"I must speak to you," I said, as soon as I caught sight of him. He looked at me apprehensively. "I am at your disposal." "Not now," I answered, glancing at the children; "I must speak to you alone. Can you spare time on Sunday?" "If there is anything the matter. Why not earlier?" I felt immensely relieved. "Then to-day?" I asked. "Of course, whenever you like." After that we appointed the time and place, and parted. But scarcely had he gone than I began to regret what I was about to do. The whole thing seemed to me almost madness. What right had I to ask him for money? I felt so tortured, so miserable, and when the time of our appointment drew near, I decided not to go. Nor did I. Instead, I read that fatal letter over and over again. It was written by my father, and there was one passage that ran: "Mother is worn out with crying and fretting, and is not feeling well of late. What we are to do if we really have to move out into the street, I do not know. They would never take us into the alms-house, because we do not belong to Langenau at all." I put my face on the table and wept bitterly. All at once I decided to do what I had meant to do, and looked at the clock. It was a whole hour late for the meeting we had arranged, and I could not expect to find him still waiting. Controlling my sorrows as well as I could, I went about my duty. That evening I was alone, my mistress having gone to the theatre, and after I had put the children to bed I grew so terribly anxious again--chiefly about my mother--that I decided to wait no longer. But what could I do? Surely he was not at home; and even if he happened to be in, could I go and ask for him? Though almost certain that it was perfectly useless to look for him, I went out on the balcony and noticed, half-mad with delight, a light burning in a little room situated one floor higher, where he used to develop photographs, to mend watches, and so forth. I walked upstairs, hardly conscious of what I was doing, and knocked at his door as softly as if I did not wish to be heard. He had heard me, however, and called "Come in," whereupon I pushed the door open and entered hesitatingly. Inside the room I pressed myself hard against the wall, and could not speak. He had laid aside his work at once, and looked at me with questioning eyes. "Will you not speak?" he at length urged softly. After that I told him my little tale in great haste, though sobs interrupted me. While telling him all, it occurred to me that after knowing my people's history so well he might not wish to be my friend any longer, and I gazed at him anxiously when I had finished. His face, however, relieved my fears. His eyes wore the thoughtful, apprehensive look that I had noticed several times before, and his lips smiled the kind, well-known smile. "How much do you want?" "Very, very much," I said blushingly. "How much?" he urged.