"Dear little Cilli," said Reinhold, sitting down by her and taking her hands in his "do not be so anxious. I give you my word that my uncle does not dream of parting with your father; matters remain between them exactly as before." "Not exactly," answered Cilli, shaking her head; "since Thursday my father has been quite changed. He has scarcely eaten or slept; and this morning, quite early, he came to my bedside and said that he had no longer any doubts, that he also was a Socialist, and he must tell Herr Schmidt. That was quite right, as we ought always to tell the truth, even in this case, when your uncle will not allow any Socialists on his works. And although, as you tell me, and I believed before, your uncle will make an exception in favour of my father, because he is old and feeble, my father is proud, and will not endure to be merely tolerated, all the more that he is undoubtedly in the right." "How, my dear Cilli?" asked Reinhold, astonished. "Your father is in the right?" "Certainly he is," answered Cilli warmly; "is it not wrong that even one man should suffer when others can prevent it? Did not Christ tell us to feed the hungry, to give drink to the thirsty, to clothe the naked, to comfort the oppressed and heavy-laden? And if Christ had not commanded it, does not every good man's heart command it?" "In that case, my dear Cilli, all good men must be Socialists, and even I myself may lay claim to the title; but between the love of our neighbours, as you describe it, and Socialism as these people desire it, there is a wide difference." "I see none," said Cilli. Reinhold looked at the sightless eyes upraised with an expression of gentle enthusiasm. "I can well believe that you do not see it, poor child," he said to himself. "And on that point I am quite easy," continued the blind girl; "men must live up to their convictions, and bear the consequences patiently. And my father and I can do so the more easily, that at the worst we shall not have to bear them long." "What do you mean, dear Cilli?" "I know that my father will not live long; the doctor has always feared that he would sink under one of his nervous attacks; and once, when he was very bad, he told me so, that I might be prepared. I am prepared. And if my father could only believe that I should not outlive him long, he would be more easy in his mind. He thinks so much of you; perhaps he would believe you if you assured him of it." "But how can I, dear Cilli?"