While Oswald was receiving this doubtful information about the true history of poor little Czika from the truth-loving lips of Director Schmenckel, Franz was waiting for his return with painful impatience. The mail had really brought him the long-desired letter from his betrothed, but unfortunately had also confirmed the vague apprehensions which had of late troubled his mind. Sophie wrote in a hand almost illegible from anxiety, that her father had had a stroke of paralysis, from which the physicians feared the very worst. Her father, she added, was at that moment, several hours after the attack, still speechless and unable to move. If there were any hope for her father, help could only come from Him whom she looked up to with trusting confidence and perfect submission. Franz had formed his resolution instantly. As the driver who had brought them to this place declared he was unable to go any further, he had at once ordered post-horses, in order to reach the nearest railway station that night. To think of his sweet love in such bitter need and sorrow--watching and weeping by the sickbed, perhaps already by the coffin of her father--and he, her comfort and her hope, some four hundred miles away--all this was enough to disturb even so firm a heart as that of Doctor Braun was under ordinary circumstances. He felt as if the ground was burning under his feet. The few minutes before the carriage could be made ready, seemed to him an eternity. At last he heard the horses coming, and Oswald also returned. Franz told him the sad news he had just received, and what he had determined to do. He begged his friend, in a few parting words, not to prolong his stay at Fichtenau beyond what was absolutely necessary, and above all to be punctually at the appointed time at his post in Grunwald. Oswald had been so thoroughly excited by the many extraordinary occurrences of the last hours that he apparently expected nothing but surprises, and thus he received his friend's communications with an air of indifference. He promised, however, what Franz asked of him, as he accompanied him to the carriage. "What do you say, Oswald," said Franz, who had already settled himself down in the carriage; "Come along with me! You may find my proposal somewhat extraordinary, but the strangest way is often the best way." "I cannot do it, Franz," said Oswald. "I cannot leave here without having seen Berger, and besides----" "I know all you can possibly say on that subject," replied Franz, "and I must tell you frankly that I have no good reason whatever for making the proposition. But I feel as if I ought not to leave you here alone--as if there was something in the air here that boded you no good. Come with me, Oswald!" "I will follow you as soon as I can." "Then farewell! Go on, driver!" Franz once more pressed Oswald's hand. The carriage rattled over the uneven pavement of the little town and disappeared around a corner.