filled its halls and passages. It was not the outcry of
a single person. From many voices came the sounds of lamenting and
weeping, screams and shrieks:

"Help! help! have pity on us, save us! The Austrians are hewing us
down--they are burning our houses--save us!"

Gotzkowsky dropped his hands from his face and listened. "What was
that? who cries for