"I must," replied the little man with a regretful look at the young girl. "Besides, my dear sir, since this dreadful wifeless time has begun it is melancholy in Niendorf. Linden has been as overwhelmed, since the news of the death came last evening, as if his dearest friend had gone down into the grave with that limb of Satan. Heaven knows he could not have been more anxious about a near relation, and his horses have nearly run their legs off with making inquiries about the fellow's health. I really believe he would have given the doctor of this distinguished citizen a premium for preserving his precious life."
Uncle Henry grumbled something which sounded almost like a curse. "Where is Linden?" he inquired.
"Upstairs!" replied Miss Adelaide. "He has been there ever since this morning, at least we--" indicating the judge and herself--"dined alone with auntie, then we went to 'Waldruhe' but we did not get in, and now it is out of sheer desperation that we made a bowl of mai-trank. But won't you taste a little of it, Mr. Baumhagen?"
She had filled a glass and offered it to the old gentleman with laughing eyes.
Uncle Henry cast a half-angry, half-eager glance at the glass in the small hand.
"Witch!" he growled, and marched out of the room as haughtily as a Spaniard. He was in too serious a mood to enter into their "chatter." But a clear laugh sounded behind him.
"I wish the judge would pack that little monkey in his trunk and send her off to Frankfort or to Guinea for all I care."
He found the young master of the house at his writing-table. "Linden," he began, without sitting down, "the carriage is waiting down-stairs, come with me to your little wife; if you will only beg her forgiveness, everything will be all right again."
Frank Linden looked at him calmly.
"Do you know what I should be doing?" he asked--"I should acknowledge a wrong of which I have never been guilty."