st save him, or follow him to the grave. "When he
raises the pitcher to his lips, I will rush out," she whispered to
Bertram, softly, and opened the curtains a little in order to watch
him.

Gotzkowsky had returned to the _etagere_. He took the silver-oaken
wreath, the civic crown presented to him by the city of Berlin, and
looked at it with a bitter, scornful smile. "I earned this," he said,
half aloud--"I will take it with me to the grave. They shall find my
corpse crowned with this wreath, and when they turn away in shame, the
broken bankrupt, John Gotzkowsky, will enjoy his last triumph over a
degenerate world." And as if in a dream, in the feverish delirium of
grief, he placed the wreath on his brow, then for a moment stood with
his head bent in deep thought.

It was a strange picture to see his proud, tall figure, his pale,
nervous face, crowned with the silver wreath, and opposite to him,
looking through the curtains, his daughter, whose glowing eyes were
eagerly watching her father.

And now Gotzkowsky seized the silver pitcher, raised it on high--it
had already touched his lips--but suddenly he staggered back. A
dearly-loved voice had called his name. Ah, it was the voice of his
daughter, whom he had forgotten in the bitterness of his grief. He had
believed his heart dead to all feeling, but love still lived in him,
and love called him back to life. Like an electric shock it flew
through his whole frame.

He put the pitcher down, and covering his face with his hands, cried,
"Oh, unnatural father! I forgot my child!"

Behind him stood Elise, praying to God eagerly and fervently. She
wished to appear quite composed, quite unsuspicious, that her father
might not have even an inkling of her knowledge of his dark design.
Her voice dare not tremble, her eye must remain clear and calm, and a
smile play about her lips, which yet quivered with the anxious prayers
she had just offered to God. "My father!" she said, in a low but quiet
voice--"my father, I come to beg your blessing. And here is the myrtle
wreath with which you were to adorn me."

Gotzkowsky still kept his face covered, but his whole frame trembled.
"I thank Thee, O my God! I thank Thee! the voice of my child has saved
me." And turning round suddenly, he stretched out both arms toward
her, exclaiming aloud: "Elise, my child, come to my heart, and comfort
your father."

Elise uttered a cry of joy, rushed into his arms, and nestled close to
his hear