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He reached out his hand for
hers. "I didn't want him any longer, liebchen,"--he said it much like a
little child--"I want--you."
"Of course you do,"--tenderly--"and I'm the one for you to have. But not
up here. The light is too bright up here."
She pulled at his hand as if to induce him to rise. But he made no
movement to do so, and he did not seem to have heard what she said.
"Ernestine," he said, in a low voice--there was something not just
natural in Karl's voice, a tiredness, a something gone from it--"will you
do something for me?"
She sat down on the arm of his chair, her arm about him with her warm
impulsiveness. "Why Karl, dear"--a light kiss upon his hair--"you know I
would do anything in the world for you."
"I want you to show me your pictures,"--he said it abruptly, shortly. "I
want to look at them this morning;--all of them."
"But--but Karl," she gasped, rising in her astonishment--"not _now_!"
"Yes--now. You promised. You said you'd do anything in the world for me.


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