looked round,
composed herself, passed her handkerchief over her eyes, and said
kindly, "Take care, Mr. Wohlfart, that the foolhardiness of your friend
leads you into no fresh danger. My brother would be very sorry that your
intercourse with him should prove an injury to you."

"Miss Sabine," replied Anton, looking reverentially at her, "Fink is as
noble as he is reckless. He saved me at the peril of his own life."

"Oh yes!" cried Sabine, with an expression Anton did not quite
understand; "he loves to play with whatever is sacred to others."

At that moment Mr. Jordan came to request her to give them some music.
She went at once.

Anton was excited to the utmost. Sabine Schroeter stood so high in the
estimation of the gentlemen of the counting-house that they paid her the
compliment of rarely naming her. Most of the younger clerks had been
desperately in love with her; and though the flames had burned down for
want of fuel, yet the embers still glowed in the innermost recesses of
their hearts. All alike would have fought for her against any enemy in
the world. But they looked upon her as a marble saint, a being beyond
the influence of human weaknesses.

Anton, however, now doubted whether she were really this. To him, too,
the young lady of the house had been like the moon, only visible afar
off, and on one side. Daily he sat opposite her, saw the delicate
sadness of her face--the deep glance of her beautiful eyes--heard her
speak the same commonplace sentences, and knew no more of her. All at
once an accident made him her confidant. He felt sure, by many a token,
that this grief was connected with Fink; and although he had for him the
devoted admiration that an unsophisticated youth readily bestows upon a
daring and experienced comrade, yet, in this case, he found himself
enlisted on the lady's side against his friend; he resolved to watch him
narrowly, and be to her a brotherly protector, a faithful
confidant--all, in short, that was sympathizing and helpful.

A few hours later, Sabine sat in the window with folded hands. Her
brother had laid aside his newspaper, and was watching her anxiously. At
last he rose, stepped silently up to her, and laid his hand on her head.
She clasped him in her arms. There they stood, leaning against each
other, two friends who had so shared their lives that each knew the
other's thoughts without a spoken word.

Tenderly stroking his sister's hair, the merchant began: "You know