When the eyes of the wounded officer rested on the young girl, their deep eloquence telling whole volumes of poetry, recollections of the past, hopeful dreams for the future, her eyes fell, and a slight blush passed over her brow, and yet she raised them again, and her answer sparkled through a veil of tears. Once when Helena offered him some cooling drink, his long, thin, white hand, with its dark blue veins, was stretched out towards her, she gave him hers, and he clasped it, and held it for a long time, and his eyes rested on her so thankfully, so enquiringly, so longingly, that, with a sudden crimson blush, she withdrew her hand; but her look had answered his, and, smiling, he closed his eyes, to dream again in light and happy slumber. And often since then, with an imploring look, he had held out his hand, and she had given him hers,--and then her hand had been gently pressed to his lips, and a kiss had been breathed on it with the hot breath of sickness, and again tremblingly she had withdrawn her hand, and again their eyes had met, and a happy smile had appeared upon her lips. And the dumb language between them had grown richer and clearer, and he had often opened his lips as if to make his feeble voice enforce the words his eyes had spoken; but with a sweet smile she had laid her finger on her lips, and his mouth had remained silent. At last his lips moved as she sat by his bed, and in the lowest whisper he said, "Dear Helena." Then with a quick movement and a brilliant look she had held out her hand to him, and had not withdrawn it when he had pressed it long and fervently to his lips. Madame von Wendenstein had seen much of this dumb language, and had understood it;--for what woman does not understand it? and what mother is indifferent when the heart of a beloved son turns with tender feelings to her who through the warfare of daily life may carry on a gentle woman's work, begun by the mother herself during the quiet years of childhood, that work of mild, consoling, gentle, forgiving love, without which man's strength is hard and unfruitful; without which man's work is without charm and graceful inspiration? Lost in these reflections she had often sat watching the movements of the two young hearts; whether it was pleasing to her, whether she saw with joy or grief that which was unfolded to her, and which she could not prevent, was hard to read in her pale, but calm and cheerful features; nevertheless she was deeply moved by the sight of this flower of love springing up from her son's bed of pain. And when one day the wounded man put out both hands, and taking her hand and Helena's at the same moment, silently implored that a mother's love might be given to his beloved, without speaking she passed her arms round Helena, and imprinted a kiss upon her brow; then her daughter came, and tenderly pressed Helena to her heart; and the sick man with a look of happiness folded his pale hands together in thankfulness.