The candidate watched all her movements with a scrutinizing look.
After a few minutes the pastor entered the room.
"Thank God," he said, "it was nothing dangerous. A severe cold, with a good deal of fever; but it is a peculiarity amongst the people here, who, from their simple lives and strong constitutions, know little of sickness, that they believe every illness must prove fatal."
He exchanged his hat for his little cap, and seated himself in his arm-chair, his face wearing an unusually grave expression.
"The lieutenant has just returned," he said.
"I saw him just now," remarked Helena, as she handed her father a fresh cup of coffee. "What brings him at so unusual a time--generally he comes only on Sundays?"
"Things look very bad," said the pastor. "War appears inevitable, and for the present no more leave will be given; the lieutenant therefore has ridden over this afternoon to bid them good-bye at home. He begged that we would walk over there soon--he will leave early, as he must return to-night."
Helena's hand trembled as she again prepared her father's pipe.
"My heart aches," he continued, "for our good friend von Wendenstein and his gentle, loving wife. This fearful war may rob them of their son in the very flower of his youth."
He took his pipe dreamily from his daughter's hand, whilst, bending over him, she offered him a light. She then hastened to the door.