It was evening when the postman brought the letter to Anton's room. Long did he sit pondering its contents; at length he took up the note to Sabine, and hurried to the front part of the house.
He found the merchant in his study, and gave him the letter.
The merchant immediately called in Sabine. "Fink is betrothed; here is his announcement."
Sabine clasped her hands in delight, and was hurrying off to Anton, but she stopped with a blush, took her note to the lamp, and opened it. There could not have been much in it, for she read it in an instant, and, though she tried hard to look grave, could not suppress a smile. At another time Anton would have watched her mood with passionate interest; to-day he scarcely heeded it.
"You will spend the evening with us, dear Wohlfart?" said the merchant.
Anton replied, "I was going to ask you to spare me a few moments. I have something to say to you." He looked uneasily at Sabine.
"Let her hear it. Remain, Sabine," said the merchant to his sister, who was just going to slip away; "you are good friends; Mr. Wohlfart will not object to your presence. Speak, my friend; what can I do for you?"
Anton bit his lips and looked again at the beloved form that leaned with downcast eyes against the door. "May I inquire, Mr. Schröter," he at length began, "whether you have found the situation for which you kindly promised to look out?"
Sabine moved uneasily, and the merchant looked up in amazement. "I believe I shall soon have something to offer you; but is there any great hurry about it, dear Wohlfart?"
"There is," replied Anton, gravely. "I have not a day to lose. My relations to the Rothsattel family are now entirely closed, and the fearful events with which I have been connected during the last weeks have affected my health. I yearn for repose. Regular employment in some foreign city, where nothing will remind me of the past, is, however, positively essential to me."