"Sit down; I have much to say to you," he said, after her first greeting. "Pray, Aunt Thekla, leave us alone." The old lady withdrew with an air of surprise. Johann Leopold lay still, staring before him, while Johanna contemplated him with compassion. His sunken temples, his neglected beard, his haggard eyes, made him still look very ill. "Red Jakob,--what do you know of him?" he asked at last. "I asked Ludwig--Dr. Werner, I mean--to take your place there," she replied. "You can depend upon him----" "I know that," he interrupted her. "Well, what does he think?--how is Jakob?" "Not well; Ludwig thinks his arm will always be useless." "I thought so," said the sick man. "Does Christine know it?" "Yes; I wrote her about it," Johanna made answer. "She was with him yesterday, and came to me afterwards. She was very sad----" "And has given the poor fellow up, of course," the invalid interposed. "You do not really believe that," said Johanna. "Do you not remember calling them the 'happy unfortunates'? Christine considers it a matter of course that she is now to take care of the helpless man. 'God has taken from me my little Jakob, and so I am better able to work for the big one,' she said; adding that she would do it joyfully if he would only be content, but that it would almost break his heart not to be able to earn his own living." "Perhaps he may do so yet. I may be able to help him in that," said Johann Leopold. And after a pause he went on, in a hard tone, "Suppose I were no longer the heir, but ill and a cripple for my lifetime, how would my future betrothed behave to me? Do not reply. I know that our opinions upon this point agree, and that I cannot lay any claim to affection." He looked so unhappy as he spoke that Johanna felt compelled to contradict him, but he cut her words short impatiently. "Let us consult about Red Jakob," he said. "With whole limbs he would have had to go, for the sake of grandpapa's game; but crippled he may stay. About a mile and a half from here, among the mountains, I have a small estate, inherited from my mother. It is called Forest Hermitage, and the house is little more than an observatory. The grounds about it I have laid out as a forester's garden. The man who has had the care of it wishes to move down among his children in the valley. What do you think? Would Jakob and Christine like to live in that solitude?" "They would be enraptured----" Johanna began. The invalid interrupted her. "Then Dr. Werner shall propose it to Jakob," he said, and, covering his eyes with his hand, he sighed heavily. "It would enrapture no one to live in a solitude with me," he said, as if to himself, as Johanna, filled with solicitude lest the conversation should have been too much for him, called Aunt Thekla from the next room.