"Hush! Listen! It is so lovely tonight."
They stood thus for awhile in silence. This afternoon's conversation was still lingering in Linden's mind. Uncle Henry could not understand why he should not cut his timber from his own woods. But the Niendorf woods had been greatly thinned out and no new plantations made.
"Tell me, Gertrude," he began, suddenly, "where is your villa 'Waldruhe?'"
His young wife started as if a snake had stung her. "Our--my villa?" she gasped, "how did you know--who told you about the villa?"
He was silent. "I cannot remember who," he said after a pause, "but some one must have told me that there is a little wood belonging to it. But, Gertrude, what is the matter?" he inquired. "You are trembling!"
"Ah, Frank, who told you about that?" she reiterated, "and what?"
Her voice had so sad a ring in it that he perceived at once that he had hurt her.
"Gertrude, have I hurt you? I beg your pardon a thousand times; I was only thinking of cheaper timber which I might have cut there this winter."
"Timber? There? It is only a park. Ah, Frank--"
"But what is it pray?" he asked with a little impatience. "I cannot possibly know--"