"Pray consider, he's so sickly, do you really believe he ever will be
well again, ever think--dear me, how you startled me! I should never
have dreamed of such a thing in all my life! Herr Walter!"

"I know what I know, dear Reginchen," replied the printer sadly. "What
will be done _when_ he is again well and strong, and whether that will
ever come to pass--who can tell? But I should be a scoundrel, if I
caused him who has already suffered so much, even the shadow of a grief
that I could spare him. Oh! Reginchen, if you knew him thoroughly, the
noblest, loftiest soul that ever dwelt in a fragile body--you could not
help loving him as I love him, more than myself, and you would rather
bear and suffer everything, than cloud even an hour of his life." Both
fixed their eyes on the floor. An anxious, oppressive pause followed.

"So you really think--" Reginchen began; but she did not finish the
sentence.

"I'm as sure of his love as of my own," Franzelius faltered. "If I
could have cherished any doubt, everything would have been proved and
made plain half an hour ago. I have no right to persuade you to
anything against which your heart rebels. But I'm sure that now
you know his secret, it will be impossible for you not to become
attached to him; he is far more lovable than I, whom only your heavenly
goodness--perhaps through mistake or accident--"

"No," she eagerly exclaimed, almost ready to cry, "now I must speak
frankly; there was no special goodness about it except your own, and as
to Herr Walter's being more lovable--dear me it's possible, but I can't
help it--I'd rather have _you_; didn't you notice it when you tried on
the boots, spoke of the stockings--wait, I'll get them right away,
they've been finished a long time, I hurried so because I thought you'd
have to go away, though not forever! Dear me, to think I must help you
now, besides making the stockings."

"Girl!" he exclaimed, "you would really--It's too much--oh! now I see
for the first time how happy we might have been."

"Who knows what may happen yet," she said, consoling herself as she
wiped her eyes with her apron; "but wait here five minutes; I've got
them in my work table. I'll be back again directly. They will certainly
fit you and keep you warm."

As she passed close by him and went out of the door, he was strongly
tempted to hurry after her, clasp the beloved form in his arms, and
imprint his thanks for her gift on her fresh lips. But he was s