into the
farthest corner of the gallery, and whispered together till dark.

A few days later, at twilight, Anton entered his friend's sick-room. "I
am come to pay you a flying visit, just to see how you are."

"Weak," replied Bernhard; "still very weak, and breathing becomes very
difficult. If I could only get out, only once out of this gloomy room."

"Does your doctor allow you to drive out? If the sun be bright and warm,
I will bring a carriage to-morrow and take you a drive."

"Yes," cried Bernhard, "you shall come. I shall have something to tell
you then." He looked cautiously around. "I have this day received by the
townpost a note without a signature." He drew it out from under his
pillow, and gave it with a mysterious look to his friend. "Take it:
perhaps you know the hand."

Anton went to the window and read, "The Baron Rothsattel wishes to speak
to you this evening. Contrive, therefore, to be alone with your father."

When Anton gave back the note, Bernhard received it reverentially, and
replaced it under his pillow. "Do you know the hand?" said he.

"No," replied Anton; "the hand seems a feigned one; it is not the young
lady's."

"Whoever the writer may be," continued Bernhard, dejectedly, "I hope for
a good result from this evening's interview. Wohlfart, this dispute lies
like a hundred weight on my breast; it takes my breath away. This
evening I shall be better; I shall be free."

Speaking had tired him. "Farewell, then, till morning," said Anton. As
he rose he heard the rustle of ladies' dresses, and Bernhard's mother
and sister approached the bed and greeted the visitor. "How are you,
Bernhard?" asked his mother; "you will be all alone with your father
this evening. There is a great musical meeting, and Rosalie is to play.
We have moved the piano into the back room, Mr. Wohlfart, that Bernhard
may not be disturbed by Rosalie's practicing."

"Sit down for a moment beside me, mother," said Bernhard; "it is long
since I have seen you handsomely dressed. You look beautiful to-day; you
had just such a gown as this when I, as a boy, took scarlet fever. When
I dream of you I always see you in a scarlet dress. Give me your hand,
mother; and while you listen to the music this evening, think, too, of
your Bernhard, who will be making silent melody here."

His mother sat down beside him. "He is feverish again," said she to
Anton, who silently assented.

"To-morrow I shall go out into the sunshine," cried