"No, I am not sleepy," replied Rahel, rising, with flushed cheeks and bright wide eyes. "I have been watching you a long time. You seemed so happy, I wondered what you could be thinking about. I had something to tell you, but I would not interrupt you. Were you really at your prayers?—you were not on your knees."
"I scarcely know myself, sister," answered Alide, with a laugh and a slight blush. "I was very peaceful and happy just then, and yet I could hardly tell you what I was thinking about. Come, put a shawl about your shoulders, and you can tell me in the window all you have to say."
"Well, I am tired enough of these hot pillows," said Rahel, who had slept like a tired child all night. And, drawing about her her little, loose white gown, she followed her sister to the window.
The city was still wrapped in a tender shadow, and the sky full of color, but without a gleam of radiance. In a moment, and as if unexpectedly, the clear sunbeams darted above the horizon, glistening over roofs and steeples, and as suddenly sprang into relief against the blue background the illuminated spire of Strasburg Cathedral. Rahel gave a little sigh. The sunlight fell into the room and dazzled their eyes. She closed the jalousies with an impatient movement, and shut out the bright picture of morning. "Yes, it is beautiful," said she; "but it only makes me think the more of morning over the meadows and mountains at home. Oh, Alide, I am so unhappy here!" And, covering her face with her hands, she burst into tears.
Alide looked at her in surprise, and tried to calm her. "Yes," continued Rahel, when she had recovered sufficient composure to speak; "I have fought against it long enough. I can endure it no longer. Everything I do turns out to be a blunder. I sit among these fine ladies dumb and awkward as a peasant. I do not dress nor talk like them, nor belong to their world. When I am with Anna, I ask myself a hundred times a day what it is that puts her above me, that makes me feel like an ignorant child in her presence. She is no older than I am, she is not pretty, she is not clever, and I do not think she is kind. She is so sweet and gracious to every one's face, and yet she is spiteful enough behind their back sometimes. No, I could never be like her. And yet Gretchen is worse, for she mortifies me, and laughs at my mistakes, and makes them seem so droll to everybody else. Oh, Alide, are you not ready to go home?"
"Surely our going home does not depend upon me," said Alide. "I never suspected you were so unhappy. I will go whenever you please,—to-morrow, or Thursday. What day shall we say?"
"Do you really promise to go so soon?" cried Rahel, eagerly. "Of course it depends upon you. Mamma told me in advance that she wished to wait, for it could not be long, until you and Wolfgang had made some definite arrangement, had settled the day of your marriage at least. What will she say when she knows I have forced you home so soon? Am I not selfish and vain and—"
"Hush, Rahel," interposed Alide, gently; "you are nothing of the kind. You and mamma and all the rest are only too good to me. But no one need think that it is you who persuade me to leave: I am quite ready myself to go."
"But is it indeed too soon?" asked Rahel, remorsefully. "Have you decided upon anything? When shall you be married, Alide?"
"Oh, as to that, never mind," said Alide, with confusion. "We can arrange that at the parsonage as well as we could here, where there is always a certain constraint. But you, at any rate, need not suffer any longer."