ve whenever she referred to
Daniel. He seemed to be grieved at the mere mention of his name. He
would merely look at the door, tuck his hands up his coat-sleeves, and
draw his head down between his shoulders.

Once he said: "Can you explain to me, my good woman, why I am alive? Can
you throw any light on such a preposterous paradox as my present
existence? My son--a wretch, vanished without a trace, so far as I am
concerned no longer living. My daughters, both of them, in the grave; my
dear wife also. I have been a man, a husband, and a father; that is, I
have _been_ a father! My existence scorns the laws and purposes of
nature. To eat, to drink, to sleep--oh, what repulsive occupations! And
yet, if I do not eat, I get hungry; if I do not drink, I get thirsty; if
I do not sleep, I get sick. How simple, how aimless it all is! For me
the birds no longer sing, the bells no longer ring, the musicians have
no more music."

Owing to her desire to find consolation of some kind and at any price,
she turned to Eberhard and Sylvia; they were now visiting Daniel almost
every day. She liked them; there was so much consideration for other
people in their behaviour, so much delicacy and refinement in their
conversation. Sylvia was not in the least offended by Daniel's sullen
silence; she treated him with a respect and deference that made Marian
feel good; for it was proof to her that in the eyes of good and noble
people Daniel stood in high esteem. The Baron seemed in some mysterious
way to be continually talking about Eleanore, though he never mentioned
her name. There was a sadness in his eyes that reminded her of Eleanore;
there was something supersensuous in its power. Marian often felt as
though this strange nobleman and her son were brothers and at the same
time enemies, as seen in the light of painful memories. Sylvia also
seemed to have the same feeling; but she found nothing objectionable in
the relation.

One day, as Marian accompanied the two to the hall door, she decided to
pick up her courage; and she did. "Well, how do you think he is going to
make out?" she asked; "he has no work; as a matter of fact he never
speaks of work. What will that lead to?"

"We have been thinking about that," replied Sylvia, "and I believe a way
has been found to help him. He will hear about it in a short while. But
he must not suspect that we have anything to do with it." She looked at
her fiance; he nodded approvingly.

Eberhard and S