He gazed at Helena who sat opposite to him, bending over her work. She did not raise her eyes; but she felt his look, and a deep blush passed over her face, and Madame von Wendenstein saw it with a quiet smile; from the sorrowful present she foresaw a bright and happy future. Whilst this went on in the apartments upstairs, Margaret sat with her father and Fritz Deyke at their simple evening meal. The young girl turned the new potatoes skilfully out of their brown coats, they were first-fruits of the year, and she prepared them for her father and the guest who had become like one of themselves. They were all three silent, and the young peasant looked very mournful. "You do not eat," said the old man, looking at his guest's plate, though he himself showed but little appetite. "Perhaps I have not done them well," said Margaret, trying to make a little joke; but her voice was dismal. Fritz Deyke gave a quick glance at her pale face and downcast eyes. "I cannot!" he cried, as he threw down his knife and fork upon the plate. "When I think that I am to go to-morrow, I really wish I had never come; when I sit at home and think of how happy we used to be, especially how beautifully Margaret did everything at dinner time--no wonder I cannot eat!" Old Lohmeier looked at him sympathetically, it was plain that he was sorry to part with the kind, goodhearted young fellow. "Stay here," he said simply, "you know we should like to keep you." Margaret looked at him with bright eyes swimming with tears. "I cannot help it," he said, "I must go some time, and the longer I stay the worse it will be." He sighed deeply, and his eyes met those of the young girl. Margaret put down her head and sobbed aloud. Then she sprang up, covered her face with her hands, and leaned her head against a large chest that stood in the corner, weeping bitterly. Fritz Deyke rushed to her. "My God!" he cried, and tried to withdraw her hands from her face, "I cannot bear it, you will break my heart!" He stood still for a moment before the weeping girl with his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the ground. Then he walked quickly back to the table and stood before the old man. "Herr Lohmeier," he said in a firm tone, "I can no longer restrain my feelings. I intended to go home first and come to an understanding with my father, and then to come back here, but I cannot do it. I cannot see her cry, I must speak, and as to my father, I know beforehand quite well what he will say. Herr Lohmeier, I cannot be happy without Margaret, I have enough, much more than enough to keep a wife. I know you think me an honest fellow--give me your daughter!" Margaret did not move, she kept her hands over her face, the low sound of her weeping was heard throughout the room, whilst Fritz Deyke looked at her father in breathless suspense. He gazed gravely before him. He did not look much surprised, perhaps he had expected something of the kind, but for a time he was silent and thoughtful.