f not a long attack of illness, which left me weak,
shaken, passive, so that I felt neither ability nor wish to resist those
who took me into their hands. I remember being surprised at the goodness
of every one toward me; astonished at Frau Lutzler's gentle kindness,
amazed at the unfailing goodness of Dr. Mittendorf and his wife, at that
of the medical man who attended me in my illness. Yes, the world seemed
full of kindness, full of kind people who were anxious to keep me in it,
and who managed, in spite of my effort to leave it, to retain me.

Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, had been my guardian angel. It was he who
wrote to my friends and told them of my illness; it was he who went to
meet Stella and Miss Hallam's Merrick, who came over to nurse me--and
take me home. The fiat had gone forth. I was to go home. I made no
resistance, but my very heart shrunk away in fear and terror from the
parting, till one day something happened which reconciled me to going
home, or rather made me evenly and equally indifferent whether I went
home, or stayed abroad, or lived, or died, or, in short, what became of
me.

I sat one afternoon for the first time in an arm-chair opposite the
window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly and richly in. The room
was scented with a bunch of wall-flowers and another of mignonette,
which Stella had brought in that morning from the market. Stella was
very kind to me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt
deferentially backward before the superior abilities of both my
sisters, but Stella quite over-awed me by her decided opinions and calm
way of setting me right upon all possible matters.

This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy a little fresh
air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in my lap, feeling very weak,
and looking wistfully toward the well-remembered windows on the other
side of the street.

They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No one was
there--Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no doubt.

The door of my room opened, and Frau Lutzler came in. She looked
cautiously around, and then, having ascertained that I was not asleep,
asked in a nerve-disturbing whisper if I had everything that I wanted.

"Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler," said I. "But come in! I want to
speak to you. I am afraid I have given you no end of trouble."

"_Ach, ich bitte sie, Fraeulein!_ Don't mention the trouble. We have
managed to keep you alive."

How they al