Such a course would not really help her. She knew very well what she needed; sunshine! Dame Care had shrouded her too closely with her sombre veil to allow a single ray of sun to penetrate into her soul. It was now left to the twins to take care of the household. And the work was briskly done indeed; even Paul had to confess that. When they had broken anything, they laughed; when a walk was refused them, they cried; but the crying soon changed again to laughter, and the table was never so promptly served, the milk-pails had never been so bright. His mother often observed that from her window, and thought, “It is a good thing that I should go away; I am no longer of any use in the world.” About Whitsuntide her sleep began to fail; then fever set in. “Oh, how expensive quinine is!” sighed Paul, when the servant rode off to the chemist’s; and he looked appealingly at “Black Susy,” but she did not move. Often the work in the fields had to come to a stand-still, in order that they might earn a few groschen for the household by cutting peat. His mother began to suffer from palpitations, and desired most earnestly that somebody would sit up with her at night. But the twins, tired out with their day’s work, would fall asleep in the evening by the bedside of the invalid, and often sank down right across her bed, so that the feeble woman often had to bear upon her own body the weight of the two healthy girls. Paul sent his sisters to rest, and took upon himself the office of watching. “Go to sleep, my son,” said his mother; “you need rest more than any of them.” But he remained; and in the May nights, when outside in the garden the flowers were whispering and the perfume of the lilac penetrated through every crack, the two would often sit hand in hand for hours looking at each other, as though they had wondrous things to impart. So it had always been between mother and son. The wealth of their love sought for expression in words, but care had robbed them of speech. In the morning, when the sun rose, he dipped his head into icy cold water and went to work. His presence brought peace to his mother, in so far that she could sleep at times when he was by. Then he used to go on tip-toe to his room and fetch down his books on physics, in which the construction of steam-engines was so learnedly and unintelligibly set forth. His head, tired with watching and unaccustomed to any mental work, with difficulty grasped the sense of the mysterious words; but he had time, and indefatigably he worked on, page by page, as a peasant ploughs a stony field. If his mother opened her eyes, she would ask, “How are you getting on, my son?” And then he had to explain it to her, and she pretended to understand something about it. But if she asked, “Why are you doing this?” he would put on a knowing look, and reply, “I am learning to make gold.” “My poor boy,” she would answer, stroking his hand.