Of her bereft, Hopeless I sigh, Nothing remains Only to die, So that thine eye Alone may keep, Watch over my grave, And dreamless sleep.-- The sheet on which these verses were written, lay on Balder's knees. Soon after Edwin left him, he had seated himself at the window in the sunlight, and began his holiday by taking a sheet of paper and pouring forth the feelings that filled his soul. We know that he was never happier than when his heart of its own accord began to sing, and his hand could scarcely write fast enough to seize the melodies he heard. But to-day he was particularly happy. His unusual capacity for finding pleasure in everything, even the smallest trifle, seemed heightened by the joy of convalescence. He gazed through the closed window a long time at the white cat, that lay on the sill blinking sleepily, sunning itself, and pretending not to see the sparrows that ventured close up to it. A small white cloud was drifting slowly across the blue sky. He became absorbed in the spectacle, as if he beheld the most wonderful pictures, until his eyes ached from staring at the radiant heavens; then he rose and walked slowly through the room, drawing the lame foot after him almost as if he were dancing, and from time to time pressing to his lips the last of the oranges Marquard had recently brought him, to drink in the fragrance and juice at the same time. Sometimes he thought of his brother, and how pleasantly the hours must be passing with him, sometimes of Reginchen, whose voice was distinctly audible in the front of the house, as she sat at the open windows of the kitchen working and singing to herself; then he paused before Edwin's book shelf, drew out at random one of the volumes, with all of which he was familiar, and read half a page only to restore it to its place again to meditate on what he had read. He even took up his tools as if to use them, but remembered that he had promised Edwin to rest at least a week. True, he considered this rest very unnecessary, for he had never felt stronger and better, or breathed more freely. When Reginchen brought up his dinner at noon, she noticed his unusual gayety and cheerfulness. "Your sickness has done you good, Herr Walter," said she. "No," he answered smiling, "it was your nursing, Reginchen." "Well, it's all the same," she answered. "But why didn't you go into the country with the Herr Doctor? (she always gave Edwin this title.) No one who's well would stay at home to-day." "Are you going into the country too, Reginchen?"