ould like... perhaps it is not possible; but
if you could paint her picture, not as a Madonna, only as she looked
when a young wife...."

"I can, I will!" cried Ulrich, in joyous excitement. "Take me upstairs,
is the canvas ready?"

"In the frame, firmly in the frame! I am an old man, and you see,
child, I remember how wonderfully sweet your mother was; but I can
never succeed in recalling just how she looked then. I have tried, tried
thousands and thousands of times; at--Richtberg, here, everywhere--deep
as was my wrath!"

"You shall see her again surely--surely!" interrupted Ulrich. "I see her
before me, and what I see in my mind, I can paint!"

The work was commenced the very same day. Ulrich now succeeded
wonderfully, and lavished on the portrait all the wealth of love, with
which his heart was filled.

Never had he guided the brush so joyously; in painting this picture he
only wished to give, to give--give his beloved father the best he could
accomplish, so he succeeded.

The young wife, attired in a burgher dress, stood with her bewitching
eyes and a melancholy, half-tender, half-mournful smile on her lips.

Adam was not permitted to enter the studio again until the portrait was
completed. When Ulrich at last unveiled the picture, the old man--unable
longer to control himself--burst into loud sobs and fell upon his
son's breast. It seemed to Adam that the pretty creature in the golden
frame--far from needing his forgiveness--was entitled to his gratitude
for many blissful hours.

Soon after, Adam found Moor at home, and a few hours later took Ulrich
to him. It was a happy and a quiet meeting, which was soon followed by a
second interview in the smith's house.

Moor gazed long and searchingly at Ulrich's work. When he had examined
it sufficiently, he held out his hand to his pupil, saying warmly:

"I always said so; you are an artist! From to-morrow we will work
together again, daily, and you will win more glorious victories with the
brush than with the sword."

Ulrich's cheeks glowed with happiness and pride.

Ruth had never before seen him look so, and as she gazed joyfully into
his eyes, he held out his hands to her, exclaiming: "An artist, an
artist again! Oh, would that I had always remained one! Now I lack only
one thing more--yourself!"

She rushed to his embrace, exclaiming joyously "Yours, yours! I have
always been so, and always shall be, to-day, to-morrow, unto death,
forever and ever!"