what
large dealings we have with Fink's father?"

"I know that you are not satisfied with the son."

"I could not help taking him into our house, but I regret the hour I did
so."

"Do not be hard upon him," pleaded the sister, kissing her brother's
hand; "think how much there is that is noble in his character."

"I am not unjust toward him. But it is yet to be proved whether he will
be a blessing or a curse to his fellow-men. He may become a more paltry
aristocrat, who wastes his energies in refined self-indulgence, or a
covetous, unscrupulous money-maker, like his uncle in America."

"He is not heartless!" murmured Sabine; "his friendship for Wohlfart
shows that."

"He does but play with him--throws him into the water, and picks him out
again."

"Nay," cried Sabine; "he esteems his good sense and high principles, and
feels that he has a better nature than his own."

"Do not deceive yourself and me," replied the merchant; "I know the
fascination that this strange man has long had for you. I have said
nothing, for I could trust you. But, now that I see that he makes you
really unhappy, I can not but wish for his absence. He shall leave our
house without delay."

"Oh no, no!" cried Sabine, wringing her hands. "No, Traugott, that shall
not, must not be! If there be any way of rescuing him from the evil
influences of his past life, it is the being with you. To see, to take
part in the regular activity, the high honor of your mercantile career,
is salvation to him. Brother," continued she, taking his hand, "I have
no secrets from you; you have found out my foolish weakness; but I
promise you that henceforth it shall be no more to me than the
recollection of some tale that I have read. Never by look or word will I
betray it; only do not, oh! do not be angry with him--do not send him
away, and that on my account."

"But how can I tell whether his remaining here may not subject you to a
painful conflict?" inquired the merchant. "Our position as regards him
is difficult enough without this. He ranks as a brilliant match in every
sense of the word. His father has intrusted him to me. If an attachment
were to spring up between you, it would be treachery to his father to
withhold it from him. It might seem to him as if we had a wish to secure
the young heir; and he, accustomed as he is to easy conquests, might
perhaps laugh at what he would call your weakness and my
long-headedness. The very thought calls up all my pri