In a third chamber, which like all the other rooms in the farm-house, was so low that a tall man could scarcely stand erect, Henrica's sister lay on a wide bedstead, over which a screen, supported by four columns, spread like a canopy.

Links dimly lighted the long narrow room.

The reddish-yellow rays of their broad flames were darkened by the canopy, and scarcely revealed the invalid's face.
Henrica had given the Italian woman and the child in the second room but a hasty greeting, and now impetuously pressed forward into the third, rushed to the bed, threw herself on her knees, clasped her arms passionately around her sister, and covered her face with owing kisses.
She said nothing but "Anna," and the sick woman and no other word than "Henrica." Minutes elapsed, then the young girl started up, seized one of the torches and cast its light on her regained sister's face.

How pale, how emaciated it looked! But it was still beautiful, still the same as before.

Strangely-blended emotions of joy and grief took possession of Henrica's soul.