to come to her. She went at once along the narrow passage and up the
gloomy wooden stairs, at the foot of which there hung a small lamp,
giving just light enough to expel the actual blackness of night. On the
first landing Nina knocked at a door, and was desired to enter by a
soft female voice. The only occupant of the room when she entered was a
dark-haired child, some twelve years old perhaps, but small in stature
and delicate, and, as appeared to the eye, almost wan. "Well, Ruth
dear," said Nina, "is Anton at home this evening?"

"He is up-stairs with grandfather, Nina. Shall I tell him?"

"If you will, dear," said Nina, stooping down and kissing her.

"Nice Nina, dear Nina, good Nina," said the girl, rubbing her glossy
curls against her friend's cheeks. "Ah, dear, how I wish you lived
here!"

"But I have a father, as you have a grandfather, Ruth."

"And he is a Christian."

"And so am I, Ruth."

"But you like us, and are good, and nice, and dear--and oh, Nina, you
are so beautiful! I wish you were one of us, and lived here. There is
Miriam Harter--her hair is as light as yours, and her eyes are as
grey."

"What has that to do with it?"