ers rarely written, and still more
rarely answered. He had gone to a more distant university, and was no
longer able to spend all his holidays at home. Now and then he would
enclose a few lines to Marlene, in which, contrary to his former
custom, he would address her as a child, in a joking tone, that made
his father serious and silent, and his mother shake her head. Marlene
would have these notes read aloud to her, and listening to them
gravely, would carefully keep them. When her father died, he wrote to
her a short agitated letter, neither attempting to console her, nor
expressing any sorrow; containing only a few earnest entreaties to be
careful of her health, to be calm, and to let him know exactly how she
was, and what she felt.

At Easter he had, been expected, but he did not come; he only wrote
that he had found an opportunity, too good to be lost, of accompanying
one of the professors on a botanical tour. His father had been
satisfied, and Marlene at last successful in pacifying his mother.

He came unannounced at Whitsuntide, on foot, with glowing cheeks,
unwearied by a long march before break of day--a fine-grown young man.
He stepped into the silent house, where his mother was alone and busy,
for it was the eve of a great holiday. Surprised, with a cry of joy,
she threw herself upon his neck. "You!" she exclaimed, as soon as she
had recovered herself, drawing back to gaze upon him, the long absent
one, with all her love for him in her eyes. "You forgetful boy, are you
come at last? You can find the way back, I see, to your old father
and mother! I began to think you only meant to return to us as a
full-fledged professor, and who knows whether my poor eyes would have
been left open long enough to behold that pleasant sight on earth? But
I must not scold you now that you are my own good boy, and are come to
bring us a pleasanter Whitsuntide than I have known for years--me, your
father, and all of us!" "Mother," he said, "I cannot tell you how glad
I am to be at home again. I could not hold out any longer. I don't know
how it happened. I had not resolved to come--I only felt I must. One
fine morning, instead of going up to college, I found myself without
the gates, walking for very life--such journeys in a day as I never
took before, though I was always a good pedestrian. Where is my father,
and Marlene?"

"Don't you hear him?" said his mother; "he is upstairs in his study."
And in fact they heard the old ma