ace. To
be sure I'm by no means certain that you've not already bestowed your
heart elsewhere, and my brotherly hint may be too late. At any rate,
whatever you do you should do quickly for the young girl's sake. She
seems to have taken your long absence to heart, her mother says she is
by no means well yet, and eats and sleeps very little I should like to
see my little sister well and happy again before I--"

He could not finish the sentence. He had been seated on the bed while
speaking and now he laid his head on the pillow and closed his eyes, as
if wearied with the unusual exertion of conversing. Suddenly he felt
his hands seized; Franzelius had meant to embrace him, but instead, he
threw himself down beside the bed, and with his head resting on
Balder's knees, he gave way to such violent and uncontrollable emotion,
that the youth was obliged to make every exertion to soothe him into
composure.

At last he rose. He tried to speak, but his voice failed.
"You--you're--oh! Heaven, forgive, forgive me! I'm not worthy!" was all
he could stammer. Then he started up and rushed out of the room.

Balder had sank back on the bed and closed his eyes again. His pale
face was almost transfigured, he looked like a hero resting after a
victory, and for the moment did not even feel the pain in his chest.
The room was perfectly still, the sunlight played amid the palm leaves,
the mask of the youthful prisoner, suffused with a rosy light which
came from the open door of the stove, seemed to breathe and whisper to
its image on the narrow couch: "Die, your death shall be painless!" But
a sudden thought roused Balder from this anticipation of eternal
repose. He rose and dragged himself to the turning lathe, wherewith a
trembling hand be unlocked the drawer. "It's fortunate that I thought
of it!" he murmured "What if they had found it!"

He drew out the portfolio in which he kept his collection of verses. On
how many pages was the image of the child whom he secretly loved
described with all the exaggerated charms with which his solitary
yearning had invested her; to how much imaginary happiness these simple
sheets bore witness! And yet he could now let them slide through his
fingers without bitterness. Had not his feelings been sacred and
consoling to him at the time? What had happened, which could strip the
bloom and fragrance of this spring from his heart? There would be no
summer, but did that make less beautiful the season of blos