our young master had probably been drinking a little too much when he came out to the stable, threw himself down on the straw, and began to sob pitifully.

"What's the matter, young master?" said I.

"Ah! Jochen," he answered, "it's all up. I begged my father to let me be a farmer, for he would never make a lawyer of me; but he says we have nothing, nothing at all; he can't even pay my sister's dowry."

"Well, young master," said I, "that's not so very bad; you have a rich brother-in-law now who can certainly give you some money."

"But he started up, sprang upon me, seized me by the throat, and shook me till I was afraid for my life, crying: If you ever say another word about that,--well, it was an ugly word for a man to call his brother-in-law, especially our young master, who had always been so good-natured, but I said to myself, He's been drinking too much; for he wanted me to upset them when I drove them to Dahlitz; you know the place, Herr Gotthold, just before you get to the smithy, when the moor lies below you on the left, as you come down the hill. It's very easy to upset a carriage there so that the people inside will never get up again; but it's pretty queer business to upset your master's daughter on her wedding-day, and even if I'd wanted to do it I didn't drive them, after all, for Herr Brandow had ordered his own carriage with four horses; and Hinrich Scheel, who was his coachman then and is now, wouldn't upset them, for nobody can deny that he knows how to drive and ride."

Jochen Prebrow cracked his whip, and the horses, which had been advancing along the narrow by-way at a walk, trotted rapidly over the smooth broad high-road.

A short distance on the left appeared Dahlitz, the fine estate once the property of the ancient noble family to which Cecilia's mother belonged, but which had long since passed into the possession of the plebeian Brandow, and was now Carl Brandow's inheritance.

The highway, as Gotthold remembered, led directly through the estate, and for a considerable distance farther ran close by the wall of the park. His heart began to beat violently; his eyes wandered timidly towards the house, whose white front was already partially visible between the out-buildings. To pass so near her home, to let the only opportunity he might ever be offered escape thus, never, never to see her more!

Gotthold leaned back in the corner of the carriage, drawing the broad brim of his hat farther over his eyes; he would fain have ordered Jochen to turn back again. Meantime Jochen was driving on at a slow trot; it would soon be over. But just as they were passing the gates an empty harvest wagon came out so rapidly that the horses almost struck Jochen's. The latter swore, the farm hand swore, and some one standing in the courtyard swore also, Gotthold could not understand whether at his own man or the strange coachman--probably at both; but it was not Carl Brandow's clear voice, and the coarse fat man in top boots, who strode heavily forward to the gate, certainly bore no resemblance to Carl Brandow's slight, elastic figure.

Then Jochen again had a free passage for his frightened horses, which he reined in with considerable difficulty as they passed at full gallop by the low park wall, over which now and then one could obtain through the trees and shrubs a view of the pleasure-grounds, and even distinguish a broad handsome lawn which lay on one side of the mansion. On this piece of turf was a swing, in which two little girls were just being carefully pushed to and fro by their nurse, while a half-dozen other children of all ages gambolled upon the grass, their fresh voices ringing merrily on the quiet evening air. A stately lady moved among the group, with a little man dressed in black beside her, apparently the boys' tutor.

The picture was only visible a few seconds, but Gotthold's keen eye had seized it down to the smallest detail, and it was still in his mind when the carriage moved more slowly along the broad highway. His heart had trembled causelessly; she no longer lived here. Where was she now? He had not heard a word from home for so long--was she dead? She was to him, of course, and yet, and yet--

"That Redebas is a coarse fellow," said Jochen taking the reins in his left hand, "but he understands his business; he'll come out all right."

"So Dahlitz does not belong to Herr Brandow?" said Gotthold.

"Well, I declare," replied Jochen, pointing back with the handle of his whip into the gathering twilight, "didn't you hear anything yonder about what has been happening in this neighborhood?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, my dear Jochen. Who was to tell me?"

"To be sure," said Jochen, "writing isn't everybody's business, not mine for instance, and where you have been I suppose there were very few mails, and not much opportunity. My sergeant--he was one of the old soldiers--was in Spain too in 1807 and"--

"But I have never been in Spain," said Gotthold, "I was in Italy."

This objection was both unexpected and unwelcome to Jochen. He had fully made up his mind during the long hours that he had been reflecting whether his passenger was the son of the Pastor at Rammin or not, that if so, he must at any rate have come straight from Spain; for he had heard that Gotthold had given up "preaching" and was now living in a foreign country, and Spain was the only foreign country of which he had ever heard. So he sank into a profound revery, puffing huge clouds of smoke from his short pipe, and Gotthold, difficult as it was for him to do so, was compelled to repeat his question, as to where Herr Brandow was now living, several times.

"Why, where should he live except in Dollan?" said Jochen at last. "He has come down from a horse to a donkey, but that's always so when people want to sit so high in their saddles."

"And--and--his wife?"

It must be asked; but Gotthold's lips quivered as he put the question.

"Our poor young lady," said Jochen; "yes, when I drove her with four horses to P. for the wedding, she didn't dream the splendor would so soon be over. Yes, she is now in the old place again, and our old master and the young master are both dead, and her two oldest children too; she has only one left."

So she still lived, and lived in Dollan again, dear Dollan, the forest-girdled, sea-washed spot where he had spent the happiest and most wretched hours of his youth, the sacred and yet accursed place to which his dreams had so often led him in joy or sorrow, so that he woke with a happy smile on his lips, and also so often with tears in his eyes! For a moment it seemed as if she had been restored to him, as if the old days had returned. He saw the slender figure gliding through the shrubs in the garden at twilight, while he stood at the little gable window with a throbbing heart, hearing Curt repeat "mi" till he threw the grammar on the table, declaring that he should never understand the stuff, and they had better go down to the garden with Cecilia. Gotthold passed his hand over his brow and eyes. Had he spoken the loved name aloud? Had Jochen, who had resumed his interrupted story in the old monotonous tone, mentioned her name? Jochen did not know exactly how it had all happened, for he had been in Berlin with the army when Herr Wenhof died, and young Herr Brandow came in possession of Dollan in addition to his own estate of Dahlitz: then when Jochen was released from military duty, as his father and older brother were enough to attend to the business of the smithy, he took service as a groom with Peter the innkeeper at Altefähr, and only left the place when he drove travellers to Stubbenkammer or some other part of the island, which did not occur very often. Besides, it