She told him everything, save the one horrible incident that haunted her memory.  His extreme agitation made her silent on that point.  When she ceased speaking, all was silence in the apartment except the soft ticking of the clock.  Occasionally a deeply drawn breath reached Carmen’s ear; her father had turned his face to the wall, and was so quiet and motionless that she hoped he had fallen asleep from exhaustion.  Suddenly he began to whisper to himself: 

“The old, old story, which will never die!  The idea of home, with its sweet repose and calm blessedness, was only a delusion after all!”

“What do you mean, father?” asked Carmen, bending over him.  He closed his eyes wearily; and she noiselessly resumed her seat near him.

CHAPTER VIII.

The next day Mauer was still so entirely unnerved and overcome by the events of the day before that it was with the greatest difficulty he rose from the bed; and yet it was intolerable misery to remain there.  All Carmen’s persuasions were of no avail; he insisted on getting up and dressing; but was quite unable to leave the house, and required the most perfect quietness.  She tried to divert his mind, by gentle, cheerful conversation, from the sad, gloomy thoughts which seemed to oppress him.  It made the girl’s tender heart ache, as she looked into his unutterably sad face, which only yesterday was beaming with such great joy.

At ten o’clock Jonathan came to pay a friendly visit.  Fortunately Carmen, who was standing at the window, saw him coming across the street towards the house, and warning her father of the approaching visit, she could see how he started with terror at the information.  But he soon controlled himself, and said in a resigned tone:  “Let him come in.  The sooner I get through all the meetings and greetings, the sooner I will have some rest.  I must grow accustomed to seeing him, and I feel stronger to-day than yesterday.  I have not seen him before, since your dear mother died, Carmen, and life has been one long unbroken sorrow since then.”  She made a movement to leave the room, so that the meeting between the friends should be private, but Mauer held her back and pleaded:  “Stay with me, my child,” as if he could not bear to have her out of his sight.

When Jonathan entered, he stood for a moment near the door, and his eyes sought to read the expression of the sick man’s face.  The latter sat with his head resting against the sofa-cushion, and his deep-sunken eyes fixed beseechingly on the visitor, as if saying, “Spare me!”

“Good-morning Brother Mauer!” cried Jonathan.  “Are you feeling better to-day?” He held out his hand, into which the other placed his hesitatingly, and would have quickly withdrawn it had not Jonathan held it fast as he said: 

“Let me feel your pulse.  You are still very much fatigued, and your hand is as cold as ice.”