Miss Greta followed them with her eyes till they vanished behind the trees. She felt as if she had seen an apparition; but the unearthly sorrowful impression was strongly mingled with a comfortable feeling, and she saw the glory of a saint around the head of the Baron. She could not, however, resign herself long to her observations, because she was again disturbed. It was the little Filius, who came to inquire after his father. She called the boy to her. He glanced at her distrustfully; but Miss Greta looked so kind that at last he took courage and went to her. She placed him on her knee, and stroked his cheeks and his bright locks, while she resigned herself to the most agreeable thoughts of the boy and his foster-father. Filius looked askance at the oranges.

At the same moment the Baron returned, seated himself by Miss Greta and the boy, and said with great emotion-

"It is impossible that it can be your serious meaning. It is impossible that you will sacrifice my happiness, and as I know, to a certain degreee, your own also, to a whim, to childishness, to an outbreak of curiosity-"

"Whim, childishness, curiosity or not, all as one," said Miss Greta, "tell me if it be your serious intention, rather to renounce my hand than satisfy my curiosity, and tell me who are the parents of the boy !"

"I cannot, I will not tell it, let it cost what it may," said the Baron, depressed, yet with determination.

Very well then," returned Miss Greta with a dignified cordiality that became her uncommonly well, "if you positively cannot tell me who his mother was, I at least will show who for the future she shall be."

With these words she embraced Filius, lifted him up, and kissed him with a warmth which the boy immediately returned. The Baron, who wept for joy, threw his arms around them both. "The curtain falls," is commonly said in dreams when the author has succeeded in uniting all his characters in the last scene in a general embrace; and it is said so here also; for the highest joy of man, as well as his deepest sorrow, is only for the eyes of angels. But if we let the curtain fall, it must only be for a moment. We shall draw it up again directly, in order to present a little afterpiece, which is called-how, our next chapter will show.

CHAPTER XXII.

MISS GRETA'S ANXIETIES.

CLARA. So much is certain, and I think one is convinced of it every day more and more, that there is an infinite deal of good in the world.

MISS GRETA. O yes!-but-certainly there are both good and bad.

CLARA Yes; but the good far outweighs the bad. The better one comes to know mankind, the more one sees that every one has his advantages which make him worthy of esteem. Every one in fact has his pound of heaven's wealth. This pound, this goodness in man, seems to me like his good angel, which continually draws him toward goodness. Baron H. has taught me not to judge by the surface. For a long time I considered him bad; as one who only troubled himself to find out the faults of his fellow-creatures to ridicule them. Now, I know that he is witty; but, at the same time, much more goodhumored than witty. He loves mankind, although he knows their failings. He would like best to do good to all. Besides, he laughs just as much at himself as at others; and then what a beautiful earnestness is there not with this in his soul!

MISS GRETA. Hem!

CLARA. I am convinced that Baron H. unites with his joyous temper the most estimable qualities. He seems to me to be one of the few with whom one might boldly venture on a journey through life.

MISS GRETA. Hem! hem!

CLARA. He certainly would make the wife happy who knew rightly how to take him. MISS GRETA. Uf! uf! It is astonishingly sultry here.

CLARA. And what a joy it must be, to contribute anything to the happiness of so good and amiable a man.

MISS GRETA, aside. O heavens! that goes too far. Aloud. Yes, certainly; but how can any one be certain of making the happiness of any one?

CLARA. Oh, that is easily felt. If I had a friend who loved the Baron I would counsel her with pleasure as quick as possible to have the marriage, and her happiness should be mine.

MISS GRETA, who can no longer contain herself. Clara! tell me boldly out-are you in love with any one?

CLARA. I am not, but

MISS GRETA. But-but?-Will you speak quickly, child?

CLARA, embracing her. But I am convinced that you are a little, and

MISS GRETA. Don't strangle me for it! Clara, forgive me! I am irritable-I am anxiousand you-you make a jest of it.

CLARA. Allow me to finish my sentence, and embrace you.

MISS GRETA, with tears in her eyes. Do as you will, Clara.

CLARA. Now, good then! I finish thus. I am convinced-but now I say I know-that Baron H. loves you again; that he has loved you for a long time.

MISS GRETA. That was well said, Clara! And you are convinced of it, Clara? You are

CLARA. I? right heartily glad; because you are worthy of each other, and will make each other mutually happy. I only wish I could give you both a clear idea of that which you feel.

MISS GRETA. I cannot possibly receive the accusation of having no clear idea of that which

"The saints," thought he, "are as easy to catch as the children of the world, only one must make their nets out of their own yarn."

But he craftily concealed his design. On Clara's assertion respecting Nina he replied: "She will soon return. Ah, pardon for one moment! The evening is so mild, can your heart be less so? Will you vouchsafe no word, no look of comfort, to one whose breast is torn by unquiet?"

Clara remained standing, and said with a voice in which was some touch of sympathy, "What can I do for you? Tell me quickly, I have but little time."

Juan approached her and attempted to take her hand, which she withdrew.

"Tell me only," said he, "that you do not hate me that you feel some kindness for one who would give up his whole life to be as pure and good as you, and to be guided to heaven by your hand. Stay-ah, do not hasten away! Your presence sanctifies even the air around me, and fills my heart with a pure desire. Beloved one! Holy one! Tell me that the heaven which you know will not cast me out!"

"" Heaven casts out no one that seeks with earnestness," replied Clara mildly and tranquilly. "Seek heaven thus, and you will find it. Farewell!"

'Stay, heavenly Clara! Are you afraid of me?"

"Why should I be afraid of you?" asked Clara, stopping, and looking at him with quiet astonishment.

"Stay thus! Ah stay with him to whom your presence gives life!"

"I cannot. You can speak with me at Countess H.'s, if you wish it. Adieu!"

"O Clara! that is hard. You say that heaven casts out no one-do not be severer yourself. Strike not back the erring. Show me the way to happiness, dear angel! Save a soul! O Clara! let me hold this hand, press it to my heart, this hand which-"

But he had only taken hold of air. Clara was warned by her good angel; she had listened to his voice, and had followed his beckoning; for in her soul there dwelt no vanity, either spiritual or worldly. She vanished like a shadow in the darkness of night.

With an exclamation of extreme vexation, Don Juan followed her; friendly stars, however, watched over Clara, and she found her way; and when she heard the steps ever approaching nearer, when she could scarcely fly for anxiety and weariness, she sank saved in the arms of her friend, who came out to seek for her.

Don Juan had quickly withdrawn behind a tree. On its topmost boughs there was a magpie nest, in which the young once smacked and jabbered while he cursed and swore.

And now-shall we betake ourselves to the bed on which Nina reposed, and by which Edla watched? Shall we wait for the awakening of the sleeper? We will not. We will turn our glance from the meeting of the sisters.

O truly it is a bitter, bitter thing to see eyes which once followed us lovingly, now looking upon us sternly and with displeasure, or indeed turning wholly aside from us with painfully experienced contempt-nay, perhaps shedding tears over our weakness! Truly is it better, truly is it annihilating, and yet-blessed be the tears, blessed the severity in beloved eyes! Burn

burn into the soul of the fallen one! Burd to purify! Love, friendship, who will not how himself before your chastising hand-who will not obediently open his inmost soul to your proving glance? Unhappy he whordoes it not ! he is lost for ever!

Nina lay for three days in violent fever: Edia remained by her bed, a faithful attendant; but tenderness and confidence were vanished. Edla was quiet, but her pale cheek evidenced that which she suffered. One evening, when Edla thought Nina slept, she softly stroked back the curls which concealed the forehead, on which she so gladly looked. Nina perceived this, seized the thin hand of her sister, and placed it to her lips. Edla did not withdraw it. Nina covered it with kisses and bathed it in tears.

"Speak to me!" prayed she-" say one kind word to me!"

Edla bent over her and said with tenderness, 'My poor child, I am always kind to you." A hot tear fell on Nina's arm, which she kissed away.

"Now," said she with a comforted heart, "I shall soon be better."

A few days after this she was so much better as to be able to get up; and Edla no longer avoided an explanation, which both desired. Nina opened to her sister her whole soul. Edla searched sharply, but tenderly, into all, even into its most secret folds. Nina concealed nothing: she experienced an alleviation of heart in her confession; she felt herself under the hands of a skilful physician. Divine confidence-refreshing drawing together of affection! Strengthening sympathy-sweet bitterness-ease after pain! How beautifully Jean Paul says on this subject "When a person is no longer his own friend, he goes to his brother who is so; this one talks gently with him, and is able to give him life again."

And not the gentle word only; no, the severe also, nay, even the sentence of punishment, one hears willingly from beloved lips. The sentence of punishment? Art thou astonished? No! look deeper down into thine own heart, and thou wilt find it is so. Holy mystery of the soul, God. dwells in thy innermost.

Edla found Nina's wishes pure; her own heart beat higher with joy because of this; but she was shocked at the state of her mind, at her weakness, at the slumbering of all nobler powers, whereby she had been nearly brought to the very verge of destruction.

With the whole strength of her clear vision and of her deliberate understanding, Edla now spoke to her sister, and showed to her her condition and her faults in the clear light which humbles, and yet at the same time raises up. She made her acquainted with herself; she made her feel deeply she had sunk under the worth of true womanhood; and wakened in her the longing desire to raise herself again to her former position. First a tear of remorse, then a prayer, then action-that is the course of amendment.

"You must give up this dreamy, frivolous way of life," said Edla; "you must be active, must be employed, and you will feel yourself happy, and be able to do good to your fellow-creatures. Nina, you must endeavor to make a noble man happy, and to look for a support and a guide for yourself in him. Can you now calmly hear what I have to say to you, or shall I speak of it another time?"

"No, directly, directly, Edla! It is better that I know all at first. Spare me not, Edla! Do I indeed deserve that ?"

"Now, right!" returned Edla. "An unpleasant report has been spread about of an intimacy between you and Don Juan. Do not turn pale on that account, Nina; turn pale rather because you gave any occasion for it. A jest on the part of Don Juan, upon you and me, gave some probability to the report. Count Ludwig has compelled him to retract his lightminded assertions; and that truly by a duel. Don Juan has received his deserved reward in a sabre-cut across the forehead."

"Good God!" exclaimed Nina; "and I, unfortunate me, am guilty of all this mischief? And is that all? Has there not yet greater misfortune befallen? Perhaps the life of some one is in danger?" questioned Nina, beside herself with terror.

"No; be calm. Don Juan has left the place. His wound is not in the least dangerous, and will only leave a scar behind it. Count Ludwig has been fortunate enough to chastise him and defend you without any harm to himself. He has made use of this opportunity to declare the sentiments which he cherishes toward you. He has solicited your hand from your father."

"He is noble minded-oh, he is good!" said Nina, deathly pale and highly excited. "Oh, how little I deserve that! If I were but in a state to thank him rightly. Here is my hand, Edla. Take it in yours-dispose of it as you think well. I have so misused my freedom, I resign it to you. Speak only, and I will do, willingly do, that which you desire."

"Your own wish, Nina, your own re-awakened knowledge of that which is right and best, must determine us. But you shall not decide in this unquiet moment. To-morrow, when a calm night has strengthened body and mind, we will speak farther on this subject."

That same evening, as Nina perceived more tenderness in Edla's attentions to her as she read in her countenance traces of a lightened heart-in the evening when her sister, as in the days of her childhood, sat a watchful angel by her bed, and spread out the flowers which she had gathered for her darling upon the coverlet, Nina felt that Edla must decide her fate; felt that she could do anything in order to win back her esteem and confidence, and a peace, long absent from her soul, returned again to it.

On the morrow, when the fanning winds awakened with their light wings the sweet flowers, and a flood of light odour, and the singing of birds pressed in through the open window, Nina awoke also to a new and strengthened life. Pale, but self-collected and decided, she arose. Never, perhaps, had she been more lovely than at this moment, in which humility and strength had sanctified at the same time her whole being, and resignation had diffused over her beautiful brow an angelic charm.

Between the two sisters a conversation now took place, such as between mothers and daughters have often occurred, and will occur for ever on earth. The daughter agrees to that which the mother wishes. She considers her will the best and the most prudent in the world; only she complains softly of the wooer's want of love: she feels esteem, perhaps friendship for him, but

-but

The mother talks of the stability of a union which is based on the rocks of esteem; of the

happiness of an active, useful life for those who are dear to us; of the necessity of having an object, an interest in the world; of the peace which is the result of duties fulfilled-and a great deal more.

Edla's words were by no means the suggestions of a cold heart and deficient understanding; they came forth from conviction. Count Ludwig, she said, was the noblest of men, and Nina alone by a union with him could develope that strength without the employment of which one could only lead a useless life.

Nina only repeated that which she had said on the preceding evening.

66

"Judge, determine for me, Edla!" was her prayer; I trust myself no longer. That which you think, I think also-that which you wish, I wish. According to my best ability I will thank Count Ludwig for that which he has done for me, and for his faithful devotion to me. I will endeavor to be a wife worthy of him. I will, if I am able, regain the esteem of all, and make all happy; then I shall certainly learn to know true and real happiness.

Edla embraced Nina; and so happy was Nina in the regained affection of her sister that she allowed herself, with a feeling of satisfaction, to be conducted by her in search of their father, that he might dispose of her hand.

But before we draw up the curtain, and exhi bit to the reader the scene which delayed the two sisters in the room of the President, we must present to him a picture which was seen on the preceding evening by more people than ourselves. We saw on this sad evening the President, with uncovered head, as he endeavored with the greatest possible care to shield his wife from a violent shower; we saw him as he took off his overshoes in order to put them on his Countess, and then walk home beside her through water up to his ankles.

This may explain how it happened that the two sisters found their father sitting in an arm chair speechless, with distorted countenance, and unable to move. The President had had a stroke; the Countess Natalie the while was pacing up and down the bath-saloon, surrounded by her friends and her numerous acquaintances.

By the use of active and prudent means the President, in the course of a week, was so far recovered that he was able to speak and slightly to move; his memory, however, was weakened, his countenance still contracted, and the whole of his left side paralyzed. Several physicians unanimously agreed that the influence of a southern climate might perhaps re-establish his health; and a journey to Nizza was advised.

Whenever any great danger threatens, when on any occasion life is shaken, then the power of any fleeting bias gives way, and the strong feelings which are rooted in the better nature of the human being throw off the veil and step forth; then strikes the hour of victory for really faithful and loving souls.

When

Thus was it also with the President. he felt the powerful hand of sickness laid upon him-when the necessity for a long sojourn in a distant, foreign country was announced to him, he turned from his brilliant wife and her madeup tenderness, and extending his arm to his daughter exclaimed, "Edla!" He seemed unable longer to live without her, and was tranquil when he only saw her. Edla's determination to accompany her father was resolutely taken at the very moment in which the physicians advised

the journey, and the Countess esteemed it an actual favor of destiny that a seriously sprained foot prevented her, "to her perfect despair," as she asserted, from following her husband.

Edla wished greatly to have seen Nina betrothed before she was compelled to leave her. Nina permitted herself to be wholly guided by her sister. The Countess, who had suddenly become cool to Nina merely out of aversion to Edla, maintained neutral ground, and made use more frequently now than ever of the word "bienséance."

Count Ludwig urged, and that not without some arrogance, the accomplishment of his wishes. But who was it then that prevented it? No other than the poor, sick, weak-minded President! He seemed to imagine that bethrothal and marriage were one and the same thing; whenever Edla spoke with him of Nina's betrothal, he answered, "In a year's time, when I come back again!" In vain Edla endeavored to make the matter clear and comprehensible, he still returned the same answer. At length he became angry and said, "Do you think that a gay wedding and my condition agree at all? No, in a year's time, when I come back again!" Edla gave up therefore speaking with him any Further on this subject, and resigned the hope of seeing Nina betrothed, before her journey, with the man whom she so highly esteemed.

"Take me with you," besought Nina from her inmost heart; "let me share with you the care of our father!"

Edla could not grant the wish of her sister. She feared for Nina's health, and besides this wished to dedicate herself solely to the care of her father, without being diverted from it by anxiety for her sister. She feared also, under existing circumstances, to separate Count Ludwig and Nina. It was determined to wait, and if in the course of a year, the power of mind and body of the President was not re-established, the formal betrothal of the young couple should then take place. Till that time Nina was to remain with her step-mother, who declared, that during the absence of her husband she should live wholly retired from the world, on one of her estates which lay far up in the province of Nordland. Thither also in the next year Count Ludwig himself should come, she said, in order to spend the spring and summer with Nina. Edla was convinced that a nearer acquaintance with the Count would awaken in her sister the inclination which she so very much desired.

Nina felt herself inwardly happy by this delay to the deciding of her fate, yet she dared scarcely to confess to herself this contest against the accomplishment of Edla's wishes.

It was evening. Edla was to commence the journey with her father on the following day. Nina had passed several days in the sick room with her sister, and now went out, at her desire, to breathe a little fresh air. Miss Greta was gone on this day with her betrothed, with Clara, and the rest of the company, on a country excursion, and the walks around the Wells were almost empty. Here and there only crept along an invalid, whose feeble limbs had not enabled him to become one of the party. Nina remained on the turf before her father's house, and inhaled the fresh pleasant air. The sun descended gloriously; small red and yellow flowers grew creepingly at her feet. The trees were tinged with the gold of the setting sun, and from their tops sounded forth a thousand-voiced song. Niña

looked around her full of enjoyment; it was a beautiful picture, and she herself the most leautiful feature in it. She glanced lovingly toward the sun; she kissed carelessly its beans as they fell upon her marble white hands; and the sun threw upon its daughter a glance of affectionate tenderness.

Nina now saw that a family, apparently of the working class, came slowly along in the shade of the trees, and at length seated themselves not far from her upon a bench. Husband and wife had good honest countenances, yet still marked with care. The children were pale and quiet; one saw in them poverty. A liveried servant with a basketful of the most beautiful fruit passed by them, and was asked by the man with some embarrassment-" Whether he could sell him some of that fruit?" The servant anwered that he could not; that the fruit was a present to Nina H. At that moment he perceived Nina, advanced toward her, and gave her the basket with a deep bow. After she had commissioned the messenger with many thanks to the Countess Nordstjerna, and had laid aside sore beautiful grapes for her father and Edla, she took the basket, and stepped, blushing deeply, to the poor family, and prayed them, in the most obliging manner, to divide the beautiful gift with her.

Nina's indescribable grace, the beneficence, and the touching goodness which was painted in her countenance, made perhaps a deeper impression upon the poor family than the gift itself. She took even the youngest child upon her knee and gave it of the fruit, which, amid renewed invitations to eat, she spread upon the table. As she saw all around her so satisfied, and felt the little one on her knee struggling for very delight of the beautiful feast, she was conscious of a purer satisfaction than she had often known.

The good people were soon communicative, and Nina listened with sympathy to a relation of sufferings that visit most abundantly the dwellings of the poor. Yet there was no lamentation, no discontent; but hope covering with its green leaves life which want and sickness had almost exhausted.

Nina was happy in this little circle, where inbred tenderness was at home; she also felt herself at home with these people, and kissed the child on her knee with hearty good-will. Suddenly she saw Count Ludwig lefore her; who, with an expression of displeasure on his stern countenance, observed this scene. Nina's de light had vanished at once, and a certain restraint came over the artisan family. The children pressed nearer to their parents; the parents left off eating.

Count Ludwig turned to Nina, and said with a sharp intonation-" Would it not better become Miss Nina to take a turn through the walks than to sit here? The evening begins to get cool."

Nina had hitherto felt nothing of coolness, but now she perceived it in fact. She acceded to the Count's wishes, and rose after she had kissed the little one, who parted from her unwillingly. The parents rose at the same time, in order again to express to Nina their warmest thanks. Count Ludwig scarcely permitted her to remain, or answer them with her usual amiability; he tore her almost away as he said carelessly"Enough, enough, people! the children can take the remainder of the fruit with them."

"Do you know the people that you were there