the life of man, and thousands have never known their rapture. The
mother whose child rests in her arms for the first time, the father
whose only son returns from war covered with glory, the poet in whom
his countrymen exult, the youth whose warm grasp of the hand is
returned by the beloved being with a still warmer pressure--they know
what it means when a dream becomes a reality.

At the expiration of the half hour, a servant came and conducted me
through a long suite of rooms, opened a door, and in the fading light
of the evening I saw a white figure, and above her a high window, which
looked out upon the lake and the shimmering mountains.

"How singularly people meet!" she cried out in a clear voice, and every
word was like a cool rain-drop on a hot summer's day.

"How singularly people meet, and how singularly they lose each other,"
said I; and thereupon I seized her hand, and realized that we were
together again.

"But people are to blame if they lose each other," she continued; and
her voice, which seemed always to accompany her words, like music,
involuntarily modulated into a tenderer key.

"Yes, that is true," I replied; "but first tell me, are you well, and
can I talk with you?"

"My dear friend," said she, smiling, "you know I am always sick, and if
I say that I feel well, I do so for the sake of my old Hofrath; for he
is firmly convinced that my entire life since my first year is due to
him and his skill. Before I left the Court-residence I caused him much