Oh, sunny, peaceful picture! how it cheered the blind man's soul! A lovely dream of the future, born of the prattle of a child, hovering around an old man upon the verge of the grave!
"Father Leonhardt, what are you smiling at?" asked the child.
"At something beautiful that I have just seen."
"I thought you could not see any more?"
"I can see, my child, not things that are, but perhaps all the more plainly things that are to be."
[CHAPTER IV.]
BATTLE.
Ernestine was sitting at her writing-table, arranging books and papers to be packed up. Her uncle was assisting her with trembling haste. From time to time she leaned her head wearily upon her hand.
"It will be impossible for us to leave to-day if you do not make more haste," said Leuthold urgently.
"I am doing all that I can, but I am so weak that I do not know whether I shall be able to travel to-night."