entirely before swine.

Slus'uhr and David arrived, and what can I say about their visit? They sang the same song as before, and Alick had to renew his bills again. From long practice he had grown quite expert at this. Borrowing money is a dreadful thing, nothing comes up to it except perhaps being beheaded or hung, neither of which is precisely a pleasant experience; still I have known people who never rested till they had borrowed from all the Jews and Christians they could persuade to lend them money. Alick was not as bad as that, but yet he thought it as well to make use of the present opportunity, and get a new loan from David of sufficient money to pay for the refurnishing of the house. His excuse was that it was better "to have to do with one usurer than with several," and it never seemed to occur to him that that one was as bad as a dozen.

Meanwhile Hawermann and Mrs. von Rambow were walking over the farm. The beauty of the summer-morning soon chased away the slight shadow of displeasure from the lady's fair face, and she began to look about her, and try with right good will to learn something about farming in Mecklenburg. Hawermann soon discovered to his great delight that she was by no means so ignorant of agricultural matters as she thought herself. She had been brought up in the country, and had always taken an intelligent interest in what was going on around her. She liked to know why this or that was done, a mere superficial knowledge did not content her. So it was that she already knew enough about farming to understand the reasons for the differences she noticed between the crops at Pümpelhagen and those at her old home. The soil on her father's estate was light and sandy, while here it was a rich clay, well suited for the cultivation of wheat. The old bailiff gave her many simple little hints which helped her very much. They were both delighted with their walk, and a friendly confidence in each other was the result of their common enjoyment of the same subjects.

When they reached the Gürlitz march, Hawermann showed her the glebe-lands, and told her that the late squire had taken a lease of them.--"And the barley over there," asked Mrs. von Rambow. "That's part the Gürlitz estate, and it belongs to Mr. Pomuchelskopp."--"Ah, that was the gentleman who met us yesterday with his family," cried Frida. "What sort of man is he?"--"I never see anything of him," said Hawermann, rather confused.--"Don't you know him?" asked Mrs. von Rambow.--"Yes--no--that is, I used to know him; but we hav'n't seen anything of each other since he came here," replied the old man, and then he introduced another subject of conversation, but Frida laid her hand upon his arm, and asked: "Mr. Hawermann, you know that I am a stranger in this neighbourhood, and Alick seems to know very little about these people. Tell me, are they proper acquaintances for us?"--"No," said Hawermann shortly.--They walked on silently, at last Mrs. von Rambow stood still, and asked: "Can you, and will you tell me the reason why you broke off your old acquaintance with that man?"--Hawermann looked at her long and earnestly. "Yes," he said at length, but more as if he were speaking to himself than to her. "And if you believe me as the late squire did, it will perhaps be better for you to know it."--He then told her his story plainly and quietly, hiding nothing and exaggerating nothing. Mrs. von Rambow listened attentively and without interrupting him. When he had finished she merely said: "I didn't like what I saw of these people yesterday, and now I dislike them."--They had been walking through the glebe-lands for some time, and had reached the hedge at the end of the parsonage-garden; suddenly they heard a sweet young voice at the other side of the hedge exclaim: "Good-morning, father, good-morning," and at the same moment the lovely girl that Mrs. von Rambow had seen at the parsonage-door on the preceding day sprang through the garden-gate towards her father. But on seeing who was with him she blushed deeply and stopped short, so that if Hawermann wanted to have his good-morning-kiss, he would have to go and help himself to it.

The old man introduced his daughter to Mrs. von Rambow with much loving pride, and the squire's young wife, after a few kindly words of greeting, asked her to come up to Pümpelhagen to see her father and herself. When Hawermann had charged his daughter with messages to Mr. and Mrs. Behrens, they took leave of Louisa, and continued their walk.--"The clergyman and his wife are very good people, are they not?" asked Frida.--"Madam," said Hawermann, "I can't give you an impartial answer to that question. They have saved all that remained to me after my misfortunes. They have brought up my only child with loving care, and have taught her all the good she knows. I can never think of them without the greatest reverence and the deepest gratitude. But if you want to know more about them, ask any one you like in the parish. Rich and poor, high and low will all speak of them with affection."--"Mr. Pomuchelskopp too?" asked the lady.--"If he were to speak honestly and without prejudice, he would bear the same testimony," answered the old man; "but unfortunately he had a disagreement with the parson when he first came here about the glebe. It was not Mr. Behrens' fault. I was the real cause of it, for it was I who persuaded the late squire to take a lease of the land. And, Madam," he continued after a pause, "Pümpelhagen can never pay so well without the glebe; having the lease of it is an advantage that cannot be given up without great loss."--Frida made the bailiff explain to her in what this advantage consisted, and as soon as she understood the whole case, she determined that she would do her best to keep the glebe for Pümpelhagen.

When they got home, they saw attorney Slus'uhr and David driving away from the door, and Alick bowing and smiling as much as if Slus'uhr had been his colonel, and David had been a young count.--"Who is that?" Frida asked of Hawermann.--He told her.--When she came up to her husband, she said: "What have you to do with these people, Alick, and why were you so extraordinarily polite to them?"--"Polite?" repeated Alick rather confused. "Why not? I am polite to every body," glancing at Hawermann as he spoke.--"Of course you are," said his young wife, slipping her hand within his arm, "but these were common Jew traders, and ...."--"My dear child," interrupted Alick, who did not wish her to finish her sentence, "the man is a wool-stapler, and I've no doubt I shall often have to do business with him."--"And the other?" she asked,--"Oh, he is--he only happened to come with his friend. I've nothing to do with him."--"Good-bye, Mr. Hawermann," said Frida, shaking hands with the old man, "and thank you so very much for having gone with me this morning." She then went into the house, and Alick followed her; but he looked round again when he had reached the door-way, and saw that the old bailiff's eyes were fixed on him sorrowfully. He could not meet that sad gaze, and turning away he followed his wife into the house.

In that look of honest sorrow lay the future of the three people who had just parted. Alick had told a lie, he had betrayed the confidence of his young wife for the first time, and Hawermann knew it; and Alick knew that Hawermann knew it. A stone was now lying in the way, over which any one passing by that road might easily stumble, for the way had grown dark through untruth and deceit, and none could warn the traveller of the hidden danger. Frida as yet walked on in innocent fearlessness, but sooner or later her foot would strike against that stone. Alick, moreover, deceived himself, he thought he could guide Frida safely past the stone that lay in her path without her ever being aware of its existence, and he knew that the road was clear on the other side of it. Hawermann saw the danger distinctly that menaced the family at Pümpelhagen, and he would willingly have done what he could to help