"What is it, my child?" inquired he, anxiously stroking back her hair from her damp brow.
"Fink has been with me; I have been speaking with him."
"About what? Has he been disagreeable? Has he made you an offer?" asked the merchant, in jest.
"He has made me an offer," said Sabine.
Her brother started: "And you, my sister?"
"I have done what you might expect me to do—I shall not see him again."
Tears started at the words; she took her brother's hand and kissed it.
"Do not be angry with me for weeping. I am still a little shaken: it will soon pass."
"My precious sister—dear, dear Sabine!" cried the merchant; "I can not but fear that you thought of me when you refused."
"I thought of you and of your self-sacrificing, duty-loving life, and his bright form lost the fair colors in which I had once seen it clothed."