them like a woman's dress. Struck with a sudden presentiment, Hermann stopped and peered sharply through the bushes, nothing could be made out distinctly, but he strode a few steps forward, and the next moment stood before Gertrud Walter.

The girl had sunk on her knees, her head against the root of a great tree, her face hidden in both hands. By no sound had she betrayed herself, but she had broken down at the sudden news, which had come upon her unexpectedly like a flash of lightning. Hermann only needed to stand there an instant, in order to understand and feel how fearfully humiliating his presence would be to her at this moment. For an instant he looked down at her silently, then turned and walked away as quietly and quickly as he had come.

But after walking a few steps, he stopped and looked back. She lay as still and motionless as a statue--perhaps she had fainted--perhaps--the Count had not decided within himself what common humanity and compassion demanded in this case, before he again stood at her side.

"Fräulein!"

No answer, nor the slightest movement.

Hermann bent down and lifted her up. She received his help silently, and whilst she mechanically raised her head, her eyes gazed unconsciously at his face.

"You are not well! May I offer you my assistance as far as the village?"

He ought not to have spoken, for with the tone of his voice came back at once strength and consciousness, and with it hostility against him. There it was once more, that terrified shrinking, which she had shown in the morning, the same strange hostile look returned to her eyes, it seemed, as if in the one feeling of detestation against him, even the remembrance of the last quarter of an hour was forgotten.

"I need no help--I am well--quite well--"

She walked a few steps, but tottered, and was obliged to lean against a tree to keep herself from falling. The wind shook the branches and sent a shower of leaves down upon her; the first flash of lightning quivered through the air, and a distant growl of thunder followed it. Hermann, who had again turned away, once more returned to the young girl, and said, with a decision, through which some bitterness sounded--

"I am sorry to be troublesome to you by my presence, but you are not well, mein Fräulein. You are alone, and a stranger here, and the village is half an hour's distance from this spot. You will therefore accept my assistance, and the assurance that I will not be troublesome to you a moment longer than is actually necessary."

Quietly, as if a refusal were unheard of, he took her arm, like that of a child, to lead her, but this had a truly alarming effect upon Gertrud. As if stung by a snake, she could not have started more fearfully, nor shrunk back with greater horror. With almost a cry she tore her hand out of his, and Hermann seemed suddenly to behold a changed being before him. Nothing more of the "child" was to be seen; her figure, as she stood before him, drawn up to her full height, had something commanding and powerful about it. So mysterious was this commanding glance, that any one else would have quailed before it, as with a tone and expression which perfectly electrified the Count, she cried, threateningly--

"Do not touch me, Count Arnau. I will not accept of your assistance!"

She turned away, took the road to the village and disappeared behind the bushes. Hermann stood motionless, looking after her, but the next minute anger had overcome his silent astonishment.

Never had the young Count been treated so, never so insulted, and here--when, for the first time in his life he had approached any one with warm sympathy, had for the first time diverged from his indifferent character! How could this girl dare to behave so to him? And wherefore?