Anton barred the way. "Once more I implore you to reflect upon what you are going to do."
"What is there to reflect upon, you simple child?" laughed Fink; but an unusual degree of excitement was visible in his manner.
"Do you then love Sabine?" asked Anton.
"Another of your home questions," replied Fink. "Yes, I do love her in my own way."
"And do you mean to take her into the back woods?"
"Yes; for she will be a high-hearted, strong-minded wife, and will give stability and worth to my life there. She is not fascinating—at least one can't get on with her as readily as with many others; but if I am to take a wife, I need one who can look after me. Believe me, the black-haired one is the very one to do that; and now let me go; I must find out how I stand."
"Speak at least to the principal in the first instance," cried Anton after him.
"First to herself," cried Fink, rushing down the stairs.
Anton paced up and down the room. All that Fink had said in praise of Sabine was true; that he warmly felt. He knew, too, how deep her feeling for him was, and yet he foresaw that his friend would meet with some secret obstacle or other. Then another thing displeased him. Fink had only spoken of himself; had he thought of her happiness in the matter—had he even felt what it would cost her to leave her beloved brother, her country, and her home? True, Fink was the very man to scatter the blossoms of the New World profusely at her feet, but he was always restless; actively employed, would he have any sympathy for the feelings of his German wife? And involuntarily our hero found himself taking part against his friend, and deciding that Sabine ought not to leave the home and brother to whom she was so essential; and, absorbed in these thoughts, Anton paced up and down, anxious and heavy-hearted. It grew dark, and still Fink did not return.
Meanwhile he was announced to Sabine. She came hurriedly to meet him, and her cheeks were redder than usual as she said, "My brother has told me that you must leave us."