As soon as he was out of the farmer’s sight his physiognomy assumed a more serene expression, and there was a smile on his lips as he cast his eyes around in search of some one in the solitude of the garden At a turn of the path his eye fell suddenly on the sleeping girl.  How beautiful she was in her calm repose!  The golden twilight covered her with its bright reflection, and threw a rosy tint on every thing about her.  Thick curls strayed in beautiful disorder over her cheeks, and snowy flowers, shaken from the catalpa’s branches by the evening breeze, had fallen around her in profusion.  She still dreamed, and the happy smile yet rested on her features.  De Vlierbeck gazed earnestly at his sleeping child, and raised his eyes to heaven as he said, tremulously,—­“Thanks, Almighty Father! she is happy!  Let my martyrdom be prolonged; but may all my sufferings render thee compassionate for her!”

After this short and ardent ejaculation he threw himself into a chair, leaned his arm carefully on the table, and, resting his hand on it, remained still as a statue.  For a long time he watched his sleeping child, while his face seemed to reflect each emotion that flitted across the delicate features of the maiden.  Suddenly a modest blush overspread her brow, and her lips began to articulate.  The old gentleman watched her narrowly, and, although she had not spoken in connected sentences, he caught one of those stray words which often betoken what is passing in a dreamer’s mind.

“‘GUSTAVE!’ She dreams of Gustave.  May God be propitious to us!  Ah, yes, my child,” exclaimed her father, “open thy heart to hope!  Dream, dream; for who knows what is in store for us?  Yet, no!—­let us not destroy these happy moments by cold reality!  Sleep, sleep! let thy soul enjoy the heavenly enchantment of love which it is awakening!”

Monsieur De Vlierbeck continued for a while his quiet observation of the sleeper, and then, rising, passed behind her chair and imprinted a long kiss on her forehead.

Still half-dreaming, the sleeper slowly opened her eyes; and, the moment she perceived who had awakened her, she sprang into her father’s arms with a bound, and, hanging round his neck, overwhelmed him with questions and kisses.

Vlierbeck gently disengaged himself from his daughter’s embrace, as he remarked, in a tone of raillery,—­

“It seems altogether unnecessary, Lenora, to inquire what new beauties you have discovered in Vondel’s ‘Lucifer.’  You have not had time, I take it for granted, to begin the comparison between this masterpiece of our native tongue and Milton’s ’Paradise Lost’?”

“Ah! father,” murmured Lenora, “my mind is indeed strangely troubled.  I do not know what is the matter with me; I cannot even read with attention.”

“Come, Lenora, my child, don’t be sad.  Sit down:  I have something of importance to tell you.  You do not know why I went to town to-day, do you?  It was because we are to have company to dinner to-morrow!”