Little Ruth nestled to him, asking: 'Well, father ?' The man smiled.

Do you know him, Pater?
He is about thirty years old, and has a pale, calm face.

He smiled and said so gratefully, so-so joyously, as if Ulrich were his own son: 'Thank God, he will be spared to us!' The little girl ran to her dumb mother, who was sitting by the stove, winding yarn, exclaiming: 'Mother, he'll get well again.

I have prayed for him every day.' The Jew bent over my child and pressed his lips upon the boy's brow--and I, I--I no longer clenched my fist, and was so overwhelmed with emotion, that I could not help weeping, as if I were still a child myself, and since then, Pater Benedictus, since...." He paused; the monk rose, laid his hand on the smith's shoulder, and said: "It has grown late, Adam.

Show me to my couch.