ve him a kiss, Mamma; has he not brought something
for his little daughter? I want to sit on his knee. Where is Sophy? Oh!
my poor head! Papa please hold my head. I am thirsty." Then the small
fair head sank back on the pillow, and the eyes closed as if in pain.
Eberhard rose and held a glass of fresh water to her burning lips.
"Thank you, Papa," said the child. Then she became very quiet, only the
twitchings of the feverish half opened mouth betrayed her sufferings.

"I must explain to you," the lady began, turning to the silent doctor,
who had now resumed his seat, "how it comes that my poor darling has
those strange fancies. Unfortunately I must reproach myself with having
caused this violent shock: The father of my poor little girl was an
Austrian officer. A few months after our marriage, I had to part with
him; his regiment was ordered to Italy, where the war was commencing.
Shortly afterwards news reached me that he had been amongst the first
victims of the bloody battle of Solferino. Since that time I have
always felt the greatest longing to visit the spot where my dear
husband found repose after his short career, and though no cross marks
his grave, at least to inhale the air in which his brave heart breathed
its last. Even my little girl expressed the same wish as she grew
older, and understood me when I told her of her father's death. Many
things deterred me from realizing this plan, particularly the fear that
the long journey might overfatigue, and agitate the child, who always
had a very excitable imagination, and a tender heart: and now I have to
suffer severely for having indulged my desire. If you had seen how
eagerly she listened to the words which I translated to her from the
account of the old serjeant, whom I found watching the monument on the
field of battle. Her cheeks burned, and her eyes glistened; her emotion
was far beyond her years. When we turned back she shivered, and in the
following night, complained of headache, and did not sleep for an
instant. She did not mention her father again till this moment, when
she mistook you for him, and fancied he was sitting at her bedside.
Perhaps it would have been better, had I remained where I was, but I
dreaded the Italian doctors, and did not believe the danger to be so
imminent. In my own carriage, for I had taken post-horses on leaving
the railway, I thought we could easily arrange a comfortable bed for
the child. The weather too was warm, and she hers