their poor dear child.

Then horses were heard in the court-yard, coachmen quarrelling; orders
were given; and at last the hearse rolled away solemnly--and that was
all.

Henrietta wept and prayed in her chamber.

Late in the day, the count and Henrietta sat down at table alone for the
first time in their lives; but they did not eat a morsel. How could they
do it, seeing before them the empty seat, once occupied by her who was
the life of the whole house, and now never to be filled again?

And thus, for a long time, their meals were a steady reminder of their
loss. During the day they were seen wandering about the house, without
any apparent purpose, as if looking or hoping for something to happen.

But there was another true and warm heart, far from that house, which
had been sorely wounded by the death of the countess. Daniel had loved
her like a mother; and in his heart a mysterious voice warned him, that,
in losing her, he had well-nigh lost Henrietta.

He had called several times at the house of mourning; but it was only a
fortnight later that he was admitted. When Henrietta saw him, she felt
sorry she had not let him come in before. He had apparently suffered as
much as she; he looked pale; and his eyes were red.

They remained for some time seated opposite each other, without saying
a word, but deeply moved, and feeling instinctively that their common
grief bound them more firmly than ever to each other.