awaited me!"

"Sit down, my child!" said the preacher, and drew him toward the
covered table. "When the tree falls which gave us shade and fruit,
from which we, in our own little garden, have planted shoots and
sown seeds, we may well look on with sadness and feel our loss: but
we must not forget our own garden, must not forget to cherish that
which we have won from the fallen tree: we must not cease to live
for the living! I miss, like you, the proud tree, which rejoiced my
soul and my heart, but I know that it is planted in a better
garden, where Christ is the gardener."

The preacher's invitation to remain with him, during his stay, in
his house, Otto declined. Already this first night he wished to
establish himself in his own little chamber in the house of
mourning. Rosalie also would return.

"We have a deal to say to each other," said the old preacher, and
laid his hand upon Otto's shoulder. "Next summer you will hardly
press my hand, it will be pressed by the turf."

"To-morrow I will come to you," said Otto, and drove back with the
old Rosalie to the house.

The domestics kissed the hand and coat of the young master--he
wished to prevent this; the old woman wept. Otto stepped into the
room; here had stood the corpse, on account of which the furniture
had been removed, and the void was all the more affecting. The long
white mourning curtains fluttered in tire wind before the open
window. Rosalie led him by the hand into the little sleeping-room