ything yet stood as formerly--the large book case, with
the glass doors, behind which the intellectual treasure was preserved:
Wieland and Fielding, Millot's "History of the World," and Von der
Hagen's "Narrenbuch," occupied the principal place: these books had
been those most read by the old gentleman. Here was also Otto's earliest
intellectual food, Albertus Julius, the English "Spectator," and Evald's
writings. Upon the wall hung pikes and pistols, and a large old sabre,
which the grandfather had once worn. Upon the table beneath the mirror
stood an hour-glass; the sand had run out. Rosalie pointed toward the
bed. "There he died," said she, "between six and seven o'clock in the
evening. He was only ill three days; the two last he passed in delirium:
he raised himself in bed, and shook the bed posts; I was obliged to let
two strong men watch beside him. 'To horse! to horse!' said he; 'the
cannons forward!' His brain dreamed of war and battles. He also spoke of
your blessed father severely and bitterly! Every word was like the stab
of a knife; he was as severe toward him as ever!"

"And did the people understand his words?" asked Otto with a wrinkled
brow.

"No, for the uninitiated they were dark words; and even had they
possessed any meaning, the men would have believed it was the sickness
which spoke out of him. 'There stands the mother with the two children!
The one shall fall upon the flank of the enemy and bring me honor and
joy. The mother and daughter I know not!' That was all which I heard him
say about you and your mother and sister. By noon on the third day the
fever had spent itself; the strong, gloomy man was become as weak and
gentle as a child; I sat beside his bed. 'If I had only Otto here!' said
he. 'I have been severely attacked, Rosalie, but I am now much better:
I will go to sleep; that strengthens one.' Smilingly he closed his eyes
and lay quite still: I read my prayers, withdrew gently so as not to
wake him; he lay there unchanged when I returned. I sat a little while
beside his bed; his hands lay upon the coverlid; I touched them, they
were ice-cold. I was frightened, touched his brow, his face--he was
dead! he had died without a death-struggle!"

For a long time did they converse about the dead man; it was near
midnight when Otto ascended the narrow stairs which led to the little
chamber in the roof, where as child and boy he had slept. All stood here
as it had done the year before, only in nic