existence might be borne for some time. But now, you ill, the child
requiring careful nursing, the end of it is there is nothing for it but to
buy a farm, and to give the two thousand thalers for a premium. Hurrah!
that will be a nice sort of life: I with the beggar's wallet, you with the
knapsack; I with the spade, you with the milk-pail."

"That would not be the worst, after all," said the woman, softly.

"No?" he laughed, bitterly. "Well, that I can get for you. There is
Mussainen, for instance, which is to be sold--the wretched moorland on the
heath yonder."

"Oh, why that of all places?" she asked, shuddering.

He immediately fell in love with the idea.

"Yes; that would be emptying the cup to the dregs. The lost magnificence
always in view--for, you must know, the manor-house of Helenenthal exactly
overlooks it. It is surrounded by moor and fen--wellnigh two hundred
acres. Perhaps one could cultivate some of it--one might be the pioneer of
progress. What could people say?

"'Meyerhofer is a brave fellow,' they would say; 'he is not ashamed of his
misfortune; he looks at it with a certain irony.' Pah, really one _should_
look at it with irony; that is the only sublime view of the world--one
should whistle at it!" and he uttered a shrill whistle, so that the sick
woman started up in her bed.

"Forgive me, my darling," he pleaded, caressing her hand suddenly in the
rosiest of humors; "but am I not right? One should whistle at it. As long