aditions of this house. An older person
must always take charge of the children, and this older person must live
and die in the family. Stina is a very worthy woman."

Again the subject of our conversation came noiselessly into the room;
this time with the coffee. There was upon the whole something ghost-like
about this blue-green Carlo Dolci portrait flitting thus over the rugs
in the large room, where she was searching for a shade for the lamp on
the coffee table, as though it were not dark enough here before. The
shade was, moreover, a perforated picture of St. Peter's at Rome.

Stina departed, and the lady of the house poured out the coffee.

"And so you men are going to take from us the hope in immortality, with
all the rest?" she abruptly asked.

To what this "all the rest" referred, I was allowed to form my own
conjectures. She handed me a cup of coffee and continued,--

"When I was driving this morning to the other side of the park to visit
the dying man, it occurred to me that the snow on the barren trees is,
upon the whole, the most exquisite symbol that could be imagined of the
hope of immortality spread over the earth; is it not so? So purely from
above, and so merciful!"

"Do you believe it falls from the skies, my dear lady?"

"It certainly falls down on the earth."

"That is true, but it comes also from the earth."

She appeared not to want to hear this, but continued,--

"You spoke a little while ago of dust. But this white, pure dust on the
frozen boughs and on the gray earth is truly like the poetry of
eternity; so it seems to me," and she placed a singing emphasis on the
"me."

"Who is the author of this poetry, my dear lady?"

She turned on me her large eyes, now larger than ever, but this time not
questioningly; no, there was certainly in her look.

"If there is no revelation from without, there is one from within; every
human being who feels thus possesses it."

She had never been more beautiful. At this moment steps were heard in
the front room. She turned her head in a listening attitude.

"It is Atlung back again!" said she, as she rose and rang for another
cup.

She was right; it was Atlung, who as soon as he had removed his out-door
wraps opened wide the door and came in. His attorney, Hartmann, had
grown anxious and had come to meet him. Atlung had attended to the
entire business with him on the highway.

His wife's questioning eyes followed him as he sauntered across the