hich she had not prepared with her own hand, no drink which she had
not herself brought from the cellar or the well. She perceived in advance
what disturbed him, what pleased him, what he needed. If she opened or
closed the curtain, she gave or withheld no more light than was agreeable
to him; if she arranged the pillows behind him, she placed them neither
too high nor too low, and bound up his wounds with a gentle yet firm
hand, like an experienced physician. Whatever he felt--pain or
comfort--she experienced with him.

By degrees the fever vanished; consciousness returned, his pain lessened,
he could move himself again, and began to feel stronger. At first he did
not know where he was; then he recognized Ruth, and then his father.

How still, how dusky, how clean everything that surrounded him was!
Delightful repose stole over him, pleasant weariness soothed every stormy
emotion of his heart. Whenever he opened his eyes, tender, anxious
glances met him. Even when the pain returned he enjoyed peaceful,
consoling mental happiness. Ruth felt this also, and regarded it as a
peerless reward.

When she entered the sick-room with fresh linen, and the odor of lavender
her dead mother had liked floated softly to him from the clean sheets, he
thought his boyhood had returned, and with it the wise, friendly doctor's
house. Elizabeth, the shady pine-woods of his home, its murmuring brooks
and luxuriant meadows, again rose before his mind; he saw Ruth and
himself listening to the birds, picking berries, gathering flowers, and
beseeching beautiful gifts from the "word." His father appeared even more
kind, affectionate, and careful than in those days. The man became the
boy again, and all his former good traits of character now sprang up
freshly under the bright light and vivifying dew of love.

He received Ruth's unwearied attentions with ardent gratitude, and when
he gazed into her faithful eyes, when her hand touched him, her soft,
deep voice penetrated the depths of his soul, an unexampled sense of
happiness filled his breast.

Everything, from the least to the greatest, embraced his soul with the
arms of love. It seemed as if the ardent yearning of his heart extended
far beyond the earth, and rose to God, who fills the universe with His
infinite paternal love. His every breath, Ulrich thought, must henceforth
be a prayer, a prayer of gratitude to Him, who is love itself, the Love,
through and in which he lived.

He had so