seeming to him other than a symptom of diseased nerves; he thought that his loving patience must vanquish it, and when the next morning his servant brought him a letter from Elsa, he admired the strange, energetic, large letters of the address, and played with it, firmly convinced that it could not contain anything important. It contained the following:

"Above all things, many, many thanks for the sympathizing friendship which you have always showed to us, my father and me. Never should I have allowed myself to be persuaded into an engagement with you. I should be a lamentable wife for you. I will not hinder you in your career, and I cannot live in the world even for your sake. Therefore I give you back your word. I wish you all joy and happiness in the world, and as to me, when you have become a great man, keep a little friendly remembrance of the spring of '70. Elsa."

What could he do but rush over to Traunberg, overwhelm her with tender reproaches, represent to her subtly and incontrovertibly that her shyness was morbid, her yielding to this mood fairly wrong.

"Am I then nothing to you?" he finally cried, vexedly.

Then she raised her large eyes, eyes such as Raphael has painted in the sweet face of the little John, as he kneels near the sleeping child Jesus, his God and his King.

"I believe you love a quite different person from me--you do not know me!" she whispered, shaking her head.

And Erwin flushed crimson and was ashamed of his brutal egoism. He kissed her hands, he would torment her no longer--but he could not give her up.

He gave her eight days to consider it--all that remained of his vacation.

But he did not gain a step during these eight days.

With a heavy heart and hoarse voice he took leave. She smiled.

And yet he never felt more plainly that she loved him. Her love was that emotion which is above earthly considerations, which is capable of the most painful sacrifices, the most complete renunciation, although, or perhaps because she scarcely thought of marriage; in a word, it was the love of a very young girl.

It did not resemble his in the slightest. How shallow his life in Vienna and his career now seemed to him; how unattractive, how far away and vague his aim, and even if he did attain all for which he strove.

The justifications of a true, warm, longing love are always quite incontrovertible for him whom it guides.

Elsa stood before the park, under one of the black lindens. It was summer, the lindens bloomed, and a dreamy hum of bees pervaded their gnarled branches. Elsa looked through the clear summer air in the direction in which Castle Steinbach shone white above the wooded valley. Then she heard a step--she looked around. It was Erwin, thin, in spite of the flush of heat, looking very badly, but with sparkling eyes.

"Where do you come from?" cried she, trembling with surprise, with happiness.

"From the castle, where I sought you in vain. Your father did not know where you were."

"He was asleep--did you wake him?"

"Very possibly, but I had no time to reproach myself! Oh, Elsa, are you not in the least glad to see me? I have resigned--I cannot live without you!"

She stood there with loudly beating heart, and embarrassed smile, like a surprised child before a Christmas tree.

"You pay a high price for a miserable little thing," murmured she, and fairly wept.

"Happiness desires to be paid dearly for--it seems to me a small one!" whispered he.

Thereupon she was silent for a moment, looked at him anxiously, solemnly; was it possible that he clung to her, such a weak, insignificant creature? Then suddenly, with her lovely look of embarrassment, she threw both arms around him. "Oh you----" she cried, and paused because she found no word that in her opinion was great and splendid enough for him. "How I will love you!"

It was a risky experiment, to tear himself away from his customary occupation and society, and wish to pass the rest of his life at the side of a nervous misanthropical wife.

How did it succeed?

He had feared having too little to do, had provided himself with books, quite like a diplomat sent to Japan. To his astonished delight, he soon found not only how much there was to occupy him but how much he could accomplish with the income from Steinbach, which he had been accustomed to estimate at two or three per cent., and which now daily increased; for the many lives around him whose weal and woe he held in his hands, from the overseer and farmers to the day-laborers, and then Elsa!

How beautiful she grew after he had slowly kissed away the deep sadness from her face--and how lovely! The frivolous love of pleasure and gayety which is considered normal in young women never developed in her; she always remained quiet, but a dreamy happiness shone continually in her eyes, she was so blissfully happy.

What a charming companion! She rode with the endurance and indifferent courage of a man, read everything, was interested in everything, noticed everything, spoke of the most forgotten historical characters as if she had met them yesterday. She rather spurred him on than dragged him down.

Instead of, as he had feared, growing rusty in the country, he had time for making good much that he had neglected. She went on long journeys with him, but at home associated as little as possible with her neighbors. In these years Elsa was apparently one of the happiest women in the world.

She was only sad when she thought of Felix.

Her father, shortly after her marriage, blessing her a thousandfold, had died in her arms. Felix had returned to his home.

III.

The two brothers-in-law sit alone in the circle of light which a garden lamp throws in a corner of the garden shaded by elder trees. Dinner is long over, they have ceased laughing at Litzi's childish pranks and remarks; she has become sleepy, and Elsa has taken her away to lay her in her pretty little white bed. The two men, meanwhile, are smoking their cigars in the open air.

"Erwin, do you happen to know these Harfinks?" Felix asks his brother-in-law quite suddenly, in the embarrassed tone of a humiliated, bored man, and with the slightly husky voice which distinguishes all generations of indulgent and effeminate races.

The "certain Lanzberg" is indisputably of an attractive appearance--the beauty of his sister in a man--and yet softer. All the lines of his face are rounder, less decided; the features of a faultless regularity, the eyes still bluer, and yet the whole face lacks Elsa's lovely, evident peace; the eyes are always weary and half closed; his full lips wear a suffering, tormented expression, and the light brown color of his complexion, in its natural color like Elsa's, is nevertheless ashy in comparison to her healthy pallor, and furrowed with little wrinkles.

"Do you know these Harfinks?" he asks, softly.

"Harfink fitted up my sugar factory," replies Erwin, and glances closely at his brother-in-law. "In consequence I have met him several times. Recently, in Marienbad, he reminded me of our acquaintance, and introduced me to his wife and daughter."

"Strange man!" says Felix, shaking his head.

"Yes, strange, silly! His wife is repulsive, both are very ordinary."

"Yes, both," repeats Felix, and with the toe of his boot draws figures in the sand. "But the daughter?"