that is Dietrich's voice talking eagerly, while Veronica's bell-like laugh sounds clear through the still evening air. With a heart filled to overflowing with happiness, Gertrude went forth to meet them.

As they sat together round the table in their usual cheerful mood, the mother asked for an account of this, Veronica's first day among strangers, and how she liked her new work.

"Very much indeed, mother," was the answer, and the young girl's face beamed with a smile that swept away all trace of the clouds that sometimes marred its beauty.

"I can't tell you how delightful it is to be able to earn so much. But after all, mother dear, the best part is that I can come home to you at night."

"That's what I think too," said Dietrich quickly, and you had but to look in his eyes to see that he spoke the truth.

"And I am as glad as either of you," said Gertrude smiling. "It has been a long day for me. It seems a great while since you started off this morning, Veronica."

"What! when your only son was sitting by you all day long?" asked Dietrich playfully.

"Oh, you know what I mean. I need you both to make me perfectly happy, and cannot spare either of you;" and she looked from one to the other with caressing glances.

Veronica told them all about the new teacher and the new work, and it was late in the evening before the three separated for the night.

CHAPTER V.

UPON UNSAFE PATHS.

After this evening, Dietrich was scarcely ever able to go on his walk alone. Blasi had always some pretext for joining him, and when Jost found out that regularly every evening his friend took the same walk at the same hour, he too discovered that he had a great deal to tell him, and to consult him about. The two accompanied him through the wood, and when they emerged from it on the other side, they usually saw a graceful figure coming along the white road that led up the hill from Fohrensee. Then without a word on the subject, as by tacit agreement, they stopped, shook hands, and separated; the other two turned back toward the village, and Dietrich went on. They felt instinctively that this was the best thing to do. Dietrich, certainly, found out that his companions were not to Veronica's mind, when one evening, the three being so engaged in talk that they had not noticed that they were later than usual, Veronica came into the wood before they left it, and she recognized Blasi and Jost, although they turned quickly back.

"They can't have the best of consciences," said Veronica, as Dietrich joined her; "if they had only straight-forward business on hand, why did they take themselves off so hastily, as soon as I came in sight?"

"Can't you understand that we may have something to talk about, that we do not wish you to hear?" asked Dietrich.

The girl was silent a few moments, and then she said, rather seriously,

"It would suit me far better, if you were not so much in company with those two fellows. Blasi is absolutely idle, and cannot be nice, and Jost is really bad; you can see that in his face. He never dares to look me full in the eye; he always avoids a direct glance, as if he feared that his eyes would betray him. I believe he is thoroughly false."

"No, no, you should not judge him so harshly," said Dietrich, good-humoredly. "He is not what you think him; he is a good friend to me, and has already taught me a great deal that I should never have got at without his help. He is a very clever fellow."

Veronica let the matter drop, but it was plain that she had not changed her opinion.

The days grew longer and brighter. The wood was filled with sweeter perfumes evening after evening, as the two friends sauntered along their homeward path, and in each young heart the feeling grew and ripened, that still sweeter and more beautiful days were to come.

One afternoon in May, Veronica paced leisurely along the white hill-road, her eyes fixed on the tall oak on the borders of the wood, which marked the place where the foot-path came out upon the high road. Everything was quiet; not a human being in sight. She reached the spot and looked anxiously into the wood. She listened; she peered between the trees; all was solitude. The tree-tops, softly murmuring, rocked gently to and fro, and through the branches she saw the sunset glow. For the first time, the young girl entered the wood alone. It was quite dark, in there. She passed along with rapid step, among the solemn pines, hastening faster and faster, as the trees seemed to draw together about her. When she came out upon the open pathway, she saw Dietrich coming across the field in hot haste. He was breathless when he reached her.

"I don't like to have you come alone through the wood, Veronica," he said, "I thought I should be in time, but I could not get rid of those two fellows. I tried to get away two or three times, but they always had something more to say, and kept me."

"Where were you, Dietrich?"

"They had some business with me; that is, Jost had something to tell me, and Blasi was there too. Jost did not care to speak of it on the open street, and so we went into the Rehbock; and that is what made me so late. Why, what's the matter, Veronica? Are you ill?"

She was as pale as a ghost.

"What! You've been to the Rehbock, Dietrich!" she exclaimed in evident distress. "Oh, don't go there! Please don't go to that place again!"

"Oh, now we are to have the old story over again, are we?" said the young man, laughing, "you have taken some foolish whim into your head; you really don't know why yourself. What's your prejudice against that house in particular?"

"I do know why; and it is no whim," said Veronica, earnestly. "I will tell you all about it. That house has been a terror to me ever since I can remember anything. We were both so young that you probably do not recollect it at all. We both went with mother to the doctor's, but you didn't go into the house, I remember now. Mother told the doctor that my father was killed at the Rehbock. I have never forgotten it since. I am constantly seeing him lying dead before my eyes; lying there struck down dead. I often dream about it, and in my dreams I am there—and—and sometimes when I look at his dead form in my dreams, it is not my father any more, but it is you—you, Dietrich, whom they have struck down dead at the Rehbock."

Dietrich was going to laugh at these words, but he glanced into Veronica's face and was silent. She was more in earnest than he had thought. He tried to quiet and reassure her, by saying that it was only a dream, and nothing to be afraid of. The dream came naturally enough, because she was always dwelling upon the tragedy of her father's death, and in dreams every one knows that faces are always changing. His explanation, however, did not make much impression upon Veronica. She said no more about it; but not all Dietrich's efforts were sufficient to chase the shadows from her face that evening, although he exerted himself to be even more amusing than usual. Gertrude observed her silence, as they sat about the table, and looked anxiously at her. When they had separated for the night, Dietrich went into his mother's room to have a talk with her. He told her what Veronica had said, and begged her to reason with the young girl and urge her to lay aside these groundless fears which had taken possession of her. He represented to his mother, that of course he sometimes had things to talk over with his companions, and that there surely was no harm in their going to the Rehbock together for their conversations, and he begged her to make Veronica see the whole affair in a reasonable light. Gertrude was shocked to find that the child had heard and understood what she had said to the doctor, and distressed that she had taken it so much to heart. She promised to speak to Veronica, but she also cautioned her son against forming an intimacy with Jost and Blasi. Dietrich cheerfully gave his word; declaring that he