uld be given today. The night
before, Leah had glided into the kitchen, listened at the door of the
room, and heard the poor thing moving restlessly to and fro, perhaps to
warm herself, for it was cold and she had refused to have a fire
lighted in the little stove. She had often groaned like one suffering
the deepest pain, and vainly striving to repress any manifestation of
it. Midnight was long past before all was still.

"What will happen if God in his mercy does not perform a miracle and
let a ray of his love and peace illumine the poor darkened soul!"
exclaimed the little artist, with a deep sigh. "Oh! my child, don't you
see I was right in saying that all earthly paths lead to darkness and
error, unless we humbly strive to seize God's hand and walk by his
side? This poor lost life! God forgive me, but I can scarcely help
agreeing with the Herr Doctor: who can tell whether it was well for
her, that we took so much trouble to recall her to existence?"

Leah was standing beside her painting table, with her pale face bent
toward the floor. She made no reply. Her heart was so heavy with her
own griefs and those of others, that had it not been for her father,
she would fain have wished herself out of the world.

"My honored friends," said Mohr, rising from his chair, where puffing
huge clouds of smoke from his cigarette he had sat for some time
absorbed in thought, "I too am of the opinion that something must be
done; we have given the mercy of God ample time to work a miracle.
Perhaps that mercy is held in abeyance; perhaps God is waiting to see
whether we will not ourselves move in the matter and assail the
difficulty with our poor human powers. And to do this, I at least, a
tolerably obstinate heathen,--no offense, Herr Koenig--am fully
resolved."

"What are you going to do?" asked Leah, looking up in alarm.

Mohr stretched his herculean frame, as he was in the habit of doing,
when after long consideration he had formed some definite resolution.
For a moment his muscular arms almost touched the ceiling, then he
buried his hands in his bushy hair and said, half closing his eyes and
drawing his mouth awry:

"This Marquard may understand his trade well enough, so far as the body
is concerned, but rubbing the limbs is not all that can be done. The
soul, which has been just as much benumbed by the accident, must also
be warmed by spiritual friction and moral mustard plasters; for in its
desperation it is still freez