"Clear the Track!" A Story of To-day

by E. Werner

CHAPTER VIII.

[A BOUGH OF APPLE-BLOSSOMS.]

"As I tell you, Miss Friedberg, the nerves are a mere habit, and one of the worst of ones at that. Since the ladies have discovered nerves, we doctors have been the most tormented people in the world. It may be a right useful invention so far as husbands are concerned, but a hardened bachelor like myself has not the least respect for it."

With these words Dr. Hagenbach closed a rather long harangue which he had been giving in Miss Friedberg's chamber. Leonie, who looked pale and worn, had called him in professionally, and in reply to his questions had only repeated again and again that she was "through and through nervous."

"I believe. Doctor, you are the only physician who denies the existence of nerves," she said. "I should think science----"

"What science calls 'nerves' has my deepest respect"--she was interrupted by Hagenbach. "But what ladies give out to be such, in their stead, does not exist. Why do you not have yourself treated by the city health-officer, who makes a profound bow to each nerve of his patients, or by one of my young colleagues here in Odensburg, who also advocates the thing, although with a certain timidity. If you give yourself into my hands, there is no favor shown, that you know."

"Yes, I do know it!" she answered with some feeling. "And now may I ask for your prescriptions."

"Which, of course, you have no mind to follow. But never mind that, I'll use strict vigilance. In the first place, then, the air in your room will not do, it is much too damp and heavy. Above all things, let us open the window."

"I beg pardon," opposed Leonie with warmth. "A keen north wind is blowing, which is more than I can stand."

"Wonderful air!" said Hagenbach, as, without paying any heed to her objection, he proceeded to the window and threw open both casements. "Were you out of doors yesterday?"

"No, we had a terrible rain-storm."

"Where were your umbrella and waterproof, I allow them unquestionably. Follow your pupil's example--down yonder in the park Miss Maia sails along quite merrily in the face of the storm, and that tiny thing, Puck, sails along with her, although he is almost blown away."

"Maia is young, a happy child, that knows nothing but laughter and sunshine," said Leonie with a sigh. "She knows nothing yet of sorrow and tears, of all the hard and bitter that is imposed upon us by fate."

As she spoke, her eye involuntarily sought the desk, above which a large photograph took the main place on the wall. Some sweet yet painful memory must have been linked to that picture, for it was decorated by a mourning veil of black crape, and below it was a bowl full of sweet violets, that seemed like a sacrificial offering.

That glance did not escape the doctor's sharp eyes. As though accidentally he stepped up to the desk and began to inspect the likenesses to be found there, while he dryly remarked:

"Every man has his troubles, but they are far better borne with good-humor than with wailing and mourning. Ah! there is the picture of the little lady--very like! And her brother by her side--remarkable, that he does not resemble his father in the least. Whom does that photograph represent?" He pointed to the picture draped in mourning.

This unexpected question seemed to embarrass Leonie, she blushed faintly and answered with a somewhat unsteady voice:

"A--a relation."

"Your brother, perhaps?"

"No, a cousin--quite a distant relation."

"Ah, indeed?" drawled Hagenbach.

The remote relation seemed to interest him, he examined very narrowly the features of the very pale and lank young man, with sleek hair and eyes romantically upturned, and then continued in an indifferent tone:

"That face has a familiar look to me. I must have seen it before somewhere."

"You are in error as to that." Leonie's voice quivered perceptibly. "It has been long since he was counted among the living. He has lain in his grave for years: the hot deserts of Africa."

"Heaven rest his soul!" said the doctor with provoking equanimity. "But what took him to Africa and into the desert? Did he go as an explorer perhaps?"

"No, he died a martyr to a holy cause. He had attached himself to a mission to the heathen, and succumbed to the climate."

"I can only say he might have done a cleverer thing!"

Leonie, who had just carried her handkerchief to her eyes, overcome with emotion, stopped, utterly shocked at his lack of feeling:

"Doctor!"

"Yes, I cannot help thinking so. Miss Friedberg. I deem it very superfluous, in the first place, to be going away off to Africa to convert the black heathen, while so many white heathens, are roving around here in Germany, who know nothing of Christianity, although they are baptized. If your cousin had preached the Word of God, as a well-installed pastor to his own people----"

"He was not a minister, but a teacher," the angry lady managed to put in.

"Never mind; then, emphatically, he should have taught the dear school-boys the fear of God and flogged them into it, too, if needful. Classes have little enough of that nowadays."

Leonie's face betrayed the indignation she felt at this mode of expression, but reply was spared her, however, for at this moment came a timid knock at the door, and immediately afterwards Dagobert entered, but was hardly allowed to pay his respects to the lady; his uncle calling out to him, in his threatening voice, just as soon as he laid eyes on him:

"No English lesson to-day. Miss Friedberg has just declared that she is 'nervous through and through,' and nerves and grammar do not agree."

The young man must have valued this instruction highly, for he was quite shocked at this announcement. But Leonie said most positively:

"I beg pardon, stay, dear Dagobert! Our English studies are not to suffer from my bad feelings, we shall have our accustomed lesson. I'll go for our books." So saying, she got up and went into the next room.

The doctor, with a vexed look, followed her with his eyes. "I never did have such a contrary patient! Always the embodiment of contradiction! Hark ye, Dagobert, you are tolerably well-informed--what sort of a man is the one hanging yonder?"

"Hanging? Whore?" asked the horror-stricken Dagobert, while, shuddering, he looked across at the trees in the park.

"Why, you need not be thinking directly of a rope," said his uncle. "I mean that picture over the desk, with the crazy decoration of crape and violets."

"It is a relative of Miss Friedberg, a cousin----"

"Yes, indeed, quite a remote one! She has told me that, too, but I know she must have been engaged to him. Tiresome enough he looks to have been. Do you know his name, perhaps?"

"Miss Friedberg told it to me once--Engelbert."

"So the man was named Engelbert, too!" cried the excited doctor. "The name is just as sentimental as that unbearable face. Engelbert and Leonie--they match splendidly together! How the two would have sat and cooed together like a pair of turtle-doves!"

"He is dead, poor man!" remarked Dagobert.

"Was not of much account in life," growled Hagenbach, "and does not seem to have had specially good nourishment either, before he hied him to the desert. What a wretched woe-begone face it is! I must away now, give my compliments to Miss Friedberg. Much satisfaction may you get out of your 'nervous' English hour."

So saying the doctor picked up hat and cane and left. Ill-humoredly he descended the stairs, that sentimental "man of the desert" seemed to have thoroughly spoiled his temper. Suddenly he stood still.

"I have seen that face somewhere else, I stick to that, but strange--it looked entirely different!"

With this oracular remark he shook his head with a puzzled look and left the house.

The weather out of doors did not indeed look very inviting, being one of those cold, stormy spring-days, such as occur so frequently in the mountains. It is true the landscape no longer wore the bleak, wintry aspect that it had done a few weeks before, the trees having already decked themselves in fresh green, while the first flowers were blossoming in the meadows and fields, but this blooming and growing went forward only slowly, because sunshine was lacking.

Dark masses of cloud chased each other over the face of the sky, the rustling tree-tops bent before the wind, but this did not trouble the young girl, who, with light step, hurried forward on a narrow path through the woods.

Maia knew, to be sure, that her father did not approve of her taking such long walks unattended, but in the beginning she had confined her stroll to the park-limits, then Puck darted across the meadows and she after him, and then he went into the woods only a little distance, but it was so beautiful there under the murmuring pines, it enticed her on and on into the green solitude. What delight, to be, for once, so entirely alone, running races with the barking Puck, as if for a wager! Absorbed in this pleasure, Maia forgot entirely about the way back, until rather rudely reminded of it.

The dark clouds, which had been already threatening the whole day long, seemed finally to determine to fulfill their promise, for it began to rain, at first softly, then harder and harder, until there poured such torrents from the sky as accompany a regular thunder-storm.

Maia had taken refuge beneath a huge fir-tree, but found protection there only for the moment. It did not last long, on account of the dripping and trickling from every limb; she stood as though under the eaves of a roof, and the heavens grew ever darker. It was no quickly passing shower, so there was nothing for it but to run as fast as possible to the little lodge, only a quarter of a mile away, that offered a secure shelter. No sooner thought than done! The young girl rushed along over stick and stone, on the wet mossy soil, between dripping trees, finally, across a clearing in the forest, where wind and rain assailed her with full force, until, at last, breathless and thoroughly drenched, she found herself, with her four-footed companion, in a dry spot where they could bid defiance to the storm.

This lodge belonged to the forestry equipment at Odensburg, but was almost a half league from it, in the midst of the woods. In winter-time, when deep snow had fallen, they fed the hungry game here and also stored food for their cattle.

It was a small building constructed of boards and the trunks of trees joined together, with a water-tight roof and two low windows, now in the spring empty and unused, but a welcome place of refuge for the two fugitives.

Maia shook herself, so that the drops splashed in all directions. The rain had not hurt her waterproof at all, although it poured out of its folds, but her pretty hat, which she now took from her head, was so much the worse treated. The dainty thing, with its feathers and lace, was now nothing but a shapeless mass, and Puck did not look much better. His white coat was dripping, and its usually long silky hairs were hanging down in wet strands, giving him such a comically disconsolate look, that his young mistress laughed aloud.

"Only look, Puck! what a thing we have made of it!" said she in mock despair. "Why were we not sensible enough to stay in the park! How we do look, and how papa will scold! But you are to blame, you were the first to run off to the woods. Thank God, that at least we have a dry spot to sit in, else both of us would have been washed down to Radefeld, and Egbert would have had to fish us out."

She hurled the utterly spoiled hat upon the low bench that lined the wall on one side, seated herself and looked through the little window out upon the tempest. The rain was still coming down in torrents, and the wind howled around the lodge as though it would like to demolish it. Return home at present was not to be thought of. Mala yielded to the inevitable, drew the hood of her waterproof over her head, and watched Puck, who had stuck his nose through the small opening made by the door being left slightly ajar, and discontentedly followed with his eyes the falling drops.

Just then there appeared on the verge of the forest a person, who stood still for a moment and cast a searching glance around, but then started at a running pace over the clearing, straightway to the forest lodge. Now it was reached by the stranger, who was evidently likewise a fugitive from the storm, with a bold leap he cleared the little lake that had already been formed in front of the door, and kicked this open so violently, the inquisitive Puck was driven back by the shock. But then, with a loud bark, he rushed upon the intruder, who thus presumed to contest the sole possession of the house with himself and his mistress.

"Not so fierce, you little yelper!" cried the stranger, laughing. "Are you the lord and master in this enchanted cottage, or is it that little gray dryad cowering over yonder on that bench?"

He had stooped down to grasp the little animal, that quickly eluded him and took refuge in the corner, whence was now heard a suppressed laugh and a thin little voice saying:

"The dryad thanks you for your good opinion."

The stranger pricked up his ears; the answer showed him that it was no child of a collier or peasant, as he had at first supposed, who was crouched up there in the half-darkness of the ill-lit room. He gave a sharper look, but the low-drawn hood allowed nothing farther to be seen than a rosy little mouth, a pretty nose, and a pair of large brown eyes, that now, in their turn, were surveying the intruder with curiosity and astonishment.

He was a young man of about four-and-twenty years, with a handsome, open countenance, brown wavy hair, and bright laughing eyes. The weather had treated him ill, for he was without any waterproof: the gray traveling suit that he wore was dripping wet, and when he pulled off his hat, and waved it in salutation, the water fell from the brim in little rivulets on the floor.

"Let me implore you," said he "to grant most graciously to a lost traveler who has been caught in the rain, opportunity for a little rest. I am really an ordinary mortal, and no water-sprite, as my outward appearance would certainly lead you to suppose. May I come closer?"

"Just stay where you are at the door!" sounded from out of the corner. "Water-sprites and the little people of the wood cannot bear one another you know, I suppose, from the fairy-tales."

"Is that so? Well, then, nothing is left for me, but to come forward with all my human attributes, such as, name, rank, family, and other earthly props. So: Count Eckardstein, lieutenant of infantry, brother of the hereditary lord of Eckardstein, to which place I am now on my way. At Radefeld I sent my carriage on ahead, in order to take that beautiful walk through the Odensburg forests, when lo! these pitiless clouds resolved to empty themselves on my devoted head. Thence come my watery habiliments, laying me open to so vile a suspicion, but it is the only fairy-like thing about me--may I regard myself as sufficiently introduced?"

"I believe so. His native place, then, may be congratulated upon seeing Count Victor again, after an absence of six years?"

The young Count started, and, despite the prohibition, impulsively drew a few steps nearer. "Do you know me?"

"Dryads are all-knowing."

"But they do not remain invisible after they have once lowered themselves to converse with mortals. Am I actually, then, not to be permitted to see what is hidden under that gray wrap?" As he uttered these last words, he made a new attempt to get a near look at the face of that mysterious being, but in vain, for, a rosy little hand that suddenly became visible, drew the hood down so low that nothing but the tip of a nose could be discerned, and again sounded that low, mocking laugh, that rippled like the twittering of larks.

"Guess, Count!"

"Impossible, how can I? I know nobody at Eckardstein or rather at Odensburg, for we are still on Odensburg land."

He paused, as if waiting for an answer, but he only heard repeated that:

"Guess!"

Count Victor perceived that he would not carry his point in this way, but the clear laugh and voice betrayed to him the fact that it must be a very young girl, who played "hide-and-seek" with him in this way. There was a gleam of haughtiness in his eye, as, with a deep bow and apparent earnestness he said:

"Indeed, I believe I do recognize now the voice and also the figure--I have the honor of standing in the presence of the Honorable Miss Corona Von Schmettwitz?"

This expedient served his purpose; quick as a wink the dryad suddenly darted forth from her dark corner, the hood flew back, and while her fair hair, released from confinement, flowed in rich light waves over the gray mantle, there appeared also Maia's shapely head and sweet innocent face, that, at this moment, indeed, was crimsoned by anger.

Corona von Schmettwitz, indeed! That forty-year-old canoness, with high shoulders and grating voice! She to look so, indeed! She to talk that way! She cast a withering look upon the Count.

He could have had no idea that the gray mantle concealed anything so lovely, for, motionless, he gazed in blank astonishment upon the young girl, whose bright appearance shone like a sunbeam in that gloomy environment. At the first instant, he evidently did not recognize her, but then a remembrance dawned upon him, and, almost shouting for joy, he exclaimed:

"Little Maia!--I beg your pardon, Fräulein Dernburg, that was but a memento of the days of our childhood!"

Maia laughed merrily. "Yes, then I wore short-clothes and long, long plaits, by which you always used to hold me fast. But now I am angry, Count, very angry--you took me for Corona von Schmettwitz."

"A stratagem of war, for which you must pardon the soldier. By no other means could I have learned the truth. Or, do you seriously believe that I could mistake you for that lady, whom even as a boy I used to stand in such dread of, that I regularly ran away, when she was seen coming to Eckardstein?--How, still angry with your brother's former playfellow? He has often enough been yours as well."

"Yes, indeed, you did often condescend to play with 'little Maia,'" pouted she, while she threw back her hair, that was not yet perfectly dry. "The name is the only thing that you have retained."

"Yes, but I did retain something else," said the young Count slowly, while his eye was riveted upon that lovely little face. "Else I should not have immediately recognized you, when the gray mantle fell. At any rate, I should have gone to Odensburg within the next few days. Eric is at home, as I hear?"

"Yes, and he is engaged to be married! I suppose you have hardly heard of that yet?"

"Yes, I got an announcement of his betrothal, and must present to him my congratulations. I have, in general, so much to ask and hear, having become almost an entire stranger at home, and now we just have time--"

"We have no time at all," cried Maia, with a glance at the still half-open door. "Only see how it has cleared, and the rain has ceased. I believe the storm is over."

Count Victor stepped to the door and examined the clouds, but with an air that betrayed great disappointment. He had complained awhile ago of the pitiless shower-bath to which he had been exposed, but now he seemed to find the clearing up of the weather a greater infliction by far.

"Yes, the rain has stopped, to be sure, but it will soon begin again," said he hopefully. "At all events, we must wait until the next shower is over."

"Just to be shut up here for good by the rain?" remarked Maia. "No, I mean to take advantage of the lull and run to Odensburg as fast as I can. Come, Puck, let's run!"

"Then I'll run with you," laughed the Count. "So, Puck is the name of the little white creature that wanted to deny me the hospitality of the lodge. Come here, yelper, and let us make acquaintance."

Puck had scrutinized the stranger in the beginning with very critical mien, and, evidently, had not yet made up his mind whether to treat him as friend or foe, but now decided favorably. When the young man invited him to approach, he trustfully came nearer, and allowed himself to be stroked.

Thus the three set out sociably together on the way back. The rain had certainly ceased, but the wind raged in full force while they crossed the clearing, and after they had gained the shelter of the forest, the swaying tree-tops performed a little after-piece that well represented a driving rain, while such a dripping and drizzling came from every branch! And the somewhat low-lying foot-path had been converted into a running brooklet, so that Maia and her escort had to make their way sideways over moss and the roots of trees. The forest-stream itself was very much swollen, and had inundated the shore on both sides of the high bridge. They had to attempt a passage, leaping from rock to rock. In doing this Puck lost his balance, slid into the water, and howled piteously because he could not swim in the vortex. Maia, who already stood upon the bank, uttered also a shriek of anguish at sight of her pet's distress, and Count Eckardstein jumped with both feet into the water, seized the floundering creature, and brought it to his mistress, who bestowed a grateful look upon the gallant rescuer. Finally, in the middle of the woods, a wild apple-tree was discovered in full bloom, which drew from the young girl a shout of rapture and gave the Count an opportunity to display his skill as an athlete. But, alas! he was left hanging to a bough from which he had broken a branch, and came to the ground again, with a gaping slit in his sleeve.

It was a course full of adventure. The two young wanderers cheerfully breasted the storm, laughed brightly when a gust of wind tore through the trees, and sprinkled them freshly and heavily with rain, ever good-humoredly they jumped and climbed over stones and stumps and prostrate trunks of trees, always the better pleased the more impassable proved the woods. There was an endless laughing and talking, questioning and answering. All the old memories of childhood and youth came trooping back as lively as ever. Gray mist was hovering closely over the fir-trees, and dark clouds chased each other across the sky, but over these two children of men arched the clear sunshine of youth and happiness. What cared they for wind and weather!

At last the Odensburg park was reached, that almost immediately adjoined the wooded mountain. Maia was just going up to the little wicket-gate, through which she had gone out of bounds a few hours ago, when it was suddenly opened and Oscar von Wildenrod excitedly confronted her.

"But, Maia, how could you go out alone in such weather--?" He suddenly broke off, and with marked surprise looked up and down her escort, of whom he had just caught sight.

Maia, who had again drawn her hood over her head and hung her ruined hat on her arm, laughed defiantly. "You thought, did you, that Puck and I would have been drowned in that water-spout. No, here we both are, safe and sound, and have even found company on the way. I believe you gentlemen are not acquainted. Count Victor von Eckardstein--Baron von Wildenrod, a connection of my brother Eric."

Wildenrod responded with a certain reserve to the friendly greeting of the stranger, who said laughingly:

"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Baron, although you find me in this soaked condition. I am accustomed to be drier, I assure you, but really I was not prepared for an introduction to-day. I only meant to escort Fräulein Dernburg to the park-gate and then take my leave."

"Will you not stop long enough to see Papa and Eric?" asked Maia.

"No, no, Fräulein Dernburg, I should not like to appear before the Dernburg family in such attire as this. But I am coming very soon--if I may!"

As he spoke these last words, his eyes sought those of the young girl, who coquettishly said: "Are you afraid that I shall forbid it you?"

"Who knows? Water-sprites and dryads do not agree, I had to hear a while ago from your own mouth. Nevertheless, I shall venture it. Meanwhile, I beg of you to accept this token of peace from me. You know how hardly it has been obtained." With a slight bow he handed her the blossom-laden bough, that he still carried in his hand.

Wildenrod listened silently, but he gazed fixedly upon the pair. The tone of familiarity seemed to surprise him in the highest degree, and upon the Count's now taking his leave, he only bowed his head with cool civility, spoke a few words just as coolly, and then quickly followed Maia into the park, letting the wicket gate slam to behind them.

"You seem to be very well acquainted with that gentleman," he remarked, while they struck into the path leading to the house.

"Oh, certainly," answered his companion, without the least embarrassment. "Count Victor used to be a playmate of Eric's, when they were boys, and he used often enough to let me join in their sports. I was very glad to meet him again after the lapse of six years."

"Ah, indeed!" said the Baron slowly. He turned around, and with a peculiar glance scanned the form of the Count, who was just disappearing between the trees, while Maia innocently chatted on:

"If I can only slip into my own room unobserved--Papa will be angry if he sees me."

"Yes, indeed, he will scold," said Wildenrod with emphasis, "and I should like to do the same. I had gone into the park to look for you when that storm burst forth, and I heard from the gardener that you had already been for an hour somewhere in the woods. How imprudent! Did you not think how uneasy the people at home would be about you?--that I would be distressing myself?"

The reproachful tone of this question called a bright blush to the young girl's face. "Oh, that was altogether uncalled for. Here in Odensburg every workman and child knows me."

"Never mind, you should never again venture forth so far without attendance. You promise me this, do you not, Maia? And as a pledge that you will keep your word, I ask this of you."

As though in sport, he caught at the blooming branch, but Maia looked at him, half-shocked and half-indignant.

"My branch? No, why?"

"Because I ask you for it."

The request sounded like a demand, and this must have awakened Maia's pride. With a decided gesture of repulse, she drew back a step.

"No, Herr von Wildenrod. I'll not give up my blossoms."

A flash of angry surprise shot from the Baron's eyes: he had not believed the child capable of such decided opposition to his will, and it was precisely this that goaded him into having his way, at any price.

"Do you attach so great value to it?" he asked, with bitter scorn. "The Count seemed to do so too. Perhaps this 'pledge of peace' has some secret significance for you both?"

"A jest, nothing more! Victor is an old playmate----"

"And I am a stranger to you! Is that what you would say, Maia? I understand."

At these words, spoken with intense bitterness, the brown eyes were lifted to his in a shocked and pleading manner. "Oh, no, Herr Von Wildenrod, I did not mean that--Oh, certainly not."

"No? And yet you speak of 'Victor' and immediately grant him a renewal of the former familiar relations. I have been, and still am, nothing to you but 'Herr Von Wildenrod.' How often have I begged you to call me by my first name, just for once. I have never yet heard it from your lips."

Maia gave no reply, there she stood motionless, with glowing cheeks and downcast eyes; but still she felt the fervent glance that rested upon her.

"Is it so hard for you to give me a name, that the future family connection has nevertheless the right to claim? Is it really so hard? Well, I will be content to forego my claim when others are present, but now, that we are alone, I must and shall hear it ... Maia!"

The delay of another second, and then it came, softly and tremblingly, from her lips: "Oscar!"

A gleam of transporting joy lighted up the man's dark features, and he made an impetuous movement, as though he would draw to his heart the young girl who stood before him, shy and trembling. But he controlled himself; only he seized and clasped firmly her quivering little hand.

"At last! And now that other, the second request."

"Herr Von Wildenrod----"

"The branch, Maia, which another gave to you, and which I, therefore, will not leave in your hands. Please give it to me?"

Maia resisted no longer. Powerless beneath the ban of those eyes and that voice, she held out to him the blooming bough.

"Thanks!" said Oscar softly. It was only a single word, but it had the sound of tenderness with difficulty restrained.

Now Miss Friedberg was seen at the open window of the house, which the two were now approaching, and, with clasped hands, she expressed her horror at seeing her pupil in such a plight.

"Maia, for heaven's sake tell me, have you actually been abroad in this weather? How you do look! Be quick, take off that wet mantle--you will catch your death of cold!"

"Yes, I should give her the same advice," said Oscar, smiling. "Quick, quick, go in the house!"

The girl slipped off with a passing nod. Wildenrod slowly followed her, but stood still in the garden-hall, and his brow darkened again as he looked at the blossom-laden bough in his hand. For the first time he realized that the success of his wooing might be imperiled by delay, and yet he knew that he durst not speak as yet. He did not yet stand firm enough in the favor of Dernburg, who could hardly be brought to give up his darling to a man so much older than herself, without further inducement, nor was he as yet sure even of Maia. An unwise word here, spoken prematurely, might spoil everything. And just at this crisis had to start up most provokingly this Count Eckardstein, who had lost not a minute's time in laying claim to his old footing of the familiar friend of childish days!

For a few moments Wildenrod stood lost in dark forebodings, then he drew himself up with a jerk, and in his eyes again flamed proud, triumphant self-confidence. Good--Maia was not to be won without a struggle--he was not the one to shun it. How pusillanimous, to doubt gaining the victory over that young coxcomb with his smooth face! Let him beware of crossing his path!

At the window of her own room stood Maia, who had not yet laid off her wet mantle, nor was even conscious that she still wore it. She gazed up at the cloud-beleaguered sky, with a strange dreamy look upon her face, and a slight, happy smile played about her lips.

Forgotten was the meeting in the forest-lodge, banished the form of her old playmate--she only saw one thing--those deep, dark eyes, the look that had woven such a spell upon her spirit, she only heard that subdued voice, thrilling with restrained passion. It was a sweet, disturbing dream,--a feeling, of which she did not herself know whether it portended woe or bliss.