in the pulpit, his wife only received him with the greater mildness as they walked home together. The eyes spoke, but the mouth not a single word. And the daughter clung to his hand, and looked at him with eyes that were the mother's. All sorts of subjects were discussed in this house, only not that which was the root of all their thoughts. But at length this strain could be born no longer; she smiled still, it is true; but only because she did not venture to weep. When the time drew near that the daughter must be prepared for confirmation, and consequently by the right of his office, he could draw her as quietly over to his instruction, as hitherto the mother had held her in hers, the anxiety rose to its height, and after the Sunday when the noting down of the candidates for confirmation was announced, the mother became ill, like we are when wearied out. She said smilingly, that she could not walk any more, and a few days later, also smilingly, that how she could not sit. Though she could not speak to the daughter she would yet have her always beside her, for she could see her. And the daughter knew what she would most like; she read to her out of The Book of Life, and sang to her the hymns of her childhood, the new and peaceful hymns of her fellow believers. It was long before the dean realised what was here preparing; but when he did realise it, he lost the threads, he could only keep his thoughts to one point,--to hear her say something to him, just a few words, but she was not able to do it; she could no longer speak. He stood at the foot of the bed, and watched, and prayed; she smiled upon him, till he fell on his knees, took the daughter's hand and laid it in the mother's, as if he said: "Here, you take her,--with you she shall ever remain!" Then she smiled as never before,--and in that smile she passed away.