beside him,
and gazing at the twilight with wide open eyes, awaited the unclosing
of his.

CHAPTER III.

It was Sunday. The bells that rang at nine o'clock to summon the people
to church, roused the sleeper. It was a long time before he remembered
how he happened to be in his own bed, and that he was again at home. A
quiet, dreamy mood still haunted him, in which he said little, but
gazed into vacancy with a smile and then looked around, as if in quest
of something. He wanted Leah with him continually, sought her in the
kitchen in order with all sorts of jesting words, to bring her back to
the sitting room, and then walked up and down the spotless floor with
his arm thrown fondly around her, now and then leaning his head on hers
and asking various questions, without paying any special attention to
the answers she gave. He even spoke of the surprise she had in store
for him. "It is nothing," she replied gently, releasing herself from
his embrace. Her eyes were heavy with unshed tears; she felt an
unconquerable repugnance to telling him her secret, and yet a sense of
bitter grief that she could not force her lips to reveal what had
hitherto been a source of so much joy. She saw that he was only half
with her, or rather that he was striving with all the powers of his
soul to return to her again, and yet could not do so entirely. Should
she communicate what at any previous time would have caused him such
deep happiness, perhaps now only to be thanked with an absent smile?
All the pride of the woman and mother rebelled against the possibility.

When Mohr at last arrived, he found them at breakfast. He sat down,
begged permission to make a cigarette, and soon gave the conversation a
freer tone. The first thing he did, was to take out the promised
picture of the little Mohr and hand it to Leah.

"I don't doubt for a moment," said he, "that Edwin has described me to
you as a fool of a father. Friends are great in caricaturing, but I
really have the honor and pleasure of being just that. Besides, I saw
that only politeness restrained him from laughing in my face when I
described the boy's talents and virtues. Well, _qui vivra verra_.
Meantime hear what my wife writes about the way he takes my absence.
I've just received this letter; it contains the kindest remembrances to
you as well."

He then read the letter, which contained a detailed account of the
various clever, artless expressio