out of humor; an old bachelor ought to have no house at
all--everywhere great empty rooms, everywhere solitude. One wants to
talk to one's self to keep from being afraid. I knew it well, and for
that reason put off my return from day to day.' He gave a shrug. 'I
shall go away again; that will be the best thing.'

"I now first looked at him attentively. He had altered, he had grown
years older. I did not know how to answer, he had spoken so strangely.
After a while he rose. 'I wish for improvement with all my heart. Do not
worry; God cannot wish that he should go now, right from the most
complete happiness.'

"God cannot wish it! So we mortals say when we think it impossible that
some one should leave us on whose life a piece of our own life depends.
God does not wish it--and already the shadow of death is falling deeper
and deeper over the beloved face. Such times lie in the past like heavy,
black, obscure shadows; that they were fearful we still know, but _how_
we felt we are not able to feel again in its full terror.

"Days had passed. Anna Maria had long ceased to weep; she had no tears,
for breathless fear. Without a word she performed her sad duties, and
listened benumbed to the wandering talk of the invalid--Susanna and the
child, and ever again Susanna.

"Then came a day on which the physicians said, 'No hope.' In the morning
Klaus had recovered his senses, and Anna Maria came out of the sick-room
with such a happy, hopeful look that my heart really rose. She beckoned
to me, and I took her place at the sick-bed for a moment.

"He reached out for my hand. 'How is Susanna?' he said softly.

"'Well, dear Klaus; do you wish to see her? Shall she come in?'

"'No, no!' he whispered, 'not come; it may be contagious--but Anna
Maria?'

"'She will be here again directly, Klaus,' said I. And, as if she had
been called, she came in at the door, and, kneeling by his bed, laid her
cheek caressingly on his hand.

"'Anna Maria,' he complained, 'my thoughts are already beginning
again--my child, my poor little child----'

"She started up. 'Klaus, do not speak so, dear Klaus!'

"'It is so strange,' he whispered on; 'I don't see Susanna distinctly
any longer, but I hear her laughing, always laughing. I shut my ears,
and yet I hear her laugh.'

"Anna Maria gave me a sad look. 'I will stay with your child, Klaus,'
said she. He pressed her hand. His eyes were already glowing feverishly,
and all at once he started up, the