The stranger’s eyes grew moist. “Thanks, a thousand thanks,” she said. “And let us be friends, I entreat you, with all my heart. Shall I propose something? Take me as godmother for your youngest child, and do me the same favor when Heaven blesses me.” The two women pressed each other’s hands silently. The bond of friendship was sealed. When the visitor had left her, Frau Elsbeth looked round with a shy, sad look. “Just now everything here was bright and sunny,” she murmured, “and now it has become so dark again.” After a short time, in spite of the nurse’s opposition, the two eldest boys rushed into the sickroom with joyful clamor. Each had a bag with sweets in his hand. “The strange lady has given us this,” they shouted. Frau Elsbeth smiled. “Hush, children,” she said, “an angel has been with us.” The two little boys opened anxious eyes, and asked, “Mamma, an angel?” CHAPTER II. So Mrs. Douglas became Paul’s godmother. Meyerhofer, indeed, was not a little indignant at the new friendship, for “I don’t want the pity of happy people,” he often used to say; but when the mild, gentle woman appeared in the manor-house for the second time, and tried to persuade him, he did not dare to say “No” any longer. He also gave his consent to their prolonged stay in the old home, though he did it with repugnance. The farm Mussainen, which in fact he had bought that same day, was in so desolate a condition that it seemed dangerous for wife and children to stay there in the cold autumn days. Above all, the most needful repairs had to be made. Carpenter, mason, and builder had to be fetched ere it was possible to think of moving. Nevertheless, Frau Elsbeth, through her husband’s obstinacy, was forced to move into the new dwelling long before the arrangements were finished. One day when an inspector from the new master appeared with a number of workmen and asked for shelter in his name, he declared this proceeding to be an intentional insult, and was firmly resolved not to stay a day longer on the ground which once had been his property. It was a cold, dull November day when Frau Elsbeth and her children had to say farewell to the dear house. A fine, drizzling rain came from the sky, making everything damp. The heath, shrouded in gray mist, lay desolate and comfortless before their eyes. The youngest at her breast, the two other children crying near her, she stepped into the vehicle which was to lead her towards her new fate, which, alas! seemed so dark. When they drove out of the gate, the cold winds from the heath whipped their faces with icy scourges. Then the little one, who for so long had been lying peaceful and quiet, began to cry bitterly. She wrapped him closer in her cloak and bent down low over the shivering little form, in order to hide the tears, which were streaming down her cheeks incessantly.