and feels that he has a better nature than his own."
"Do not deceive yourself and me," replied the merchant; "I know the fascination that this strange man has long had for you. I have said nothing, for I could trust you. But, now that I see that he makes you really unhappy, I can not but wish for his absence. He shall leave our house without delay."
"Oh no, no!" cried Sabine, wringing her hands. "No, Traugott, that shall not, must not be! If there be any way of rescuing him from the evil influences of his past life, it is the being with you. To see, to take part in the regular activity, the high honor of your mercantile career, is salvation to him. Brother," continued she, taking his hand, "I have no secrets from you; you have found out my foolish weakness; but I promise you that henceforth it shall be no more to me than the recollection of some tale that I have read. Never by look or word will I betray it; only do not, oh! do not be angry with him—do not send him away, and that on my account."
"But how can I tell whether his remaining here may not subject you to a painful conflict?" inquired the merchant. "Our position as regards him is difficult enough without this. He ranks as a brilliant match in every sense of the word. His father has intrusted him to me. If an attachment were to spring up between you, it would be treachery to his father to withhold it from him. It might seem to him as if we had a wish to secure the young heir; and he, accustomed as he is to easy conquests, might perhaps laugh at what he would call your weakness and my long-headedness. The very thought calls up all my pride."
"Brother," cried Sabine, with burning cheeks, "do not forget that I am your sister. I am a merchant's daughter, and he would never belong entirely to our class. I am as proud as you, and have always had the conviction that not all the love in the world could ever fill the gulf between us. Trust me," continued she, with tears; "you shall see no more sad looks. But be kinder to him; think what his fate has been, tossed about among strangers; think how he has grown up without affection, without a home; spoiled in many ways, but still with a high sense of honor, an abhorrence of all that is little. Trust me, and be kinder to him."
"He shall stay," said the merchant; "but besides, my darling, there is another whom we should seek to guard from his influence."
"Wohlfart!" cried Sabine, cheerfully; "oh, I will answer for him."
"You undertake a good deal. So he, too, is a favorite?"
"He is tender-hearted and honorable, and devoted to you; and he has plenty of spirit too. Trust him, he will be a match for Fink. I happened to meet him at the time that Fink had insulted him, and I have given him a place in my heart ever since."
"How does this heart find room for every thing?" cried the merchant, playfully; "above and beyond all, the great store-room, the oaken presses of our grandmother, and the piles of white linen; then, in a side-chamber apart, your strict brother; then—"
"Then all the others in the ante-chamber," broke in Sabine.
Meanwhile Fink entered Anton's room, humming a tune, little suspecting the storm in the front part of the house, and, truth to tell, little caring what they thought about him there. "I have fallen into disgrace on your account, my son," cried he, merrily. "His majesty has treated me all the day long with killing indifference, and the black-haired has not deigned me a single glance—good sort of people, but desperately matter of fact. That Sabine has at bottom plenty of life and spirit, but she plagues herself about the merest trifles. She would raise a question as to whether it was a fly's duty to scratch its head with the right leg or the left. Why, you are on the way to be looked upon as the 'Mignon' of the counting-house, and I as your evil genius. Never mind; to-morrow we will go together to the swimming-school."
And so it was. From that day forth Fink delighted to initiate his young friend into all his own pursuits. He taught him to swim, to ride, to leap, to shoot at a mark, and even threatened to get him an invitation to a hunting-party. Against this Anton vehemently protested.
Anton on his side rewarded him by the greatest devotion. They were happy evenings for both when, sitting under the shadow of the condor's wings, they chatted away and laughed so loud that through the open window the sound reached old Pluto the watch-dog, who, feeling himself the guardian of the establishment, and considered by all as a distinguished member of it, woke up to bay out his hearty sympathy with their enjoyment—ay, they were happy hours; for their intimacy ripened for the first time in the life of either into sincere friendship. And yet Anton never left off watching Fink's bearing to Sabine; although he did not name her to him, he was always expecting to hear of some important event: a betrothal, or a quarrel between Fink and the merchant, or something extraordinary. But nothing of the kind occurred; the solemn daily meals went on, and Sabine's behavior to both friends was the same as before.
Another year had passed away, the second since our apprentice's arrival, and again the roses blossomed. One evening Anton bought a large nosegay of them, and knocked with them at the door of Jordan, who was a great lover of flowers. He was surprised to find all the clerks assembled, as they had been on the day of his arrival, and he saw at a glance that they were embarrassed by his appearance. Jordan hurried to meet him, and, with a slight degree of confusion, requested that he would leave them for about an hour, as they were discussing a subject into which he, as an apprentice, could not enter. It was the first time that these kind-hearted men had ever allowed him to feel any difference between his position and theirs, and therefore his banishment slightly depressed him. He carried back his nosegay, placed it with a resigned air upon his own table, and took up a book.
Meanwhile a solemn deliberation was going on in Jordan's room. He rose, struck the table with a ruler, and went on to state that a colleague having, as they all knew, left the business, a vacancy had occurred, which Mr. Schröter himself wished should be filled by Wohlfart; but as his case would thus be made exceptional—he having been an apprentice only two years instead of four—the principal kindly referred the decision to the body of the clerks.
An imposing silence succeeded to these words, which was at length interrupted by Mr. Pix proposing punch, and that they should order in the kettle for the tea-drinkers.
The other gentlemen preserved a dignified silence, looked with solemnity at the preparations going forward, and each felt his responsibility and his importance as a man and a clerk.
The next question was, "How shall we vote?"
It was decided that the youngest should begin.
Specht was the youngest. "First of all, I have to remark that Herr von Fink is not present," said he, looking around in some excitement.
A general murmur arose, "He does not belong to us; he is a volunteer."
"In that case," continued Specht, somewhat taken down by this universal opposition, "I am of opinion that Anton ought, according to custom, to remain an apprentice for four years; but, as he is a good fellow, and likely to prove useful, I am also of opinion that an exception should be made in his favor; while I propose that, in order to remind him of his former position, he be appointed to make tea for us during a year, and to mend a hundred pens for each of his colleagues."
"Stuff and nonsense!" muttered Pix; "you have always such overstrained notions."
"What do you mean by overstrained notions?" inquired Specht, angrily.
"I must call you to order," said Mr. Jordan.
The rest of the colleagues proceeded to give in their adherence to the plan. Baumann did so with enthusiasm. At last it came to the turn of Pix. "Gentlemen," said he, "what is the use of much talking? His knowledge of business is fair, considering that he is but a young fellow; his manner is pleasant—the servants
