e baron. My interference may seem, both to him and to
your father, sheer presumption. I do not say that the step is a useless,
but it is a most uncertain one. It would be better that you should first
find out the nature of your father's proceedings."

"Go, though, to the baron," implored Bernhard, "and if he remain silent,
ask the young lady. I have seen her," continued he; "I have kept it back
from you as men will keep their dearest secret; now you shall hear it. I
have been more than once on the Rothsattel estate. I know how fair she
is, how proud her bearing, how noble her every gesture. When she walks
over the grass, she seems the queen of nature; an azure glory shines
around her head; wherever she looks, all things bow down before her; her
teeth like pearls, her bosom a bed of lilies," whispered he, and sank
down on his pillows with folded hands and flashing eyes.

"He too!" cried Anton to himself. "My poor Bernhard, you are delirious!"

Bernhard shook his head. "Since that day," said he, "I know that life is
not commonplace, but it is terrible! Will you now consent to speak to
the baron and his daughter?"

"I will," said Anton, rising to go. "But I repeat to you that, in doing
this, I am taking an important step, which may easily lead to fresh
involvements for us both."

"One in my state fears no involvements," said Bernhard; "and as for
you," and he cast a searching glance at Anton, "you will be what you
have spoken of to me this day, a man who can cut his way through
difficulties, and whose business it is, even though wounded, to fight
with fate. Me, Anton Wohlfart, me the whirlwind will sweep away."

"Faint-heart," cried Anton, tenderly, "it is your disease that speaks
thus. Courage will return with health."

"You hope so?" inquired the invalid, doubtingly. "I do so too, at times;
but often I grow faint-hearted, as you say. Yes, I will live, and I will
live no longer as of yore. I will try hard to grow stronger. I will not
dream so much as I do now, will not fret and excite myself in solitude.
I will make trial of the life of a brave and wise man, who gives back
every blow that he receives," cried he, with flushed cheeks, and holding
out his hand to his friend. Anton bent over him, and left the room.

That evening Ehrenthal went to his son's bedside, as he always did,
after having closed the office door and hidden the key in his own room.

"What did the doctor say to you to-day, my Bernhard?"

Bernhar