standing near the window which led into the garden. Madeleine was sitting on the end of the sofa at the other end of the room.
"This is a gloomy day for so late in the spring," observed Mr. Martens, looking into the garden; "and a house like this, to which Death has brought his sad tidings, is a mournful place."
She listened to him, keeping her eyes fixed on the ground, and without returning a word.
"A house like this," he continued, "in which death is lying, is a picture of the lives of many of us. How many of us carry death at our hearts! Some hope or another that for us has long passed away, or some bitter disappointment that we have buried in the depths of our soul."
He could see that she bent her head lower over the sofa, and he went on speaking earnestly and soothingly, and almost to himself.
"Since it is a good thing for us not to be alone since it is good for us to have some one to eling to, when the bitter experiences of life east their shadows over us, so"
Madeleine suddenly burst into tears, and her sobs reached his ears.
"I beg your pardon," said he, coming close to the sofa. "I was but following the bent of my own thoughts, and I fear I have made you unhappy, when my object ought rather to have been to endeavour to cheer you. Poor child!"
Her sobbing had now become so violent that she did not any longer try to conceal her emotion.
