was pale, and his
eyes were moist with tears.

CHAPTER VII.

POISONOUS FOOD.

"Herr Frank has not been here for four days," said Siegwart as he
returned one day from the field. "He will not come to-day, for it is
already nine o'clock, I hope the young man is not ill."

Angela started.

"Ill? May God forbid!"

"At least, I know no other reason that could prevent him from coming.
He has become a necessity to me; I seem to miss something."

Angela concealed her uneasiness in true womanly fashion. She busied
herself about the room, dusted the furniture, arranged the vases, and
trimmed the flowers; but one could see that her mind was not in the
work.

"Would it not be well, father, to send and inquire after his health?"

"It would if we were certain that he was ill. I only made a conjecture.
However, if he does not come to-morrow, I will send Henry over.

"We owe him this attention; he is sensible, modest, and very
intelligent. We find at present in the cities and first families few
young men of so little assumption and so much goodness and manliness."

Angela pricked her finger. She had incautiously wandered into the
thicket, as if she did not know that roses have thorns.

"Many things tell of his kind-heartedness," she replied, with averted
face. "He sends five dollars every week to the old blind woman in
Salingen; he often takes the money himself, and comforts the
unfortunate creature. The blind woman is full of enthusiasm about him.
He bought the cooper a full set of tools, that he might be able to
support his mother and seven little sisters."

"Very praiseworthy," said the father.

As Siegwart came home in the evening, Angela met him in the yard. She
carried a basket and was about to go into the garden.

"Herr Frank is not unwell," said he; "I saw him in the field and went
through the vineyard to meet him; but when he discovered my intention,
he turned about and hastened toward the house. That surprises me."

Angela went into the garden. She stood on the bed and gazed at the
lettuce. The empty basket awaited its contents, and in it lay the knife
whose bright blade glistened before the idle dreamer. She stood thus
meditating, lost in thought for a long time, which was certainly not
her custom.

Herr Frank had returned from the city, and was roughly received by the
doctor.

"Have you spoken to your son?" said he sharply.

"No! I