were concentrated
in an impotent hatred to his agent.

Fink, for his part, took little heed of the baron, merely contracting
his brows when he observed his quarrelsomeness toward Anton, and never
saying more than "he can not help it."

Karl was the one who got on best with the baron, never calling him any
thing but captain, and making an audible military salute whenever he had
any thing to say, and this pleased the blind man. Indeed, the first
token of sympathy for others which the baron evinced was elicited by the
bailiff. A garden chair had been warped by the sun, and seemed on the
point of coming to pieces. Karl, as he passed by, took it up, and with
his clenched fist hammered it together. "You are not striking with your
right hand, I hope, my good Sturm?" inquired the baron.

"Just as it happens, captain," replied Karl.

"You should not do so," remonstrated the invalid. "An injury like yours
should make you careful; very often the pain returns after long years;
you can not be sure that this may not be your case in after-life."

"A short life and a merry one, captain," replied Karl; "I do not look
forward."

"That is a very useful fellow," said the baron to his daughter.

The corn ripened, the green fields turned to gold, the cheerful sounds
of harvest began. When the first loaded wagon rolled into the farm-yard,
Anton stood by the barn and watched the sheaves put in. He was joined by
Lenore, who inquired, "What of the harvest?"

"As far as we could contrive to sow this year, the returns have not been
bad. At least, Karl seems pleased with the crop, which exceeds our
calculations," cheerfully returned Anton.

"Then you have one pleasure, Wohlfart," said Lenore.

"It is a pleasure for all on the farm; look at the steady activity of
the men. Even the idle work well to day. But what pleases me most is
your question; you have been so estranged from the farm, and all that
concerns the property."

"Not from you, my friend," said Lenore, looking down.

"You must be ill!" eagerly continued Anton. "If I dared, I could scold
you for having thought so little about your own health all this time;
your pony is become quite stiff. Karl has often been obliged to use it,
that it might not lose the use of its limbs."

"It may go like the rest," cried Lenore; "I shall never mount it again.
Have pity upon me, Wohlfart! I often feel as if I should lose my senses;
every thing in the world has become indifferent to me."