his bed. 'If I had only Otto here!' said he. 'I have been severely
attacked, Rosalie, but I am now much better: I will go to sleep;
that strengthens one.' Smilingly he closed his eyes and lay quite
still: I read my prayers, withdrew gently so as not to wake him; he
lay there unchanged when I returned. I sat a little while beside
his bed; his hands lay upon the coverlid; I touched them, they
were ice-cold. I was frightened, touched his brow, his face--he was
dead! he had died without a death-struggle!"

For a long time did they converse about the dead man; it was near
midnight when Otto ascended the narrow stairs which led to the
little chamber in the roof, where as child and boy he had slept.
All stood here as it had done the year before, only in nicer order.
Upon the wall hung the black painted target, near to the centre of
which he had once shot. His skates lay upon the chest of drawers,
near to the nodding plaster figure. The long journey, and the
overpowering surprise which awaited him on his return, had strongly
affected him: he opened the window; a large white sand-hill rose
like a wall straight up before it, and deprived him of all view.
How often, when a child, had the furrows made by rain in the sand,
and the detached pieces, presented to him pictures,--towns, towers,
and whole marching armies. Now it was only a white wall, which
reminded him of a winding-sheet. A small streak of the blue sky was
visible between the house and the steep slope of the hill. Never
before had Otto felt, never before reflected, what it was to stand
alone in the world, to be lovingly bound to no one with the band of
consanguinity.

"Solitary, as in this silent night do I stand in the world!
solitary in the mighty crowd of human beings! Only ONE being can I