The mother took his hand, bent over him, and gently breathed a kiss upon his brow; and under the magnetic influence of a mother's kiss, the young man slowly opened his eyes, and gazed around with a vacant look. But then a happy ray of recognition animated the senseless eyes, a smile came to his lips, and the mother felt an almost imperceptible pressure on her fingers. The old lady sank on her knees beside the bed, laid her head on her son's hand, and, in silent unspoken prayer, besought God to preserve this life, dearer to her than her own. The two young girls stood behind Madame von Wendenstein. Helena's large burning eyes were fixed on the image of the man, now so weak and fragile, who had left her so fresh and strong. His sister concealed her tears with her handkerchief; but Helena's eyes were dry and bright, her pale features composed and motionless. She stood with folded hands, and her lips trembled slightly. Lieutenant von Wendenstein's widely-opened eyes fell on the young girl, when his mother sank down beside his bed. A gleam of happiness passed over his face, his eyes brightened with a look of delight, his lips opened slightly, but a hard, rattling breath came from his mouth, and a red foam appeared on his lips. His eyelids closed again, and the face lay deadly pale and rigid on the white pillow. Then the surgeon arrived, and brought uncertain comfort, and a time commenced of unwearied watching--that quiet work, so difficult in its simplicity and on which so rich a blessing rests, which raises the heart so high above all earthly things, to the Fount of love, the Eternal Lord of human life and human fate. How easy it seems to sit in a comfortable chair, and watch the sleep of the sick; how small the trouble of laying a cooling bandage on a wound, of placing a nourishing drink, a composing medicine to the lips! But who can weigh the anguish and anxiety with which the loving eye hangs on each movement of the eyelash, on each quiver of the lip, on every breath! The life of the sick may be endangered by a minute's sleep, a forgotten order. Oh! how great these small, unimportant services are through the long nights, when the seconds, wont to fly so quickly, roll heavily, drearily into the sea of eternity; how small and colourless all the changing brilliant doings of the outer world appear, compared with the quiet sick-room and its holy work of preserving a human life, and staying the Fates' cold hands, with their pitiless shears, from severing a tender thread, on which hang joy and hope, love and happiness, work and success!