ame and the old man answered her, saying
kindly, but with difficulty: "Ah, it is you, you, my child!"

She took up the lamp and went close to the sick man. He put out his lean
arm to welcome her; but, as her approach brought the light near to him
he covered his eyes, crying out distressfully: "No, no; that hurts. Take
away the lamp."

Katharina set it down on a low chest behind the head of the bed; then
she went up to the sufferer, gave him her mother's message, and asked
him how he was and why he was left alone. He could only give incoherent
answers which he gasped out with great difficulty, bidding her go close
to him for he could not hear her distinctly. He was very ill, he told
her--dying. It was good of her to have come for she had always been his
pet, his dear, good little girl.

"And it was a happy impulse that brought you," he added, "to receive an
old man's blessing. I give it you with my whole heart."

As he spoke he put forth his hand and she, following an instinctive
prompting, fell on her knees by the side of the couch.

He laid his burning right hand on her head and murmured some words of
blessing; she, however, scarcely heeded them, for his hand felt like
lead and its heat oppressed and distressed her dreadfully. It was
a sincere grief to her to see this true old friend of her childhood
suffering thus--perhaps indeed dying; at the same time she did not
forget what had brought her here--still, she dared not disturb him
in this act of love. He gave her his blessing--that was kind; but his
mutterings did not come to an end, the weight of the hot hand on her
head grew heavier and heavier, and at last became intolerable. She
felt quite dazed, but with an effort she collected her senses and then
perceived that the old man had wandered off from the usual formulas of
blessing and was murmuring disconnected and inarticulate words.

At this she raised the terrible, fevered hand, laid it on the bed, and
was about to ask him whether he had betrayed her to Benjamin, and if he
had mentioned her name, when--Merciful God! there on his cheeks were the
same livid spots that she had noticed on those of the plague stricken
man in Medea's house. With a cry of horror she sprang up, snatched at
the lamp, held it over the sufferer, heedless of his cries of anguish,
looked into his face, and pulled away the weary hands with which he
tried to screen his eyes from the light. Then, having convinced herself
that she was not mis