A noble and rapturous light came into his face, and as he walked on, his hopes rose: 

“When she is mine I know that everything good in me that I have inherited from my forefathers will blossom forth.  When my mother called me to my father’s bed-side, she said:  ’Come, Orion, life is earnest for you and me and all our house, your father. . .’  Yes, it is earnest indeed, however all this may end!  To win Paula, to conciliate her, to bring her near to me, to have her by my side and do something great, something worthy of her—­this is such a purpose in life as I need!  With her, only with her I know I could achieve it; without her, or with that gilded toy Katharina, old age will bring me nothing but satiety, sobering and regrets—­or, to call it by its Christian designation:  bitter repentance.  As Antaeus renewed his strength by contact with mother earth, so, father do I feel myself grow taller when I only think of her.  She is salvation and honor; the other is ruin and misery in the future.  My poor, dear Father, you will, you must survive this stroke to see the fulfilment of all your joyful hopes of your son.  You always loved Paula; perhaps you may be the one to appease her and bring her back to me; and how dear will she be to you, and, God willing, to my mother, too, when you see her reigning by my side an ornament to this house, to this city, to this country—­reigning like a queen, your son’s redeeming and guardian angel!”

Uplifted, carried away by these thoughts, he had reached the viridarium.  He there found Sebek the steward waiting for his young master:  “My lord is asleep now,” he whispered, “as the physician foretold, but his face...  Oh, if only we had Philippus here again!”

“Have you sent the chariot with the fast horses to the Convent of St. Cecilia?” asked Orion eagerly; and when Sebek had replied in the affirmative and vanished again indoors, the young man, overwhelmed with painful forebodings, sank on his knees near a column to which a crucifix was hung, and lifted up his hands and soul in fervent prayer.

CHAPTER XV.

The physician had installed Paula in her new home, and had introduced her to the family who were henceforth to be her protectors, and to enable her to lead a happier life.

He had but a few minutes to devote to her and her hosts; for scarcely had he taken her into the spacious rooms, gay with flowers, of which she now took possession, when he was enquired for by two messengers, both anxious to speak with him.  Paula knew how critical her uncle’s state was, and now, contemplating the probability of losing him, she first understood what he had been to her.  Thus sorrow was her first companion in her new abode—­a sorrow to which the comfort of her pretty, airy rooms added keenness.