“Yes; that would be emptying the cup to the dregs. The lost magnificence always in view--for, you must know, the manor-house of Helenenthal exactly overlooks it. It is surrounded by moor and fen--wellnigh two hundred acres. Perhaps one could cultivate some of it--one might be the pioneer of progress. What could people say? “‘Meyerhofer is a brave fellow,’ they would say; ‘he is not ashamed of his misfortune; he looks at it with a certain irony.’ Pah, really one _should_ look at it with irony; that is the only sublime view of the world--one should whistle at it!” and he uttered a shrill whistle, so that the sick woman started up in her bed. “Forgive me, my darling,” he pleaded, caressing her hand suddenly in the rosiest of humors; “but am I not right? One should whistle at it. As long as one has the consciousness of being an honest man, one can bear all adversity with a certain relish. Relish is the right word. The ground is to be sold any day, for the owner has lately gained a rich estate by marriage, and leaves this rubbish entirely uncultivated.” “Think well over it first, Max,” the woman pleaded, in great anxiety. “What is the good of hesitating?” he replied, violently. “We must not be a burden to this Mr. Douglas, and we cannot lay claim to anything better with our miserable two thousand thalers; therefore, let us seize upon it promptly.” And without taking time to say good-bye to the sick woman, he strode away. A few minutes later she heard his dog-cart driving away through the gate. In the afternoon of the same day a strange visitor was announced. A beautiful, distinguished lady was said to have driven into the yard in a smart carriage, who wished to pay a visit to the mistress in her sick-room. “Who was it?” She had refused to give her name. “How strange!” thought Frau Elsbeth; but as in her grief she was beginning to believe in special providences, she did not say no. The door opened. A slender, delicate figure, with gentle, refined features, approached the bed of the sick woman with gliding steps. Without speaking a word she seized her hand and said, in a soft, slightly veiled voice: “I have concealed my name, dear Mrs. Meyerhofer, for I feared you would refuse to see me if I had given it beforehand. And I should like best even now to remain unknown. Unfortunately, I fear that you will not look at me with kindness any longer when you know who I am.” “I hate no one in the world,” replied Frau Elsbeth, “least of all a name.” “I am called Helene Douglas,” said the lady, gently, and she pressed the invalid’s hand closer. Frau Elsbeth began at once to cry, while the visitor, as if she had been an old friend, put her arm round her neck, kissed her on the brow, and said, with a soft, comforting voice: