The days were now very lonely without the bright, cheerful presence of his daughter; and when winter came, his own dwelling was ready to be occupied, but all the zest and pleasure of moving into his new abode seemed to have vanished.  He took Sister Ursula, an aged widow, as his servant and housekeeper.  How he loved to sit by the window in his room, from whence he could look out on the hill where the cemetery was laid out!  “The Brothers will soon carry me along that path,” he thought, “and it will be well for me when the time comes.  I have always longed to be laid away in our own God’s-acre, among the Sisters and Brothers, and enter with them into the joy of our Lord.”

He now had also the happiness of having Carmen with him for several days at a time.  The house seemed illuminated by her presence, her room was close to his, and there she had plants which he took care of for her.  There was also a snug little corner where they passed many happy hours together.  But with the knowledge of the fearful secret which overshadowed her father’s life a deeper gravity had come to her, which subdued her otherwise exuberant and joyous temperament; and Alexander often asked if it was the love she felt for him which had thus checked her former cheerfulness.  And this shadow did not pass away when, shortly after Christmas, her wedding was celebrated, and Mauer informed her that he had divided the fortune left him by Inez from his own property, in order to make it over to her daughter, to whom it by right belonged.  So the young couple remained at Wollmershain, after Alexander had sold his commission and left the army; and Mauer was happy in the assurance that his daughter would always be near him.

CHAPTER XI.

On a bleak November day, when all nature wore its most dreary aspect, the carriage of Herr von Trautenau, now well known in the village, drew up before Brother Mauer’s door.  The horses had scarcely stopped, when the door opened and Alexander sprang out, followed by Carmen, whose face bore traces of recent tears.

“Be brave, dear heart!” he said.

“I have you and our darling boy left,” she answered with emotion; and turning back to the carriage, took a little child from the nurse’s arms.  She kissed him fondly, and the little fellow clapped his hands and crowed merrily at his mother as she held him in her arms.  Then from beneath the flaxen ringlets which covered the infantile head a pair of large black eyes looked around with wonder at the strange place and the dark figure, with the white cap, that stood in the doorway.

Carmen was surprised to see Sister Agatha.

“Have I come too late?” she asked in a tone of anguish.

“No, dear Carmen, he still lives,” said the faithful nurse, soothingly.  “But he is failing rapidly since the attack this morning.  He has been so weak of late that we have felt prepared for the end to come at any time.  He has been asking anxiously for you since consciousness has returned, and Sister Ursula sent at once for me, that I might be with him while she went for another doctor, as Brother Jonathan has just been summoned to the country to visit the miller.”