me Katrine. You call my sister, Marie; and
we have known trouble enough together to
make us all brothers and sisters."

"I am so accustomed to hear Eric speak of
your sister as Marie," said Carl. " But this
letter is not from him," he added, in a tone
of disappointment. " It is from a friend of
mine who was very kind to me once, when I
was very ill—indeed, saved my life—and
what is most vexatious is, that it will oblige
me to leave Rome for a few days. He implores
me to go and finish an altar-piece, left
in a half unfinished state by the illness of the
artist who began it. My friend is the Curé
of Arquì, a small village about four leagues
off. I will write it down for you. You
had better come here, and wait for Eric's
return."

"I will wait here all day long until he
comes," said Ernst. " We must tell my
mother and Marie the clue we have to his
wild flight from Rabenstein. How it will
gladden Marie's heart to know that she is
so devotedly loved!"

"And we must bring her and our mother
here to see this beautiful picture of the wolf-
hunt," said Katrine.

Carl hired a conveyance, and went to
Arquì, the small village where his friend
lived. He arrived there the day after the
festa, and met the good curé.

"I knew you would come," said the father,
his face brightening with pleasure, as he
shook the young man's hand; " but I am
sorry that you have had your journey for
nothing. The picture is finished by another
painter, and the festa took place yesterday.
Come and see it!"

On their way to the church, he told Carl
how he had met with the strange artist. At
first Carl listened abstractedly, for he was
thinking where could Eric be; but when the
curé began to describe this artist, Carl listened
attentively. By this time they had
reached the church, and went up to the
picture.

Carl instantly recognised the hand. "It is
he! It is Eric! Where is he?"

"He lies at my house, my son. I grieve
to say he has the fever."

"O Eric, Eric! " cried Carl; and tears of
grief stood in his eyes. " Bring me to him,
my father. He is my friend, my brother."

As Carl entered the room where Eric lay,
Schwartz, the faithful Schwartz, leaped up
and fawned on him.

Carl bent over Eric's bed. He gave no
sign of recognition. His eyes were glazed
with fever; his cheeks burnt as if with fire;
his lips were parched.

"I will write to his brother, and send it by
the driver who brought me here," said Carl.
"I will stay here till his brother comes."

The same evening brought Ernst and his
mother. They had not deemed it right to
tell Marie of this affliction, and Katrine
had remained with her in their absence.
They had gone to Carl (she was told), who
had found some traces of Eric.

After he had seen his brother, Ernst went
back to Rome, at the urgent solicitation of
their mother, who begged him to return to
Katrine and Marie, and make the best story
he could to the latter to account for her remaining
behind. So the mother and the
good priest watched beside the bed of the
sufferer. Nothing could induce Carl to take
any rest. He shared the night vigils and the
anxious cares of the poor mother. He nursed
his friend with all the tenderness of a woman.
For days the struggle between life and death
went on. But it did not last long. He would live,
they said. And then Katrine told Marie all.

When Eric opened his eyes to consciousness
they gazed upon the loving face of the
mother who bent over him. They closed
again in quiet joy. He never asked how
she came there; he was content to know
that she was with him. His first words were
to Carl; he asked why Ernst was not there?
Carl could not understand how he knew that
they were all in Rome. He could not think
why he took it so quietly that his mother
was with him. At last, when she was out of
the room, he told Carl how he had met
Marie on his way to the quay, to look after
the marble, and how he had fled at once.

When he was sufficiently strong to be
removed, an easy English carriage was sent
from Rome for him. He was taken, at his
own desire, to his own lodgings. There, after
a few days, he regained so much strength, that
his mother ventured to tell him that Ernst
was in Rome, "with his wife Katrine." She
saw that she had done well to use precaution
with him; for when he heard that Katrine
was Ernst's wife, he turned white, and had
nearly fainted.

"Katrine married to Ernst! Mother!
Katrine married to Ernst!"

"Hush, my son. We know all. All shall
now have a happy termination. Ernst is waiting
outside. Will you see him? He has seen
you already. When you were delirious with
the fever he was with you."

"Oh, mother, mother! " cried Eric, "where
is my noble brother?"

Ernst came in. Eric rose to meet him,
and fell upon his neck. Long, long the
brothers held each other, locked in a close
embrace.

"And Marie? When shall I see her?"
said Eric.

"Now, dear Eric," said Ernst. Eric received
her from the hands of his brother, folded her
in his arms, and once again clasped her to his
throbbing heart.

And so there was another festa in Arquì.
The old priest, who had so tenderly nursed
Eric, gave him and his bride the nuptial benediction
at the foot of the very altar, in the
very church. Young girls strewed the path
of the bride with the brightest flowers of
the late autumn. And, after the ceremony