“I searched my soul once more.  One answer, one word broke from my lips,—­’Amen.’

“‘T is well,’ the angel visitant said; ’thy being shall be turned to light.’

“I awoke.  The morning sun shone in my windows, and laid in golden bars upon my bed.  I thought long of the vision of the night, and then sat down to pen it to you.  To me it is significant.  Write and tell me if it seems but a dream to you.  I should like to be permitted to glorify my name, and be the ‘Dawn’ of light to some of earth’s weary pilgrims.”

CHAPTER XX.

In a pleasant room in Frankfort, on a slight eminence which overlooked the river Maine, sat a young man, of about thirty years, in deep meditation.  His face showed traces of recent suffering; his broad, high brow was white as marble, and his hands, though large, were soft and delicate as a woman’s.  Near by sat a young girl, whose physiogomy showed close relationship to the invalid.  She was his sister, and was travelling with him, hoping that change of air and scenery might produce a beneficial effect on his health.

“I think you seem stronger than when we came, Ralph; don’t you?” She had been watching the color flickering on his face and lips, the last half hour.

“Yes, the air of Frankfort has done me good, and the present fatigue is only the result of my journey.”

“I am glad to hear you say so; it confirms my impression, which is, that you will recover.”

“Heaven grant it may be so.  Long suffering has robbed me of the buoyancy of hope.  I think I have not enjoyed myself more at any time during my illness, than while we were at Heidelberg, among its castles.”

“I hope you will enjoy your stay here as much.  You know how long you have wished to see the birthplace of Goethe.”

“I have, and expect to see his statue to-morrow, which will be pleasure enough for one day; at least for an invalid.  Do you remember his ‘Sorrows of Werter,’ Marion?  In what work has the depth of men’s emotional nature been so sounded?”

“I remember you read it to me last winter, while I was working those slippers you have on.”

“Ah, yes; delightful days they were, too.  I wonder if I shall be able to see Dannecker’s Ariadne the same day?”

“I have forgotten, Ralph, the figure.”

“It is that of a beautiful female riding on a panther.  The light is let in through a rosy curtain, and falling upon the form, is absorbed and incorporated into the marble.”

“How beautiful; I wish we could go to-day.”

“I shall be stronger to-morrow, and perhaps be able to sketch a little before I leave.”

“Ah, if you could.  What a pity that we had to come away from Heidelburg without your being able to add anything to your folio.”

“It was; but if I recover my health, as you think I will, I shall go again, and see how that place of beauty looks to me in full vigor.”