XXVIII.

"Yesterday now is a part of forever; Bound up in a sheaf which God holds tight. With glad days and sad days and bad days, which never Shall visit us more with their bloom and their blight, Their fullness of sunshine or sorrowful night.

Let them go, since we can not relieve them, Can not undo and can not atone; God in his mercy forgive and receive them! Only the new days are our own: To-day is ours, and to-day alone." --SUSAN COOLIDGE.

A nipping hoar-frost brought Wulf back to Berlin. Here he made strenuous efforts to obtain some news of Sibylla, but in vain. No one knew where she resided. That she was in the city he never dreamed, and therefore did not seek her there. He wrote to Theodora in the Swiss mountains; but either the letter had failed to reach her, or she had been obliged to make inquiries herself; for no answer came.

During this period he was not idle. He began his medical practice, and endeavored to establish a home of his own. Still he did not cater to the higher classes of society. His inclinations led him where there was the most misery. Should he be able to fulfill his uncle's expectations, and become a physician to the poor? It seemed so; for he was oftenest seen in the cellars and tenements, and rejoiced that this class of people reposed confidence in him.

It was toward evening, one day, when he called upon a poor, sick woman. Entering the cellar, he was obliged to wait a moment until his eyes grew accustomed to the dim, gloomy light, before he could distinguish any thing. The husband met him at the door, and Wulf inquired after the wife, whose groans now reached him in reply.

"Has she so much pain?" asked Wulf.

"No; but she has a wound in the knee, which is just being dressed."

Wulf approached the sufferer. At the foot of the bed, knelt a womanly figure, binding the wound, with her head bent deeply over the work. He looked at her keenly, but the room was so dark he could only distinguish the outline.

"Bring a light," he said, firmly.

When the husband had succeeded in finding one, the place by the bed was vacant.

"Who bound your leg?" asked Wulf, quickly.

"My good angel," moaned the woman.

"What is her name?" continued the young physician, so impatiently that her husband replied in some alarm: "She has been coming here a long while, and she lives near."

"But her name?"

"Frau Bolton; and she is very good."

The intuition which flashed through his mind and heart when he entered this room was then correct! He felt like rushing forth instantly, but he controlled the impulse. With a calmness inexplicable to himself he gave orders for the sick woman's relief. He knew Sibylla had recognized him, and he should find her. As he came out he saw a woman walking slowly before him. O, he could identify that figure among thousands! He quickened his steps; the young woman seemed absorbed in deep thought. Suddenly a manly voice said to her.

"Sibylla, dear Sibylla!"

Sibylla looked up: "Wulf!"

How can so much happiness, so much pain, so much terror, so much blessedness, lie in a single word?

She reeled, and would have fallen; but a strong arm upheld her, which she knew would never again be released through time and eternity.

A severe November storm raged around them; but as it drove Sibylla backward, the strong arm was protectingly behind her. They go on and on, and can find no end. She is not troubled on account of the distance; she has been long enough her own leader. The hands of both are clasped together as if they could never be sundered. As water which an unfriendly hand has parted reunites never to be separated again, these two are henceforth one.

Finally the bands of the tongues of these happy ones are loosed. What they said, no one heard; but perhaps imagination may tell us that as, out of the deepest woe, thoughts climb to heaven, so in the highest bliss they also climb thitherward.

It was very late when Wulf parted from Sibylla at her door.

"Come early to-morrow morning," she begged; "I am too horrid to be alone by myself." Entering the room, she fell on her knees, and cried through streaming eyes: "Dear Lord, can you have such love for me?"

How gloriously the sun arose the next morning!--no November sun, but one of May, full of joy and happiness. It shone forth strong, as if there were joy and delight in its nature, as well as storm and rage.

It was not very late when Wulf stood before Sibylla's door, but still not so early that she had not been looking out for him. How beautiful she was! Wulf met her with eyes of love and admiration. Yes; that was his Sibylla Von Herbig. It was incredible that she had ever belonged to another. He could not bear the thought of how he had struggled against all remembrance of her during the past years, believing it to be wrong. But now she was his, wholly his--and forever!

And Sibylla? If any one could have bribed her with every thing for which once she had been so enthusiastic and regarded essential to her life; if any one had brought to her liberty, beauty, art, riches, happiness of every other kind, it would have been no temptation. In resignation and submission she found her happiness. And--wonderful!--this happiness rejuvenated her; it flashed from her eyes; it beamed from her rosy cheeks; it uttered itself in every movement of her youthful form, as the sunshine unfolds the rose which had been only a bud for so long.

To-day Sibylla told Wulf that Theodora had returned to Berlin, and intended to remain. They went together to see their friend. Theodora was delighted over the happy circumstance that greeted her on the threshold of her new home. She had not received Wulf's letter. When he brought his sweet bride another day, she pressed Sibylla to her heart and said, joyfully: "May a good spirit accompany you through life, and the gold which you carry in your own person be transformed for every-day use into small change for every body!"

Yes; every-day life--that must show now what Sibylla really is.