A young girl, with blanched cheek and tearless eye of agony, knelt by the wan sufferer.  Gotleib felt himself in the sphere of his life’s use; cold and fatigue were alike gone.  The sick and almost dying woman seemed to revive under his touch—­it was as if strength flowed from the physician into the patient.  His very presence diffused an air of hope and comfort through the desolate apartment, and the kind serving-girl, Bettina, who had guided him to the humble lodging, seconded all his active efforts to produce warmth and comfort, and soon returned with one of his prescriptions—­an abundance of fuel for the almost exhausted grate.  The cheerful blaze threw its strong light upon the young girl, who at first knelt in hopeless grief beside her dying mother.

What was it that thrilled the heart of Gotleib, as he looked upon this young maiden?  Was it her beauty?  No! he had seen others more beautiful.  Was it her sorrow?  No! he had seen others quite as sad.  But, whatever it was, Gotleib felt he had met his destiny; the fulness of his being was developed to him; and, all unconsciously, the maiden turned to him as the Providence of God to her.  She seemed to rest her troubled heart upon his strong understanding.  He said her mother would not die immediately, and she grew calm.

It was very late that night when Gotleib retired; and very fervent were the prayers that arose from his heart before he slept.  He felt a sense of gratitude for the uses he was permitted to perform to his fellow beings, and, in his prayers, he felt that light shone from the Divine sun upon that sorrowing maiden, and it was as if she knelt by his side, and his strong spirit-arms upheld her in the sunshine of God’s love.

When the morning came, Gotleib awakened with a delicious sense of enjoyment in life—­with a looking forth into the events of the day, that he had never before experienced.  He hastened through his morning duties with an elasticity of spirit and hope that was altogether new to him.  Though, as yet, his feeling was not defined into a thought, it was a faint perception, a dim consciousness that the elective affinities of his heart had all awakened.  And while he thought he was in an excessive anxiety to see after his feeble patient, he was borne on rather by the attractions of his heart’s love.  He paused in a thrilling excitement of hope and doubt before the door of the poor chamber—­he dreaded to have the agreeable impressions of the last evening dissipated.  But, when he knocked, a light tread was heard; the door was gently opened, and the pale Anna stood before him, with such a gentle grace, and so earnest a look of gratified expectation, that, as she said in subdued tones,

“I hoped it was you,” his heart bounded with exultation, to think that the young girl had him in her thoughts.  But, as he approached the sick bed, his reason told him what was more natural than her wishing for the arrival of her mother’s physician.