of it to-day, although deep sorrow and bodily as well as mental
suffering had set its seal on his face and left deep furrows there.
The burning suns of many climes had bronzed his skin, so that the
large, clear blue eyes shone forth like stars.

Agatha looked at him inquiringly, and the more she looked the more
perplexed she became. "Carmen lives here in this house," she answered,
at length. "Can it be possible that you are--"

"Brother Mauer, who you have thought was dead ages ago," he replied
falteringly.

"Heaven be praised!" cried Agatha, and sank into a chair. The surprise
was almost too great for her; but regaining her self-control in a
measure, she cordially pressed his outstretched hand, and led him to a
seat, saying: "Let me go and bring Carmen at once, and you shall clasp
your child to your heart without delay."




CHAPTER VII.

Sister Agatha lost not a moment. "Rejoice, dear Carmen," she said. "A
Brother has just arrived who brings intelligence that your father still
lives!" And with a most unwonted excitement in her manner, she led
Carmen to the door of the sitting-room. Tremblingly the girl entered,
and saw by the clear light of the lamp an old, bent man who had, at
this moment, no power to rise to his feet, but could only stretch out
his longing arms to his dearly-loved daughter. The next moment she lay