"I can plainly see that your sympathy is with her," replied Mrs. Ritter. "To you, Andreas's fate does not matter so much."
"Not so, sister, but those pretty eyes of hers ought never to have been spoiled with tears. Isn't she happy?"
"I fear not, Max. I have seen but little of her since her marriage. There was a coarseness in her husband's nature that repelled me, and he was always cross to her. Six children were born to them, and all but one, a frail little girl, have died. She is called Wiseli, and is about the size of our Miezchen, although she is three years older. She is the little girl whom Otto defended this evening. Her mother has suffered so much during all these years, that there is little hope of her ever being well again."
"That is too bad," said Max; "we must try to do something for her. Don't you think that we might help her?"
"I am afraid that it is too late. Wisi was much too delicate for all the work and worry that fell to her lot."
"What is the husband doing?"
"I forgot to tell you, Max. About six months ago he had an arm and a leg badly crushed in the factory, and he died a few weeks after being injured. Since then Wisi has been living alone with her little girl."
"So that is her story," mused Max. "And one child is all that she has left. What would become of her in case Wisi died? It is more likely, though, that the mother will get well, and that Andreas will yet be happy."
"No, I am sure it is too late for that," asserted Mrs. Ritter. "Although Wisi repented long ago, the wrong could not be undone, and she has suffered in silence. But we are forgetting that we must have some sleep to-night."
Colonel Ritter had fallen asleep in his chair. It was past midnight. Max roguishly went behind his sleeping brother and shook his shoulders so roughly that the colonel sprang from his chair in alarm. Max laughed and patted his shoulder by way of atonement, saying apologetically, "I only intended to give you a gentle warning that my sister says we must take to our beds."