ILKA ON THE HILL-TOPAND OTHER STORIES

BY HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN

AUTHOR OF "GUNNAR, " "FALCONBERG, " ETC. 

SECOND EDITION

1891

 To DR. EGBERT GUERNSEY. 

 DEAR DOCTOR:

 I can never expect adequately to repay you for your many valuable services to me and mine. Nevertheless, in recognition of what you have been to us, allow me to dedicate this unpretentious volume to you. I shall have more respect for my little stories if in some way they are associated with your name. 

 Very sincerely yours, HJALMAR H. BOYESEN. 

 NEW YORK, January, 1881. 

CONTENTS. 

 ILKA ON THE HILL-TOP ANNUNCIATA UNDER THE GLACIER A KNIGHT OF DANNEBROG MABEL AND I (_A Philosophical Fairy Tale_) HOW MR. STORM MET HIS DESTINY

ILKA ON THE HILL-TOP

I. 

Mr. Julius Hahn and his son Fritz were on a summer journey in theTyrol. They had started from Mayrhofen early in the afternoon, on twomeek-eyed, spiritless farm horses, and they intended to reach Ginzlingbefore night-fall. 

There was a great blaze of splendor hidden somewhere behind thewestern mountain-tops; broad bars of fiery light were climbing thesky, and the chalets and the Alpine meadows shone in a soft crimsonillumination. The Zemmbach, which is of a choleric temperament, wasseething and brawling in its rocky bed, and now and then sent up afierce gust of spray, which blew like an icy shower-bath, into thefaces of the travellers. 

"_Ach, welch verfluchtes Wetter!_" cried Mr. Hahn fretfully, wipingoff the streaming perspiration. "I'll be blasted if you catch me goingto the Tyrol again for the sake of being fashionable!"

"But the scenery, father, the scenery!" exclaimed Fritz, pointingtoward a great, sun-flushed peak, which rose in majestic isolationtoward the north. 

"The scenery--bah!" growled the senior Hahn. "For scenery, recommendme to Saxon Switzerland, where you may sit in an easy cushionedcarriage without blistering your legs, as I have been doing to-day inthis blasted saddle. "

"Father, you are too fat, " remarked the son, with a mischievouschuckle. 

"And you promise fair to tread in my footsteps, son, " retorted theelder, relaxing somewhat in his ill-humor. 

This allusion to Mr. Fritz's prospective corpulence was not wellreceived by the latter. He gave his horse a smart cut of the whip, which made the jaded animal start off at a sort of pathetic mazurkagait up the side of the mountain. 

Mr. Julius Hahn was a person of no small consequence in Berlin. He wasthe proprietor of the "Haute Noblesse" Concert garden, a highlyrespectable place of amusement, which enjoyed the especial patronageof the officers of the Royal Guard. Weissbeer, Bairisch, Seidel, Pilzner, in fact all varieties of beer, and as connoisseurs asserted, of exceptional excellence, could be procured at the "Haute Noblesse;"and the most ingenious novelties in the way of gas illumination, besides two military bands, tended greatly to heighten the flavor ofthe beer, and to put the guests in a festive humor. Mr. Hahn had begunlife in a small way with a swallow-tail coat, a white choker, and anapkin on his arm; his stock in trade, which he utilized to goodpurpose, was a peculiarly elastic smile and bow, both of which heaccommodated with extreme nicety to the social rank of the person towhom they were addressed. He could listen to a conversation in whichhe was vitally interested, never losing even the shadow of anintonation, with a blank neutrality of countenance which could only bethe result of a long transmission of ancestral inanity. He read thedepths of your character, divined your little foibles and vanities, and very likely passed his supercilious judgment upon you, seeming allthe while the personification of uncritical humility. 

It is needless to say that Mr. Hahn picked up a good deal of valuableinformation in the course of his career as a waiter; and to himinformation meant money, and money meant power and a recognized placein society. The diplomatic shrewdness which enabled him to estimatethe moral calibre of a patron served him equally well in estimatingthe value of an investment. He had a hundred subterranean channels ofinformation, and his judgment as to the soundness or unsoundness of afinancial enterprise was almost unerring. His little secrettransactions on the Bourse, where he had his _commissionaires_, alwaysyielded him ample returns; and when an opportunity presented itself, which he had long foreseen, of buying a suburban garden at a bankruptsale, he found himself, at least preliminarily, at the goal of hisambition. From this time forth, Mr. Hahn rose rapidly in wealth andpower. He kept his thumb, so to speak, constantly on the public pulse, and prescribed amusements as unerringly as a physician prescribesmedicine, and usually, it must be admitted, with better results. The"Haute Noblesse" became the favorite resort of fashionable idlers, among whom the military element usually pre-ponderated, and the flashof gilt buttons and the rattle of swords and scabbards could always becounted on as the unvarying accompaniment to the music. 

With all his prosperity, however, Mr. Hahn could not be called a happyman. He had one secret sorrow, which, until within a year of hisdeparture for the Tyrol, had been a source of constant annoyance: Mrs. Hahn, whom he had had the indiscretion to marry before he had arrivedat a proper recognition of his own worth, was not his equal inintellect; in fact, she was conspicuously his inferior. She had beenchamber-maid in a noble family, and had succeeded in marrying Mr. Hahnsimply by the fact that she had made up her mind not to marry him. Mr. Hahn, however, was not a man to be baffled by opposition. When thepert Mariana had cut him three times at a dancing-hall, he becameconvinced that she was the one thing in the world which he needed tomake his existence complete. After presenting him with a son, Fritz, and three rather unlovely daughters, she had gradually lost all herpertness (which had been her great charm) and had developed into astout, dropsical matron, with an abundance of domestic virtues. Herprincipal trait of character had been a dogged, desperate loyalty. Shewas loyal to her king, and wore golden imitations of his favoriteflowers as jewelry. She was loyal to Mr. Hahn, too; and no amount ofmaltreatment could convince her that he was not the best of husbands. She adored her former mistress and would insist upon paying respectfullittle visits to her kitchen, taking her children with her. Thislatter habit nearly drove her husband to distraction. He stamped hisfeet, he tore his hair, he swore at her, and I believe, he even struckher; but when the next child was born, --a particularly wonderfulone, --Mrs. Hahn had not the strength to resist the temptation ofknowing how the new-born wonder would impress the Countess vonMarkenstein. Another terrible scene followed. The poor woman couldnever understand that she was no longer the wife of a waiter, and thatshe must not be paying visits to the great folks in their kitchens. 

Another source of disturbance in Mr. Hahn's matrimonial relations washis wife's absolute refusal to appear in the parquet or the prosceniumboxes in the theatre. In this matter her resistance bordered on theheroic; neither threats nor entreaties could move her. 

"Law, Julius, " she would say, while the tears streamed down over herplump cheeks, "the parquet and the big boxes are for the gentlefolks, and not for humble people like you and me. I know my place, Julius, and I don't want to be the laughing-stock of the town, as I should be, if I went to the opera and sat where my lady the Countess, and theother fine ladies sit. I should feel like a fool, too, Julius, and Ishould cry my eyes out when I got home. "

It may easily be conjectured that Mr. Hahn's mourning covered a verylight heart when the dropsy finally carried off this loving buttroublesome spouse. Nor did he make any secret of the fact that herdeath was rather a relief to him, while on the other hand he gave herfull credit for all her excellent qualities. Fritz, who was in cordialsympathy with his father's ambition for social eminence, had alsolearned from him to be ashamed of his mother, and was rather inclinedto make light of the sorrow which he actually felt, when he saw thecold earth closing over her. 

At the time when he made his summer excursion in the Tyrol, Fritz wasa stout blond youth of two and twenty. His round, sleek face was notbadly modelled, but it had neither the rough openness, characteristicof a peasant, nor yet that indefinable finish which only culture cangive. In spite of his jaunty, fashionable attire, you would have puthim down at once as belonging to what in the Old World is called "themiddle class. " His blue eyes indicated shrewdness, and his red cheekshabitual devotion to the national beverage. He was apparently a youthof the sort that Nature is constantly turning out by thethousand--mere weaker copies of progenitors, who by an unpropitiousmarriage have enfeebled instead of strengthening the type. Circumstances might have made anything of him in a small way; for, ashis countenance indicated, he had no very pronounced proclivities, either good or bad. He had spent his boyhood in a gymnasium, where hehad had greater success in trading jack-knives than in grappling withCicero. He had made two futile attempts to enter the BerlinUniversity, and had settled down to the conviction that he hadmistaken his calling, as his tastes were military rather thanscholarly; but, as he was too old to rectify this mistake, he hadchosen to go to the Tyrol in search of pleasure rather than to theMilitary Academy in search of distinction. 

At the mouth of the great ravine of Dornauberg the travellers pausedand dismounted. Mr. Hahn called the guide, who was following behindwith a horse laden with baggage, and with his assistance a choicerepast, consisting of all manner of cold curiosities, was served on alarge flat rock. The senior Hahn fell to work with a will and made nopretence of being interested in the sombre magnificence of theDornauberg, while Fritz found time for an occasional exclamation ofrapture, flavored with caviar, Rhine wine, and _pate de foie gras_. 

"_Ach, Gott_, Fritz, what stuff you can talk!" grumbled his father, sipping his Johannisberger with the air of a connoisseur. "When I wasof your age, Fritz, I had--hush, what is that?"

Mr. Hahn put down his glass with such an energy that half of theprecious contents was spilled. 

"_Ach, du lieber Gott_, " he cried a moment later. "_Wie wunderschon_!"

From a mighty cliff overhanging the road, about a hundred feetdistant, came a long yodling call, peculiar to the Tyrol, sung in asuperb ringing baritone. It soared over the mountain peaks and diedaway somewhere among the Ingent glaciers. And just as the last faintnote was expiring, a girl's voice, fresh and clear as a dew-drop, tookit up and swelled it and carolled it until, from sheer excess ofdelight, it broke into a hundred leaping, rolling, and warbling tones, which floated and gambolled away over the highlands, while soft-wingedechoes bore them away into the wide distance. 

"Father, " said Fritz, who was now lying outstretched on a soft Scotchplaid smoking the most fragrant of weeds; "if you can get those twovoices to the 'Haute Noblesse, ' for the next season it is ten thousandthalers in your pocket; and I shall only charge you ten per cent. Forthe suggestion. "

"Suggestion, you blockhead! Why, the thought flashed through my headthe very moment I heard the first note. But hush--there they areagain. "

From the cliff, sung to the air of a Tyrolese folk-song, came thisstanza:

 Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the Alpine breezes blow, Are thy golden locks as golden As they were a year ago? (Yodle) Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohlio-oh!

The effect of the yodle, in which both the baritone of the cliff andthe Alpine soprano united, was so melodious that Mr. Hahn sprang tohis feet and swore an ecstatic oath, while Fritz, from sheer admiringabstraction, almost stuck the lighted end of his cigar into his mouth. The soprano answered:

 Tell me, Hansel in the valley, While the merry cuckoos crow, Is thy bristly beard as bristly As it was a year ago? Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

The yodling refrain this time was arch, gay--full of mocking laughterand mirth. Then the responsive singing continued:

 _Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the crimson glaciers glow, Are thine eyes as blue and beaming As they were a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc. 

 _Ilka_: Hansel, Hansel in the valley I will tell you true; If mine eyes are blue and beaming, What is that, I pray, to you? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc. 

 _Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the blushing roses blow, Are thy lips as sweet for kissing As they were a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc. 

 _Ilka_: Naughty Hansel in the valley, Naughty Hansel, tell me true, If my lips are sweet for kissing, What is that, I pray, to you? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc. 

 _Hansel_: Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the rivers seaward flow, Is thy heart as true and loving As it was a year ago? _Both_: Hohli-ohli, etc. 

 _Ilka_: Dearest Hansel in the valley, I will tell you, tell you true. Yes, my heart is ever loving, True and loving unto you! _Both_: Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

For a few moments their united voices seemed still to be quivering inthe air, then to be borne softly away by the echoes into the cooldistance of the glaciers. A solitary thrush began to warble on a lowbranch of a stunted fir-tree, and a grasshopper raised its shrillvoice in emulation. The sun was near its setting; the bluish eveningshadows crept up the sides of the ice-peaks, whose summits were stillflushed with expiring tints of purple and red. 

Mr. Hahn rose, yawned and stretched his limbs. Fritz threw the burningstump of his cigar into the depths of the ravine, and stood watchingit with lazy interest while it fell. The guide cleared away theremnants of the repast and began to resaddle the horses. 

"Who was that girl we heard singing up on the Alp?" said Mr. Hahn, with well-feigned indifference, as he put his foot in the stirrup andmade a futile effort to mount. "Curse the mare, why don't you make herstand still?"

"Pardon, your honor, " answered the guide stolidly; "but she isn't usedto the saddle. The girl's name is Ilka on the Hill-top. She is thebest singer in all the valley. "

"Ilka on the Hill-top! How--where does she live?"

"She lives on a farm called the Hill-top, a mile and a half fromMayrhofen. "

"And the man who answered--is he her sweetheart?"

"Yes, your honor. They have grown up together, and they mean to marrysome time, when they get money enough to buy out the old woman. "

"And what did you say his name was?"

"Hansel the Hunter. He is a garnet polisher by trade, because hisfather was that before him; but he is a good shot and likes roving inthe woods better than polishing stones. "

"Hm, " grumbled Mr. Hahn, mounting with a prodigious effort. 

II. 

It was in the autumn of 1863, only a few weeks after Mr. Hahn's visitto Ginzling and Dornauberg. There were war and rumors of war in theair. The Austrians and the Prussians were both mobilizing army-corpsafter army-corps, and all the Tyrolese youth, liable to service, wereordered to join their regiments. The Schleswig-Holstein question wasbeing violently debated in the German and the English press, theformer clamoring for blood, the latter counselling moderation. TheDanish press was as loud-mouthed as any, and, if the battles couldhave been fought with words, would no doubt have come out victorious. 

It had been a sad day at the Hill-top. Early in the morning Hansel, with a dozen other young fellows of the neighborhood, had marched awayto the music of fife and drum, and there was no knowing when theywould come back again. A dismal whitish fog had been hovering aboutthe fields all day long, but had changed toward evening into a finedrizzling rain, --one of those slow, hopeless rains that seem to haveno beginning and no end. Old Mother Uberta, who, although shepretended to be greatly displeased at Ilka's matrimonial choice, persisted in holding her responsible for all her lover's follies, hadbeen going about the house grumbling and scolding since the earlydawn. 

"Humph, " said Mother Uberta, as she lighted a pine-knot and stuck itinto a crack in the wall (for it was already dark, and candles wereexpensive), "it is a great sin and shame--the lad is neither crookednor misshapen--the Lord has done well enough by him, Heaven knows; andyet never a stroke of work has he done since his poor father went outof the world as naked as he came into it. A shiftless, fiddling, andgalavanting set they have always been, and me then as has only thisone lass, givin' her away, with my eyes wide open, into misery. "

Ilka, who was sitting before the open fire-place mingling her furtivetears with the wool she was carding, here broke into a loud sob, andhid her face in her hands. 

"You always say mean things to me, mother, when Hansel is away, "sobbed she, "but when he is here, you let on as if you liked him everso much. "

The mother recognized this as a home-thrust, and wisely kept silent. She wet her finger-tips, twirled the thread, stopped the wheel, inspected some point in its mechanism with a scowl of intensepreoccupation, and then spun on again with a severe concentration ofinterest as if lovers were of small consequence compared tospinning-wheels. Mother Uberta was a tall, stately woman of fifty, with a comely wrinkled face, and large, well-modelled features. Yousaw at once that life was a serious business to her, and that she gaveherself no quarter. 

"Humph!" she began after awhile with that indefinable interjection ofdispleasure which defies all spelling. "You talk like the witlesscreature that you are. Didn't I tell the lad, two years ago, Michaelmas was, that the day he could pay off the mortgage on thefarm, he should have you and the farm too? And eight hundred and fiftyflorins oughtn't to frighten a man as has got the right spirit inhim. And there was Ruodi of Gänzelstein, as has got a big farm of hisown, and Casper Thinglen with fifteen hundred a-comin' to him when hisgrandfather dies; and you sendin' them both off with worse grace thanif they had been beggars askin' you for a shillin'. Now, stop yoursnivellin' there, I tell you. You are like your poor saintedfather, --God bless him where he lies, --he too used to cry, likelyenough, if a flea bit him. "

At this moment Mother Uberta's monologue was interrupted by a loudrapping on the door; she bent down to attach the unfinished threadproperly, but before she had completed this delicate operation, thedoor was opened, and two men entered. Seeing that they were strangersshe sent them a startled glance, which presently changed into one ofdefiance. The fire was low, and the two men stood but dimly defined inthe dusky light; but their city attire showed at once that they werenot Tyrolese. And Mother Uberta, having heard many awful tales of whatcity-dressed men were capable of doing, had a natural distrust of thespecies. 

"And pray, sir, what may your errand be?" she asked sternly, takingthe burning pine-knot from its crack and holding it close to the faceof the tallest stranger. 

"My name is Hahn, madam, " answered the person whose broad expanse ofcountenance was thus suddenly illuminated, "and this is my son, Mr. Fritz Hahn. Allow me to assure you, madam, that our errand here is amost peaceful and friendly one, and that we deeply regret it, if ourpresence incommodes you. "

"Ilka, light the candles, " said Mother Uberta, sullenly. "And you, "she continued, turning again to Mr. Hahn, "find yourself a seat, untilwe can see what you look like. "

"What a vixen of an old woman!" whispered the proprietor of the "HauteNoblesse" to his son, as they seated themselves on the hard woodenbench near the window. 

"Small chance for the 'Haute Noblesse, ' I fear, " responded Fritz, flinging his travelling cap on the clean-scoured deal table. 

Ilka, who in the meanwhile had obeyed her mother's injunction, nowcame forward with two lighted tallow dips, stuck in shining brasscandle-sticks, and placed them on the table before the travellers. Shemade a neat little courtesy before each of them, to which theyresponded with patronizing nods. 

"_Parbleu! Elle est charmante_!" exclaimed Fritz, fixing a bold stareon the girl's blushing face. 

"_Bien charmante_, " replied Mr. Hahn, who took a great pride in thelittle French he had picked up when he carried a napkin over hisshoulder. 

And indeed, Ilka was _charmante_ as she stood there in the dimcandle-light, her great innocent eyes dilated with child-like wonder, her thick blond braids hanging over her shoulders, and the picturesqueTyrolese costume--a black embroidered velvet waist, blue apron, andshort black skirt--setting off her fine figure to admirable advantage. She was a tall, fresh-looking girl, of stately build, without beingstout, with a healthy blooming countenance and an open, guilelessexpression. Most people would have pronounced her beautiful, but herbeauty was of that rudimentary, unindividualized kind which is foundso frequently among the peasantry of all nations. To Fritz Hahn, however who was not a philosophical observer, she seemed the mosttranscendent phenomenon his eyes had ever beheld. 

"To make a long story short, madam, " began Mr. Hahn after a pause, during which Mother Uberta had been bristling silently while firingdefiant glances at the two strangers, "I am the proprietor of a greatestablishment in Berlin--the 'Haute Noblesse'--you may have heard ofit. "

"No, I never heard of it, " responded Mother Uberta, emphatically, asif anxious to express her disapproval, on general principles, ofwhatever statements Mr. Hahn might choose to make. 

"Well, well, madam, " resumed the latter, a trifle disconcerted, "itmakes very little difference whether you have heard of it or not. Isee, however, that you are a woman of excellent common sense, and Iwill therefore be as brief as possible--avoid circumlocutions, so tospeak. "

"Yes, exactly, " said Mother Uberta, nodding impatiently, as if eagerto help him on. 

"Madame Uberta, --for that, as I understand, is your honoredname, --would you like to get one thousand florins?"

"That depends upon how I should get 'em, " answered the old womansharply. "I shouldn't like to get 'em by stealin'. "

"I mean, of course, if you had honestly earned them, " said Hahn. 

"I am afeard honesty with you and with me ain't exactly the samething. "

Mr. Hahn was about to swear, but mindful of his cherished enterprise, he wisely refrained. 

"I beg leave to inform you, Madame Uberta, " he observed, "that it isgentlemen of honor you have to deal with, and that whatever proposalsthey may make you will be of an honorable character. "

"And I am very glad to hear that, I am sure, " responded the undauntedUberta. 

"Three weeks ago, when we were travelling in this region, " continuedHahn, determined not to allow his temper to be ruffled, "we heard amost wonderful voice yodling in the mountains. We went away, but havenow returned, and having learned that the voice was your daughter's, we have come here to offer her a thousand florins if she will sing hernative Tyrolese airs for eight weeks at our Concert Garden, the 'HauteNoblesse. '"

"One thousand florins for eight weeks, mother!" exclaimed Ilka, whohad been listening to Hahn's speech with breathless interest. "Then Icould pay off the mortgage and we should not have to pay interest anymore, and I should have one hundred and fifty florins left for mydowry. "

"Hush, child, hush! You don't know what you are talkin' about, " saidthe mother severely. Then turning to Hahn: "I should like to put onequestion to both of you, and when you have answered that, I'll give myanswer, which there is no wrigglin' out of. If the old woman wentalong, would ye _then_ care so much about the singin' of thedaughter?"

"Certainly, by all means, " responded Hahn promptly; but Fritz was soabsorbed in polishing his finger-nails with a little instrumentdesigned especially for that purpose, that he forgot to answer. 

A long consultation now followed, and the end of it was that Ilkaagreed to go to Berlin and sing for eight weeks, in her nationalcostume, on condition that her travelling expenses and those of hermother should be defrayed by the manager. Mr. Hahn also agreed to payfor the board and lodgings of the two women during their sojourn inthe capital and to pay Ilka the one thousand florins (and this was apoint upon which Mother Uberta strenuously insisted) in weeklyinstalments. 

The next day the contract was drawn up in legal form, properly stampedand signed; whereupon Mother Uberta and Ilka started with Hahn andFritz for Berlin. 

III. 

The restaurant of the "Haute Noblesse" was a splendid specimen ofartistic decoration. The walls were frescoed with all sorts ofmarvellous hunting scenes, which Fritz had gradually incorporated inhis own autobiography. Here stags were fleeing at a furious speedbefore a stout young gentleman on horseback, who was levelling hisdeadly aim at them; there the same stout young gentleman, withwhiskers and general appearance slightly altered, was standing behinda big tree, firing at a hare who was coming straight toward him, pursued by a pack of terrible hounds; again, on a third wall, thestout young gentleman had undergone a further metamorphosis whichalmost endangered his identity; he was standing at the edge of aswamp, and a couple of ducks were making somersaults in the air, asthey fluttered with bruised wings down to where the dogs stoodexpecting them; on wall number four, which contained the_chef-d'oeuvre_ of the collection, the young Nimrod, who everywherebore a more or less remote resemblance to Fritz Hahn, was engaged in amortal combat with a wild boar, and was performing miraculous feats ofstrength and prowess. The next room, --to which it was, for someunknown reason, deemed a high privilege to be admitted, --wasornamented with a variety of trophies of the chase, which wereintended, no doubt, as incontestable proofs of the veracity of thefrescoed narrative. There were stuffed stags' heads crowned withenormous antlers (of a species, as a naturalist asserted, which is notfound outside of North America), heads of bears, the insides of whosemouths were painted in the bloodiest of colors, and boars, whoseupward-pointed tusks gave evidence of incredible blood-thirstiness. Even the old clock in the corner (a piece of furniture which everycustomer took pains to assure Mr. Hahn that he envied him) had a frameof curiously carved and intertwisted antlers, the ingeniousworkmanship of which deserved all the admiration which it received. Mr. Hahn had got it for a song at an auction somewhere in theprovinces; but the history of the clock which Fritz told omittedmentioning this incident. 

In this inner room on the 19th of April, 1864, Mr. Hahn and his sonwere holding a solemn consultation. The news of the fall of Duppel, and the consequent conquest of all Schleswig, had just been received, and the capital was in a fever of warlike enthusiasm. That two greatnations like the Prussians and the Austrians, counting together morethan fifty millions, could conquer poor little Denmark, with its twomillions, seemed at that time a great and glorious feat, and theconquerors have never ceased to be proud of it. Mr. Hahn, of course, was overflowing with loyalty and patriotism, which, like all his othersentiments, he was anxious to convert into cash. He had therefore madearrangements for a _Siegesfest_, on a magnificent scale, which was totake place on the second of May, when the first regiments of thevictorious army were expected in Berlin. It was the details of thisfestival which he and Fritz had been plotting in the back room at therestaurant, and they were both in a state of agreeable agitation atthe thought of the tremendous success which would, no doubt, resultfrom their combined efforts. It was decided that Ilka, whom by variouspretexts Mr. Hahn had managed to detain in Berlin through the wholewinter, should appear in a highly fantastic costume as Germania, andsing "Die Wacht am Rhein" and "Heil dir im Siegeskranz, " as a greetingto the returning warriors. If the weather proved favorable, the gardenwas to be brilliantly illuminated, and the likenesses of King Wilhelm, Bismarck, and von Moltke were to appear in gas-jets, each surmountinga triumphal arch, which was to be erected in front of the stage and atthe two entrances to the garden. 

"As regards that Tyrolese wench, " said Fritz, as he lighted a freshcigar, "are you sure we can persuade her to don the Germania costume?She seems to have some pretty crooked notions on some points, and theold woman, you know, is as balky as a stage horse. "

"Leave that to me, Fritzchen, leave that to me, " replied the father, confidently. "I know how to manage the women. Thirty years' practice, my dear--thirty years' practice goes for more in such matters than astripling like you can imagine. "

This remark, for some reason, seemed to irritate Mr. Fritzexceedingly. He thrust his hands deeply into his pockets, and began tostalk up and down the floor with a sullen, discontented air. 

"Aha! you old fox, " he muttered to himself, "you have been hunting onmy preserves. But I'll catch you in your own trap, as sure as my nameis Fritz. "

"The sly young rascal!" thought Mr. Hahn; "you have been sniffing inyour father's cupboard, have you?"

"Fritz, my dear, " he said aloud, stretching himself with a long, hypocritical yawn, "it is ridiculous for two fellows like you and meto wear masks in each other's presence. We don't care a straw for thewhole _Sieges_ business, do we, Fritz, except for the dollars andcents of it? I am deucedly sleepy, and I am going to bed. "

"And so am I, father dear, " responded Fritz, with a sudden outburst ofaffection. "Yes, yes, father, " he continued heartily, "you and Iunderstand each other. I am a chip of the old block, I am--he, he!"

And with the most effusive cordiality this affectionate parent and sonseparated, with the avowed purpose of seeking oblivion in slumber, intheir respective apartments. 

"Perhaps I have been doing the old fellow injustice, after all, "thought Fritz, as he clasped his father's hand once more at the bottomof the staircase. 

"The young gosling hasn't ventured into such deep water as I thought, "murmured the happy father, as he stood listening to Fritz's footstepsre-echoing through the empty corridors. 

IV. 

Mr. Hahn, Sr. , having satisfied himself as to his son's sincerity, retired to his private chamber; not for the purpose of going to rest, however, but in order to make an elaborate toilet, having completedwhich, he hailed a droschke and drove to an obscure little street inthe Friedrich-Wilhelm Stadt, where he ordered the coachman to stop. Ashe was preparing to dismount, he saw to his astonishment anotherdroschke driving away from the door which he was intending to enter. 

"Hm, " growled Hahn, "if she has been making acquaintances, she isn'tthe girl I took her for. But there are other people living in thehouse, and the visit may not have been for her. "

Clinging fondly to this hope, he climbed with wary steps two flightsof dark and narrow stairs, which was no easy feat for an elderlygentleman of his bulk. As he reached the second landing, panting andbreathless, he found himself in violent contact with another person, who, like himself, seemed to be fumbling for the bell-handle. 

"Beg your pardon, sir, " said a voice in the dark. 

"What, you sneaking young villain!" cried Hahn in great wrath (for thevoice was only too familiar to him); "I might have known you were upto some devilish trick, or you wouldn't--"

Here the senior Hahn choked, and was seized with a violent coughingfit. 

"You miserable old sinner!" hissed Fritz; "the devil has already gothis finger on your throat. "

This was too much for Mr. Hahn; he made a rush for his rival, and in amoment he and Fritz were grappling furiously in the dark. It seemedabout an even chance who was to be precipitated down the steepstaircase; but just as the father was within an inch of the dangerousedge, the hall door was torn open, and Mother Uberta, followed by Ilkawith a lamp in her hand, sprang forward, grasped the combatants in herstrong arms and flung them against the opposite wall. They both fellon the floor, but each managed, without serious injury, to extricatehimself from the other's embrace. 

"You are a fine, well-behaved lot, you are!" broke out Mother Uberta, planting herself, with arms akimbo, in front of the two culprits, anddispensing her adjectives with equal liberality to both. 

"It was a mistake, madam, I assure you, " said Hahn huskily, as hepulled out his handkerchief, and began to whip the dust off histrowsers. 

The wreath of thin hair which he had carefully combed, so as to makethe nakedness of his crown less conspicuous, was bristling toward allthe points of the compass. His tall hat had gone on an independentjourney down the stairs, and was heard tumbling deliberately from stepto step. Fritz, who had recovered himself much more rapidly, seemed tohave forgotten that he had himself borne any part in the disgracefulscene; he looked at his father with kind of a pitying superiority, andbegan to assist him in the repair of his toilet, with the air of anofficious outsider, all of which the crest-fallen father endured withgreat fortitude. He seemed only anxious to explain the situation tothe two women, who were still viewing him with marked disapproval. 

"It was all a mistake, madam--a great mistake, " he kept repeating. 

"A great mistake!" ejaculated Mother Uberta, contemptuously. "Thisisn't a time to be makin' mistakes outside the door of two lonelywomen. "

"It is fifteen minutes past nine, " said Hahn meekly, pulling acorpulent gold watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. 

"Madam, " said Fritz, without the slightest air of apology, "I camehere to consult you on a matter of business, which would bear nodelay. "

"Exactly, exactly, " interrupted Hahn eagerly. "So did I, a matter ofbusiness which would bear no delay. "

"Well, _Väterchen_, we are simple countrywomen, and we don'tunderstand city manners. But if you want to see me on business, Ishall be at home to-morrow at twelve o'clock. "

So saying, Mother Uberta slammed the door in the faces of hervisitors, and left them to grope their way in the dark down the steepstairway. It was highly characteristic, both of the senior and thejunior Hahn, that without a word of explanation they drove homeamicably in the same droschke. 

Ilka's engagement at the "Haute Noblesse" in the autumn had proved agreat success, and Mother Uberta, who was never averse to earningmoney, had, without difficulty, been persuaded to remain in Berlinduring the winter, on condition of the renewal of their contract foranother six weeks in the spring. Ilka was in the meanwhile to takelessons in singing at Hahn's expense, possibly with a view to futuredistinction as a prima donna of the opera. Her _maestro_ had told herrepeatedly that she had naturally a better voice than Nilsson, andthat, if she could dry up for ever her fountain of tears, she mightbecome a great _artiste_. For Ilka had the deplorable habit of cryingon very slight provocation. The _maestro_, with his wild hair, hislong, polished nails, and his frantic gesticulations, frightened anddistressed her; she thought and spoke of him as a kind of curiousanimal, and nothing could persuade her that he and she belonged to thesame species. Nor did Mr. Hahn and Fritz seem to her more than halfhuman. Their constant presents and attentions sometimes annoyed, andfrequently alarmed her. She could not rid herself of the apprehension, that behind their honeyed words and manners they were hiding somesinister purpose. She could not comprehend how her mother could talkso freely and fearlessly with them. She thought of Hansel, who wasaway in the war, and many an evening she stood outside thetelegraph-office with a quaking heart, waiting for the bulletin withthe names of the dead and the wounded; but Hansel's name was neveramong them. And many a night she lay awake, yearning for Hansel, praying for him, and blessing him. She seemed to hear his gay andcareless laugh ringing from Alp to Alp--how different from the politesmirk of the junior, the fat grin of the senior Hahn! She saw histall, agile figure standing upon a rock leaning upon his gun, outlinedagainst the blue horizon, --and she heard his strong clear voiceyodling and calling to her from afar. It is not to be wondered at thatIlka did not thrive in Berlin as well as her mother did; just as thetender-petaled alpine rose can only breathe the cool breezes of itsnative mountains, and withers and droops if transplanted to a garden. 

Mother Uberta was by no means blind to the fact that both Fritz andhis father had designs on her daughter, and having convinced herselfthat their prosperity rested on a solid basis, she was not disinclinedto favor their suits. The only difficulty was to make a choice betweenthem; and having ascertained that Fritz was entirely dependent uponhis father's bounty, she quickly decided in favor of the father. Butshe was too wise to allow Mr. Hahn to suspect that he was a desirableson-in-law, being rather addicted to the belief that men only worshipwhat seems utterly beyond their reach. Ilka, it is needless to say, was not a party to these speculations; to her the Hahns appearedequally undesirable in any capacity whatsoever. 

As for the proprietor of the "Haute Noblesse, " I believe he wassuffering from an honest infatuation. He admired Ilka's face, headmired her neck, her figure, her voice, her ankles as displayed bythe short Tyrolese skirt; he wandered about in a sort of frenzy ofunrest, and was never happy except in her presence. That a certainamount of speculation entered into love's young dream, I cannotpositively deny; but, on the whole, the emotion was as sincere as anythat Mr. Hahn's bosom had ever harbored. Whether he should allow herto sing in public after she had become his wife was a point aboutwhich he sometimes worried, but which he ended by deciding in theaffirmative. It was a splendid investment for the "Haute Noblesse. "

Mr. Fritz's matrimonial speculations took a somewhat different turn. He raved to his friends about the perfection of Ilka's physicaldevelopment; talked about her "points" as if she had been a horse. Somuch of cynicism always mingled with his ardor that his devotion couldhardly be dignified by the name of love. He was convinced that if hecould keep Ilka for some years in Berlin and persuade her to continuecultivating her voice, she would some day be a great prima donna. AndFritz had an idea that prima donnas always grew immensely rich, andmarried worthless husbands whom they allowed great liberties infinancial matters. Fritz had no objection to playing this subordinatepart, as long as he could be sure of "having a good time. " Beyond thispoint his ambition had never extended. In spite of his greatconfidence in his own irresistibility, and his frequent boasts of thefavors he had received from the maiden of his choice, he knew in hisheart that his wooing had so far been very unprosperous, and that theprospects for the future were not encouraging. Ilka could never ridherself of the impression that Fritz was to be taken veryseriously, --that, in fact, there was something almost awful about him. She could laugh at old Hahn's jokes, and if he attempted to takeliberties she could push him away, or even give him a slap on hisbroad back. But Fritz's talk frightened her by its veryunintelligibility; his mirth seemed terrible; it was like hearing aman laugh in his sleep; and his touch made her shudder. 

V. 

The return of the first regiments of the united armies was delayeduntil after the middle of May, and the _Siegesfest_ accordingly had tobe postponed. But the delay was rather in Mr. Hahn's favor, as itgave him ample time to perfect his arrangements, so that, when the dayarrived, the "Haute Noblesse" presented a most brilliant appearance. Vividly colored transparencies, representing the most sanguinarybattle scenes in more or less fictitious surroundings were suspendedamong the trees; Danish officers were seen in all sorts of humbleattitudes, surrendering their swords or begging for mercy, while thePrussian and Austrian heroes, maddened with warlike fury, stormedonward in the path of glory and victory. The gas-jet programme, withthe royal and military portraits, was carried out to perfection; andeach new wonder was hailed with immense enthusiasm by the assembledmultitude. Innumerable Chinese lanterns glimmered throughout thegarden, and from time to time red, white, and blue magnesium lightssent up a great blaze of color among the trees, now making the buddingleaves blush crimson, now silvering them, as with hoar-frost, orilluminating their delicate tracery with an intense blue which shoneout brilliantly against the nocturnal sky. Even the flower-beds weremade to participate in the patriotic frenzy; and cunning imitations, in colored glass, of tulips, lilies, and roses, with little gas-jetsconcealed in their chalices, were scattered among the natural flowers, which looked like ghosts of their real selves among the splendidcounterfeits. In order to tune the audience into perfect accord withthe occasion, Mr. Hahn had also engaged three monster bands, which, since early in the afternoon, had been booming forth martial melodiesfrom three different platforms draped in national banners. 

The hour was now approaching when Germania was to lift up her voice tocelebrate the glorious achievements of her sons. The audience, whichconsisted largely of soldiers and officers, were thronging forward tothe tribune where she was advertised to appear, and the waiters, whohad difficulty in supplying the universal demand for beer, had formeda line from the bar to the platform, along which the foam-crownedschooners were passing in uninterrupted succession. Fritz, who wasfond of fraternizing with the military profession, had attachedhimself to a young soldier in Austrian uniform with the iron crossupon his bosom. They were seated amicably together at a small tablenear the stage, and the soldier, by liberal treats of beer, had beeninduced to relate some of his adventures in the war. He was a tall, robust man, with a large blonde mustache and an open, fearlesscountenance. He talked very modestly about his own share in thevictories, and cooled Fritz's enthusiasm by the extreme plainness ofhis statements. 

"It was rather an uneven game at the start, " he said. "They were sofew and we were so many. We couldn't have helped whipping them, evenif we had done worse than we did. "

"You don't mean to say that we were not brave, " responded Fritz, withan ardor which was more than half feigned. 

"No, I don't say that, " said the warrior, gravely. "We were brave, andso were they. Therefore the numbers had to decide it. "

He emptied his glass and rose to go. 

"No, wait a moment, " urged Fritz, laying hold of his arm. "Takeanother glass. You must stay and hear Germania. She is to sing 'DieWacht am Rhein' and 'Heil dir in Siegeskranz'. "

"Very well, " answered the soldier, seating himself again. "I havefurlough for to-night, and I can stay here as well as anywhere. "

Two more glasses were ordered, and presently arrived. 

"Listen!" began Fritz, leaning confidentially across the table. "Isuppose you have a sweetheart?"

"Yes, I have, God bless her, " replied the other simply, "though Ihaven't seen her these six months, and not heard from her, either. Sheisn't much of a hand for writing, and, somehow, I never could get theright crooks on the letters. "

"Here's to her health, " said Fritz, lifting his glass and touching itto that of his companion. 

"With all my heart, " responded the latter, and drained the beer mugat one draught. 

They sat for a while in silence, Fritz trying to estimate thepecuniary value of the audience, the soldier gazing, with a half-sadand dreamy expression, into the dark sky. 

"Curious lot, the women, " broke out the junior Hahn chuckling tohimself, as if absorbed in some particularly delightful retrospect. "There is the girl, now, who is to sing as Germania to-night, --and, between you and me, I don't mind telling you that she is rathersmitten with me. She is as fine a specimen of a woman as ever trod intwo shoes; splendid arms, a neck like alabaster with the tiniest tingeof red in it, and--well, I might expatiate further, but I wont. Now, you wouldn't think it of a girl like that; but the fact is, she is asarch and coquettish as a kitten. It was only the other night I went tosee her--the old woman was in the room--"

A tremendous burst of applause completely drowned Fritz's voice, asGermania walked out upon the stage. She was dressed in white, flowingrobes, with a golden zone about her waist and a glittering diadem inher hair. A mantle of the finest white cashmere, fastened with a Romanclasp on her left shoulder and drawn through the zone on the rightside, showed the fierce Prussian eagle, embroidered in black and gold. A miniature copy of the same glorious bird, also in gilt embroidery, shone on her breast. She had been, elaborately trained by her_maestro_ as to how she was to step the stage, what attitudes she wasto assume, etc. , and the first part of the programme she performedvery creditably, and with sole reference to her instructions. 

The orchestra began to rumble something by way of an introduction. Thesoldier in the Austrian uniform at Fritz's table turned pale, and satstaring fixedly upon the stage. Ilka stood for a moment gazing outupon the surging mass of humanity at her feet; she heard the clankingof the scabbards and swords, and saw the white and the blue uniformscommingled in friendly confusion. Where was. Hansel now--the dear, gay, faithful Hansel? She struck out boldly, and her strong, sonorousvoice soared easily above the orchestral accompaniments. "Heil dir imSiegeskranz!"--she was hailing the returning warriors with a song oftriumph, while Hansel, perhaps, lay on some bloody battle-field, withsightless eyes staring against the awful sky. Ilka's voice began totremble, and the tears flooded her beautiful eyes. The soldier in theAustrian uniform trembled, too, and never removed his gaze from thecountenance of the singer. There was joy and triumph in her song; butthere was sorrow, too--sorrow for the many brave ones that remainedbehind, sorrow for the maidens that loved them and the mothers thatwept for them. As Ilka withdrew, after having finished the laststanza, the audience grew almost frantic with enthusiasm; the menjumped up on benches and tables, shouted, and swung their hats, andeven the women cheered at the tops of their voices. A repetition wasloudly called for, and Ilka, although herself overcome with emotion, was obliged to yield. She walked up to the footlights and began toyodle softly. It sounded strangely airy and far away. She put her handto her ear and listened for a moment, as if she expected a reply; butthere was a breathless silence in the audience. Only a heavy sigh camefrom the table where Fritz sat with the Austrian soldier. The yodlegrew louder; then suddenly some one sprang up, not a dozen rods fromthe stage, and sang, in a deep, magnificent baritone:

 Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, While the rivers seaward flow, Is thy heart as true and loving As it was a year ago? Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

Ilka stood for a while as if stunned; her eyes peered in the directionwhence the voice had come; her face lighted up with a sweet, serenehappiness; but the tears streamed down her cheeks as she answered:

 Dearest Hansel in the valley, I will tell you, tell you true, Yes, my heart is ever loving, True and loving unto you! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho! Hohli-oh!

Suddenly she made a leap over the edge of the stage, and in the nextmoment the gorgeous Germania lay sobbing on the soldier's bosom. Itmade a very touching tableau, and some of the male sceptics among theaudience were inclined to view it in that light. Fritz Hahn, as soonas the idea was suggested to him, eagerly adopted it, and admitted inconfidence to half a dozen friends, whom he had allowed to suspect thefair singer's devotion to him, that it was all a pre-arranged effect, and that he was himself the author of it. 

"Germania weeping on the breast of her returning son, " he said. "Whatcould be more appropriate on a day like this?"

The maidens and matrons, however, would listen to no such theory; theywept openly at the sight of the reunited lovers, and have until thisday maintained that the scene was too spontaneous and genuine to be aproduct of Mr. Hahn's inventive genius. 

The singing of "Die Wacht am Rhein, " although advertised on theprogramme, had to be indefinitely postponed, for Germania had suddenlydisappeared, and was nowhere to be found. The Austrian soldier, however, was seen later in the evening, and some one heard himinquiring in a fierce tone for the junior Hahn; but the junior Hahn, probably anticipating some unpleasantness, had retired from the publicgaze. 

VI. 

Six weeks after this occurrence--it was St. John's day--there was amerry festival in the village of Mayrhofen. Ilka and Hansel were brideand groom, and as they returned from church the maidens of the villagewalked in the wedding procession and strewed flowers before them. Andin the evening, when the singing and fiddling and dancing were at anend, and the guests had departed, Mother Uberta beckoned Hansel aside, and with a mysterious air handed him something heavy tied up in thecorner of a handkerchief. 

"There, " she said, "is eight hundred and fifty florins. It is Ilka'sown money which she earned in Berlin. Now you may pay off themortgage, and the farm is yours. "

"Mother Uberta, " answered Hansel laughing, and pulling out a skinpurse from his bosom. "Here is what I have been saving these manyyears. It is eight hundred and fifty florins. "

"Hansel, Hansel, " cried Mother Uberta in great glee, "it is what Ihave always said of you. You are a jewel of a lad. "

ANNUNCIATA. 

I. 

In the gallery of one of the famous Roman villas which commands asplendid view of the city, Mr. Henry Vincent, a young American, waslounging. Judging by his appearance he was a college graduate, or, tospeak more definitely, a graduate of Harvard; for he had that jauntywalk and general trimness of attire which are the traditionalattributes of the academical denizens of Cambridge. He swung his armsrather more than was needed to assist locomotion, and betrayed in anunobtrusive manner a consciousness of being well dressed. His face, which was not without fine possibilities, had an air of well-bredneutrality; you could see that he assumed a defensive attitude againstæsthetic impressions, --that even the Sistine Madonna or the Venus ofMilo would not have surprised him into anything like enthusiasm orabject approval. It was evident, too, that he was a little bit ashamedof his Baedeker, which he consulted only in a semi-surreptitious way, and plunged into the pocket of his overcoat whenever he believedhimself to be observed. Such a contingency, however, seemed remote;for the silence that reigned about him was as heavy and profound as ifit had been unbroken since creation's day. The large marble halls hada grave and inhospitable air, and their severe magnificence compelledeven from our apathetic traveller a shy and reluctant veneration. Hetried to fix his attention upon a certain famous Guido which wasattached by hinges to the wall, and which, as he had just learned fromBaedeker, was a marvel of color and fine characterization; he stoodfor a few moments staring with a blank and helpless air, as if, forthe first time in his life, he was beginning to question the finalityof his own judgment. Then his eyes wandered off to the cornice of thewall, whose florid rococo upholstery won his sincere approval. 

"Hang it!" he murmured impatiently, pulling a gold watch from hiswaistcoat pocket. "That loon Jack--he never does keep an engagement. "

At this moment, distant footsteps were heard, which, as theyapproached, resounded with a sepulchral distinctness on the marblepavement. Presently a young man entered breathlessly, holding his hatin one hand and a white handkerchief in the other. 

"Harry, " he cried, excitedly, "I have found the goddess of the place. Come quick, before she vanishes. It is a rare chance, I tell you. "

He seized his companion's arm and, ignoring his remonstrances, almostdragged him through the door by which he had entered. 

"What sort of lunacy is it you are up to now, Jack?" the other washeard to grumble. "I'll bet ten to one you have been making an ass ofyourself. "

"I dare say I have, " retorted Jack, good-naturedly; "a man who has notthe faculty of making a fool of himself occasionally is only half aman. You would be a better fellow, too, Harry, if you were not sodeucedly respectable; a slight admixture of folly would give tone andcolor to your demure and rigid propriety. For a man so splendidlyequipped by fortune, you have made a poor job of existence, Harry. When I see you bestowing your sullen patronage upon the greatmasterpieces of the past, I am ashamed of you--yes, by Jove, I am. "

"Don't you bother about me, " was the ungracious response of hiscomrade. "I cut my eye-teeth a good while before you did, even thoughyou may be a few years older. I'll take care of myself, you may dependupon it, and of you, too, if you get yourself into a scrape, which youseem bent upon doing. "

"Now, do be amiable, Harry, " urged the other with gentlepersuasiveness. "I can't take it upon my conscience to introduce youto a lady, and far less to a goddess, unless you promise to put onyour best behavior. You know from your mythology that goddesses arecapable of taking a terrible vengeance upon mortals who unwittinglyoffend them. "

Mr. John Cranbrook--for that was the name of the demonstrativetourist--was a small, neat-looking man, with an eager face and a pairof dark, vivid eyes. His features, though not in themselves handsome, were finely, almost tenderly, modelled. His nose was not of theclassical type, but nevertheless of a clear and delicate cut, and hisnostrils of extreme sensitiveness. On the whole, it was a pleasant, open, and enthusiastic face, --a face in which there was no guile. Bythe side of his robust and stalwart friend, Cranbrook looked almostfrail, and it was evident that Vincent, who felt the advantages of hissuperior avoirdupois, was in the habit of patronizing him. They hadbeen together in college and had struck up an accidental friendship, which, to their mutual surprise, had survived a number ofmisunderstandings, and even extended beyond graduation. Cranbrook, whowas of a restless and impetuous temperament, found Vincent's quietself-confidence very refreshing; there was a massive repose about him, an unquestioning acceptance of the world as it was and an utterabsence of intellectual effort, which afforded his friend a refugefrom his own self-consuming ambition. Cranbrook had always prophesiedthat Harry would some day wake up and commit a grand and monumentalpiece of folly, but he hoped that that day was yet remote; at presentit was his rich commonplaceness and his grave and comfortable dulnesswhich made him the charming fellow he was, and it would be a pity toforfeit such rare qualities. 

Cranbrook's own accomplishments were not of the kind which is highlyappreciated among undergraduates. His verses, which appearedanonymously in the weekly college paper, enjoyed much popularity incertain young ladies' clubs, but were by the professor of rhetoricpronounced unsound in sentiment, though undeniably clever inexpression. Vincent, on the other hand, had virtues which paved him aneasy road to popularity; he could discuss base-ball and rowing matterswith a gravity as if the fate of the republic depended upon them; hewas moreover himself an excellent "catcher, " and subscribed liberallyfor the promotion of athletic sports. He did not, like his friend, care for "honors, " nor had he the slightest desire to excel in Greek;he always reflected the average undergraduate opinion on all collegeaffairs, and was not above playing an occasional trick on a freshmanor a professor. As for Cranbrook, he rather prided himself on being alittle exceptional, and cherished with special fondness those of histastes and proclivities which distinguished him from the averagehumanity. He had therefore no serious scruples in accepting Vincent'soffer to pay his expenses for a year's trip abroad. Vincent, hereasoned, would hardly benefit much by his foreign experiences, if hewent alone. His glance would never penetrate beneath the surface ofthings, and he therefore needed a companion, whose æsthetic culturewas superior to his own. Cranbrook flattered himself that he was sucha companion, and vowed in his heart to give Harry full returns inintellectual capital for what he expended on him in sordid metals. Moreover, Harry had a clear income of fifteen to twenty thousand ayear, while he, Cranbrook, had scarcely anything which he could callhis own. I dare say that if Vincent had known all the benevolent planswhich his friend had formed for his mental improvement, he would havethought twice before engaging him as his travelling companion; butfortunately he was so well satisfied with his own mental condition, and so utterly unconscious of his short-comings in point of intellect, that he could not have treated an educational scheme of which he washimself to be the subject as anything but an amiable lunacy on Jack'spart, or at the worst, as a practical joke. Jack was good company;that was with him the chief consideration; his madness was harmlessand had the advantage of being entertaining; he was moreover at hearta good fellow, and the stanchest and most loyal of friends. Harry wasoften heard to express the most cheerful confidence in Jack's future;he would be sure to come out right in the end, as soon as he had cuthis eye-teeth, and very likely Europe might be just the thing for acomplaint like his. 

II. 

After having marched over nearly half a mile of marble flag-stones, interrupted here and there by strips of precious mosaic, the two youngmen paused at the entrance to a long, vaulted corridor. White, silentgods stood gazing gravely from their niches in the wall, and the paleNovember sun was struggling feebly to penetrate through the dustywindows. It did not dispel the dusk, but gave it just the tenderestsuffusion of sunshine. 

"Stop, " whispered Cranbrook. "I want you to take in the totalimpression of this scene before you examine the details. Only listento this primeval stillness; feel, if you can, the stately monotony ofthis corridor, the divine repose and dignity of these marble forms, the chill immobility of this light. It seems to me that, if a full, majestic organ-tone could be architecturally expressed, it must ofnecessity assume a shape resembling the broad, cold masses of thisaisle. I should call this an architectonic fugue, --a pure and loftymeditation--"

"Now, do give us a rest, Jack, " interrupted Vincent mercilessly. "Ithought you said something about a nymph or a goddess. Trot her out, if you please, and let me have a look at her. "

Cranbrook turned sharply about and gave his comrade a look ofundisguised disgust. 

"Harry, " he said gravely, "really you don't deserve the good fortuneof being in Italy. I thought I knew you well; but I am afraid I shallhave to revise my judgment of you. You are hopelessly and incorrigiblyfrivolous. I know, it is ungracious in me to tell you so, --I, who haveaccepted your bounty; but, by Jove, Harry, I don't want to buy mypleasure at the price you seem to demand. I have enough to get home, at all events, and I shall repay you what I owe you. "

Vincent colored to the edge of his hair; he bit his lip, and was aboutto yield to the first impulse of his wrath. A moment's reflection, however, sobered him; he gave his leg two energetic cuts with hisslender cane, then turned slowly on his heel and sauntered away. Cranbrook stood long gazing sadly after him; he would have liked tocall him back, but the aimless, leisurely gait irritated him, and theword died on his lips. Every step seemed to hint a vague defiance. "What does it matter to me, " it seemed to say, "what you think of me?You are of too little account to have the power to ruffle my temper. "As the last echo of the retiring footsteps was lost in the greatmarble silence, Cranbrook heaved a sigh, and, suddenly remembering hiserrand, walked rapidly down the corridor. He paused before around-arched, doorless portal, which led into a large sunny room. Inthe embrazure of one of the windows, a young girl was sitting, with adrawing-board in her lap, apparently absorbed in the contemplation ofa marble relief which was suspended upon the wall. From whereCranbrook stood, he could see her noble profile clearly outlinedagainst the white wall; a thick coil of black hair was wound about theback of her head, and a dark, tight-fitting dress fell in simple foldsabout her magnificent form. There was a simplicity and an unstudiedgrace in her attitude which appealed directly to Cranbrook's æstheticnature. Ever since he entered Italy he had been on the alert forromantic impressions, and his eager fancy instinctively lifted everycommonplace incident that appeared to have poetic possibilities in itinto the region of romance. He remembered having seen somewhere astatue of Clio whose features bore a remote resemblance to those ofthe young girl before him--the same massive, boldly sculptured chin, the same splendid, columnar throat, the same grave immobility ofvision. It seemed sacrilege to approach such a divine creature with atrivial remark about the weather or the sights of Rome, and yet somecommonplace was evidently required to pave the way to furtheracquaintance. Cranbrook pondered for a moment, and then advancedboldly toward the window where the goddess was sitting. She turned herhead and flashed a pair of brilliant black eyes upon him. 

"Pardon me, signorina, " he said, with an apologetic cough. "I see youare drawing. Perhaps you could kindly tell me where one can obtainpermission to copy in this gallery. "

"I do not know, signore, " she answered, in a low, rich voice. "No oneever copies here. The prince is never, here, and his major-domo comesonly twice a year. He was here two weeks ago, so it will be a longtime before he will return. "

"But you seem to be copying, " the young man ventured to remonstrate. 

"Ah, _sanctissima_!" she; cried, with a vivid gesture of deprecation. "No, signore, I am not copying. I am a poor, ignorant thing, signore, not an artist. There was once a kind foreigner who lodged with us; hewas an artist, a most famous artist, and he amused himself with mewhile I was a child, and taught me to draw a little. "

"And perhaps you would kindly allow me to look at your drawing?"

Cranbrook was all in a flutter; he was amazed at his own temerity, but the situation filled him with a delicious sense of adventure, andan irresistible impulse within him urged him on. The girl had risen, and, without the slightest embarrassment or coquettish reluctancehanded him her drawing-board. He saw at a glance that she was sincerein disclaiming the name of an artist. The drawing was a mere simpleoutline of a group, representing Briseis being led away from her loverby the messengers of Agamemnon. The king stood on one side ready toreceive her, and on the other, Achilles, with averted face, in anattitude of deep dejection. The natural centre of the group, however, was the figure of Briseis. The poise of her classic head as she lookedback over her shoulder at her beloved hero was full of the tenderestsuggestions. She seemed to offer no resistance to the messengers, buther reluctant, lingering steps were more expressive than any violentdemonstration. Cranbrook saw all this in the antique relief, but foundit but feebly, and, as it were, stammeringly rendered in the girl'sdrawing. The lines were firmly and accurately traced and theproportions were approximately correct; but the deeper sentiment ofthe group had evidently escaped her, and the exquisite delicacy ofmodelling she had not even attempted to imitate. Cranbrook had in hisheart to admit that he was disappointed. He feared that it was rudeto return the board without a word of favorable comment, but hedisdained to resort to any of those ingenious evasions which serve soconveniently as substitutes for definite judgments. The girl, in themeanwhile, stood looking into his face with an air of frank curiosity. It was not his opinion of her work, however, which puzzled her. Shehad never been accustomed to flattery, and had no idea of claiming amerit which she was well aware did not belong to her. She seemedrather to be wondering what manner of man her critic might be, andwhether it would be safe to appeal to him for information on somesubjects which lay beyond the reach of her own faculties. 

"Signore, " she began at last, a little hesitatingly, "I suppose youare a learned man who has read many books. Perhaps you know who thatman is with the big helmet. And the maiden there with the bare feet, standing between the men--who is she? She looks sad, I think, and yetthe large man who seems to be waiting for her is well made andhandsome, and his garments appear to be precious. His shield is finelywrought, and I am sure he must be a man of great dignity. "

"You are right, " responded Cranbrook, to whom her guileless talk washighly entertaining. 

"He is a king, and his name is Agamemnon. By nationality he is aGreek--"

"Ah, then I know why the girl is sad, " she interrupted, eagerly. "TheGreeks are all thieves, Padre Gregorio says; they all steal and lie, and they are not of the true faith. The padre has been in the Greekland and he knows their bad ways. "

"The padre probably means the modern Greeks. I know very little aboutthem. But the ancient Greeks were the noblest nation the world hasever seen. "

"Is it possible? And what did they do that was so great and noble?_Sanctissima!_ the greatest nation the world has ever seen!"

These exclamations were uttered in a tone of sincere surprise which toCranbrook was very amusing. The conversation was now fairly started. The American told with much expenditure of eloquence the story of "thewrath of Achilles, the son of Peleus, " and of the dire misfortuneswhich fell upon the house of Priamus and Atreus in consequence of onewoman's fatal beauty. The girl sat listening with a rapt, far-awayexpression; now and then a breeze of emotion flitted across herfeatures and a tear glittered in her eye and coursed slowly down overher cheek. Cranbrook, too, as he was gradually tuned into sympathywith his own tale, felt a strange, shuddering intoxication ofhappiness. He did not perceive how the time slipped by; he began toshiver, and saw that the sun was gone. The girl woke up with a startas his voice ceased and looked about her with a bewildered air. Theyboth rose and walked together through the long, empty halls andcorridors. He noticed wonderingly that she carried a heavy bunch ofkeys in her hand and locked each door after they had passed throughit. This then led to some personal explanations. He learned that hername was Annunciata, and that she was the daughter of AntonioCæsarelli, the gardener of the villa, who lived in the house with the_loggias_ which he could see at the end of the steep plane treeavenue. If he would like to pick some oranges, there were plenty ofthem in the garden, and as the prince never asked for them, her fatherallowed her to eat as many as she liked. Would he not come and see herfather? He was a very good and kind man. At present he was trimmingthe hedge up on the terrace. 

During this colloquy they had entered the garden, which seemed atfirst glance a great luxuriant wilderness. On the right hand of thegate was a huge jungle of blooming rose-bushes whose intertwistedbranches climbed the tall stuccoed wall, for the possession of whichit struggled bravely with an equally ambitious and vigorous ivy. Enormous bearded cacti of fantastic forms spread their fat pricklyleaves out over both sides of the pavement, leaving only a narrowaisle in the middle where locomotion was practicable. A long flight ofgreen and slippery stone steps led up to a lofty terrace which wasraised above the rest of the garden by a high wall, surmounted by alow marble balustrade. Here the palms spread their fan-like crownsagainst the blue sky, and the golden fruit shone among the dark leavesof the orange-trees. A large sculptured Triton with inflated cheeksblew a column of water high up into the air, and half a dozendolphins, ridden by chubby water-sprites, spouted demurely along theedges of a wide marble basin. A noseless Roman senator stood at thetop of the stairs, wrapping his mossy toga about him, with a splendidgesture, and the grave images of the Cæsars, all time-stained and moreor less seriously maimed, gazed forth with severe dignity from theirgreen, leafy niches. 

The upper garden showed signs of human supervision. A considerablearea was occupied by flower-beds, laid out with geometrical regularityand stiffness; and the low box-wood hedges along their borders had adensity and preciseness of outline which showed that they had beenrecently trimmed. Stone vases of magnificent design were placed atregular intervals along the balustrade; and in the middle projectionof the terrace stood a hoary table with a broken porphyry plate, suggestive of coffee and old-time costumes, and the ponderous gossipof Roman grandees. 

Cranbrook had walked for a while silently at Annunciata's side. Hewas deeply impressed with all he saw, and yet a dreamy sense of theirunreality was gradually stealing over him. He imagined himself somewonderful personage in an Eastern fairy-tale, and felt for the momentas if he were moving in an animated chapter of the "Arabian Nights. "He had had little hesitation in asking Annunciata questions aboutherself; they seemed both, somehow, raised above the petty etiquetteof mundane intercourse. She had confessed to him with an unthinkingdirectness which was extremely becoming to her, that her artisticaspirations which he had found so mysterious were utterly destitute ofthe ideal afflatus. She had, as a child, learned lace-making andembroidery, and had earned many a _lira_ by adorning the preciousvestments of archbishops and cardinals. She was now making a designfor a tapestry, in which she meant to introduce the group from theantique relief. Her father allowed her to save all she earned for herdowry; because then, he said, she might be able to make a good match. This latter statement grated a little on Cranbrook's sensitive ears;but a glance at Annunciata's face soon reassured him. She had the airof stating a universally recognized fact concerning which she hadnever had occasion to reflect. She kept prattling away very much likea spoiled child, who is confident that its voice is pleasant, and itslittle experiences as absorbing to its listener as they are toitself. 

At length, by many devious paths, they reached a house on a sunnyelevation, at the western extremity of the garden. It was a house suchas one sees only in Rome, --a wide expanse of stuccoed wall with six orseven windows of different sizes scattered at random over its surface. Long tufts of fine grass depended from the gutters of the roof, andthe plain pillars supporting the round arches of the _loggias_ had ahumid and weather-beaten look. The whole edifice, instead of assertingitself glaringly as a product of human art, blended with softgradations into the surrounding landscape. Even the rude fresco of theMother of Sorrows over the door was half overgrown with a greenish, semi-visible moss which allowed the original colors to shine faintlythrough, and the coarse lines of the dial in the middle of the wallwere almost obliterated by sun and rain. But what especially attractedCranbrook's attention was a card, hung out under one of the windows, upon which was written, with big, scrawling letters, --"_AppartamentoMobiliato d'Affitarsi_. " He determined on the spot to become theoccupant of this apartment whatever its deficiencies might be;therefore, without further delay, he introduced himself toAnnunciata's mother, Monna Nina, as a _forestiero_ in search oflodgings; and, after having gone through the formality of inspectingthe room, he accepted Monna Nina's price and terms with an eagernesswhich made the excellent woman repent in her heart that she had notasked more. 

The next day Cranbrook parted amicably from Vincent, who, it must beadmitted, was beginning to have serious doubts of his sanity. They hadhad many a quarrel in days past, but Jack had always come to hissenses again and been the first to make up. Vincent had thecomfortable certainty of being himself always in the right, and ittherefore never occurred to him that it might be his place toapologize. He had invariably accepted Jack's apologies good-naturedlyand consented gracefully to let by-gones be by-gones, even though hewere himself the offender; and the glow of conscious virtue which atsuch times pervaded him well rewarded him for his self-sacrifice. Butthis time, it seemed, Jack had taken some mysterious resolution, andhis reason had hopelessly forsaken him. He even refused all offers ofmoney, and talked about remaining in Rome and making his living bywriting for the newspapers. He cherished no ill-will against Harry, hesaid, but had simply made up his mind that their tastes andtemperaments were too dissimilar, and that they would both be happierif they parted company. They would see each other frequently andremain on friendly terms. No one was blamable for the separation, except Nature, who had made them so different. With these, and manysimilar assurances Cranbrook shook Vincent's hand and repaired to hisnew abode among the palms and cypresses. And yet his ears burneduncomfortably as he drove away in the _fiacre_. It was the first timehe had been insincere to Harry, even by implication; but after whathad happened, it was impossible to mention Annunciata's name. 

III. 

It was the afternoon of Christmas-day, six weeks after Cranbrook'sarrival at the villa. The air was soft and balmy and the bloomingrose-bushes under the windows sent up from time to time deliciouswhiffs of fragrance. The sky was strangely clear, and long, coolvistas opened to the sight among the cloud-banks that hung over thetops of the Alban Mountains. Cranbrook was sitting out on the _loggia_reading the scene in the Odyssey where the shipwrecked Ulysses stepsout from the copse where he has been sleeping and interrupts theball-play of Nausicaa and her maidens. How pure and sweet the air thatbreathed from these pages! What a noble and dignified maiden was thisNausicaa! At this moment the merry voice of Annunciata was heard inthe garden below. The young man let his book drop and leaned out overthe wall. There she stood, tall and stately, receiving, with themanner of a good-natured empress, a white-haired priest who camewaddling briskly toward her. 

"_Bona festa_, Padre Gregorio, " she cried, seizing the old man's hand. "Mother is going to have macaroni for supper and she was just going tosend Pietro after you. For you know you promised to be with us thisblessed day. "

"_Bona festa_, child, " responded the priest, smiling all over hislarge, benevolent face. "Padre Gregorio never forgets his promises, and least of all on a holy Christmas-day. "

"No, I knew you would not forget us, padre; but you are all out ofbreath. You have been mounting the stairs to the terrace again insteadof going round by the vineyard. Come and sit down here in the sun, forI wish to speak to you about something important. "

And she led the priest by the hand to a stone bench by the door andseated herself at his side. 

"Padre, " she began, with a great earnestness in her manner, "is it truethat the Holy Virgin hates heretics and that they can never go toheaven?"

The good padre was evidently not prepared for such a question. Hegazed at Annunciata for a moment in helpless bewilderment, thencoughed in his red bandanna handkerchief, took a deliberate pinch ofsnuff and began:

"The Holy Virgin is gracious, child, and she hates no one. But littlegirls should not trouble their heads with things that do not concernthem. "

"But this does concern me, padre, " retorted the girl eagerly. "I wentthis morning with Signore Giovanni, the stranger who is lodging withus, --for he is a very good and kind man, padre; I went with him to theAracoeli to see the blessed Bambino and the shepherds and the HolyVirgin. But he did not kneel, and when I told him of the wonderfulthings which the Bambino had done, he would not believe me, padre, andhe even once laughed in my face. "

"Then he is not a good man, " said the padre emphatically, "and he willnot go to heaven, unless he changes his faith and his conduct beforeGod takes him away. "

Cranbrook, who had made several vain attempts to call attention to hispresence, now rose and through the window re-entered his room. Thesnatch of the conversation which he had overheard had made him uneasyand had spoiled his happy Homeric mood. He was only too willing to putthe most flattering construction upon Annunciata's solicitude for hisfate in the hereafter, but he had to admit to himself, that there wassomething in her tone and in the frank directness of her manner whichprecluded such an interpretation. He had floated along, as it were, ina state of delicious semi-consciousness during the six weeks since hefirst entered this house. He had established himself firmly, as hebelieved, in the favor of every member of the family, from Antoniohimself to the two-year-old baby, Babetta, who spent her dayscontentedly in running from one end to the other of a large marblesarcophagus, situated under a tall stone pine, a dozen steps from thehouse. Monna Nina could then keep watch over her from the window whileat work, and the high, sculptured sides of the sarcophagus preventedBabetta from indulging her propensity for running away. Pietro, apicturesque vagabond of twelve, who sold patriotic match-boxes withthe portraits of Garibaldi and Vittorio Emanuele, had been bribed intothe stanchest partisanship for the foreigner by a ticket to the monkeytheatre in the Piazza delle Terme, and had excited his sister'scuriosity to a painful pitch by his vivid descriptions of thewonderful performance he had witnessed. Antonio, who was a quiet andlaborious man, listened with devout attention to Cranbrook's accountsof the foreign countries he had visited, while Monna Nina sometimesbetrayed an invincible scepticism regarding facts which belonged tothe A B C of transatlantic existence, and unhesitatingly acquiesced instatements which to an Italian mind might be supposed to border on themiraculous. She would not believe, for instance, that hot and coldwater could be conducted through pipes to the fifth and sixth story ofa house and drawn _ad libitum_ by the turning of a crank; but herlodger's descriptions of the travelling palaces in which you slept andhad your dinner prepared while speeding at a furious rate across thecontinent, were listened to with the liveliest interest and withoutthe slightest misgiving. She had, moreover, well-settled convictionsof her own concerning a number of things which lay beyond Cranbrook'shorizon. She had a great dread of the evil eye and knew exactly whatremedies to apply in order to counteract its direful effects; she worearound her neck a charm which had been blessed by the pope and whichwas a sure preventive of rheumatism; and under the ceiling of herkitchen were suspended bunches of medicinal herbs which had all beengathered during the new moon and which, in certain decoctions, werewarranted to cure nearly all the ailments to which flesh is heir. 

To Cranbrook the daily companionship with these kind-hearted, primitive people had been a most refreshing experience. As he wrote toa friend at home, he had shaken off the unwholesome dust which hadaccumulated upon his soul, and had for the first time in his lifebreathed the undiluted air of healthful human intercourse. Annunciatawas to him a living poem, a simple and stately epic, whosecontinuation from day to day filled his life with sonorous echoes. She was a modern Nausicaa, with the same child-like grandeur andunconscious dignity as her Homeric prototype. It was not until to-daythat he had become aware of the distance which separated him from her. They had visited together the church of Santa Maria in Aracoeli, wherea crude tableau of the Nativity of Christ is exhibited duringChristmas week. Her devoutness in the presence of the jewelled doll, representing the infant Saviour, had made a painful impression uponhim, and when, with the evident intention of compelling his reverence, she had told him of the miracles performed by the "Bambino, " he hadonly responded with an incredulous smile. She had sent him a long, reproachful glance; then, as the tears rose to her eyes, she hadhurried away and he had not dared to follow her. 

While pursuing these sombre meditations, Cranbrook was seated--orrather buried--in a deep Roman easy-chair, whose faded tapestrieswould have been esteemed a precious find by a relic-hunter. Judging bythe _baroque_ style of its decorations, its tarnished gilding, and itsgeneral air _a la_ Pompadour, it was evident that it had spent itsyouthful days in some princely palace of the last century, and had byslow and gradual stages descended to its present lowly condition. Acurious sense of the evanescence of all earthly things stole over theyoung man's mind, as his thoughts wandered from his own fortunes tothose of the venerable piece of furniture which was holding him in itsample embrace. What did it matter in the end, he reasoned, whether hemarried his Nausicaa or not? To marry a Nausicaa with grace was a featfor the performance of which exceptional qualities were required. Theconjugal complement to a Nausicaa must be a man of ponderous presenceand statuesque demeanor--not a shrill and nervous modern like himself, with second-rate physique, and a morbidly active intellect. No, itmattered little what he did or left undone. The world would be nobetter and no worse for anything he could do. Very likely, in the armsof this chair where he was now sitting, a dozen Roman Romeos, inpowdered wigs and silk stockings, had pined for twice that number ofRoman Juliets; and now they were all dust, and the world was moving onexactly as before. And yet in the depth of his being there was a voicewhich protested against this hollow reasoning; he felt to himselfinsincere and hypocritical; he dallied and played with his ownemotions. Every mood carried in itself a sub-consciousness of itstransitoriness. 

The daylight had faded, and the first faint flush of the invisiblemoon was pervading the air. The undulating ridge of the Sabinemountains stood softly denned against the horizon, and here and therea great, flat-topped stone pine was seen looming up along the edgesof the landscape. Cranbrook ate hurriedly the frugal dinner which wasserved him from a neighboring _trattoria_, then lighted a cigar, andwalked out into the garden. He sat for a while on the balustrade ofthe terrace, looking out over the green campagna, over which the moonnow rose large and red, while the towers and domes of the city stood, dark and solemn, in the foreground. The bells of Santa Maria Maggiorewere tolling slowly and pensively, and the sound lingered with longvibrations in the still air. A mighty, shapeless longing, remotelyaroused or intensified by the sound of the bells, shook his soul; andthe glorious sight before him seemed to weigh upon him like anoppressive burden. "Annunciata, " came in heavy, rhythmic pulsesthrough the air; it was impossible not to hear it. The bells weretolling her name: "Annun-ciata, Annun-ciata. " Even the water that wasblown from the Triton's mouth whispered softly, as it fell, "Annunciata, Annunciata. "

Cranbrook was awakened from his reverie by the sound of approachingfootsteps. He turned his head and recognized, by the conspicuousshovel-hat, the old priest who had prophesied such a cheerful futurefor him in the hereafter. And was that not Annunciata who was walkingat his side? Surely, that was her voice; for what voice was there inall the world with such a rich, alluring cadence? And that firm andsplendidly unconscious walk--who, with less than five generations'practice could even remotely imitate it? Beloved Annunciata! Wondrousand glorious Annunciata! In thy humble disguise thou art neverthelessa goddess, and thy majestic simplicity shames the shrill andartificial graces of thy sisters of the so-called good society. Butsurely, child, thou art agitated. Do not waste those magnificentgestures on the aged and callous priest!

"Thou art hard-hearted and cruel, Padre Gregorio!" were the words thatreached Cranbrook's ears. "The Holy Virgin would not allow any one tosuffer forever who is good and kind. How could he help that his fatherand his mother were not of the right faith?"

The padre's answer he could not distinguish; he heard only an eagermurmur and some detached words, from which he concluded that thepriest was expostulating earnestly with her. They passed down the longstaircase into the lower garden, and, though their forms remainedvisible, their voices were soon lost among the whispering leaves andthe plashing waters. Cranbrook followed them steadily with his eyes, and a thrill of ineffable joy rippled through his frame. He had atlast, he thought, the assurance for which he had yearned so long. Presently he saw Annunciata stop, plunge her hands into a side-pocket, and pull out something which he imagined to be a key; then she andthe padre disappeared for a few moments in the gloom of a deep portal, and when Annunciata re-appeared she was alone. She walked rapidly backthrough the garden, without being apparently in the least impressed bythe splendor of the night, mounted the stairs to the terrace, andagain passed within a dozen yards of where Cranbrook was sitting, without observing him. 

"Annunciata, " he called softly, rising to follow her. 

"Signore Giovanni, " she exclaimed wonderingly but without theslightest trace of the emotion which had so recently agitated her. "You should not sit here in the garden so late. The air of the nightis not good for the foreigner. "

"The air is good for me wherever you are, Annunciata, " he answeredwarmly. "Come and walk with me here down the long plane tree avenue. Take my arm. I have much to say to you:

 '* * * In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees, ' etc. 'In such a night, Troilus, methinks, mounter! the Trojan walls, And sighed his soul toward the Grecian tents Where Cressid lay that night. '"

She took the arm which he offered her silently, but with a simpledignity which a princess might have envied her. 

"I cannot stay out long, " she said. "My mother would miss me. "

"I shall not detain you long. I have only a confession to make to you. I was sitting on the _loggia_ this afternoon when Padre Gregorio came, and I heard what you said to him. "

He had expected her to blush or show some sign of embarrassment. Butshe only lifted her calm, clear countenance toward him and said:

"You were kinder and better than all the men I had known, and it gaveme trouble to think that you should be unhappy when you die. ThereforeI asked the padre; but I do not believe any more that the padre isalways right. God is better and wiser than he, and God will find a waywhere a priest would find none. "

There was something inexpressibly touching in the way she utteredthese simple words. Cranbrook, although he was, for reasons of hisown, disappointed at her perfect composure, felt the tears mounting tohis eyes, and his voice shook as he answered:

"I am not afraid of my lot in the next world, Annunciata; and althoughit is kind of you to be troubled about it, I fear you can do nothingto improve it. But my fate in this world I yearn to lay in your hands. I love you very dearly, Annunciata, and all I need to make me what Iaspire to be is to have you give me a little affection in return. What do you say, Annunciata? do you think you could? Would you be mywife, and go with me to my own country and share my life, whatever itmay be. "

"But signore, " she replied, after a moment's deliberation; "my motherwould not like it, and Babetta would cry the whole day long when I wasgone. "

"I am speaking seriously, Annunciata, and you must not evade myquestion. It all depends upon you. "

"No, it also depends upon mother and Babetta. But I know you would begood and kind to me, Signore Giovanni, and you would always treat mewell; for you are a good and kind man. I should like to be your wife, I think, but I do not know whether I should like to go with you acrossthe great sea. "

Cranbrook was hopelessly perplexed, and for an instant even inclinedto question whether she might not be ridiculing him; but a glance ather puzzled face showed him that she was grappling earnestly with thegreat problem, and apparently endeavoring to gain time by uttering thefirst thought that suggested itself to her mind. The gloom of theplane-trees now enveloped them, and only here and there a quiveringray of moonlight pierced through the dense roof of leaves. The marblephantoms of the Cæsars gazed sternly at the daring intruders who hadcome to disturb their centuries' repose, and the Roman senator at theend of the avenue held his outstretched hand toward them, as ifwarning them back from the life that lay beyond the moment's greatresolution. And yet, before the moon had faded out of the sky, thegreat resolution was irrevocably taken. When they parted in the hall, leading up to Cranbrook's room, Annunciata consented with the faintestshow of resistance to being kissed, and she even responded, thoughvaguely and doubtingly, to his vehement caresses. "_Felicissimanotte_, Signore Giovanni, " she murmured, as she slowly disengagedherself from his embrace. "You are a dear, good man, and I will gowith you across the great sea. "

IV. 

Since their first parting, Vincent and Cranbrook had seen little ofeach other. They had met occasionally in the Vatican galleries, in thepalace of the Cæsars, and on the Monte Pincio, and had then stopped toshake hands and to exchange a few friendly inquiries, but Cranbrook, for a reason which he strove hard to embellish, had hitherto refrainedfrom inviting Harry to visit him in his dwelling. The latter had ofcourse noticed this omission, but had attributed it to a verypardonable desire on Jack's part to keep him in ignorance as to thereal state of his finances. "He is probably living in some cheaphovel, " he thought, "and he is too proud to wish me to know it. But heneedn't be afraid of my intruding upon his privacy until he himselfopens his door to me. " Unfortunately for both, Harry was not destinedto carry out this amiable intention. A hostile fate led him toencroach upon his friend's territory when he was least suspecting it. 

It was a sunny day early in February. Antonio Cæsarelli had saddled anuncommonly hoary and wise-looking donkey, named Abraham, and, as washis wont every Saturday, had repaired with it to the Piazza del Fiori, where he sold _broccoli_ and other vegetables of the cabbage species. About noon, Annunciata came to bring him his dinner, and after havingenjoyed for a while the sensation she made among the cabbage-dealers, betook herself on a journey of exploration through the city. Pietro'stale of the miracles performed at the monkey theatre had given alively impetus to her imagination, and being unable to endure anylonger his irritating airs of superior knowledge, she had formed thedaring resolution to put his veracity to the test. She arrived quitebreathless in the Piazza delle Terme, and with much flutter andpalpitation inquired the price of a ticket. The door-keeper paused inhis stentorian address to the multitude that was gathered about him, and informed her that ten soldi would admit her to the enchantedrealm within. Poor Annunciata's countenance fell; she pulled her sevensoldi from her pocket, counted them three or four times deliberatelyin her hand, and cast appealing glances at the stony-hearted Cerberus. At this moment she discovered a handsome young gentleman who, with hiseyes fixed on her face, was elbowing his way through the crowd. 

"Come along, my pretty lass, " he said, in doubtful Italian. "Put thosecoppers in your pocket and let me get your ticket for you. "

Annunciata was well aware that it was a dangerous thing to acceptfavors from unknown gentlemen, but just then her conscience refused toassert itself. Nevertheless, she summoned courage to answer, though ina voice which betrayed inward wavering:

"No, I thank you, signore; I would rather not. "

"Oh, stuff, my child! I won't harm you, and your mother need neverknow. "

He seized her gently by the arm and pointed toward the canvas doorwhich was drawn aside to admit another spectator. A gorgeously attiredmonkey, riding on a poodle, became visible for an instant through theaperture. That was too much for Annunciata's conscience. 

"But really, signore, I ought not!" she murmured, feebly. 

"But we all do so many things that we ought not to do, " answered he, with a brusque laugh. "However, I won't bite you; you needn't beafraid of me. "

And before she knew it he had pushed her in through the door, and shefound herself standing in a large tent, with long circular rows ofbenches which rose ampitheatrically from the arena toward the canvaswalls. It was not quite to her taste that he conducted her to a seatnear the roof, but she did not feel at liberty to remonstrate. She satstaring rigidly at the performances of the poodles and the monkeys, which were, no doubt, very wonderful, but which, somehow, failed toimpress her as such, for she felt all the while that the gentleman ather side was regarding her with unaverted gaze. The thought of SignoreGiovanni shot through her mind, and she feared she should never dareto look into his honest eyes again. Her heart kept hammering againsther side, her blood burned in her cheeks, and she felt guilty andmiserable. And yet she saw, in a sort of blind and unconscious way, that her escort was a very dazzling phenomenon, and in external finishmuch superior to her plain and unassuming lover. Gradually, as sheaccustomed herself to her novel situation, she began to bestow herfurtive admiration upon the various ornaments which he carried abouthis person in the shape of scarf-pin and sleeve-buttons, and she alsofound time to observe that his linen and his handkerchief wereimmaculate and of exceeding fineness. The _tout ensemble_ of hispersonality made the impression of costliness which, to herunsophisticated soul, was synonymous with high birth and an exaltedsocial position. 

"If only Signore Giovanni would dress like that, " she thought, "howmuch more I should love him!"

That was a very disloyal thought, and her conscience immediately smoteher. She arose, thanked her companion tremulously for his kindness, and hastened toward the door. When she was once more under the opensky, she drew a full breath of relief, and then hurried away as if theearth burned under her feet. It was nearly five o'clock when shereached the garden-gate of the villa; she paused for a moment tocollect her thoughts, to arrange her excuses, and to prepare for thescolding which she knew was in store for her. She was just about toturn the key when, to her horror, she saw her unknown companionstepping out of a _fiacre_, and fearlessly approaching her. 

"Surely, child, you didn't imagine you could run away from me in thatstyle, " he said smilingly. "Our acquaintance is not to come to such anuntimely end. You must tell me your name, and, I was going to say, where you live, but that key will relieve you from the latternecessity. But, in order to prove to you that I am an honest fellowand mean no harm to you, here is my card. My name is Henry Vincent, Iam an American, and--and--I should like to meet you again, if you haveno objection. "

Annunciata was now seriously alarmed. 

"Signore, " she faltered, "I am an honest girl, and you must not speakto me thus. "

"By Jove! So am I an honest fellow, and no one need be ashamed of myacquaintance. If you had anything to fear from me, do you suppose Iwould offer you my card, and give you my name? But I _must_ meet youagain; if you don't give me the opportunity, I shall make myopportunity myself, and that might get you into a scrape and beunpleasant for both of us. Well, what do you say?"

The young girl stood for a while pondering. Her first impulse was tocut short the interview by mentioning Cranbrook's name and revealingher own relation to him. She had an idea that Cranbrook was a sort ofnational character and that all Americans must have heard of him. Asecond glance at Vincent's splendid attire, however, turned the scalein his favor. 

"About noon next Saturday, " she said, scarcely audibly, "I shall be inthe Piazza del Fiori. My father will be there, too. "

With a swift movement she tore the garden-gate open, slammed it behindher and ran up the path toward the terrace. 

V. 

March, the very name of which makes a New Englander shiver, is aglorious month in Rome. Then a warmer tone steals into the sky, theclouds become airier and more buoyant in color and outline, and theSabine Mountains display, with the varying moods of the day, tints ofthe most exquisite softness and delicacy. Cranbrook, from his loftyhermitage, had an excellent opportunity to observe this ever-changingpanorama of earth and sky; but it had lost its charm to him. The long, cool vistas between the cloud-banks no more lifted the mind aboveitself, pointing the way into a great and glorious future. A vaguedread was perpetually haunting him; he feared that Annunciata did notlove him as he wished to be loved; that she regretted, perhaps, havingbound herself to him and was not unwilling to break loose from him. But what was life to him without Annunciata? He must bide his time, and by daily kindness teach her to love him. That she was not happymight have other causes, unknown to him. Her vehement self-accusationsand tearful protestations that she was not true to him might be merelythe manifestations of a morbidly sensitive conscience. 

Vincent in the meanwhile had changed his attitude completely towardthe old masters. After his first meeting with Annunciata, his artisticsense had been singularly quickened. He might be seen almost dailywending his way, with a red-covered Baedeker under his arm, to thegate of a certain villa, where he would breathe the musty air of thedeserted gallery for hours together, gaze abstractedly out of thewindows, and sometimes, when he was observed, even make a pretence ofsketching. Usually it was Monna Nina or Pietro who came to open thegate for him on such occasions, but, at rare intervals, it happenedthat Annunciata was sent to be his cicerone. She always met him withfear and trembling, but so irresistible was the fascination which heexerted over her, that he seemed to be able to change her mood atwill. When he greeted her with his lazy smile her heart gave a greatthump, and she laughed responsively, almost in spite of herself. If hescowled, which he was sometimes pleased to do when Monna Nina orPietro had taken her place for several successive days, she lookedapprehensive and inquired about his health. The costly presents ofjewelry which he had given her, she hid guiltily in the most secretdrawer of her chest, and then sat up late into the night and rejoicedand wept over them. 

As for Vincent, it must be admitted that his own infatuation was noless complete. He had a feeling as if some new force had entered hislife and filled it with a great, though dimly apprehended, meaning. His thought had gained a sweep and a width of wing which were aperpetual surprise to him. Not that he reasoned much about if he onlyfelt strong and young and mightily aroused. He had firmly resolved tomake Annunciata his wife, and he was utterly at a loss, and evensecretly irritated at her reluctance to have their relation revealedto her parents. He could brook no obstacle in his march of conquest, and was constantly chafing at the necessity of concealment. He hadfrequently thought of anticipating Annunciata's decision, bypresenting himself to her parents as a Croesus from beyond the sea, who entertained the laudable intention of marrying their fairdaughter; but somehow the character of Cophetua was ridiculouslymelodramatic, and Annunciata, with her imperial air, would have made apoor job of the beggar-maid. 

It was on the tenth of March, 186--, a memorable date in the lives ofthe three persons concerned in this narrative. Cranbrook had justfinished a semi-æsthetic and semi-political letter to a transatlanticjournal, in which he figured twice a month as "our own correspondent. "It was already late in the night; but the excitement of writing hadmade him abnormally wakeful, and knowing that it was of no use to goto bed, he blew out his lamp, lit a cigar and walked out upon the_loggia_. There was a warm and fitful spring wind blowing, and theunceasing rustling of the ilex leaves seemed cool and soothing to hishot and overwrought senses. In the upper strata of the air, a strongergale was chasing dense masses and torn shreds of cloud with a fiercespeed before the lunar crescent; and the broad terrace beyond thetrees was alternately illuminated and plunged in gloom. In one ofthese sudden illuminations, Cranbrook thought he saw a man leaningagainst the marble balustrade; something appeared to be unwindingitself slowly from his arms, and presently there stood a woman at hisside. Then the moon vanished behind a cloud, and all was darkness. Cranbrook began to tremble; a strange numbness stole over him. Hestood for a while motionless, then lifted his hand to his forehead;but he hardly felt its touch; he only felt that it was cold and wet. Several minutes passed; a damp gust of wind swept through thetree-tops and a night-hawk screamed somewhere in the darkness. Presently the moon sailed out into the blue space, and he saw againthe two figures locked in a close embrace. The wind bore toward him adear familiar voice which sounded tender and appealing; his bloodswept like fire through his veins. Hardly knowing what he did, heleaped down the stairs which led from the _loggia_ into the courtrushed through the garden toward the terrace, grappled for a momentwith somebody, thrust against something hard which suddenly yielded, and then fell down--down into a deep and dark abyss. 

When he awoke he felt a pair of cold hands fumbling with hisshirt-collar; trees were all about him and the blue moonlit sky abovehim. He arose, not without difficulty, and recognized Annunciata'sface close to his; she looked frightened and strove to avoid hisglance. 

"The Holy Virgin be praised, Signore Giovanni!" she whispered. "ButSignore Enrico, he seems to be badly hurt. "

He suddenly remembered what had happened; but he could bring forth nosound; he had a choking sensation in his throat and his lips seemednumb and lifeless. He saw Annunciata stooping down over a form thatlay outstretched on the ground, but the sight of her was repulsive tohim and he turned away. 

"Help me, Signore Giovanni, " she begged in a hoarse whisper. "He maybe dead and there is no one to help him. "

Half mechanically he stooped down--gracious heavens! It was Vincent!In an instant all his anger and misery were forgotten. 

"Hurry, Annunciata, " he cried; "run for a doctor. Great God! what haveyou done?"

VI. 

Six weeks later two young Americans were sitting on the deck of theCunarder _Siberia_, which had that morning left the Queenstown harbor. 

"Jack, " said the one, laying his hand on the other's shoulder in a waythat expressed an untold amount of friendliness, "I don't think it isgood policy to keep silence any longer. I know I have committed mymonumental piece of folly, as you prophesied, but I need hardly tellyou, Jack, that I didn't know at the time what--what I know now, " hefinished, hurriedly. 

"I never doubted that, Harry, " answered the other with a certainsolemn impressiveness. "But don't let us talk. I have not reached thestage yet when I can mention her name without a pang; and I fear--Ifear I never shall. "

They sat for a long while smoking in silence and gazing pensivelytoward the dim coast-line of Europe, which was gradually fading awayupon the eastern horizon. 

"Jack, " began Vincent abruptly, "I feel as if I had passed through asevere illness. "

"So you have, Harry, " retorted Cranbrook. 

"Oh, pshaw! I don't mean that. That little physical suffering wasnothing more than I deserved. But a fever, they say, sometimespurifies the blood, and mine, I think, has left me a cleaner and awiser fellow than it found me. "

The steamer kept ploughing its broad pathway of foam through thebillows; a huge cloud of fantastic shape loomed up in the east, andthe vanishing land blended with and melted away among its fleecyembankments. 

"Are you perfectly sure, Jack, " said Vincent, throwing the burningstump of his cigar over the gunwale, "that the experiences of the pastyear have not been all an excursion into the 'Arabian Nights'? If itwere not for that fine marble relief in my trunk which I bought ofthat miserable buffoon in the Via Sistina, I should easily persuademyself that the actual world were bounded on the east by the Atlanticand on the west by the Pacific Ocean. I was just considering whether Ishould try to smuggle it through the custom-house, or whether, perhaps, it would be wiser to give Uncle Sam his due. "

"And what does the relief represent?" asked Cranbrook, halfindifferently. 

"It is a copy from an antique one. Agamemnon robbing Achilles ofhis--"

Cranbrook gave a start, and walked rapidly toward the other end of theboat. In half an hour he returned, stopped in front of Vincent, grasped his hand warmly and said:

"Harry, let us agree never to refer to that which is passed. In yourlife it was an episode, in mine it was a catastrophe. "

Since that day, Annunciata's name has never passed their lips. 

There is, however, an epilogue to this tale which cannot well be leftuntold. In the winter of 187-, ten years after their first Italiansojourn, the two friends again visited Rome together. One beautifulday in February, they found themselves, perhaps not quite by accident, in the neighborhood of the well-remembered villa. They rang the bellat the garden gate and were admitted by a robust young man who seemedto be lounging among the overgrown hedges in some official capacity. The mossy Triton was still prosecuting his thankless task in the midstof his marble basin; the long stairs to the terrace were yet as dampand slippery as of old, and the noseless Roman senator was stillpersevering in his majestic attitude, although a sprig of maiden-hairwas supporting its slender existence in the recess of his countenancewhich had once been occupied by his stately nose. Vincent andCranbrook both regarded these familiar objects with peculiar emotions, but faithful to their agreement, they made no comment. At last theystopped before the sarcophagus--and verily Babetta was still there. Aclean and chubby-faced Italian baby with large black eyes rose out ofits marble depth and hailed them with simple, inarticulate delight. Cranbrook gazed long at the child, then lifted it up in his arms andkissed it. The young man who had opened the gate for them stood byobserving the scene with a doubtful expression of suspicion andwonder. As the stranger again deposited the child on the blanket inthe bottom of the sarcophagus, he stepped up before the door andcalled:

"Annunciata!"

A tall, comely matron appeared in the door--and the strangers hastenedaway. 

UNDER THE GLACIER. 

I. 

In one of the deepest fjord-valleys on the western coast of Norwaythere lives, even to this day, a legend which may be worth relating. Several hundred years ago, a peasant dwelt there in the parish who hadtwo sons, both born on the same day. During their infancy they lookedso much alike that even the father himself could not always tell onefrom the other; and as the mother had died soon after their birth, there was no one to settle the question of primogeniture. At last thefather, too, died, and each son, feeling sure that he was the elder, laid claim to the farm. For well nigh a year they kept wrangling andfighting, each threatening to burn the house over the other's head ifhe dared to take possession of it. The matter was finally adjusted bythe opportune intervention of a neighbor who stood in high repute forwisdom. At his suggestion, they should each plant side by side a twigor sprout of some tree or herb, and he to whose plant God gave growthshould be the owner of the farm. This advice was accepted; for God, both thought, was a safer arbiter than man. One of the brothers, Arne, chose a fern (_Ormgrass_), and the other, Ulf, a sweet-brier. A weeklater, they went with the wise man and two other neighbors to theremote pasture at the edge of the glacier where, by common consent, they had made their appeal to the judgment of heaven. Arne's fernstood waving in dewy freshness in the morning breeze; but Ulf'ssweet-brier lay prostrate upon the ground, as if uprooted by somehostile hand. The eyes of the brothers met in a long, ill-bodingglance. 

"This is not heaven's judgment, " muttered Ulf, under his breath. "Methinks I know the hand that has wrought this dastardly deed. "

The umpires, unmindful of the charge, examined the uprooted twig, anddecided that some wild animal must have trodden upon it. Accordinglythey awarded the farm to Arne. Then swifter than thought Ulf's knifeflew from its sheath; Arne turned pale as death and quivered like anaspen leaf. The umpires rushed forward to shield him. There was amoment of breathless suspense. Then Ulf with a wild shout hurled hisknife away, and leaped over the brink of the precipice down into theicy gulf below. A remote hollow rumbling rose from the abyss, followedby a deeper stillness. The men peered out over the edge of the rock;the glacier lay vast and serene, with its cold, glittering surfaceglaring against the sky, and a thousand minute rivulets filled the airwith their melodious tinkling. 

"God be his judge and yours, " said the men to Arne, and hastened away. 

From that day Arne received the surname Ormgrass (literally Wormgrass, Fern), and his farm was called the Ormgrass farm. And the name hasclung to his descendants until this day. Somehow, since the death ofUlf, the family had never been well liked, and in their proudseclusion, up under the eternal ice-fields, they sought theirneighbors even less than they were themselves sought. They were indeeda remarkably handsome race, of a light build, with well-knit frames, and with a touch of that wild grace which makes a beast of prey seembeautiful and dangerous. 

In the beginning of the present century Arne's grandson, GudmundOrmgrass, was the bearer of the family name and the possessor of theestate. As ill luck would have it, his two sons, Arne and Tharald, both wooed the same maiden, --the fairest and proudest maiden in allthe parish. After long wavering she at last was betrothed to Arne, assome thought, because he, being the elder, was the heir to the farm. But in less than a year, some two weeks before the wedding was to be, she bore a child; and Arne was not its father. 

That same night the brothers met in an evil hour; from words theycame to blows, knives were drawn, and after midnight Tharald wascarried up to the farm with a deep wound in his shoulder and quiteunconscious. He hovered for a week on the brink of death; then thewound began to heal and he recovered rapidly. Arne was nowhere to befound; rumor reported that he had been seen the day after the affray, on board a brig bound for Hull with lumber. At the end of a yearTharald married his brother's bride and took possession of the farm. 

II. 

One morning in the early summer of 1868, some thirty-five years afterthe events just related, the fjord valley under the glacier wasstartled by three shrill shrieks from the passing steamer, the usualsignal that a boat was wanted to land some stray passenger. A coupleof boats were pushed out from the beach, and half a dozen men, withred-peaked caps and a certain picturesque nonchalance in their attire, scrambled into them and soon surrounded the gangway of the steamer. First some large trunks and boxes were lowered, showing that thepassenger, whoever he might be, was a person of distinction, --animpression which was still further confirmed by the appearance of atall, dark-skinned man, followed by a woolly-headed creature of atruly Satanic complexion, who created a profound sensation among theboatmen. Then the steamer shrieked once more, the echoes began aprolonged game of hide-and-seek among the snow-hooded peaks, and theboats slowly ploughed their way over the luminous mirror of fjord. 

"Is there any farm here, where my servant and myself can find lodgingsfor the summer?" said the traveller, turning to a young peasant lad. "I should prefer to be as near to the glacier as possible. "

He spoke Norwegian, with a strong foreign accent, but neverthelesswith a correct and distinct enunciation. 

"My father, Tharald Ormgrass, lives close up to the ice-field, "answered the lad. "I shouldn't wonder if he would take you, if youwill put up with our way of living. "

"Will you accompany me to your father's house?"

"Yes, I guess I can do that. " (_Ja, jeg kan nok det_. )

The lad, without waiting for further summons, trotted ahead, and thetraveller with his black servant followed. 

Maurice Fern (for that was the stranger's name) was, as alreadyhinted, a tall, dark-complexioned man, as yet slightly on the sunnyside of thirty, with a straight nose, firm, shapely mouth, which wasneither sensual nor over-sensitive, and a pair of clear dark-browneyes, in which there was a gleam of fervor, showing that he was notaltogether incapable of enthusiasm. But for all that, the totalimpression of his personality was one of clear-headed decision andcalm energy. He was a man of an absorbing presence, one whom you wouldhave instinctively noticed even in a crowd. He bore himself with thatunconscious grace which people are apt to call aristocratic, beingapparently never encumbered by any superfluity of arms and legs. Hisfeatures, whatever their ethnological value might be, were, at allevents, decidedly handsome; but if they were typical of anything, theytold unmistakably that their possessor was a man of culture. Theyshowed none of that barbaric frankness which, like a manufacturer'slabel, flaunts in the face of all humanity the history of one'sorigin, race, and nationality. Culture is hostile to type; ithumanizes the ferocious jaw-bones of the Celt, blanches the ruddylustre of the Anglo-Saxon complexion, contracts the abdominal volumeof the Teuton, and subdues the extravagant angularities of BrotherJonathan's stature and character. Although respecting thisphysiognomic reticence on the part of Mr. Fern, we dare not leave thereader in ignorance regarding the circumstances of which he was theunconscious result. 

After his flight from Norway, Arne Ormgrass had roamed about forseveral months as "a wanderer and a vagabond upon the earth, " until, finally, he settled down in New Orleans, where he entered intopartnership with a thrifty young Swede, and established a hotel, knownas the "Sailors' Valhalla. " Fortune favored him: his reckless daring, his ready tongue, and, above all, his extraordinary beauty soon gainedhim an enviable reputation. Money became abundant, the hotel was torndown and rebuilt with the usual barbaric display of mirrors andupholstery, and the landlords began to aspire for guests of a higherdegree. Then, one fine day, a young lady, with a long French name andaristocratic antecedents, fell in love with Arne, not coolly andprudently, as northern damsels do, but with wildly tragicgesticulations and a declamatory ardor that were superb to behold. Tothe Norseman, however, a passion of this degree of intensity was toonovel to be altogether pleasing; he felt awed and bewildered, --standing, as he did, for the first time in his life in the presence of averitable mystery. By some chance their clandestine meetings werediscovered. The lady's brother shot at Arne, who returned the shot withbetter effect; then followed elopement--marriage--return to thebosom of the family, and a final grand tableau with parental blessingand reconciliation. 

From that time forth, Arne Fern, as he was called (his Norse namehaving simply been translated into English), was a man of distinction. After the death of his father-in-law, in 1859, he sold his Louisianaproperty and emigrated with his wife and three children to SanFrancisco, where by successful real-estate investments he greatlyincreased his wealth. His eldest son, Maurice, was, at his ownrequest, sent to the Eastern States, where educational advantages weregreater; he entered, in due time, one of the best and oldestuniversities, and, to the great disappointment of his father, contracted a violent enthusiasm for natural science. Being convinced, however, that remonstrance was vain, the old gentleman graduallylearned to look with a certain vague respect upon his son'senigmatical pursuits, and at last surprised the latter by "coming downquite handsomely" when funds were required for a geological excursionto Norway. 

III. 

A scientific enthusiasm is one of the most uncomfortable things ahuman bosom can harbor. It may be the source of a good deal of privatesatisfaction to the devotee, but it makes him, in his own estimation, superior to all the minor claims of society. This was, at least in aneminent degree, the case with Maurice Fern. He was not wilfullyregardless of other people's comfort; he seemed rather to beunconscious of their existence, except in a dim, general way, as a manwho gazes intently at a strong light will gradually lose sight of allsurrounding objects. And for all that, he was, by nature, a generousman; in his unscientific moments, when his mind was, as it were, offduty, he was capable of very unselfish deeds, and even of sublimeself-sacrifice. It was only a few weeks since he had given his plaidto a shivering old woman in the Scottish stage-coach, and caught asevere cold in consequence; but he had bestowed his charity in areserved, matter-of-fact way which made the act appear utterlycommonplace and unheroic. He found it less troublesome to shiver thanto be compelled to see some one else shivering, and his generositythus assumed the appearance of a deliberate choice between two evils. 

Phenomena of this degree of complexity are extremely rare in Norway, where human nature, as everything else, is of the large-lettered, easily legible type; and even Tharald Ormgrass, who, in spite of hisgood opinion of himself, was not an acute observer, had a lively senseof the foreignness of the guest whom, for pecuniary reasons, he hadconsented to lodge during the remainder of the summer. 

A large, quaint, low-ceiled chamber on the second floor, with asuperfluity of tiny greenish window-panes, was assigned to thestranger, and his African servant, Jake, was installed in a smalleradjoining apartment. The day after his arrival Maurice spent inunpacking and polishing his precious instruments, which, in theincongruous setting of rough-hewn timbers and gaily painted Norsefurniture, looked almost fantastic. The maid who brought him his meals(for he could waste no time in dining with the family) walked about ontip-toe, as if she were in a sick-chamber, and occasionally stopped togaze at him with mingled curiosity and awe. 

The Ormgrass farm consisted of a long, bleak stretch of hill-side, inpart overgrown with sweet-brier and juniper, and covered with large, lichen-painted bowlders. Here and there was a patch of hardy winterwheat, and at odd intervals a piece of brownish meadow. At the top ofthe slope you could see the huge shining ridge of the glacier, loomingin threatening silence against the sky. Leaning, as it did, with adecided impulse to the westward, it was difficult to resist theimpression that it had braced itself against the opposite mountain, and thrown its whole enormous weight against the Ormgrass hills forthe purpose of forcing a passage down to the farm. To Maurice, atleast, this idea suggested itself with considerable vividness as, onthe second day after his arrival, he had his first complete view ofthe glacier. He had approached it, not from below, but from thewestern side, at the only point where ascent was possible. The vastexpanse of the ice lay in cold, ghastly shade; for the sun, which wasbarely felt as a remote presence in the upper air, had not yet reachedthe depths of the valley. A silence as of death reigned everywhere; itfloated up from the dim blue crevasses, it filled the air, it vibratedon the senses as with a vague endeavor to be heard. Jake, carrying abarometer, a surveyor's transit, and a multitude of smallerinstruments, followed cautiously in his master's footsteps, and ayoung lad, Tharald Ormgrass's son, who had been engaged as a guide, ran nimbly over the glazed surface, at every step thrusting hissteel-shod heels vindictively into the ice. But it would be futile forone of the uninitiated to attempt to follow Maurice in his scientificinvestigations; on such occasions he would have been extremelyuninteresting to outside humanity, simply because outside humanity wasthe last thing he would have thought worth troubling himself about. And still his unremitting zeal in the pursuit of his aim, and his coolself-possession in the presence of danger, were not without asublimity of their own; and the lustrous intensity of his vision ashe grasped some new fact corroborative of some favorite theory, mightwell have stirred a sympathetic interest even in a mind ofunscientific proclivities. 

An hour after noon the three wanderers returned from their wintryexcursion, Maurice calm and radiant, the ebony-faced Jake sore-footedand morose, and young Gudmund, the guide, with that stanch neutralityof countenance which with boys passes for dignity. The sun was nowwell in sight, and the silence of the glacier was broken. A thousandtiny rills, now gathering into miniature cataracts, now againscattering through a net-work of small, bluish channels, mingled theirmelodious voices into a hushed symphony, suggestive of fairy bells andelf-maidens dancing in the cool dusk of the arctic midsummer night. 

Fern, with an air of profound preoccupation, seated himself on a ledgeof rock at the border of the ice, took out his note-book and began towrite. 

"Jake, " he said, without looking up, "be good enough to get us somedinner. "

"We have nothing except some bread and butter, and some meat extract, "answered the servant, demurely. 

"That will be quite sufficient. You will find my pocket-stove and abottle of alcohol in my valise. "

Jake grumblingly obeyed; he only approved of science in so far as itwas reconcilable with substantial feeding. He placed the lamp upon ahuge bowlder (whose black sides were here and there enlivened withpatches of buff and scarlet lichen), filled the basin with water fromthe glacier, and then lighted the wick. There was somethingobtrusively incongruous in seeing this fragile contrivance, indicatingso many complicated wants, placed here among all the wild strength ofprimitive nature; it was like beholding the glacial age confrontedwith the nineteenth century. 

At this moment Fern was interrupted in his scientific meditations by aloud scream of terror, and lifting his eyes, he saw a picturesquecombination of yellow, black, and scarlet (in its general outlineresembling a girl), fleeing with desperate speed up the narrow pathalong the glacier. The same glance also revealed to him twored-painted wooden pails dancing down over the jagged bowlders, andjust about to make a final leap down upon the ice, when two determinedkicks from his foot arrested them. Feeling somewhat solicitous aboutthe girl, and unable to account for her fright, he hurried up thepath; there she was again, still running, her yellow hair flutteringwildly about her head. He put his hands to his mouth and shouted. Theechoes floated away over the desolate ice-hills, growing ever colderand feebler, like some abstract sound, deprived of its human quality. The girl, glancing back over her shoulder, showed a fair face, convulsed with agitation, paused for an instant to look again, andthen dropped upon a stone in a state of utter collapse. One momentmore and he was at her side. She was lying with her face downward, herblue eyes distended with fright, and her hands clutching some tufts ofmoss which she had unconsciously torn from the sides of the stone. 

"My dear child, " he said, stooping down over her (there was alwayssomething fatherly in his manner toward those who were suffering), "what is it that has frightened you so? It is surely not I you areafraid of?"

The girl moved her head slightly, and her lips parted as with aneffort to speak; but no sound came. 

Fern seized her hand, and put his forefinger on her pulse. 

"By Jove, child, " he exclaimed, "how you have been running!"

There was to him something very pathetic in this silent resignation ofterror. All the tenderness of his nature was stirred; for, like manyanother undemonstrative person, he hid beneath a horny epidermis ofapathy some deep-hued, warm-blooded qualities. 

"There now, " he continued, soothingly; "you will feel better in amoment. Remember there is nothing to be afraid of. There is nobodyhere who will do you any harm. "

The young girl braced herself up on her elbow, and threw an anxiousglance down the path. 

"It surely was the devil, " she whispered, turning with a look of shyappeal toward her protector. 

"The devil? Who was the devil?"

"He was all black, and he grinned at me so horribly;" and she trembledanew at the very thought. 

"Don't be a little goose, " retorted he, laughing. "It was a far lessimportant personage. It was my servant, Jake. And it was God who madehim black, just for the sake of variety, you know. It would be rathermonotonous to have everybody as white as you and me. "

She attempted to smile, feeling that it was expected of her; but theresult was hardly proportionate to the effort. Her features were notof that type which lends itself easily to disguises. A simple maidenlysoul, if the whole infinite variety of human masks had been at itsdisposal, would have chosen just such a countenance as this as itscomplete expression. There was nothing striking in it, unless anentirely faultless combination of softly curving lines and freshflesh-tints be rare enough to merit that appellation; nor would anyone but a cynic have called it a commonplace face, for the absolutesweetness and purity which these simple lines and tints expressedappealed directly to that part of one's nature where no harshadjectives dwell. It was a feeling of this kind which suddenlychecked Fern in the scientific meditation he was about to indulge, andspoiled the profound but uncharitable result at which he had alreadyhalf arrived. A young man who could extract scientific informationfrom the features of a beautiful girl could hardly be called human;and our hero with all his enthusiasm for abstract things, was as yetnot exalted above the laws which govern his species. 

The girl had, under his kindly ministry, recovered her breath and herspirits. She had risen, brushed the moss and loose earth from herdress, and was about to proceed on her way. 

"I thank you, " she said simply, reaching him her hand in Norsefashion. "You have been very good to me. "

"Not at all, " he answered, shaking her hand heartily. "And now, wouldn't you please tell me your name?"

"Elsie Tharald's daughter Ormgrass. "

"Ah, indeed! Then we shall soon be better acquainted. I am living atyour father's house. "

IV. 

Two weeks had passed since Maurice's arrival at the farm. Elsie wassitting on the topmost step of the store-house stairs, intent uponsome kind of coarse knitting-work, whose bag-like convexity remotelysuggested a stocking. Some straggling rays of the late afternoon sunhad got tangled in the loose locks on her forehead, which shone with agolden translucence. At the foot of the stairs stood her father, polishing with a woollen rag the tarnished silver of an ancientharness. At this moment Fern was seen entering the yard at theopposite side, and with his usual brisk step approaching thestore-house. Elsie, looking up from her knitting, saw at once thatthere was something unusual in his manner--something which in anotherman you might have called agitation, but which with him was but anintenser degree of self-command. 

"Good-evening, " he said, as he stopped in front of her father. "I havesomething I wish to speak with you about. "

"Speak on, young man, " answered Tharald, rubbing away imperturbably atone of the blinders. "Elsie isn't likely to blab, even if what you sayis worth blabbing. "

"It is a more serious affair than you think, " continued Fern, thrusting his peaked staff deep into the sod. "If the glacier goes onadvancing at this rate, your farm is doomed within a year. "

The old peasant raised his grizzly head, scratched with provokingdeliberation the fringe of beard which lined his face like a frame, and stared with a look of supercilious scorn at his informant. 

"If our fare don't suit you, " he growled, "you needn't stay. Weshan't try to keep you. "

"I had no thought of myself, " retorted Fern, calmly; for he had bythis time grown somewhat accustomed to his host's disagreeable ways. "You will no doubt have observed that the glacier has, within the lastthirty years, sent out a new branch to the westward, and if thisbranch continues to progress at its present rate, nothing short of amiracle can save you. During the first week after my arrival itadvanced fifteen feet, as I have ascertained by accurate measurements, and during the last seven days it has shot forward nineteen feet more. If next winter should bring a heavy fall of snow, the nether edge maybreak off, without the slightest warning, and an avalanche may sweepdown upon you, carrying houses, barns, and the very soil down into thefjord. I sincerely hope that you will heed my words, and take yourprecautions while it is yet time. Science is not to be trifled with;it has a power of prophecy surer than that of Ezekiel or Daniel. "

"The devil take both you and your science!" cried the old man, nowthoroughly aroused. "If you hadn't been poking about up there, anddigging your sneezing-horn in everywhere, the glacier would have keptquiet, as it has done before, as far back as man's memory goes. I knewat once that mischief was brewing when you and your black Satan camehere with your pocket-furnaces, and your long-legged gazing-tubes, andall the rest of your new-fangled deviltry. If you don't hurry up andget out of my house this very day, I will whip you off the farm like adog. "

Tharald would probably have continued this pleasing harangue for anindefinite period (for excitement acted as a powerful stimulus to hisimagination), had he not just then felt the grasp of a hand upon hisarm, and seen a pair of blue eyes, full of tearful appeal, raised tohis. 

"Get away, daughter, " he grumbled, with that shade of gruffness whichis but the transition to absolute surrender. "I am not talking toyou. "

"Oh, father, " cried the girl, still clinging to his arm, "it is verywrong in you to talk to him in that way. You know very well that hewould never do us any harm. You know he cannot move anything as largeas the glacier. "

"The devil only knows what he can't do, " muttered Tharald, with alittle explosive grunt, which might be interpreted as a qualifiedconcession. The fact was, he was rather ashamed of his senselessviolence, but did not feel it to be consistent with his dignity toadmit unconditionally that he had been in the wrong. 

"These learned chaps are not to be trusted, child, " he went on, in atone of serious remonstrance. "It isn't safe to have one of themfellows running about loose. I heard of one up in the West Parishlast summer, who was staying with Lars Norby. He was running aboutwith a bag and a hammer, and poking his nose into every nook andcranny of the rocks. And all the while he stayed there, the devil ranriot on the farm. Three cows slinked, the bay mare followed suit, andthe chickens took the cramps, and died as fast as they were hatched. There was no luck in anything. I tell you, my lass, the Almightydoesn't like to have anybody peeping into His hand, and telling Himwhen to trump and when to throw a low card. That is the long and shortof it. If we don't ship this fellow, smooth-faced and nice as he maybe, we shall have a run of bad luck here, such as you never saw thelike of before. "

In the meanwhile, Maurice, not wishing to overhear the conversation, had entered the house, and father and daughter were left to continuetheir parley in private. There was really, as Elsie thought, someplausibility in the old man's prognostications, and the situationbegan to assume a very puzzling aspect to her mind. She admitted thatscientists, viewed as a genus, were objectionable; but insisted thatFern, to whose personal charms she was keenly alive, was an exceptionto the rule. She felt confident that so good a man as he could neverhave tried to pry into the secrets of God Almighty. Tharald yieldedgrumblingly, inch by inch, and thus saved his dignity, although hisdaughter, in the end, prevailed. She obtained his permission torequest the guest to remain, and not interpret too literally therather hasty words he had used. Thus a compromise was effected. Fernsuspended his packing, and resumed his objectionable attitude towardthe mysteries of creation. 

About a week after this occurrence, Maurice was walking along thebeach, watching some peasant lads who were spearing trout in a brooknear by. The sun had just dipped below the western mountain peaks, anda cool, bluish twilight, which seemed the essence of atmosphericpurity, purged of all accessory effects, filled the broad, placidvalley, and made it a luxury to breathe. The torches of the fishermenflitted back and forth between the slender stems of the birches, andnow and then sent up a great glare of light among the foliage, whichshone with a ghostly grayish green. The majestic repose of this scenesank deeply into Fern's mind; dim yearnings awoke in him, and astrange sense of kinship with these mountains, fjords, and glaciersrose from some unknown depth of his soul. He seemed suddenly to lovethem. Whenever he thought of Norway in later years, the impression ofthis night revived within him. After a long ramble over the sand, hechanced upon a low, turf-thatched cottage lying quite apart from theinhabited districts of the valley. The sheen of the fire upon thehearth-stone fell through the open door and out upon the white beach, and illuminated faintly the middle portion of a long fishing-net, which was suspended on stakes, for drying. Feeling a little tired, heseated himself on a log near the door, and gazed out upon the gleamingglaciers in the distance. 

While he was sitting thus, he was startled at the sound of a voice, deep, distinct, and sepulchral, which seemed to proceed from withinthe cottage. 

"I see a book sealed with seven seals, " the voice was saying. "Two ofthem are already broken, and when the third shall be broken--then itis all black--a great calamity will happen. "

"Pray don't say that, Gurid, " prayed another voice, with a touching, child-like appeal in it (and he instantly recognized it as Elsie's). "God is so very strong, you know, and He can certainly wipe away thatblack spot, and make it all bright again. And I don't know that I havedone anything very wrong of late; and father, I know, is really verygood, too, even if he does say some hard things at times. But hedoesn't mean anything by it--and I am sure--"

"Be silent, child!" interrupted the first voice. "Thou dost notunderstand, and it is well for thee that thou dost not. For it iswritten, 'He shall visit the sins of the fathers upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation. '"

"How terrible!"

"Hush! Now I see a man--he is tall and beautiful--has dark hair andrather a dark face. "

"Pray don't say anything more. I don't want to know. Is he to breakthe seals?"

"Then there is water--water--a long, long journey. "

Maurice had listened to this conversation with feelings of mingledamusement and pity, very much as he would have listened to a duet, representing the usual mixture of gypsy and misguided innocence, in anold-fashioned opera. That he was playing the eavesdropper had neverentered his mind. The scene seemed too utterly remote and unreal tocome within the pale of moral canons. But suddenly the aspect ofaffairs underwent a revolution, as if the misguided young lady in theopera had turned out to be his sister, and he himself under obligationto interfere in her behalf. For at that moment there came an intense, hurried whisper, to which he would fain have closed his ears:

"And does he care for me as I do for him?"

He sprang up, his ears tingling with shame, and hurried down thebeach. Presently it occurred to him, however, that it was not quitechivalrous in him to leave little Elsie there alone with thedark-minded sibyl. Who knew but that she might need his help? Hepaused, and was about to retrace his steps, when he heard some oneapproaching, whom he instinctively knew to be Elsie. As she camenearer, the moon, which hung transfixed upon the flaming spear of aglacier peak, revealed a distressed little face, through whosetransparent surface you might watch the play of emotions within, asone watches the doings of tiny insects and fishes in an aquarium. 

"What have they been doing to my little girl?" asked Fern, with avoice full of paternal tenderness. "She has been crying, poor littlething. "

He may have been imprudent in addressing a girl of seventeen in thistender fashion; but the truth was, her short skirts and the two longbraids of yellow hair were in his mind associated with that age towardwhich you may, without offence, assume the rôle of a well-meaningprotector, and where even a kiss need not necessarily be resented. Sofar from feeling flattered by the unwished-for recollection of Elsie'sfeeling for him, he was rather disposed to view it as a pathologicalphenomenon, --as a sort of malady, of which he would like to cure her. It is not to be denied, however, that if this was his intention, thecourse he was about to pursue was open to criticism. But it must beborne in mind that Fern was no expert on questions of theheart, --that he had had no blighting experiences yielding him anunwholesome harvest of premature wisdom. 

For a long while they walked on in silence, holding each other's handslike two children, and the sound of their footsteps upon the crisp, crunching sand was singularly exaggerated by the great stillnessaround them. 

"And whom is it you have been visiting so late in the night, Elsie?"he asked, at last, glancing furtively into her face. 

"Hush, you mustn't talk about her, " answered she, in a timid whisper. "It was Gurid Sibyl, and she knows a great many things which nobodyelse knows except God. "

"I am sorry you have resort to such impostors. You know the Bible saysit is wrong to consult sibyls and fortune-tellers. "

"No, I didn't know it. But you mustn't speak ill of her, or she willsow disease in your blood and you will never see another healthy day. She did that to Nils Saetren because he mocked her, and he has been acripple ever since. "

"Pshaw, I am not afraid of her. She may frighten children--"

"Hush! Oh, don't!" cried the girl, in tones of distress, laying herhand gently over his mouth. "I wouldn't for the world have anythingevil happen to you. "

"Well well, you foolish child, " he answered, laughing. "If it grievesyou, I will say nothing more about it. But I must disapprove of yoursuperstition all the same. "

"Oh, no; don't think ill of me, " she begged piteously, her eyesfilling with tears. 

"No no, I will not. Only don't cry. It always makes me feel awkward tosee a woman cry. "

She brushed her tears away and put on a resolute little pout, whichwas meant to be resigned if not cheerful. 

Fifteen minutes later they were standing at the foot of the stairsleading up to his room. The large house was dark and silent. Everybodywas asleep. Thinking the opportunity favorable for giving her a bit ofparting advice, Maurice seized hold of both her arms and looked hergravely in the eyes. She, however, misinterpreting the gesture, veryinnocently put up her lips, thinking that he intended to kiss her. Thesweet, child-like trustfulness of the act touched him; hardly knowingwhat he did, he stooped over her and kissed her. As their eyes againmet, a deep, radiant contentment shone from her countenance. It wasnot a mere momentary brightening of the features, such as he had oftennoticed in her before, but something inexpressibly tender, soul-felt, and absolute. It was as if that kiss had suddenly transformed thechild into a woman. 

V. 

Summer hurried on at a rapid pace, the days grew perceptibly shorter, and the birds of passage gathered in large companies on the beach andon the hill-tops, holding noisy consultations to prepare for theirlong southward journey. Maurice still stayed on at the Ormgrass Farm, but a strange, feverish mood had come over him. He daily measured thedownward progress of the glacier in agitated expectancy, although as ascientific experiment it had long ceased to yield him anysatisfaction. That huge congealed residue of ten thousand winters had, however, acquired a human interest to him which it had lacked before;what he had lost as a scientist he had gained as a man. For, with allrespect for Science, that monumental virgin at whose feet so manycherished human illusions have already been sacrificed, it is not tobe denied that from an unprofessional point of view a warm-blooded, fair-faced little creature like Elsie is a worthier object of abachelor's homage. And, strive as he would, Maurice could never quiterid himself of the impression that the glacier harbored in its snowybosom some fell design against Elsie's peace and safety. It is evenpossible that he never would have discovered the real nature of hisfeelings for her if it had not been for this constant fear that shemight any moment be Snatched away from him. 

It was a novel experience in a life like his, so lonely amid its cold, abstract aspirations, to have this warm, maidenly spring-breathinvading those chambers of his soul, hitherto occupied by shiveringcalculations regarding the duration and remoteness of the ice age. Thewarmer strata of feeling which had long lain slumbering beneath thisvast superstructure of glacial learning began to break their way tothe light, and startled him very much as the earth must have beenstartled when the first patch of green sod broke into view, steamingunder the hot rays of the noonday sun. Abstractly considered, thething seemed preposterous enough for the plot of a dime novel, whilein the light of her sweet presence the development of his love seemedas logical as an algebraic problem. At all events, the result was inboth cases equally inexorable. It was useless to argue that she washis inferior in culture and social accomplishments; she was stillyoung and flexible, and displayed an aptness for seizing upon hisideas and assimilating them which was fairly bewildering. And ifpurity of soul and loving singleness of purpose be a proof of nobleblood, she was surely one of nature's noblewomen. 

In the course of the summer, Fern had made several attempts toconvince old Tharald that the glacier was actually advancing. Hewillingly admitted that there was a possibility that it might changeits mind and begin to recede before any mischief was done, but he heldit to be very hazardous to stake one's life on so slim a chance. Theold man, however, remained impervious to argument, although he nolonger lost his temper when the subject was broached. His ancestorshad lived there on the farm century after century, he said, and theglacier had done them no harm. He didn't see why he should be treatedany worse by the Almighty than they had been; he had always acted withtolerable fairness toward everybody, and had nothing to blame himselffor. 

It was perhaps the third time when Tharald had thus protested hisblamelessness, that his guest, feeling that reasoning was unavailing, let drop some rather commonplace remark about the culpability of allmen before God. 

Tharald suddenly flared up, and brought down his fist with a blow onthe table. 

"Somebody has been bearing tales to you, young man, " he cried. "Haveyou been listening to parish talk?"

"That matters little, " answered Fern, coolly. "No one is so blamelessthat he can claim exemption from misfortune as his just desert. "

"Aha, so they have told you that the farm is not mine, " continued hishost, while his gray eyes glimmered uneasily under his bushy brows. "They have told you that silly nursery tale of the planting of thefern and the sweet-brier, and of Ulf, who sought his death in theglacier. They have told you that I stole the bride of my brother Arne, and that he fled from me over the sea, --and you have believed it all. "

At the sound of the name Arne, a flash darted through Maurice's mind;he sprang up, stood for a moment tottering, and then fell back intothe chair. Dim memories of his childhood rose up within him; heremembered how his father, who was otherwise so brave and frank andstrong, had recoiled from speaking of that part of his life whichpreceded his coming to the New World. And now, he grasped withintuitive eagerness at this straw, but felt still a vague fear ofpenetrating into the secret which his father had wished to hide fromhim. He raised his head slowly, and saw Tharald's face contracted intoan angry scowl and his eyes staring grimly at him. 

"Well, does the devil ride you?" he burst forth, with his explosivegrunt. 

Maurice brushed his hand over his face as if to clear his vision, andreturned Tharald's stare with frank fearlessness. There was no denyingthat in this wrinkled, roughly hewn mask there were lines andsuggestions which recalled the free and noble mold of his father'sfeatures. It was a coincidence of physiognomic intentions rather thanactual resemblance--or a resemblance, such as might exist between aVandyck portrait and the same face portrayed by some bungling villageartist. 

The old man, too, was evidently seeing visions; for he presently beganto wince under Maurice's steady gaze, and some troubled memory dweltin his eye as he rose, and took to sauntering distractedly about onthe floor. 

"How long is it since your brother Arne fled over the sea?" askedMaurice, firmly. 

"How does that concern you?"

"It does concern me, and I wish to know. "

Tharald paused in his walk, and stood long, measuring his antagonistwith a look of slow, pondering defiance. Then he tossed his head backwith a grim laugh, walked toward a carved oaken press in a corner, took out a ponderous Bible, and flung it down on the table. 

"I am beginning to see through your game, " he said gruffly. "Here isthe family record. Look into it at your leisure. And if you are right, let me know. But don't you tell me that that scare about the glacierwasn't all humbug. If it is your right of entail you want to look up, I sha'n't stand in your way. "

Thereupon he stalked out, slamming the door behind him; the wallsshook, and the windows shivered in their frames. 

A vast sheet of gauzy cloud was slowly spreading over the westernexpanse of the sky. Through its silvery meshes the full moon lookeddown upon the glacier with a grave unconcern. Drifts of cold whitemist hovered here and there over the surface of the ice, rising out ofthe deep blue hollows, catching for an instant the moonbeams, andagain gliding away into the shadow of some far-looming peak. 

On the little winding path at the end of the glacier stood Maurice, looking anxiously down toward the valley. Presently a pale speck ofcolor was seen moving in the fog, and on closer inspection proved tobe that scarlet bodice which in Norway constitutes the middle portionof a girl's figure. A minute more, and the bodice was surmounted by afair, girlish face, which looked ravishingly fresh and tangible in itsmisty setting. The lower portions, partly owing to their neutralcoloring and in part to the density of the fog, were but vaguelysuggested. 

"I have been waiting for you nearly half an hour, down at theriver-brink, " called out a voice from below, and its clear, mellowring seemed suddenly to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "I reallythought you had forgotten me. "

"Forgotten you?" cried Maurice, making a very unscientific leap downin the direction of the voice "When did I ever forget you, youungrateful thing?"

"Aha!" responded Elsie, laughing, for of course the voice as well asthe bodice was hers. "Now didn't you say the edge of the glacier?"

"Yes, but I didn't say the lower edge. If you had at all been giftedwith the intuition proverbially attributed to young ladies in yoursituation, you would have known that I meant the western edge--in facthere, and nowhere else. "

"Even though you didn't say it?"

"Even though I did say it. "

Fern was now no longer a resident of the Ormgrass Farm. After thediscovery of their true relation, Tharald had shown a sort of sullen, superstitious fear of him, evidently regarding him as a providentialNemesis who had come to avenge the wrong he had done to his absentbrother. No amount of friendliness on Maurice's part could dispel thislurking suspicion, and at last he became convinced that, for the oldman's sake as well as for his own, it was advisable that they shouldseparate. This arrangement, however, involved a sacrifice which ourscientist had at first been disposed to regard lightly; but a week ortwo of purely scientific companionship soon revealed to him how largea factor Elsie had become in his life, and we have seen how he managedto reconcile the two conflicting necessities. The present rendezvoushe had appointed with a special intention, which, with his usualdirectness, he proceeded to unfold to her. 

"Elsie dear, " he began, drawing her down on a stone at his side, "Ihave something very serious which I wish to talk to you about. "

"And why do you always want to talk so solemnly to me, Maurice?"

"Now be a brave little girl, Elsie, and don't be frightened. "

"And is it, then, so very dreadful?" she queried, trembling a littleat the gravity of his manner rather than his words. 

"No, it isn't dreadful at all. But it is of great importance, andtherefore we must both be serious. Now, Elsie dear, tell me honestlyif you love me enough to become my wife now, at once. "

The girl cast timid glances around her, as if to make sure that theywere unobserved. Then she laid her arms round his neck, gazed for amoment with that trustful look of hers into his eyes, and put up herlips to be kissed. 

"That is no answer, my dear, " he said, smiling, but responding readilyto the invitation. "I wish to know if you care enough for me to goaway with me to a foreign land, and live with me always as my wife. "

"I cannot live anywhere without you, " she murmured, sadly. 

"And then you will do as I wish?"

"But it will take three weeks to have the banns published, and youknow father would never allow that. "

"That is the very reason why I wish you to do without his consent. Ifyou will board the steamer with me to-morrow night, we will go toEngland and there we can be married without the publishing of banns, and before any one can overtake us. "

"But that would be very wrong, wouldn't it? I think the Bible says so, somewhere. "

"In Bible times marriages were on a different basis from what they arenow. Moreover, love was not such an inexorable thing then, norengagements so pressing. "

She looked up with eyes full of pathetic remonstrance, and was sadlypuzzled. 

"Then you will come, darling?" he urged, with lover-likepersuasiveness. "Say that you will. "

"I will--try, " she whispered, tearfully, and hid her troubled face onhis bosom. 

"One thing more, " he went on. "Your house is built on the brink ofeternity. The glacier is moving down upon you silently but surely. Ihave warned your father, but he will not believe me. I have chosenthis way of rescuing you, because it is the only way. "

The next evening Maurice and his servant stood on the pier, waitingimpatiently for Elsie, until the whistle sounded, and theblack-hulled boat moved onward, ploughing its foamy path through thebillows. But Elsie did not come. 

Another week passed, and Maurice, fired with a new and desperateresolution, started for the capital, and during the coming winter theglacier was left free to continue its baneful plottings undisturbed bythe importunate eyes of science. Immediately on his arrival in thecity he set on foot a suit in his father's name against TharaldGudmundson Ormgrass, to recover his rightful inheritance. 

VII. 

On a cold, bleak day, in the latter part of March, we find Mauriceonce more in the valley. He had played a hazardous game, but so farfortune had favored him. In that supreme self-trust which a great andgenerous passion inspires, he had determined to force Tharald Ormgrassto save himself and his children from the imminent destruction. Thecourt had recognized his right to the farm upon the payment of fivehundred dollars to its present nominal owner. The money had alreadybeen paid, and the farm lay now desolate and forlorn, shivering in thecold gusts from the glacier. The family had just boarded a largeEnglish brig which lay at anchor out in the fjord, and was about toset sail for the new world beyond the sea. In the prow of the vesselstood Tharald, gazing with sullen defiance toward the unknown west, while Elsie, her eyes red with weeping, and her piquant little facesomewhat pinched with cold, was clinging close to him, and now andthen glancing back toward the dear, deserted homestead. 

It had been a sad winter for poor little Elsie. As the lawsuit hadprogressed, she had had to hear many a harsh word against her lover, which seemed all the harder because she did not know how to defendhim. His doings, she admitted, did seem incomprehensible, and herfather certainly had some show of justice on his side when heupbraided him as cruel, cold, and ungrateful; but, with the sweet, obstinate loyalty of a Norse maiden, she still persisted in believinghim good and upright and generous. Some day it would all be clearedup, she thought, and then her triumph and her happiness would be thegreater. A man who knew so many strange things, she argued in hersimplicity (for her pride in his accomplishments was in directproportion to her own inability to comprehend them), could notpossibly be mean and selfish as other men. 

The day had, somehow, a discontented, dubious look. Now its sombreveil was partially lifted, and something like the shadow of a smilecheered you by its promise, if not by its presence; then a great rushof light from some unexpected quarter of the heavens, and then againa sudden closing of all the sunny paths--a dismal, gray monotonyeverywhere. Now and then tremendous groans and long-drawn thunderousrumblings were heard issuing from the glaciers, and the ice-chokedriver, whose voice seldom rose above an even baritone, now boomed andbrawled with the most capricious interludes of crashing, grinding, andrushing sounds. 

On the pier down at the fjord stood Maurice, dressed from head to footin flannel, and with a jaunty sailor's hat, secured with an elasticcord under his chin. He was gazing with an air of preoccupation uptoward the farm, above which the white edge of the glacier hunggleaming against the dim horizon. Above it the fog rose like a densegray wall, hiding the destructive purpose which was even at thismoment laboring within. Some minutes elapsed. Maurice grew impatient, then anxious. He pulled his note-book from his pocket, examined somepages covered with calculations, dotted a neglected _i_, crossed a_t_, and at last closed the book with a desperate air. Presently somedark figure was seen striding down the hill-side, and the blacksatellite, Jake, appeared, streaming with mud and perspiration. 

"Well, you wretched laggard, " cried Maurice, as he caught sight ofhim, "what answer?"

"Nobody answered nothing at all, " responded Jake, all out of breath. "They be all gone. Aboard the ship, out there. All rigged, ready tosail. "

A few minutes later there was a slight commotion on board the brig_Queen Anne_. A frolicsome tar had thrown out a rope, and hauled intwo men one white and one black. The crew thronged about them, "English, eh?"

"No; American. "

"Yankees? Je-ru-salem! Saw your rig wasn't right, somehow. "

General hilarity. Witty tar looks around with an air of magnanimousdeprecation. 

A strange feeling of exultation had taken possession of Maurice. Thelight and the air suddenly seemed glorious to him. He knew the worldmisjudged his action; but he felt no need of its vindication. He wasrather inclined to chuckle over its mistake, as if it and not he werethe sufferer. He walked with rapid steps toward the prow of the ship, where. Tharald and Elsie were standing. There was a look ofinvincibility in his eye which made the old man quail before him. Elsie's face suddenly brightened, as if flooded with light fromwithin; she made an impulsive movement toward him, and then stoodirresolute. 

"Elsie, " called out her father, with a husky tremor in his voice. "Lethim alone, I tell thee. He might leave us in peace now. He has drivenfrom hearth and home. " Then, with indignant energy, "He shall nottouch thee, child. By the heavens, he shall not. "

Maurice smiled, and with the same sense of serene benignity, whollyunlover-like, clasped her in his arms. 

A wild look flashed in the father's eyes; a hoarse groan broke fromhis chest. Then, with a swift rekindling of energy, he darted forward, and his broad hands fell with a tiger-like grip on Maurice'sshoulders. But hark! The voices of the skies and the mountains echothe groan. The air, surcharged with terror, whirls in wild eddies, then holds its breath and trembles. All eyes are turned toward theglacier. The huge white ridge, gleaming here and there through a cloudof smoke, is pushing down over the mountain-side, a black bulwark ofearth rising totteringly before it, and a chaos of bowlders and blocksof ice following, with dull crunching and grinding noises, in itstrain. The barns and the store-house of the Ormgrass farm are seenslowly climbing the moving earth-wall, then follows themansion--rising--rising--and with a tremendous, deafening crash thewhole huge avalanche sweeps downward into the fjord. The water islashed into foam; an enormous wave bearing on its crest the shatteredwrecks of human homes, rolls onward; the good ship _Queen Anne_ istossed skyward, her cable snaps and springs upward against themast-head, shrieks of terror fill the air, and the sea flings itsstrong, foam-wreathed arms against the farther shore. 

A dead silence follows. The smoke scatters, breaks into driftingfragments, showing the black naked mountain-side. 

The next morning, as the first glimmerings of the dawn pierced thecloud-veil in the east, the brig _Queen Anne_ shot before a steadybreeze out toward the western ocean. In the prow stood Maurice Fern, in a happy reverie; on a coil of rope at his feet sat TharaldOrmgrass, staring vacantly before him. His face was cold and hard; ithad scarcely stirred from its dead apathy since the hour of thecalamity. Then there was a patter of light footsteps on the deck, andElsie, still with something of the child-like wonder of sleep in hereyes, emerged from behind the broad white sail. 

Tharald saw her and the hardness died out of his face. He strove tospeak once--twice, but could not. 

"God pity me, " he broke out, with an emotion deeper than his wordssuggested. "I was wrong. I had no faith in you. She has. Take her, that the old wrong may at last be righted. "

And there, under God's free sky, their hands were joined together, andthe father whispered a blessing. 

A KNIGHT OF DANNEBROG. 

I. 

Victor Julien St. Denis Dannevig is a very aristocraticconglomeration of sound, as every one will admit, although the St. Hada touch of irony in it unless placed before the Julien, where in thepresent case its suggestion was not wholly unappropriate. As he waswhen I first met him, his nature seemed to be made up of exquisitehalf-tints, in which the most antagonistic tastes might find somethingto admire. It presented no sharp angles to wound your self-esteem oryour prejudices. Morally, intellectually, and physically, he was assmooth as velvet, and as agreeable to the touch. He never disagreedwith you, whatever heterodox sentiments you might give vent to, andstill no one could ever catch him in any positive inconsistency orself-contradiction. The extreme liberal who was on terms of intimacywith the nineteenth century, and passionately hostile to all temporaland spiritual rulers, put him down as a rising man, who might beconfidently counted on when he should have shed his down and assume Ihis permanent colors; and the prosperous conservative who had accessto the private ear of the government lauded his good sense and hismoderate opinions, and resolved to press his name at the first vacancythat might occur in the diplomatic service. In fact, every one partedfrom him with the conviction that at heart he shared his sentiments;even though for prudential reasons he did not choose to expresshimself with emphasis. 

The inference, I am afraid, from all this, is that Dannevig was ahypocrite; but if I have conveyed that impression to any one, Icertainly have done my friend injustice. I am not aware that he everconsciously suspended his convictions for the sake of pleasing; butconvictions require a comparative depth of soil in order to thrive, and Dannevig's mind was remarkable for territorial expanse rather thanfor depth. Of course, he did with astonishing ease assume the color ofthe person he was talking with; but this involved, with him, noconscious mental process, no deliberate insincerity. It was ratherowing to a kind of constitutional adaptability, an unconquerabledistaste for quarrelling, and the absence of any decided opinions ofhis own. 

It was in the year 186--, just as peace had been concluded betweenPrussia and Denmark, that I made Dannevig's acquaintance. He was thenthe hero of the day; all Copenhagen, as it seemed, had gone mad overhim. He had just returned from the war, in which he had performed someextraordinary feat of fool-hardiness and saved seven companies by thesacrifice of his mustache. The story was then circulating in a dozendifferent versions, but, as nearly as I could learn, he had, in thedisguise of a peasant, visited the Prussian camp on the eveningpreceding a battle and had acted the fool with such a perfection ofart as to convince the enemy of his harmlessness. Before morning, however, he had furnished the Danish commander with importantintelligence, thereby preventing the success of a surprise movementwhich the Prussians were about to execute. In return for this servicehe had been knighted on the battle-field, the order of Dannebroghaving been bestowed upon him. 

One circumstance that probably intensified the charm which Dannevigexerted upon the social circles of the Danish capital was the mysterywhich shrouded his origin. There were vague whisperings of loftyparentage, and even royal names were hinted at, always, of course, inthe strictest privacy. The fact that he hailed from France (though noone could say it for a certainty) and still had a Danish name andspoke Danish like a native, was in itself looked upon as aninteresting anomaly. Then again, his easy, aristocratic bearing andhis finely carved face suggested all manner of romanticpossibilities; his long, delicate hands, the unobtrusive perfection ofhis toilet and the very texture of his handkerchiefs told plainlyenough that he had been familiar with high life from the cradle. Hisway of living, too, was the subject of much curious comment. Withoutbeing really extravagant, he still spent money in a free-and-easyfashion, and always gave one the impression of having unboundedresources, though no one could tell exactly what they were. The onlysolution of the riddle was that he might have access to the treasuryof some mighty man who, for reasons which perhaps would not bearpublicity, felt called upon to support him. 

I had heard his name abundantly discussed in academical and socialcircles and was thoroughly familiar with the hypothetical part of hishistory before chance led me to make his personal acquaintance. He hadthen already lost some of his first lustre of novelty, and theprofessional yawners at club windows were inclining to the opinionthat "he was a good enough fellow, but not made of stuff that was aptto last. " But in the afternoon tea-parties, where ladies of fashionmet and gently murdered each other's reputations, an allusion to himwas still the signal for universal commotion; his very name would begreeted with clouds of ecstatic adjectives, and wild interjections andenthusiatic superlatives would fly buzzing about your ears untillanguage would seem to be at its last gasp, and for a week to come thepositive and comparative degrees would be applicable only to yourenemies. 

It was an open secret that the Countess von Brehm, one of the richestheiresses in the kingdom, was madly in love with him and wouldprobably bestow her hand upon him in defiance of the wishes andtraditions of her family. And what man, outside of the royal house, would be fool enough to refuse the hand of a Countess von Brehm?

II. 

During the winter 1865-66, I met Dannevig frequently at clubs, studentfestivals, and social gatherings, and his melodious voice, hisepigrammatic talk, and his beauty never failed to extort from me acertain amount of reluctant admiration. I could not help noticing, however, that his charming qualities were all very much on thesurface, and as for his beauty, it was of a purely physical kind. As amere animal he could not have been finer. His eyes were as pure andblue and irresponsible as a pair of spring violets, and his face wasas clean-cut and perfect as an ideal Greek mask, and as devoid ofspiritual meaning. His animation was charmingly heedless and genuine, but nevertheless was mere surface glitter and never seemed to be theexpression of any really strong and heartfelt emotion. I could wellimagine him pouting like Achilles over the loss of a lovely Briseisand bursting into vituperative language at the sight of the robber;but the very moment Briseis was restored his wrath would as suddenlyhave given way to the absolute bliss of possession. 

The evening before my final departure from Copenhagen he gave a littleparty for me at his apartments, at which a dozen or more of ourfriends were invited. 

I must admit that he was an admirable host. Without appearing at allto exert himself, he made every one feel at his ease, filled up everygap in the conversation with some droll anecdote or personalreminiscence, and still contrived to make us all imagine that we wereentertaining instead of being entertained. The supper was a miracle ofculinary skill, and the wines had a most refined and aristocraticflavor. He ate and drank with the deliberation and relish of a manwho, without being exactly a gourmand, nevertheless counted the art ofdining among the fine arts, and prided himself on being something of aconnoisseur. Nothing, I suppose, could have ruined me more hopelesslyin his estimation than if I had betrayed unfamiliarity with tableetiquette, --if, for instance, I poured Rhine wine into the whiteglasses, or sherry or Madeira into the blue. 

As the hours of the night advanced, Dannevig's brilliancy rose to analmost dangerous height, which, as it appeared to us, could end innothing short of an explosion. And the explosion came at last in theshape of a speech which I shall quote as nearly as the long lapse ofyears will permit. 

After some mysterious pantomimic play directed toward a singularlynoiseless and soft-mannered butler, our host arose, assumed anattitude as if he were about to address the universe, and spoke asfollows:

"Gentlemen! As our distinguished friend here (all Americans, as youare aware, are born sovereigns and accordingly distinguished) is aboutto leave us, the spirit moves me to give voice to the feeling whichanimates us all at this peculiar juncture of events. " (Here the butlerreturned with two bottles, which Dannevig seized and held up forgeneral inspection. ) "Bravo! here I hold in my hand a rare and potentjuice, the condensed essence of all that is rich and fair and sweet inthe history, character, and climate of _la belle France_, a juice forwhich the mouths of princes have often watered in vain--in short abottle of Chateau Yquem. I have my reasons for plucking the fairestbloom of my cellar on an occasion like this: for what I am about tosay is not entirely in the nature of a compliment, and the genialinfluence of this royal wine will be needed to counteract the possibleeffects of my speech. In other words, I want the goodness of my wineto compensate for the rudeness of my intended remarks. 

"America has never until now had the benefit of my opinion of her, which may in part account for the crudeness of her present condition. Now she has sent a competent emissary to us, who will return andfaithfully report my sentiments, and if he does his work well, you maybe prepared for revolutions beyond the Atlantic in decades to come. Tobegin with the beginning: the American continent, extending as it doesfrom pole to pole, with a curious attenuation in the middle, alwayslooked to me in my boyhood as a huge double bag flung across the backof the world; the symbolic sense of this form was not then entirelyclear to me; but now, I think, I divine its meaning. As the centurieswith their changing civilizations rolled over Europe, it becameapparent to the Almighty that a spacious lumber-room was needed, whereall the superfluous odds and ends that no longer fitted to the changedorder of things might be stowed away for safe-keeping. Now, as youwill frequently in a lumber-room, amid a deal of absolute dross, stumble upon an object of rare and curious value, so also in Americayou may, among heaps of human trumpery, be startled by the sparkle ofa genuine human jewel. Our friend here, I need not add, is such ajewel, though cut according to the fashion of the last century, whenmen went wild over liberty and other illusory ideals and when, afterhaving exhausted all the tamer kinds of dissipation, they amusedthemselves by cutting each other's heads off. Far be it from me toimpute any such truculent taste to my honored guest. I only wish toobserve that the land from which he hails has not yet outlived therevolutionary heresies of a century ago, that his people is stillafflicted with those crude fever fantasies, of which Europe was onlycured by a severe and prolonged bleeding. It has always been aperplexing problem to me, how a man who has seen the Old World candeliberately choose such a land as his permanent abode. I, for mypart, should never think of taking such a step until I had quarrelledwith all the other countries of the world, one by one, and as life istoo short for such an experience, I never expect to claim thehospitality of Brother Jonathan under his own roof. 

"As regards South America, I never could detect its use in the cosmiceconomy, unless it was flung down there in the southern hemispherepurely as ballast, to prevent the globe from upsetting. 

"Now, the moral of these edifying remarks is that I would urge myguest to correct, as soon as possible, the mistake he made in thechoice of his birthplace. As a man never can be too circumspect inthe selection of his parents, so neither can he exercise too muchcaution in the choice of his country. My last word to thee is: 'Foldthy tent, and pitch it again where mankind, politics and cookery arein a more advanced state of development. ' Friends, let us drink to thehealth of our guest, and wish for his speedy return. "

I replied with, perhaps, some superfluous ardor to this superciliousspeech, and a very hot discussion ensued. When the company finallybroke up, Dannevig, fearing that he had offended me, laid his armconfidentially on my shoulder, drew me back from the door, and pushedme gently into an easy-chair. 

"Look here!" he said, planting himself in front of me. "It will neverdo for you and me to part, except as friends. I did not mean topatronize you, and if my foolish speech impressed you in that way, Ibeg you to forgive me. "

He held out his long, beautiful hand, which after some hesitation Igrasped, and peace was concluded. 

"Take another cigar, " he continued, throwing himself down on adamask-covered lounge opposite me. "I am in a confiding mood to-night, and should like to tell you something. I feel an absolute need tounbosom myself, and Fate points to you as the only safe receptacle ofmy confidence. After to-morrow, the Atlantic will be between us, andif my secret should prove too explosive for your reticence, yourindiscretion will do me no harm. Listen, then. You have probably heardthe town gossip connecting my name with that of the Countess vonBrehm. "

I nodded assent. 

"Well, my modesty forbids me to explain how far the rumor is true. But, the fact is, she has given me the most unmistakable proofs of herfavor. Of course, a man who has seen as much of the world as I havecannot be expected to reciprocate such a passion in its sentimentalaspects; but from its--what shall I say?"

"Say, from a financial point of view it is not unworthy of yourconsideration, " I supplied, unable to conceal my disgust. 

"Well, yes, " he resumed blandly, "you have hit it. However, I am by nomeans blind to her fascination. Moreover, the countess has a latentvein of fierceness in her nature which in time may endear her to myheart. Last night, for instance, we were at a ball at the BaronP----'s, and we danced together incessantly. While we were whirlingabout to the rhythm of an intoxicating melody, I, feeling pretty sureof my game, whispered half playfully in her ear: 'Countess, what wouldyou say, if I should propose to you?' 'Propose and you will see, ' sheanswered gravely, while those big black eyes of hers flashed at untilI felt half ashamed of my flippancy. Of course I did not venture toput the question then and there, although I was sorely tempted. Nowthat shows that she has spirit, to say the least. What do you think?"

"I think, " I answered, with emphasis, "that if I were a friend of theCountess von Brehm I should go to her to-morrow and implore her tohave nothing to do with you. "

"By Jove, " he burst forth, laughing; "if _I_ were a friend of thecountess, I should do the very same thing; but being her lover, Icannot be expected to take such a disinterested view of the case. Moreover, my labor would be thrown away; for, _entre nous_, she is toomuch in love with me. "

I felt that if I stayed a moment longer we should inevitably quarrel. I therefore rose, somewhat abruptly, and pulled on my overcoat, averring that I was tired and should need a few hours of sleep beforeembarking in the morning. 

"Well, " he said, shaking my hand heartily, as we parted in the hall, "if ever you should happen to visit Denmark again, you must promise methat you will look me up. You have a standing invitation to my futureestate. "

III. 

Some three years later I was sitting behind my editorial desk in anewspaper office in Chicago, and the impressions from my happy winterin Copenhagen had well nigh faded from memory. The morning mail wasbrought in, and among my letters I found one from a Danish friend withwhom I had kept up a desultory correspondence. In the letter I foundthe following paragraph:

 "Since you left us, Dannevig has been going steadily down hill, until at last his order of Dannebrog just managed to keep him respectable. About a month ago he suddenly vanished from the social horizon, and the rumor says that he has fled from his numerous creditors, and probably now is on his way to America. His resources, whatever they were, gradually failed him, while his habits remained as extravagant as ever. If the popular belief is to be credited, he lived during the two last years on his prospect of marrying the Countess von Brehm, which prospect in Copenhagen was always convertible into cash. The countess, by the way, was unflinching in her devotion to him, and he would probably long ago have led her to the altar, if her family had not so bitterly opposed him. The old count, it is said, swore that he would disinherit her if she ever mentioned his name to him again; and those who know him feel confident that he would have kept his word. The countess, however, was quite willing to make that sacrifice, for Dannevig's sake; but here, unfortunately, that cowardly prudence of his made a fool of him. He hesitated and hesitated long enough to wear out the patience of a dozen women less elevated and heroic than she is. Now the story goes that the old count, wishing at all hazards to get him out of the way, made him a definite proposition to pay all his debts, and give him a handsome surplus for travelling expenses, if he would consent to vanish from the kingdom for a stated term of years. And according to all appearances Dannevig has been fool enough to accept the offer. I should not be surprised if you would hear from him before long, in which case I trust you will keep me informed of his movements. A Knight of Dannebrog, you know, is too conspicuous a figure to be entirely lost beneath the waves of your all-levelling democracy. Depend upon it, if Dannevig were stranded upon a desert isle, he would in some way contrive to make the universe aware of his existence. He has, as you know, no talent for obscurity; there is a spark of a Caesar in him, and I tremble for the fate of your constitution if he stays long enough among you. "

Four months elapsed after the receipt of this letter, and I had almostgiven up the expectation (I will not say hope) of seeing Dannevig, when one morning the door to my office was opened, and a tall, blonde-haired man entered. With a certain reckless grace, which oughtto have given me the clue to his identity, he sauntered up to my deskand extended his hand to me. 

"Hallo, old boy!" he said, with a weak, weary smile. "How are youprospering? You don't seem to know me. "

"Heavens!" I cried, "Dannevig! No, I didn't know you. How you havealtered!"

He took off his hat, and flung himself into a chair opposite me. Hislarge, irresponsible eyes fixed themselves upon mine, with ahalf-daring, half-apologetic look, as if he were resolved to put thebest face on a desperate situation. His once so ambitious mustachedrooped despondingly, and his unshaven face had an indescribablywithered and dissipated look. All the gloss seemed to have been takenoff it, and with it half its beauty and all its dignity had departed. 

"Dannevig, " I said, with all the sympathy I had at my command, "what_has_ happened to you? Am I to take your word for it, that you havequarrelled with all the world, and that this is your last refuge?"

"Well, " he answered, evasively, "I should hardly say that. It israther your detestable democratic cookery which has undone me. Ihaven't had a decent meal since I set my foot on this accursedcontinent. There is an all-pervading plebeian odor of republicanismabout everything one eats here, which is enough to ruin the healthiestappetite, and a certain barbaric uniformity in the bill of fare whichwould throw even a Diogenes into despair. May the devil take yourleathery beef-steaks, as tough as the prose of Tacitus, yourtasteless, nondescript buckwheats, and your heavy, melancholy wines, and I swear it would be the last you would hear of him!"

"There! that will do, Dannevig!" I cried, laughing. "You have saidmore than enough to convince me of your identity. I do admit I wassceptical as to whether this could really be you, but you havedispelled my last doubts. It was my intention to invite you to dinewith me to-day but you have quite discouraged me. I live quite _engarçon_, you know, and have no Chateau Yquem nor pheasant _a la SainteAlliance_, and whatever else your halcyon days at the Cafe Anglais mayhave accustomed you to. "

"Never mind that. Your company will in part reconcile me to therepublicanism of your table. And, to put the thing bluntly, can youlend me thirty dollars? I have pawned my only respectable suit ofclothes for that amount, and in my present costume I feelinexpressibly plebeian, --very much as if I were my own butler, and--what is worse--I treat myself accordingly. I never knew until nowhow much of the inherent dignity of a man can be divested with hisclothing. Then another thing: I am absolutely forced to do something, and, judging by your looks, I should say that journalism was aprofitable business. Now, could you not get me some appointment orother in connection with your paper? If, for instance, you want aParis correspondent, then I am just your man. I know Paris by heart, and I have hobnobbed with every distinguished man in France. "

"But we could hardly afford to pay you enough to justify you in takingthe journey on our account. "

"_O sancta simplicitas_! No, my boy, I have no such intention. I canmake up the whole thing with perfect plausibility, here under yourown roof; and by little study of the foreign telegrams, I wouldundertake to convince Thiers and Jules Favre themselves that I watchedthe play of their features from my private box at the French opera, night before last, that I had my eye at the key-hole while theyperformed their morning ablutions, and was present as eavesdropper attheir most secret councils. Whatever I may be, I hope you don't takeme to be a chicken. "

"No, " I answered, beguiled into a lighter mood by his own levity. "Itmight be well for you if you were more of one. But as Pariscorrespondent, we could never engage you, at least not on the termsyou propose. But even if I should succeed in getting a place for you, do you know English enough to write with ease?"

"I see you are disposed to give vent to your native scepticism towardme. But I never knew the thing yet that I could not do. At first, perhaps, I should have to depend somewhat upon your proof-reading, butbefore many months, I venture to say, I could stand on my own legs. "

After some further parley it was agreed that I should exert myself inhis behalf, and after a visit to the pawnbroker's, where Dannevig haddeposited his dignity, we parted with the promise to meet again atdinner. 

IV. 

It was rather an anomalous position for a knight of Dannebrog, afamiliar friend of princes and nobles, and an _ex-habitue_ of the CafeAnglais, to be a common reporter on a Chicago republican journal. Yetthis was the position to which (after some daring exploits inbook-reviewing and art criticism) my friend was finally reduced. As anart-critic, he might have been a success, if western art had been morenearly in accord with his own fastidious and exquisitely developedtaste. As it was, he managed in less than a fortnight to bring downthe wrath of the whole artistic brotherhood upon our journal, and assome of these men were personal friends of the principal stockholdersin the paper, his destructive ardor was checked by an imperative orderfrom the authorities, from whose will there is no appeal. As abook-reviewer he labored under similar disadvantages; he stoutlymaintained that the reading of a volume would necessarily and undulybias the critic's judgment, and that a man endowed with a keen, literary nose could form an intelligent opinion, after a carefulperusal of the title-page, and a glance at the preface. A man whowrote a book naturally labored under the delusion that he was wiser orbetter than the majority of his fellow-creatures, in which case youwould do moral service by convincing him of his error, inhumanitycontinued to encourage authorship at the present rate, obscurity wouldsoon become a claim to immortality. If a writer informed you that hiswork "filled a literary void, " his conceit was reprehensible, and onmoral grounds he ought to be chastised; if he told you that he hadonly "yielded to the urgent request of his friends, " it was only fairto insinuate that his friends must have had very long ears. Nevertheless, Dannevig's reviews were for about a month a verysuccessful feature of our paper. They might be described as racylittle essays, bristling with point and epigram, on some subjectsuggested by the title-pages of current volumes. At the end of thattime, however, books began to grow scarce in our office, and beforeanother month was at an end, we had no more need of a reviewer. Myfriend was then to have his last trial as a reporter. 

One of his first experiences in this new capacity was at amass-meeting preceding an important municipal election. Not daring tosend his "copy" to the printer without revision, I determined tosacrifice two or three hours' sleep, and to await his return. But thenight wore on, the clock struck twelve, one, and two, and no Dannevigappeared. I began to grow anxious; our last form went to press at fouro'clock, and I had left a column and a half open for his expectedreport. Not wishing to resort to dead matter, I hastily made someselections from a fresh magazine, and sent them to the foreman. 

The next day, about noon, a policeman brought me the following note, written in pencil, on a leaf torn from a pocket-book. 

 DEAR FRIEND;

 I made a speech last night (and a very good one too) in behalf of oppressed humanity, but its effect upon my audience was, to say the least, singular. Its results, as far as I am personally concerned were also somewhat unpleasant. Looking at myself in my pocketglass this morning, I find that my nose has become disproportionately prominent, besides showing an abnormal lateral development If you would have the goodness to accompany the obliging gentleman, who is the bearer of this, to my temporary lodgings, I will further explain the situation to you. By the way, it is absolutely necessary that you should come. 

 Yours in haste, VICTOR J. ST. D. DANNEVIG, R. D. O. [A]

[Footnote A: Knight of the Order of Dannebrog. ]

I found Dannevig, as I had expected, at the so-called Armory (the cityprison), in pleasant converse with half-a-dozen policemen, to whom hewas describing, with inimitable grace and good-humor, his adventuresof the preceding night. He was too absorbed in his narrative to noticemy arrival, and I did not choose to interrupt him. 

"You can imagine, gentlemen, " he was saying, accompanying his wordswith the liveliest gesticulations, "how the rude contact of aplebeian fist with my tender skin must have impressed me. Reallygentlemen, I was so surprised that I literally lost my balance. I was, as you are no doubt aware, merely asserting my rights as a freecitizen to protest against the presumptions of the unprincipledoligarchy which is at present ruling this fair city. My case isexactly parallel to that of Caius Gracchus, who, I admit, reaped asimilar reward. "

"But you were drunk, " replied a rude voice from his audience. "Deaddrunk. "

"Drunk, " ejaculated Dannevig, with a gesture of dignified deprecation. "Now, I submit it to you as gentlemen of taste and experience: howwould you define that state of mind and body vulgarly styled 'drunk?'I was merely pleasantly animated, as far as such a condition can beinduced by those vulgar liquids which you are in the habit of imbibingin this benighted country. Now, if I had had the honor of youracquaintance in the days of my prosperity, it would have given megreat pleasure to raise your standard of taste regarding wines andalcoholic liquors. The mixed drinks, which are held in such highesteem in this community, are, in my opinion, utterly demoralizing. "

Thinking it was high time to interrupt this discourse, I stepped up tothe orator, and laid my hand on his shoulder. 

"Dannevig, " I said, "I have no time to waste Let me settle thisbusiness for you at once. "

"In a moment I shall be at your service, " he answered, gracefullywaving his hand; and for some five minutes more he continued hisharangue on the corrupting effects of mixed drinks. 

After a visit to the court-room, a brief examination, and the paymentof a fine, we took our departure. Feeling in an exceptionally amiablemood, Dannevig offered me his arm, and as we again passed the group ofpolicemen at the door he politely raised his dilapidated hat to them, and bade them a pleasant good-morning. The cross of Dannebrog, withits red ribbon, was dangling from the button-hole of his coat, thefront of which was literally glazed with the stains of dried punch. 

"My type of countenance, as you will observe, " he remarked, as wehailed a passing omnibus, "presents some striking deviations from theclassic ideal; but it is a consoling reflection that it will probablysoon resume its normal form. "

Of course, all the morning as well as the evening papers, recounted, with flaming headings, Dannevig's oration, and his ignominiousexpulsion from the mass-meeting, and the most unsparing ridicule wasshowered both upon him and the journal which, for the time, herepresented. One more experience of a similar nature terminated hiscareer as a journalist; I dared no longer espouse his cause and hewas dismissed in disgrace. For some weeks he vanished from my horizon, and I began to hope that he had again set his face toward the OldWorld, where talents of the order he possessed are at higher premiumin the social market. But in this hope I was to be grievouslydisappointed. 

V. 

One day, just as I had ordered my lunch at a restaurant muchfrequented by journalists, a German, named Pfeifer, one of the largeststockholders in our paper, entered and seated himself at the tableopposite me. He was a somewhat puffy and voluminous man with a veryround bald head, and an air of defiant prosperity about him. He hadretired from the brewery business some years ago, with a very handsomefortune. 

"I have been hunting for you high and low, " he began in his nativetongue. "You know there is to be a ball in the _Turnverein_ to-morrownight, --a very grand affair, they say. I suppose they have sent youtickets. "

"Yes, two. "

"And are you going?"

"I had half made up my mind to send Fenner or some one else. "

Mr. Pfeifer here grew superfluously confidential and related to me ina mysterious whisper his object in seeking me. The fact was, he had aniece really _ein allerliebstes Kind_, who had come from Milwaukee tovisit him and was to spend the winter with him. Now, to be honest, heknew very few young gentlemen whom he would be willing to have herassociate with, and the poor child had set her heart on going to the_Turn_-ball to-morrow. Would I kindly overlook the informality of hisrequest, and without telling the young lady of his share in theproceeding, offer her my escort to the ball? Would I be responsiblefor her and bring her home in good season? And to avert FrauleinPfeifer's possible suspicions, would I come and dine at his houseto-night and make her acquaintance?

To refuse the acquaintance of a young lady who even remotely answeredto the description of "a very lovely child, " was contrary to myprinciples, and I need not add that I proved faithful to them in thepresent instance. 

A German, even if he be not what one would call a cultivated man, hasnevertheless a certain sombre historic background to his life whichmakes him averse to those garish effects of barbaric splendor thatimpress one so unpleasantly in the houses of Americans whoseprosperity is unsupported by a corresponding amount of culture. Thiswas my first reflection on entering Mr. Pfeifer's drawing-room, whilein my heart I begged the proprietor's pardon for the patronizingattitude I found myself assuming toward him. The heavy, solidfurniture, the grave and decorously mediocre pictures, and the verytint of the walls wore an air of substantial, though somewhatlugubrious comfort. His niece, too, although her form was by no meanslacking in grace, seemed somehow to partake of this all-pervading airof Teutonic solidity and homelike comfort. She was one of those womenwho seemed born to make some wretched man undeservedly happy. (Ialways feel a certain dim hostility to any man, even though I may notknow him, who marries a charming and lovable woman; it is with me aforegone conclusion that he has been blessed beyond his deserts. )There was a sweet matronliness and quiet dignity in her manner, andbeneath the placid surface of her blue eyes I suspected hidden depthsof pure maidenly sentiment. The cast of her countenance was distinctlyGermanic; not strikingly beautiful, perhaps, but extremely pleasing;there was no discordant feature in it, no loud or harsh suggestion tomar the subdued richness of the whole picture. Her blond hair wastwisted into a massive coil on the top of her head, and theunobtrusive simplicity and taste of her toilet were merely hercharacter (as I had conceived it) translated into millinery. Myfeelings, as I stood gazing at her, unconsciously formulatedthemselves into the well-known benediction of Heine's, which I couldwith difficult keep from quoting:

 "Mir ist als ob ich die Hände, Auf's Haupt dir legen sollt', Betend dass Gott dich erhalte, So rein mid schön und hold. "

I observed with quiet amusement, though in a very sympathetic spirit, that she did not manage her train well; and from the furtive attentionshe was ever bestowing upon it, I concluded that her experience withlong dresses must have been of recent date. I noticed, too, as shecame forward to salute me, that her hands were not unused to toil; butfor this I only honored her the more. 

The dinner was as serious and substantial as everything else in Mr. Pfeifer's house, and passed off without any notable incident. The hostpersisted in talking business with me, which the young lady, at whoseside I sat, accepted as a matter-of-course, making apparently no claimwhatever upon the smallest share of my attention. When the long andtedious meal was at an end, upon her uncle's suggestion, she seatedherself at the piano, and sang in a deep, powerful contralto, Schubert's magnificent arrangement of Heine's song of unrequited love:

 "Ich grolle nicht, und wenn das Herz auch bricht, Ewig verlornes Lieb! ich grolle nicht. Wie du auch strahlst in Diamantenpracht, Es fallt kein Strahl in deines Herzens Nacht. "

There was a pathos and passion in her voice which fairly startled me, and when I hastened to her side to thank her for the pleasure she hadgiven me, she accepted my compliments with a beautiful, unaffectedenthusiasm, as if they were meant only for the composer, and were inno respect due to her. 

"There is such a depth of suffering in every word and note, " she saidwith glowing cheeks. "He bears her no ill-will, he says, and still youfeel how the suppressed bitterness is still rankling within him. "

She then sang "Auf Flügeln des Gesanges, " whereupon we sat down andtalked music and Heine for the rest of the evening. Mr. Pfeifer, reclining in his capacious easy-chair, smoked on with slow, broodingcontentment, and now and then threw in a disparaging remark regardingour favorite poet. 

"He blackguarded his country abominably, " he said. "And I have norespect for a man who can do that. Besides, he was a miserable, renegade Jew, and as I never like to have any more to do with Jewsthan I can possibly help, I have never read any of his books. "

"But, uncle, " retorted his niece, warmly, "he certainly could not helpbeing a Jew. And there was no one who loved Germany more ardently thanhe, even though he did say severe things about it. "

"That is a thing about which you can have no opinion, Hildegard, "said Pfeifer, with paternal decision; and he blew a dense cloud ofsmoke toward the ceiling. 

Miss Hildegard looked rebellious for an instant, but accepted theverdict of superior wisdom with submissive silence. The old man gaveme a little confidential wink as if to say:

"There is a model girl for you. She knows that women should not speakin meeting. "

"What a delightfully fresh and unspoiled girl, " I reflected, as Iwended my way homeward through the still moonlight; "so true-hearted, and genuine, and unaffected. And still beneath all that sweet, womanlytranquillity there are strong slumbering forces, which some day willstartle some phlegmatic countryman of hers, who takes her to be assubmissive as she looks. "

VI. 

Some fifteen minutes after the appointed hour I called with a carriagefor Fraulein Hildegard, whom, to my wonder, I found standing in allthe glory of her ball-toilet (for she was evidently afraid to sitdown) in the middle of the sombre drawing-room. I had been prepared towait for a good half-hour, and accordingly felt a little provoked atmyself for my seeming negligence. 

"I do not mind telling you, " she said, as I sat compressed in acorner of the carriage, striving to reduce myself to the smallestpracticable dimensions, "that this is my first ball. I don't know anyof the gentlemen who will be there to-night, but I know two or threeMilwaukee ladies who have promised to come, so, even if I don't dancemuch, I shall not feel lonely. "

"Of course you will give me the first chance at your card, " Ianswered. "How many dances will you grant me?"

"As many as you want. Uncle was very explicit in impressing upon methat I am to obey you unquestioningly and have no will of my own. "

"That was very unkind of him. I shall be unwilling to claim anyprivilege which you do not of your own free will bestow upon me. "

"I didn't mean it so, " she answered, impulsively, and by the passinglight of a gas-lamp I caught a glimpse of her beaming, innocent face. "I shall not be apt to forget that I am indebted to your kindness forall the pleasure I shall have to-night, and if you wish to dance withme, of course it is very kind of you. "

"Well, that is not much better, " I murmured, ruefully, feeling veryguilty at heart. "On that ground I should be still more reluctant toassert my claim on you. "

"Oh, what a bungler I am!" she exclaimed with half-amused regret. "The truth is, I am so glad, and when I am very happy I always makeblundering speeches. "

As we entered the magnificently lighted and decorated hall, I noticed, to my dismay, that the company was a little more mixed than I hadanticipated. I had, therefore, no scruples in putting down my name forfour waltzes and a quadrille. I observed, too, that my fair partnerattracted much attention, partly, perhaps, on account of her beauty, and partly on account of her superb toilet. Her dress was of satin, ofa cool, lucid, sea-green tint, such as one sees in the fjords ofNorway on a bright summer's day; the illusion was so perfect that indancing with her I expected every moment to see sea-weeds andpale-green things sprouting up along its border, and the white bunchesof lilies-of-the-valley in her hair, as they wafted their faintfragrance toward me, seemed almost an anomaly. She danced, not withvehement abandon, but with an airy, rhythmical grace, as if the musichad entered into her soul and her limbs were but obeying their innatetuneful impulse. When we had finished the first waltz, I left her inthe company of one of her Milwaukee friends and started out in questof some acceptable male partner whose touch of her I should not feelto be a positive desecration. I had reached about the middle of thehall when an affectionate slap on my shoulder caused me to turnaround. 

"Dannevig!" I exclaimed, with frigid amazement "By Jove! Where do youcome from? You are as unexpected as a thunderclap from a cloudlesssky. "

"Which was a sign that Jupiter was wroth, " replied Dannevig, promptly, "and required new sacrifices. Now the sacrifice I demand of you isthat you shall introduce me to that charming little girl you have hadthe undeserved luck of securing. "

"You choose your metaphors well, " I remarked, calmly. "But, as youknow, even the Romans with all their reputed hardness of heart, weretoo conscientious to tolerate human sacrifices. And I, being, in thepresent instance, the _pontifex_, would never be a party to such anatrocity. "

The transformation which Dannevig's face underwent was almostterrible. A look of perfectly animal savageness distorted for a briefmoment his handsome features; his eyes flashed, and his brow was onemass of wrinkles. 

"Do you mean to say that you refuse to introduce me?" he asked, in ahoarse whisper. 

"That is exactly what I mean to say, " I answered, with well-feignedcoolness. 

"And do you really suppose, " he continued, while his brow slowlyrelaxed, "that you can prevent me from making that girl'sacquaintance, if I have made up my mind to thwart you?"

"I don't suppose anything of the kind, " was my reply. "But you know mewell enough to be aware that you cannot browbeat me. She shall, at allevents, not owe your acquaintance to me. "

Dannevig stood for a while, pondering; then with one of those suddentransitions of feeling which were so characteristic of him, hecontinued in a tone of good-fellowship:

"Come, now; this is ridiculous! You have been dining on S----'sleathery beef-steak, which I have so frequently warned you against, and, what is worse, you have had mince pie for dessert. Your digestionis seriously deranged. For old friends like you and me to quarrel overa little chit of a girl, is as absurd as committing suicide becauseyou have scratched your hand with a pin. If your heart is reallyengaged in this affair, then I wont interfere with you. I wish youluck, although judging by what I have seen, I should say you mighthave made a better choice. _Au revoir_. "

He skipped lightly down the floor, and was lost in the crowd. Havingselected some journalistic friends as partners for Fraulein Hildegard, and listened with great patience to their rhapsodies over her beautyand loveliness, I stationed myself at the upper end of the hall, andin philosophic discontent watched the dancers. Dannevig's partingwords had filled me with vague alarm; I knew that they were insincere, and I suspected that he was even now at work to accomplish somedisastrous intention. At this moment a couple came whirling straighttoward me; a pale-green satin, train swept over my feet, and the crossof the order of Dannebrog sent a swift flash into my very eyes. Afierce exclamation escaped me; my blood was in tumult. I began to feeldangerous. As the usual accelerated rush of violins and drumsannounced that the dance was near its end, I did not dare to seek myfair partner, and I had no pleasure to feign when I saw her advancing, with a light and eager step, to where I was standing. She wasevidently too preoccupied to notice the change I had undergone sinceour last parting. 

"Now, " she said, with as near an approach to archness as a woman ofher type is capable of, "you must not think me odd if I do somethingthat may seem to you a little bit unconventional. It is only your ownkindness to me which encourages me to ask a favor, which I shouldn'twonder if you would rather grant than not. The fact is, there is agentleman who wishes very much to dance with me, and my card isalready full. Now, would you mind giving up one of yours? I know, inthe first place, that it was from a sense of duty that--that--that youtook so many, " she finished desperately, as I refused to come to heraid. 

"We will not discuss my motives, Fraulein, " I said, with as muchfriendliness as I had at my command. "But, before granting your notunreasonable request, you must be good enough to tell me who thegentleman is who is to profit by my sacrifice. "

"His name is Mr. Dannevig. He is a knight of Dannebrog, and moreover, as he tells me, an intimate friend of yours. "

"Tell him, then, Fraulein, that he might have presumed sufficientlyupon our friendship to prefer his request in person, instead ofsending you as his messenger. "

The color sprang to her cheeks; she swept abruptly around, and with anair of outraged majesty, marched defiantly down the hall. 

The night wore on. The hour for supper came, and politeness forced meto go and find Miss Pfeifer. Then we sat down in a corner, and ate andchattered in a heedless, dispirited fashion, dwelling with feignedinterest on trifling themes, and as by a tacit agreement avoiding eachother's glances. Then some gentleman came to claim her, and I wasalmost glad that she was gone. And yet, in the very next moment apassionate regret came over me, as for a personal loss, and I wouldfain have called her back and told her, with friendly directness myreasons for interfering so rudely with her pleasure. 

I do not know how long I sat thus idly nursing my discontent, and nowand then, as my anger blazed up, muttering some fierce execrationagainst Dannevig. What was this girl to me, after all? I was certainlynot in love with her. And if she chose to ruin herself, what businesshad I to prevent her? But then, she was a woman, and a sweet and pureand true-hearted woman; it was, at all events, my duty to open hereyes, and I vowed that, even though she should hate me for it, I wouldtell her the truth. I looked at my watch; it was a few minutes pasttwo. With a sting of self-reproach, I remembered my promise to Mr. Pfeifer, and resolved not to shirk the responsibility I hadvoluntarily assumed. I hastened up the hall, then down again, surveyedthe dancers, sent a girl into the dressing-room with a message; butFraulein Hildegard was nowhere to be seen. A horrible thought flashedthrough me. I seized my hat, and rushed down into the restaurant. There, in an inner apartment, divided from the public room by droopingcurtains, I found her, laughing and chatting gayly with Dannevig overa glass of Champagne and a dish of ice-cream. 

"Fraulein, " I said, approaching her with grave politeness, "I am sorryto be obliged to interrupt this agreeable _tête-à-tête_. But thecarriage has arrived, and I must claim the pleasure of your company. "

"Now, really, " she exclaimed, with impulsive regret, while her eyesstill hung with a fascinated gaze on Dannevig's face, "is it, then, sonecessary that we should go just now? Do you really insist upon it?Mr. Dannevig was just telling me some charming adventures of his lifein Denmark. "

"I am happy to say, " I answered, "that I am so well familiar with Mr. Dannevig's adventures as to be quite competent to supplement hisfragmentary statements. I shall be very happy to continue theentertainment--"

"_Sacr--r-r-e nom de Dieu_!" Dannevig burst forth, leaping up from hisseat. "This is more than I can bear!" and he pulled a card from hisportmonnaie and flung it down on the table before me. "May I requestthe honor of a meeting?" he continued, in a calmer voice. "It is hightime that we two should settle our difficulties in the only way inwhich they are capable of adjustment. "

"Mr. Dannevig, " I replied, with a cool irony which I was far fromfeeling, "the first rule of the code of honor, to which you appeal, is, as you are aware, that the combatants must be equals in birth andstation. Now, you boast of being of royal blood, while I have no suchclaim to distinction. You see, therefore, that your proposition isabsurd. "

Miss Hildegard had in the meanwhile risen to take my proffered arm, and with a profound bow to the indignant hero we moved out of theroom. During our homeward ride hardly a word was spoken; the wheelsrattled away over the uneven pavement and the coachman snapped hiswhip, while we sat in opposite corners of the carriage, each pursuinghis or her own lugubrious train of thought. But as we had mountedtogether the steps to Mr. Pfeifer's mansion, and I was applying herlatchkey to the lock, she suddenly held out her hand to me, and Igrasped it eagerly and held it close in mine. 

"Really, " she said in a tone of conciliation, "I like you too well towish to quarrel with you. Won't you please tell me candidly why youobjected to my dancing with Mr. Dannevig?"

"With all my heart, " I responded warmly; "if you will give me theopportunity. In the meanwhile you will have to accept my reasons ontrust, and believe that they were very weighty. You may feel assuredthat I should not have run the risk of offending you, if I had notfelt convinced that Dannevig is a man whose acquaintance no young ladycan claim with impunity. I have known him for many years, and I do notspeak rashly. "

"I am afraid you are a very severe judge, " she murmured sadly. "Good-night. "

VII. 

During the next months many rumors of Dannevig's excesses reached mefrom various sources. He had obtained a position as interpreter forone of the Immigration Companies, and made semi-monthly excursions toQuebec, taking charge of the immigrants, and conducting them toChicago. The opportunity for revealing his past history to Miss Pfeifersomehow never presented itself, although I continued to callfrequently, and spent many delightful evenings with her and her uncle. However, I consoled myself with the reflection that the occasion forsuch a revelation no longer existed, and I had no desire needlessly topersecute a man whose iniquities could, at all events, harm no one buthimself. And still, knowing from experience his talent for occultdiplomacy, I took the precaution (without even remotely implicatingMiss Hildegard) to put Mr. Pfeifer on his guard. One evening, as wewere sitting alone in his library enjoying a confidential smoke, Irelated to him, merely as part of the secret history of our paper, some of Dannevig's questionable exploits while in our employ. Pfeiferwas hugely entertained, and swore that Dannevig was the mostinteresting rascal he had ever heard of. 

A few days later I was surprised by a call from Dannevig, who seemedagain to be in the full bloom of prosperity. And yet, thatinexpressible flavor of aristocracy, and that absolute fineness oftype which at our first meeting had so fascinated me, had undergonesome subtle change which was almost too fleeting for words to express. To put it bluntly, he had not borne transplantation well. Like thefinest European grapes, he had thriven in our soil, but turned out acoarser product than nature intended. He talked with oppressivebrilliancy about everything under the sun, patronized me (as indeed hehad always done), and behaved with a certain effusive amiability, theimpudence of which was simply masterly. 

"By the way, " he cried, with fine unconcern, "speaking of beer, how isyour friend, Miss Pfeifer? Her old man, I believe, owns a good deal ofstock in this paper, quite a controlling interest, I am told. "

"It will not pay to make love to her on that ground, Dannevig, " Ianswered, gravely, knowing well enough that he had come on adiplomatic errand. "Mr. Pfeifer is, in the first place, not herfather, and secondly, he has at least a dozen other heirs. "

"Make love to Miss Pfeifer!" he exclaimed, with a hearty laugh. "Why, I should just as soon think of making love to General Grant! Takingher all in all, bodily and mentally, there is a certain Teutonicheaviness and tenacity about her--a certain professorial ponderosityof thought which would give me a nightmare. She is the innocent resultof twenty generations of beer-drinking. "

"Suppose we change the subject, Dannevig, " I interrupted, ratherimpatiently. 

"Well, if you are not the oddest piece I ever did come across!" hereplied, laughingly. "You don't suppose she is a saint, do you?"

"Yes, I do!" I thundered, "and you would greatly oblige by nevermentioning her name again in my presence, or I might be tempted to dowhat I might regret. "

"Heavens!" he cried, laying hold of the door-knob. "I didn't know youwere in your dangerous mood to-day. You might at least have given afellow warning. Suppose, henceforth, when you have your bad days, youpost a placard on the door, with the inscription: 'Dangerous--must notbe crossed. ' Then I might know when not to call. Good-morning. "

 * * * * *

On the lake shore, a short distance north of Lincoln Park, Mr. Pfeiferhad a charming little villa where he spent the summer months inidyllic drowsiness, exhibiting a spasmodic interest in the culture ofEuropean grapes. Here I found myself one Saturday evening in themiddle of June, having accepted the owner's invitation to stay overSunday with him. I rang the door-bell, and inquired for Mr. Pfeifer. He had unexpectedly been called in to town, the servant informed me, but would return presently; the young lady I would probably find inthe garden. As I was not averse to a _tête-à-tête_ with Miss Hildegardjust then, I threaded my way carefully among the flower-beds, whosegorgeous medley of colors gleamed indistinctly through the twilight. Along bar of deep crimson traced itself along the western horizon, andhere and there a star was struggling out from the faint, blue, nocturnal dimness. Green and red and yellow lights dotted the surfaceof the lake, and the waves beat, with a slow, gurgling rhythm, againstthe strand beneath the garden fence; now and then the irrationalshrieks of some shrill-voiced little steamer broke in upon thestillness like an inappropriately lively remark upon a solemnconversation. I had half forgotten my purpose, and was walkingaimlessly on, when suddenly I was startled by the sound of humanvoices, issuing apparently from a dense arbor of grape-vines at thelower end of the walk. 

"Why will you not believe me, darling?" some one was saying. A greatrush of emotion--fear, anguish, hatred, shook my very soul. "Yourscepticism would make Tyndall tear his hair. Angels have no businessto be so sceptical. You are always doubting me, always darkening mylife by your irrational fears. "

"But, Victor, " answered another voice, which was none other thanHildegard's, "he is certainly a very good man, and would not tell meanything he believed to be untrue. Why, then, did he warn me sosolemnly against you? Even though I love you, I cannot help feelingthat there is something in your past which you hide from me. "

"If you will listen to that white-livered hypocrite, it is useless forme to try to convince you. But, if you must know it, --though, mind you, I tell you this only because you compel me, --I once interfered, because my conscience forced me to do so, in a very disgracefullove-affair of his in Denmark. He has hated me ever since, and is nowtaking his vengeance. I will give you the details some other time. Now, are you satisfied?"

"No, Victor, no. I am not. It is not because I have been listening toothers, that I torment you with these ungrateful questions. Sometimesa terrible dread comes over me, and though my heart rebels against it, I cannot conquer it. I feel as if some dark memory, some person, either living or dead, were standing between us, and would ever keepyou away from me. It is terrible, Victor, but I feel it even now. "

"And then all my love, my first and only abiding passion, my life, which I would gladly lay down at your feet--all goes for naught, merely because a foolish dream has taken possession of you. Ah, youare ill, my darling, you are nervous. "

"No, no, do not kiss me. Not to-night, Victor, not to-night. "

The horrible discovery had completely stunned me. I stood as ifspell-bound, and could neither stir nor utter a sound. But a suddenrustling of the leaves within broke through the torpor of my senses, and, with three great strides, I stood at the entrance to the arbor. Dannevig, instantly recognizing me, slipped dexterously out, and inthe next moment I heard him leaping over the fence, and running awayover the crisp sand. Miss Hildegard stood still and defiant before mein the twilight, and the audible staccato of her breath revealed to myears the agitation which the deepening shadows hid from my eyes. Anoverwhelming sense of compassion came over me, as for one who hadsustained a mortal hurt that was beyond the power of healing. Alas, that simplicity and uprightness of soul, and the boasted womanlyintuitions, should be such poor safeguards against the wiles of theserpent! And yet, I knew that to argue with her at this moment wouldbe worse than vain. 

"Fraulein, " I said, walking close up to her, and laying my handlightly on her arm, "with all my heart I deplore this. "

"Pray, do not inconvenience yourself with any such superfluousemotion, " she answered, in a tone, the forced hauteur of which wastruly pathetic. "I wish to hear no accusations of Mr. Dannevig fromyour mouth. What he does not choose to tell me himself, I will hearfrom no one else. "

"I have not volunteered any revelations, Fraulein, " I observed. "Moreover, I see you are posing for your own personal gratification. You wish to convince yourself of your constancy by provoking an attackfrom me. When love has reached that stage, Miss Hildegard, then thepatient is no longer absolutely incurable. Now, to convince you that Iam right, will you have the kindness to look me straight in the eyesand tell me that there is no shadow of doubt in your heart as to Mr. Dannevig's truthfulness; that, in other words, you believe that on oneoccasion he assumed the attitude of indignant virtue toward me, and inholy horror rebuked my profligacy. Dare you meet my eye, and tell methat?"

"Yes, " she exclaimed, boldly stepping out into the moonlight, andmeeting my eye with a steady gaze; but slowly and gradually the tears_would_ gather, her underlip _would_ quiver, and with a suddenmovement she turned around, and burst out weeping. 

"Oh, no! I cannot! I cannot!" she sobbed, sinking down upon the greensod. 

I stood long gazing mournfully at her, while the sobs shook herframe; there was a child-like, hearty _abandon_ in her grief, whicheased my mind, for it told me that her infatuation was not sohopeless, nor her hurt so great as I had feared. 

 * * * * *

The next evening when dinner was at an end, Mr. Pfeifer proposed awalk in the park. Hildegard pleaded a headache, and wished to beexcused. 

"Nonsense, child, " said Pfeifer, with his usual good-humoredperemptoriness. "If you have a headache, so much the more ought you togo. Put on your things now, and don't keep us waiting any longer thanyou can help. "

Hildegard submitted with demure listlessness, and soon re-appeared inher walking costume. 

The daylight had faded, and the evening was in its softest, mostethereal mood. The moon was drifting lazily among the light summerclouds, gazing down upon the many-voiced tumult of the crowded city, with that calm philosophic abstraction which always characterizes themoon, as if she, up there in her airy heights, were so infinitelyexalted above all the distracting problems and doubts that harass ourpoor human existence. We entered a concert garden, which was filledwith gayly dressed pleasure seekers; somewhere under the green roof ofthe trees an orchestra was discoursing strains of German music to aTeutonic audience. 

"_Donnerwetter_!" said Pfeifer, enthusiastically; "that is thesymphony in _E flat_; pretty well rendered too. Only hear that"--andhe began to whistle the air softly, with lively gesticulations "Come, let us go nearer and listen. "

"No, let us stay here, uncle, " remonstrated Hildegard. "I don't thinkit is quite nice to go so near. They are drinking beer there, andthere are so many horrible people. "

"Nonsense, child! Where did you get all those silly whims from? Whereit is respectable for your uncle to go, I am sure it won't hurt you tofollow. "

We made our way through the throng, and stationed ourselves under atree, from which we had a full survey of the merry company, seated atsmall tables, with huge foam-crowned mugs of beer before them. Suddenly a voice, somewhat louder than the rest, disentangled itselffrom the vague, inarticulate buzz, which filled the air about us. Swift as a flash my eyes darted in the direction from which the voicecame. There, within a few dozen steps from us, sat Dannevig betweentwo gaudily attired women; another man was seated at the opposite sideof the table, and between them stood a couple of bottles and severalhalf-filled glasses. The sight was by no means new to me, and still, in that moment, it filled me with unspeakable disgust. The knight ofDannebrog was as charmingly free-and-easy as if he were nestledsecurely in the privacy of his own fireside; his fine plumes weredeplorably ruffled, his hat thrust back, and his hair hanging intangled locks down over his forehead; his eyes were heavy, and a smileof maudlin happiness played about his mouth. 

"Now, don't make yourself precious, my dear, " he was saying, layinghis arm affectionately around the waist of the woman on his right. "Ilike German kisses. I speak from experience. Angels have no businessto be--"

"_Himmel_, what is the matter with the child, " cried Pfeifer, in avoice of alarm. "Why, my dear, you tremble all over. I ought not tohave made you go out with that headache. Wait here while I run forsome water. "

Before I could offer my services, he was gone, leaving me alone withHildegard. 

"Let us go, " she whispered, with a long, shuddering sigh, turning awhite face, full of fright, disgust, and pitiful appeal toward me. 

"Shall we not wait for your uncle?" I asked. 

"Oh, I cannot. Let us go, " she repeated, seizing my arm, and clingingconvulsively to me. 

We walked slowly away, and were soon overtaken by Mr. Pfeifer. 

"How do you feel now, child?" he inquired anxiously. 

"Oh, I feel--I feel--unclean, " she whispered and shuddered again. 

VIII. 

Two years passed, during which I completely lost sight of Dannevig. Ilearned that he had been dismissed from the service of the ImmigrationCompany; that he played second violin for a few months at one of thelowest city theatres, and finally made a bold stroke for fame byobtaining the Democratic nomination for County Clerk. I was faithlessenough, however, to call attention to the fact that he had never beennaturalized, whereupon, a new caucus was called, and another candidatewas put into the field. 

The Pfeifers I continued to see frequently, and, at last, atHildegard's own suggestion, told her the story I had so long withheldfrom her. She showed very little emotion, but sat pale and still withher hands folded in her lap, gazing gravely at me. When I hadfinished, she arose, walked the length of the room, then returned, andstopped in front of me. 

"Human life seems at times a very flimsy affair, doesn't it?" shesaid, appealing to me again with her direct gaze. 

"Yes, if one takes a cynical view of it, " I answered. 

She stood for a while pondering. 

"Did I ever know that man?" she asked, looking up abruptly. 

"You know best. "

"Then it must have been very, very long ago. "

A slight shiver ran through her frame. She shook my hand silently, andleft the room. 

One evening in the summer of 1870, just as the news from theFranco-Prussian war was arousing the enthusiasm of our Teutonicfellow-citizens, I was sauntering leisurely homeward, pondering withmuch satisfaction on the course history was taking. About half a milefrom the Clark street bridge I found my progress checked by a crowd ofmen who had gathered on the sidewalk outside of a German saloon, andwere evidently discussing some exciting topic. My journalisticinstincts prompted me to stop and listen to the discussion. 

"Poor fellow, I guess he is done for, " some one was saying. "But theywere both drunk; you couldn't expect anything else. "

"Is any one hurt?" I asked, addressing my next neighbor in the crowd. 

"Yes. It was a poor fool of a Dane. He got into a row with somebodyabout the war. Said he would undertake to whip ten Deutscherssingle-handed; that he had done so many a time in the Schleswig-Holsteinwar. Then there was some fighting, and he was shot. "

I spoke a few words to the policeman at the door, and was admitted. Thesaloon was empty but in the billiard-room at its rear I saw a doctorin his shirt-sleeves, bending over a man who lay outstretched on abilliard-table. A bartender was standing by with a basin of water anda bloody towel. 

"Do you know his name?" I inquired of the police officer. 

"They used to call him Danish Bill, " he answered. "Have known him fora good while. Believe his real name was Danborg, or Dan--something. "

"Not Dannevig?" I cried. 

"Dannevig? Yes, I guess you have got it. "

I hastily approached the table. There lay Dannevig--but I would rathernot describe him. It was hard to believe it, but this heavy-lidded, coarse-skinned, red-veined countenance bore a cruel, caricaturedresemblance to the clean-cut, exquisitely modelled face of the man Ihad once called my friend. A death-like stupor rested upon hisfeatures; his eyes were closed, but his mouth half open. 

"By Jove!" exclaimed the physician, in a burst of professionalenthusiasm, "what a splendid animal he must have been! Hardly saw abetter made man in all my life. "

"But he is not dead!" I protested, somewhat anxiously. 

"No; but he has no chance, that I can see. May last over to-morrow, but hardly longer. Does any one know where he lodges?"

No one answered. 

"But, _Himmel_! he cannot stay here. " The voice was the bartender's, but it seemed to be addressed to no one in particular. 

"I have known him for years, " I said. "Take him to my rooms; they areonly a dozen blocks away. "

A carriage was sent for, and away we drove, the doctor and I, slowly, cautiously, holding the still unconscious man between us. We laid himon my bed, and the doctor departed, promising to return beforemorning. 

A little after midnight Dannevig became restless, and as I went to hisside, opened his eyes with a look of full, startled consciousness. 

"I'm about played out, old fellow, aint I?" he groaned. 

I motioned to him to be silent. 

"No, " he went on, in a strained whisper, "it is no use now. I knowwell enough how I stand. You needn't try to fool me. "

He lay for a while motionless, while his eyes wandered restlesslyabout the room. He made an effort to speak, but his words wereinaudible. I stooped over him, laying my ear to his mouth. 

"Can--can you lend me five dollars?"

I nodded. 

"You will find--a pawnbroker's check--in my vest pocket, " hecontinued. "The address is--is--on it. Redeem it. It is a ring. Sendit--to--to the Countess von Brehm--with--with--my compliments, " hefinished with a groan. 

We spent several hours in silence. About three o'clock the doctor paida brief visit; and I read in his face that the end was near. The firstsunbeams stole through the closed shutters and scattered littlequivering fragments of light upon the carpet. A deep stillness reignedabout us. As I sat watching the defaced ruin of what had been, to meat least, one of the noblest forms which a human spirit everinhabited, the past moved in a vivid retrospect before my eye, andmany strange reflections thronged upon me. Presently Dannevig calledme and I stood again bowing over him. 

"When you--bury me, " he said in a broken whisper. "Carry my--crossof--Dannebrog--on a cushion after me. " And again after a moment'spause: "I have--made a--nice mess of it, haven t I? I--I--think itwould--have--have been better for--me, if--I had been--somebody else. "

Within an hour he was dead. Myself and two policemen followed him tothe grave; and the cross of Dannebrog, with a much soiled red ribbon, was carried on a velvet cushion after his coffin. 

MABEL AND I. 

(A PHILOSOPHICAL FAIRY TALE. )

I. 

"I want to see things as they are, " said I to Mabel. 

"I don't see how else you can see them, " answered Mabel, with a laugh. "You certainly don't see them as they are not. "

"Yes, I do, " said I. "I see men and things only as they _seem_. It isso exasperating to think that I can never get beyond the surface ofanything. My friends may appear very good and beautiful to me, and yetI may all the while have a suspicion that the appearance is deceitful, that they are really neither good nor beautiful. "

"In case that was so, I shouldn't want to know it, " said Mabel. "Itwould make me very unhappy. "

"That is where you and I differ, " said I. 

Mabel was silent for a moment, and I believe she was a little hurt, for I had spoken rather sharply. 

"But what good would it do you, Jamie?" asked she, looking up at mefrom under her wide-brimmed straw hat. 

"What would do me good?" said I, for I had quite forgotten what we hadbeen talking about. 

"To see things as they are. There is my father now; he knows a greatdeal, and I am sure I shouldn't care to know any more than he does. "

"Well, that is where you and I differ, " said I again. 

"I wish you wouldn't be always saying 'that is where you and Idiffer. ' Somehow I don't like to hear you say it. It doesn't soundlike yourself. "

And Mabel turned away from me, took up a leaf from the ground andbegan to pick it to pieces. 

We were sitting, at the time when this conversation took place, up inthe gorge not half a mile from the house where Mabel's father lived. Iwas a tutor in the college, about twenty-three years old, and I wasvery fond of German philosophy. And now, since I have told who I was, I suppose I ought to tell you something about Mabel. Mabel was, --butreally it is impossible to say what she was, except that she was very, very charming. As for the rest, she was the daughter of ProfessorMarkham, and I had known her since my college days when she was quitea little girl. And now she wore long dresses; and, what was more, shehad her hair done up in a sort of Egyptian pyramid on the top of herhead. The dress she had on to-day I was particularly fond of; it wasof a fine light texture, and the pattern was an endless repetition ofa small, sweet-brier bud, with two delicate green leaves attached toit. 

I had spread a shawl out on the ground where Mabel was sitting, forfear she should soil her fine dress. A large weeping-willow spread itsbranches all around us, and drooped until it almost touched theground, so that it made a sort of green, sunlit summer-house, forMabel and me to live in. Between the rocks at our feet a clear brookcame rushing down, throwing before it little showers of spray, whichfell like crystal pearls on the water, sailed down the swift eddiesand then vanished in the next whirlpool. A couple of orioles inbrand-new yellow uniforms, with black epaulets on their shoulders, were busy in the tree over our heads, but stopped now and then intheir work to refresh themselves with a little impromptu duet. 

 "Work and play Make glad the day, "--

that seemed to be their philosophy, and Mabel and I were quite readyto agree with them, although we had been idling since the early dawn. But then it was so long since we had seen each other, that we thoughtwe could afford it. 

"Somehow, " said Mabel at last (for she never could pout long at atime), "I don't like you so well since you came back from Germany. Youare not as nice as you used to be. What did you go there for, anyway?"

"Why, " I responded, quite seriously, "I went there to study; and I didlearn a good deal there, although naturally I was not as industriousas I might have been. "

"I can readily believe that. But, tell me, what did you learn that youmightn't just as well have learned at home?"

I thought it was no use in being serious any longer; so I tossed apebble into the water, glanced up into Mabel's face and answeredgayly:

"Well, I learned something about gnomes and pigmies and elves andfairies and salamanders, and--"

"And what?" interrupted Mabel, impatiently. 

"And salamanders, " repeated I. "You know the forests and rivers andmountains of Germany are full of all sorts of strange sprites, and youknow the people believe in them, and that is one of the things whichmake life in the Old World so fascinating. But here we are too prosyand practical and business-like, and we don't believe in anythingexcept what we can touch with our hands, and see with our eyes, andsell for money. "

"Now, Jamie, that is not true, " responded Mabel, energetically; forshe was a strong American at heart, and it didn't take much to rouseher. "I believe, for instance, that you know a great deal although notas much as my father; but I can't see your learning with my eyes, neither can I touch it with my hands--"

"But I hope I can sell it for money, " interrupted I, laughing. 

"No, joking aside. I don't think we are quite as bad as you would liketo make us out. "

"And then you think, perhaps, that the gnomes and river-sprites wouldbe as apt to thrive here as in the Old World?"

"Who knows?" said Mabel, with an expression that seemed to me halfserious and half playful. "But I wish you would tell me somethingabout your German sprites. I am so very ignorant in such things, youknow. "

I stretched myself comfortably on the edge of the shawl at Mabel'sfeet, and began to tell her the story about the German peasant whocaught the gnome that had robbed his wheat-field. 

"The gnomes wear tiny red caps, " I went on, "which make theminvisible. They are called tarn-caps, or caps of darkness. The peasantthat I am telling about had a suspicion that it was the gnomes who hadbeen stealing his wheat. One evening, he went out after sunset (forthe gnomes never venture out from their holes until the sun is down)and began to fight in the air with his cane about the borders of thefield. Then suddenly he saw a very tiny man with knee-breeches andlarge frightened eyes, turning a somersault in the grass right at hisfeet. He had struck off his cap, and then, of course, the gnome was nolonger invisible. The peasant immediately seized the cap and put itinto his pocket; the gnome begged and implored to get it back, butinstead of that, the peasant caught him up in his arms and carried himto his house, where he kept him as a captive until the other gnomessent a herald to him and offered him a large ransom. Then the gnomewas again set free and the peasant made his fortune by thetransaction. "

"Wouldn't it be delightful if such things could ever happen here?"exclaimed Mabel, while her beautiful eyes shone with pleasure at thevery thought. 

"I should think so, " said I. "It is said, too, that if there aregnomes and elves in the neighborhood, they always gather around youwhen you talk about them. "

"Really?" And Mabel sent a timid glance in among the large mossytrunks of the beeches and pines. 

"Tell me something more, Jamie, " she demanded, eagerly. 

Mabel had such a charming way of saying "Jamie, " that I could neverhave opposed a wish of hers, whatever it might be. The professorcalled me James, and among my friends I was Jim; but it was only Mabelwho called me Jamie. So I told her all I knew about the nixies, whosang their strange songs at midnight in the water; about the elves, who lived in the roses and lilies, and danced in a ring around thetall flowers until the grass never grew there again; and about theelf-maiden who led the knight astray when he was riding to his brideon his wedding-day. And all the while Mabel's eyes seemed to begrowing larger; the blood burned in her cheeks, and sometimes sheshuddered, although the afternoon was very warm. When I had finishedmy tale, I rose and seated myself at her side. The silence suddenlyseemed quite oppressive; it was almost as if we could hear it. Forsome reason neither Mabel nor I dared to speak; but we both strainedour ears listening to something, we did not know what. Then there camea strange soft whisper which filled the air all about us, and Ithought I heard somebody calling my name. 

"They are calling you, Jamie, " whispered Mabel. 

"Calling me? Who?" said I. 

"Up there in the tree. No, not there. It is down in the brook. Everywhere. "

"Oh, " cried I, with a forced laugh. "We are two great children, Mabel. It is nothing. "

Suddenly all was silent once more; but the wood-stars and violets atmy feet gazed at me with such strange, wistful eyes, that I was almostfrightened. 

"You shouldn't have done that, Jamie, " said Mabel. "You killed them. "

"Killed what?"

"The voices, the strange, small voices. "

"My dear girl, " said I, as I took Mabel's hands and helped her torise. "I am afraid we are both losing our senses. Come, let us go. Thesun is already down. It must be after tea-time. "

"But you know we were talking about them, " whispered she, still withthe same fascinated gaze in her eyes. "Ah, there, take care! Don'tstep on that violet. Don't you see how its mute eyes implore you tospare its life?"

"Yes, dear, I see, " answered I; and I drew Mabel's arm through mine, and we hurried down the wood-path, not daring to look back, for we hadboth a feeling as if some one was walking close behind us, in oursteps. 

II. 

It was a little after ten, I think, when I left the professor's house, where I had been spending the evening, and started on my homeward way. 

As I walked along the road the thought of Mabel haunted me. Iwondered whether I ever should be a professor, like her father, andended with concluding that the next best thing to being one's self aprofessor would be to be a professor's son-in-law. But, somehow, Iwasn't at all sure that Mabel cared anything about me. 

"Things are not what they seem, " I murmured to myself, "and the realMabel may be a very different creature from the Mabel whom I know. "

There was not much comfort in that thought, but nevertheless I couldnot get rid of it. I glanced up to the big round face of the moon, which had a large ring of mist about its neck; and looking moreclosely I thought I saw a huge floundering body, of which the moon wasthe head, crawling heavily across the sky, and stretching a long mistyarm after me. I hurried on, not caring to look right or left; and Isuppose I must have taken the wrong turn, for as I lifted my eyes, Ifound myself standing under the willow-tree at the creek where Mabeland I had been sitting in the afternoon. The locusts, with theirshrill metallic voices, kept whirring away in the grass, and I heardtheir strange hissing sh-h-h-h-h, now growing stronger, then weakeningagain, and at last stopping abruptly, as if to say: "Didn't I dowell?" But the blue-eyed violets shook their heads, and that means intheir language: "No, I don't think so at all. " The water, whichdescended in three successive falls into the wide, dome-shaped gorge, seemed to me, as I stood gazing at it, to be going the wrong way, crawling, with eager, foamy hands, up the ledges of the rock to whereI was standing. 

"I must certainly be mad, " thought I, "or I am getting to be a poet. "

In order to rid myself of the painful illusion, which was every momentgetting more vivid, I turned my eyes away and hurried up along thebank, while the beseeching murmur of the waters rang in my ears. 

As I had ascended the clumsy wooden stairs which lead up to the secondfall, I suddenly saw two little blue lights hovering over the grounddirectly in front of me. 

"Will-o'-the-wisps, " said I to myself. "The ground is probablymarshy. "

I pounded with my cane on the ground, but, as I might have known, itwas solid rock. It was certainly very strange. I flung myself downbehind the trunk of a large hemlock. The two blue lights came hoveringdirectly toward me. I lifted my cane, --with a swift blow it cut theair, and, --who can imagine my astonishment? Right in front of me I sawa tiny man, not much bigger than a good-sized kitten, and at his sidelay a small red cap; the cap, of course, I immediately snatched up andput it in a separate apartment in my pocket-book to make sure that Ishould not lose it. One of the lights hastened away to the rocks andvanished before I could overtake it. 

There was something so very funny in the idea of finding a gnome inthe State of New York, that the strange fear which had possessed medeparted and I felt very much inclined to laugh. My blow had quitestunned the poor little creature; he was still lying half on his back, as if trying to raise himself on his elbows, and his large black eyeshad a terrified stare in them, and seemed to be ready to spring out oftheir sockets. 

"Give--give me back my cap, " he gasped at last, in a strange metallicvoice, which sounded to me like the clinking of silver coins. 

"Not so fast, my dear, " said I. "What will you give me for it?"

"Anything, " he cried, as he arose and held out his small hand. 

"Then listen to me, " continued I. "Can you help me to see things asthey are? In that case I shall give you back your cap, but on no othercondition. "

"See things as they are?" repeated the gnome, wonderingly. 

"Yes, and not only as they seem, " rejoined I, with emphasis. 

"Return here at midnight, " began he, after a long silence. "Upon thestone where you are sitting you shall find what you want. If you takeit, leave my cap on the same spot. "

"That is a fair bargain, " said I. "I shall be here promptly attwelve. Good-night. "

I had extended my palm to shake hands with my new friend, but heseemed to resent my politeness; with a sort of snarl, he turned asomersault and rolled down the hill-side to where the rocks rise fromthe water. 

I need not say that I kept my promise about returning. And what did Ifind? A pair of spectacles of the most exquisite workmanship; theglasses so clear as almost to deceive the sight, and the bows of goldspun into fine elastic threads. 

"We shall soon see what they are good for, " thought I, as I put theminto the silver case, the wonderful finish of which I could hardlydistinguish by the misty light of the moon. 

The little tarn-cap I, of course, left on the stone. As I wanderedhomeward through the woods, I thought, with a certain fierce triumph, that now the beauty of Mabel's face should no more deceive me. 

"Now, Mabel, " I murmured, "now I shall see you as you are. "

III. 

At three o'clock in the afternoon I knocked at the door of theprofessor's study. 

"Come in, " said the professor. 

"Is--is Mabel at home?" asked I, when I had shaken hands with theprofessor and seated myself in one of his hard, straight-backedchairs. 

"She will be down presently, " answered he "There is _The Nation_. Youmay amuse yourself with that until she comes. "

I took up the paper; but the spectacles seemed to be burning in mybreast-pocket, and although I stared intently at the print, I couldhardly distinguish a word. What if I tried the power of the spectacleson the professor? The idea appeared to me a happy one, and Iimmediately proceeded to put it into practice. With a loudly beatingheart, I pulled the silver case from my pocket, rubbed the glasseswith my handkerchief, put them on my nose, adjusted the bows behind myears, and cast a stealthy glance at the professor over the edge of mypaper. But what was my horror! It was no longer the professor at all. It was a huge parrot, a veritable parrot in slippers anddressing-gown! I dared hardly believe my senses. Was the professor_really_ not a man, but a parrot? My dear trusted and honored teacher, whom I had always looked upon as the wisest and most learned of livingmen, could it be possible that _he_ was a parrot? And still there hesat, grave and sedate, a pair of horn spectacles on his large, crookedbeak, a few stiff feathers bristling around his bald crown, and hissmall eyes blinking with a sort of meaningless air of confidence, asI often had seen a parrot's eyes doing. 

"My gnome has been playing a trick on me, " I thought. "This iscertainly not to see things as they are. If I only had his tarn-caponce more, he should not recover it so cheaply. "

"Well, my boy, " began the professor, as he wheeled round in his chair, and knocked the ashes out of his pipe on the polished andirons whichadorned the empty fire-place. "How is the world using you? Gettingover your German whims, eh?"

Surely the spectacles must in some mysterious way have affected myears too. The professor's voice certainly did sound very curious--verymuch like the croak of some bird that had learned human language, buthad no notion of what he was saying. The case was really gettingserious. I threw the paper away, stared my teacher full in the face, but was so covered with confusion that I could hardly utter twocoherent words. 

"Yes, yes, --certainly, --professor, " I stammered. "German whims?--Imean things as they are--and--and not as they seem--_das Ding ansich_--beg your pardon--I am not sure, I--I comprehended yourmeaning--beg your pardon?"

"My dear boy, " croaked the professor, opening his beak in greatbewilderment, and showing a little thick red tongue, which curvedupward like that of a parrot, "you are certainly not well. Mabel!Mabel! Come down! James is ill! Yes, you certainly look wretchedly. Let me feel your pulse. "

I suppose my face must have been very much flushed, for the blood hadmounted to my head and throbbed feverishly in my temples. As I heardthe patter of Mabel's feet in the hall, a great dread came over me. What if she too should turn out to be somebody else--a strange bird orbeast? No, not for all the world would I see Mabel--the dear, blessedMabel--any differently from what she had always seemed to me. So Itore the spectacles from my nose, and crammed them into the case, which again I thrust into my pocket. In the same instant Mabel's sweetface appeared in the door. 

"Did you call me, papa?" she said; then, as she saw me reclining onthe sofa, where her father (now no longer a parrot) had forced me tolie down, there came a sudden fright into her beautiful eyes, and shesprang to my side and seized my hand in hers. 

"Are you ill, Jamie?" she asked, in a voice of unfeigned anxiety, which went straight to my heart. "Has anything happened to you?"

"Hush, hush!" said the professor. "Don't make him speak. It might haveproved a serious attack. Too much studying, my dear--too muchstudying. To be sure, the ambition of young men nowadays is pastbelief. It was different in my youth. Then, every young man wassatisfied if he could only make a living--found a home for himself, and bring up his family in the fear of God. But now, dear me, suchthings are mere nursery ambitions. "

I felt wretched and guilty in my heart! To be thus imposing upon twogood people, who loved me and were willing to make every sacrifice formy comfort! Mabel had brought a pillow, and put it under my head; andnow she took out some sort of crochet-work, and seated herself on achair close by me. The professor stood looking at his watch andcounting my pulse-beats. 

"One hundred and five, " he muttered, and shook his bald head. "Yes, hehas fever. I saw it at once, as he entered the room. "

"Professor, " I cried out, in an agony of remorse, "really I meantnothing by it. I know very well that you are not a parrot--that youare--"

"I--I--a parrot!" he exclaimed, smiling knowingly at Mabel. "No, Ishould think not. He is raving, my dear. High fever. Just what I said. Won't you go out and send Maggie for the doctor? No, stop, I shall gomyself. Then he will be sure to come without delay. It is high time. "

The professor buttoned his coat up to his chin, fixed his hat at theproper angle on the back of his head, and departed in haste. 

"How do you feel now, Jamie dear?" said Mabel, after awhile. 

"I am very well, I thank you, Mabel, " answered I. "In fact, it is allnonsense. I am not sick at all. "

"Hush, hush! you must not talk so much, " demanded she, and put herhand over my mouth. 

My excitement was now gradually subsiding, and my blood was returningto its usual speed. 

"If you don't object, Mabel, " said I, "I'll get up and go home. There's nothing whatever the matter with me. "

"Will you be a good boy and keep quiet, " rejoined she, emphasizingeach word by a gentle tap on my head with her crochet-needle. 

"Well, if it can amuse you to have me lying here and playing sick, "muttered I, "then, of course, I will do anything to please you. "

"That is right, " said she, and gave me a friendly nod. 

So I lay still for a long while, until I came once more to think of mywonderful spectacles, which had turned the venerable professor into aparrot. I thought I owed Mabel an apology for what I had done to herfather, and I determined to ease my mind by confiding the whole storyto her. 

"Mabel, " I began, raising myself on my elbow, "I want to tell yousomething, but you must promise me beforehand that you will not beangry with me. "

"Angry with you, Jamie?" repeated she, opening her bright eyes wide inastonishment. "I never was angry with you in my life. "

"Very well, then. But I have done something very bad, and I shallnever have peace until I have confided it all to you. You are so verygood, Mabel. I wish I could be as good as you are. "

Mabel was about to interrupt me, but I prevented her, and continued:

"Last night, as I was going home from your house, the moonlight was sostrangely airy and beautiful, and without quite intending to do it, Ifound myself taking a walk through the gorge. There I saw some curiouslittle lights dancing over the ground, and I remembered the story ofthe peasant who had caught the gnome. And do you know what I did?"

Mabel was beginning to look apprehensive. 

"No, I can't imagine what you did, " she whispered. 

"Well, I lifted my cane, struck at one of the lights, and, before Iknew it, there lay a live gnome on the ground, kicking with his smalllegs. "

"Jamie! Jamie!" cried Mabel, springing up and gazing at me, as if shethought I had gone mad. 

Then there was an unwelcome shuffling of feet in the hall, the doorwas opened, and the professor entered with the doctor. 

"Papa, papa!" exclaimed Mabel, turning to her father. "Do you knowwhat Jamie says? He says he saw a gnome last night in the gorge, andthat--"

"Yes, I did!" cried I, excitedly, and sprang up to seize my hat. "Ifnobody will believe me, I needn't stay here any longer. And if youdoubt what I have been saying, I can show you--"

"My dear sir, " said the doctor. 

"My dear boy, " chimed in the professor, and seized me round the waistto prevent me from escaping. 

"My dear Jamie, " implored Mabel, while the tears started to her eyes, "do keep quiet, do!"

The doctor and the professor now forced me back upon the sofa, and Ihad once more to resign myself to my fate. 

"A most singular hallucination, " said the professor, turning hisround, good-natured face to the doctor. "A moment ago he observed thatI was _not_ a parrot, which necessarily must have been suggested by aprevious hallucination that I _was_ a parrot. "

The doctor shook his head and looked grave. 

"Possibly a very serious case, " said he, "a case of ----, " and he gaveit a long Latin name, which I failed to catch. "It is well that I wascalled in time. We may still succeed in mastering the disease. "

"Too much study?" suggested the professor. "Restless ambition? Nightlabor--severe application?"

The doctor nodded and tried to look wise. Mabel burst into tears, andI myself, seeing her distress, could hardly refrain from weeping. Andstill I could not help thinking that it was very sweet to see Mabel'stears flowing for my sake. 

The doctor now sat down and wrote a number of curiously abbreviatedLatin words for a prescription, and handed it to the professor, whofolded it up and put it into his pocket-book. 

Half an hour later, I lay in a soft bed with snowy-white curtains, ina cozy little room upstairs. The shades had been pulled down beforethe windows, a number of medicine bottles stood on a chair at mybedside, and I began to feel quite like an invalid--and all because Ihad said (what nobody could deny) that the professor was not a parrot. 

IV. 

I soon learned that the easiest way to recover my liberty was to offerno resistance, and to say nothing more about the gnome and thespectacles. Mabel came and sat by my bedside for a few hours everyafternoon, and her father visited me regularly three times a day, felt my pulse and gave me a short lecture on moderation in study, onthe evil effects of ambition, and on the dangerous tendencies ofmodern speculation. 

The gnome's spectacles I kept hidden under my pillow, and many a timewhen Mabel was with me I felt a strong temptation to try their effectupon her. Was Mabel really as good and beautiful as she seemed to me?Often I had my hand on the dangerous glasses, but always the samedread came over me, and my courage failed me. That sweet, fair, beautiful face, --what could it be, if it was not what it seemed? No, no, I loved Mabel too well as she seemed, to wish to know whether shewas a delusion or a reality. What good would it do me if I found outthat she too was a parrot, or a goose, or any other kind of bird orbeast? The fairest hope would go out of my life, and I should havelittle or nothing left worth living for. I must confess that mycuriosity often tormented me beyond endurance, but, as I said, I couldnever muster courage enough either to conquer it or to yield to it. Thus, when at the end of a week I was allowed to sit up, I knew nomore about Mabel's real character than I had known before. I saw thatshe was patient, kind-hearted, sweet-tempered, --that her comings andgoings were as quiet and pleasant as those of the sunlight which nowstole in unhindered and again vanished through the uncurtainedwindows. And, after all, had I not known that always? One thing, however, I now knew better than before, and that was that I nevercould love anybody as I loved Mabel, and that I hoped some time tomake her my wife. 

A couple of days elapsed, and then I was permitted to return to my ownlonely rooms. And very dreary and desolate did they seem to me afterthe pleasant days I had spent, playing sick, with Mabel and theprofessor. I did try once or twice the effect of my spectacles on someof my friends, and always the result was astonishing. Once I put themon in church, and the minister, who had the reputation of being a verypious man, suddenly stood before me as a huge fox in gown and bands. His voice sounded like a sort of a bark, and his long snout opened andshut again in such a funny fashion that I came near laughing aloud. But, fortunately, I checked myself and looked for a moment at a coupleof old maids in the pew opposite. And, whether you will believe me ornot, they looked exactly like two dressed-up magpies, while the stoutold gentleman next to them had the appearance of a sedate and piousturkey-cock. As he took out his handkerchief and blew his nose--I meanhis bill--the laughter again came over me, and I had to stoop down inthe pew and smother my merriment. An old chum of mine, who was afamous sportsman and a great favorite with the ladies, turned out tobe a bull-dog, and as he adjusted his neck-tie and pulled up hiscollar around his thick, hairy neck, I had once more to hide my facein order to preserve my gravity. 

I am afraid, if I had gone on with my observations, I should have lostmy faith in many a man and woman whom I had previously trusted andadmired, for they were probably not all as good and amiable as theyappeared. However, I could not help asking myself, as Mabel had done, what good such a knowledge would, in the end, do me. Was it not betterto believe everybody good, until convinced to the contrary, than todistrust everybody and by my suspicion do injustice to those who werereally better than they seemed? After all, I thought, these spectaclesare making me morbid and suspicious; they are a dangerous and uselessthing to possess. I will return them to their real owner. 

This, then, was my determination. A little before sunset I started forthe gorge, and on my way I met a little girl playing with pebbles atthe roadside. My curiosity once more possessed me. I put on thegnome's spectacles and gazed intently at the child. Strange to say notransformation occurred. I took off the glasses, rubbed them with myhandkerchief, and put them on once more. The child still remained whatit seemed--a child; not a feature was changed. Here, then, was reallya creature that was neither more nor less than it seemed. For someinconceivable reason the tears started to my eyes; I took the littlegirl up in my arms and kissed her. My thoughts then naturally turnedto Mabel; I knew in the depth of my heart that she, too, would haveremained unchanged. What could she be that was better than her ownsweet self--the pure, the beautiful, the blessed Mabel?

When the sun was well set, I sat down under the same hemlock-treewhere I had first met the gnome. After half an hour's waiting I againsaw the lights advancing over the ground, struck at random at one ofthem and the small man was once more visible. I did not seize his cap, however, but addressed him in this manner:

"Do you know, you curious Old World sprite, what scrapes yourdetestable spectacles brought me into? Here they are. Take them back. I don't want to see them again as long as I live. "

In the next moment I saw the precious glasses in the gnome's hand, abroad, malicious grin distorted his features, and before I could sayanother word, he had snatched up his cap and vanished. 

A few days later, Mabel, with her sweet-brier dress on, was againwalking at my side along the stream in the gorge, and somehow ourfootsteps led us to the old willow-tree where we had had out talkabout the German gnomes and fairies. 

"Suppose, Jamie, " said Mabel, as we seated ourselves on the grass, "that a good fairy should come to you and tell you that your highestwish should be fulfilled. What would you then ask?"

"I would ask, " cried I, seizing Mabel's hand "that she would give me agood little wife, with blue eyes and golden hair, whose name should beMabel. "

Mabel blushed crimson and turned her face away from me to hide herconfusion. 

"You would not wish to see things as they are, then, " whispered she, while the sweetest smile stole over her blushing face. 

"Oh, no, no!" exclaimed I. "But what would you ask, Mabel?"

"I, " answered she, "would ask the fairy to give me a husband who lovedme well, if--if his name was--Jamie. "

A little before supper-time we both stole on tip-toe into theprofessor's study. He was writing, as usual, and did not notice us. Mabel went up to his chair from behind and gently put her hands overhis eyes, and asked if he could guess who it was. He, of course, guessed all the names he could think of, except the right one. 

"Papa, " said Mabel, at last, restoring to him once more the use of hiseyes, "Jamie and I have something we want to tell you. "

"And what is it, my dear?" asked the professor, turning round on hischair, and staring at us as if he expected something extraordinary. 

"I don't want to say it aloud, " said Mabel. "I want to whisper it. "

"And I, too, " echoed I. 

And so we both put our mouths, one on each side, to the professor'sears, and whispered. 

"But, " exclaimed the old man, as soon as he could recover his breath, "you must bear in mind that life is not a play, --that--that life isnot what it seems--"

"No, but Mabel _is_, " said I. 

"Is, --is what?"

"What she seems, " cried I. 

And then we both laughed; and the professor kissed Mabel, shook myhand, and at last all laughed. 

HOW MR. STORM MET HIS DESTINY. 

I. 

 Hüt' dich vor Mägdelein, Söhnelein, Söhnelein. --HEINE. 

I do not know why people always spoke of my friend Edmund Storm as aconfirmed bachelor, considering the fact that he was not far on theshady side of thirty. It is true, he looked considerably older, andhad to all appearances entered that bloomless and sapless period whichwith women is called "uncertain age. " Nevertheless, I had a privateconviction that Storm might some fine day shed this dry and shrunkenchrysalis, and emerge in some brilliant and unexpected form. I cannotimagine what ground I had for such a belief; I only know that I alwaysfelt called upon to combat the common illusion that he was by natureand temperament set apart for eternal celibacy, or even that he hadceased to be agitated by matrimonial aspirations. I dimly felt thatthere was a sort of refined cruelty in thus excluding a man from thecommon lot of the race; men often have pity but seldom love for thosewho either from eccentricity or peculiar excellence separatethemselves from the broad, warm current of human life, having no partin the errors, ideals, and aspirations of their more commonplacebrethren. Even a slight deviation from the physical type of commonmanhood and womanhood, as for instance, the possession of a sixth toeor finger, would in the eyes of the multitude go far toward making aman morally objectionable. It was, perhaps, because I wished to savemy friend Storm from this unenviable lot that I always contended thathe was yet a promising candidate for matrimony. 

Edmund Storm was a Norseman by birth, but had emigrated some five orsix years before I made his acquaintance. Our first meeting wasbrought about in rather a singular manner. I had written an article inone of our leading newspapers, commenting upon the characteristics ofour Scandinavian immigrants and indulging some fine theories, highlyeulogistic of the women of my native land. A few days after thepublication of this article, my pride was seriously shocked by thereceipt of a letter which told me in almost so many words that I was aconceited fool, with opinions worthy of a bedlam. The writer, whoprofessed to be better informed, added his name and address, andinvited me to call upon him at a specified hour, promising to furnishme with valuable material for future treatises on the same subject. My curiosity naturally piqued, and, swallowing my humiliation Idetermined to obey the summons. I found some satisfaction in thethought that my unknown critic resided in a very unfashionableneighborhood, and mentally put him down as one of those half-civilizedboors whom the first breath of our republican air had inflated a gooddeal beyond their natural dimensions. I was therefore somewhatdisconcerted when, after having climbed half a dozen long staircases, I was confronted with a pale, thin man, of calm, gentlemanly bearing, with the unmistakable stamp of culture upon his brow. He shook my handwith grave politeness, and pointing to a huge arm-chair ofantediluvian make, invited me to be seated. The large, low-ceiled roomwas filled with furniture of the most fantastic styles;--tables andchairs with twisted legs and scrolls of tarnished gilt; asolid-looking, elaborately carved _chiffonier_, exhibiting Adam andEve in airy dishabille, sowing the seeds of mischief for an unbornworld; a long mirror in broad gilt frame of the most deliciouslyquaint rococo, calling up the images of slim, long-waisted ladies andpowdered gentlemen with wristbands of ancient lace, silk stockings, and gorgeous coats, _a la_ Louis XV. The very air seemed to be filledwith the vague musty odor of by-gone times, and the impression grewupon me that I had unawares stepped into a lumber-room, where theeighteenth century was stowed away for safe-keeping. 

"You see I have a weakness for old furniture, " explained my host, while his rigid features labored for an instant to adjust themselvesinto something resembling a smile. I imagined I could hear themcreaking faintly in the effort like tissue-paper when crumpled by anunwary hand. I almost regretted my rudeness in having subjected him tothe effort. I noticed that he spoke with a slow, laboriousenunciation, as if he were fashioning the words carefully in his mouthbefore making up his mind to emit them. His thin, flexible lips seemedadmirably adapted for this purpose. 

"It is the only luxury I allow myself, " he continued, seeing that Iwas yet ill at ease. "My assortment, as you will observe, is as yet avery miscellaneous one, and I do not know that I ever shall be able tocomplete it. "

"You are a fortunate man, " remarked I, "who can afford to indulge suchexpensive tastes. "

"Expensive, " he repeated musingly, as if that idea had never untilthen occurred to him. "You are quite mistaken. Expensive, as Iunderstand the term, is not that which has a high intrinsic worth, butthat which can only be procured at a price considerably above its realvalue. In this sense, a hobby is not an expensive thing. It is, as Iregard it, one of the safest investments life has to offer. Anunambitious man like myself, without a hobby, would necessarily beeither an idler or a knave. And I am neither the one nor the other. The truth is, my life was very poorly furnished at the start, and Ihave been laboring ever since to supply the deficiency. I am one ofthose crude colorless, superfluous products which Nature throws offwith listless ease in her leisure moments when her thoughts arewandering and her strength has been exhausted by some great and nobleeffort. "

Mr. Storm uttered these extraordinary sentiments, not with a carelesstoss of the head, and loud demonstrative ardor, but with a grave, measured intonation, as if he were reciting from some tedious moralbook recommended by ministers of the gospel and fathers of families. His long, dry face, with its perpendicular wrinkles, and the wholeabsurd proportion between his longitude and latitude, suggested to methe idea that Nature had originally made him short and stout, andthen, having suddenly changed her mind, had subjected him to aprolonged process of stretching in order to adapt him to the alteredtype. I had no doubt that if I could see those parts of his body whichwere now covered, they would show by longitudinal wrinkles the effectsof this hypothetical stretching. His features in their original shapemay have been handsome, although I am inclined to doubt it; there wereglimpses of fine intentions in them, but, as a whole, he was right inpronouncing them rather a second-rate piece of workmanship. His nosewas thin, sharp, and aquiline, and the bone seemed to exert a severestrain upon the epidermis, which was stretched over the projectingbridge with the tensity of a drum-head. I will not reveal what anunpleasant possibility this niggardliness on Nature's part suggestedto me. His eyes (the only feature in him which was distinctly Norse)were of a warm gray tint, and expressed frank severity. You saw atonce that, whatever his eccentricities might be, here was a Norsemanin whom there was no guile. It was these fine Norse eyes which at onceprepossessed me in Storm's favor. They furnished me approximately withthe key-note to his character; I knew that God did not expend sucheyes upon any but the rarest natures. Storm's taste for old furniturewas no longer a mystery; in fact, I began to suspect that there lurkeda fantastic streak of some warm, deep-tinged hue somewhere in his bonycomposition, and my fingers began to itch with the desire to make apsychological autopsy. 

"Apropos of crude workmanship, " began my host after a pause, duringwhich he had been examining his long fingers with an air of criticismand doubtful approbation. "You know why I wrote to you?"

I confessed that I was unable to guess his motive. 

"Well, then, listen to me. Your article was written with a good dealof youthful power; but it was thoroughly false. You spoke of what youdid not know. I thought it was my duty to guard you from futureerrors, especially as I felt that you were a young man standing uponthe threshold of life, about to enter upon a career of great mischiefor great usefulness. Then you are of my own blood--but there is noneed of apologies. You have come, as I thought you would. "

"It was especially my sentiments regarding Norsewomen, I believe, thatyou objected to, " I said hesitatingly; for in spite of his fine eyes, my friend still impressed me as an unknown quantity, and I mentallylabelled him _x_, and determined by slow degrees to solve hisequation. 

"Yes, " he answered; "your sentiments about Norsewomen, or rather aboutwomen in general. They are made very much of the same stuff the worldover. I do not mind telling you that I speak from bitter experience, and my words ought, therefore, to have the more weight. "

"Your experience must have been very wide, " I answered by way ofpleasantry, "since, as you hint, it includes the whole world. "

He stared for a moment, did not respond to my smile, but continued inthe same imperturbable monotone:

"When God abstracted that seventh or ninth rib from Adam, andfashioned a woman of it, the result was, _entre nous_, nothing toboast of. I have ever ceased to regret that Adam did not wake up intime to thwart that hazardous experiment. It may have been necessaryto introduce some tragic element into our lives, and if that was theintention, I admit that the means were ingenious. To my mind the onlyhope of salvation for the human race lies in its gradual emancipationfrom that baleful passion which draws men and women so irresistibly toeach other. Love and reason in a well-regulated human being, form atbest an armed neutrality, but can never cordially co-operate. But fewmen arrive in this life at this ideal state, and women never. As it isnow, our best energies are wasted in vain endeavors to solve thematrimonial problem at the very time when our vitality is greatest andour strength might be expended with the best effect in the service ofthe race, for the advancement of science, art, or industry. "

"But would you then abolish marriage?" I ventured to ask. "That wouldmean, as I understand it, to abolish the race itself. "

"No, " he answered calmly. "In my ideal state, marriage should betolerated; but it should be regulated by the government, with a totaldisregard of individual preferences, and with a sole view to thephysical and intellectual improvement of the race. There should be apermanent government commission appointed, say one in each Stateconsisting of the most prominent scientists and moral teachers. Nomarriage should be legal without being approved and confirmed by them. Marriage, as it is at present, is, in nine cases out of ten, anunqualified evil; as Schopenhauer puts it, it halves our joys anddoubles our sorrows--"

"And triples our expenses, " I prompted, laughing. 

"And triples our expenses, " he repeated gravely. "Talk about findingyour affinity and all that sort of stuff! Supposing the world to be ahuge bag, as in reality it is; then take several hundred millionblocks, representing human beings, and label each one by pairs, givingthem a corresponding mark and color. Then shake the whole bagviolently, and you will admit that the chances of an encounter betweenthe two with the same label are extremely slim. It is just so withmarriage. It is all chance--a heartless, aimless, and cruel lottery. There are more valuable human lives wrecked every hour of the day inthis dangerous game than by all the vices that barbarism orcivilization has ever invented. "

I hazarded some feeble remonstrance against these revolutionaryheresies (as I conceived them to be), but my opponent met me on allsides with his inflexible logic. We spent several hours togetherwithout at all approaching an agreement, and finally parted with thepromise to dine together and resume the discussion the next day. 

This was the beginning of my acquaintance with the pessimist, EdmundStorm. 

II. 

 "Freundschaft, Liebe, Stein der Weisen, Diese Dreie hört' ich preisen, Und ich pries und suchte sie, Aber ach! ich fand sie nie. "--HEINE. 

During the next two years there was never a week, and seldom a day, when I did not see Storm. We lunched together at a much-frequentedrestaurant not far from Wall street, and my friend's sarcasticepigrams would do much to reconcile me to my temperance habits bysupplying in a more ethereal form the stimulants with which othersstrove to facilitate or to ruin their digestions. 

"Existence is even at best a doubtful boon, " he would say while hedissected his beefsteak with the seriousness of a scientific observer. "A man's philosophy is regulated by his stomach. No amount of stoicismcan reconcile a man to dyspepsia. If our nationality were not bynature endowed with the digestion of a boa-constrictor, I shouldseriously consider the propriety of vanishing into the Nirvana. "

I often wondered what could be the secret of Storm's liking for me;for that he liked me, in his own lugubrious fashion, there could be nodoubt. As for myself, I never could determine how far I reciprocatedhis feeling. I should hardly say that I loved him, but his talkfascinated me, and it always irritated me to hear any one speak ill ofhim. He was the very opposite of what the world calls "a good fellow;"he did not slap you on the shoulder and salute you with a "Hallo, oldboy!" and I am inclined to think that he would have promptly resentedany undue familiarity. He was a man of the most exact habits, painfully conscientious in all his dealings, and absolutely devoid ofvices, unless, indeed, his extravagance in the purchase of oldfurniture might be classed under that head. To people of slipshodhabits, his painstaking exactness was of course highly exasperating, and I often myself felt that he was in need of a redeeming vice. If Icould have induced him to smoke, take snuff, or indulge in a littleinnocent gambling, I believe it would have given me a good deal ofsatisfaction. Once, I remember, I exerted myself to the utmost tobeguile him into taking a humorous view of a mendacious tramp, who, after having treated us to a highly pathetic autobiography, importunedus for a quarter. But no, Storm could see nothing but the moralhideousness of the man, lectured him severely, and would have senthim away unrewarded, if I had not temporarily suspended my principles. 

During our continued intercourse, I naturally learned a good dealabout my friend's previous life and occupation. He was of very goodfamily, had enjoyed an excellent university education, and had thefinest prospects of a prosperous career at home, when, as far as Icould ascertain, he took a sudden freak to emigrate. He had inheriteda modest fortune, and now maintained himself as cashier in a large teaimporting house in the city. He read the newspapers diligently, apparently with a view to convincing himself of the universalwretchedness of mankind in general and the American people inparticular, had a profound contempt for ambition of every sort, believed nothing that life could offer worthy of an effort, except--old furniture. 

In the autumn of 187- he was taken violently ill with inflammation ofthe lungs, and I naturally devoted every evening to him that I couldspare from my work. He suffered acutely, but was perfectly calm andhardly ever moved a muscle. 

"I seldom indulge in the luxury of whining, " he said to me once, as Iwas seated at his bedside. "But, if I should die, as I believe Ishall, it would be a pity if the lesson of my life should be lost tohumanity. It is the only valuable thing I leave behind me, except, perhaps, my furniture, which I bequeath to you. "

He lay for a while looking with grave criticism at his long, leanfingers, and then told me the following story, of which I shall give abrief _resume_. 

 * * * * *

Some ten years ago, while he was yet in the university, he had madethe acquaintance of a young girl, Emily Gerstad, the daughter of awidow in whose house he lived. She was a wild unruly thing, full ofcoquettish airs, frivolous as a kitten, but for all that, a phenomenonof most absorbing interest. She was a blonde of the purest Northerntype, with a magnificent wealth of thick curly hair and a pair of blueeyes, which seemed capable of expressing the very finest things thatGod ever deposited in a woman's nature. It was useless to disapproveof her, and to argue with her on the error of her ways was a waste ofbreath: her moral nature was too fatally flexible. She could assumewith astonishing facility a hundred different attitudes on the samequestion, and acted the penitent, the indifferent, the defiant, withsuch a perfection of art as really to deceive herself. And in spite ofall this, poor Storm soon found that she had wound herself so closelyabout his heart, that the process of unwinding, as he expressed it, would require greater strength and a sterner philosophy than hebelieved himself to possess. He had always been shy of women, notbecause he distrusted them, but because he was painfully conscious ofbeing, in point of physical finish, a second-rate article, a bunglingpiece of work, and naturally felt his disadvantages more keenly in thepresence of those upon whom Nature had expended all her best art. Hewas, according to his own assertion, an idealist by temperament, andhad kept a sacred chamber in his heart where the vestal fire burnedwith a pure flame. Now the deepest strata of his being were stirred, and he loved with an overwhelming fervor and intensity which fairlyfrightened him. In a moment of abject despair he proposed to Emily, and to his surprise was accepted. And what was more, it was no comedyon her part; he even now believed that she really loved him. All theturbulent forces of her being were toned down to a beautiful, womanlytenderness. She clung to him with a passionate devotion which seemedto be no less of a surprise to herself than it was to him--clung tohis stronger self, perhaps, as a refuge from her own waywardness, listened with a sweet, shame-faced happiness to his bright plans fortheir common future, and shared his pleasures and his lightdisappointments with an ardor and an ever ready sympathy, as if herwhole previous life had been an education for this one end--to be aperfect wife and to be his wife. 

But alas, their happiness was of brief duration. At the end of a yearhe had finished his legal studies, and passed a brilliant examination. An excellent situation was obtained for him in a small town on thesea-coast, whither he removed and began to prepare for the foundationof his home. It was here he contracted his taste for quaint furniture, all that was now left to him of his happiness--nay, of his life. Suddenly, at the end of eight months, she ceased writing to him--afact which after all, argued well for her sincerity; full ofapprehension, he hastened to the capital and found her engaged to ayoung lieutenant, --a dashing, hare-brained fellow, covered all overwith gilt embroidery, undeniably handsome, but otherwise of verylittle worth. At least that was Storm's impression of him; he may havedone him injustice, he added, with his usual conscientiousness. A manwho sees the whole structure of his life tumbling down over his headis not apt to take a charitable view of the author of the ruin. A weeklater, Storm was on his way to America, --that was the end of thestory. 

Yes, if my friend had died, according to his promise, the story wouldhave ended here; but, as for once, he broke his word, I am obliged toadd the sequel. I noticed that for some time after his recovery hekept shy of me. As he afterward plainly told me, he felt as if I hadpurloined a piece of his most precious private property, in sharing agrief which had hitherto been his own exclusive treasure. 

III. 

 Fürcht' dich nicht, du liebes Kindchen, Vor der bösen Geister Macht; Tag und Nacht, du liebes Kindchen, Halten Engel bei dir Wacht. --HEINE. 

Once, on a warm moonlight night in September, Storm and I took a walkin the Park. The night always tuned him into a gentle mood, and I evensuspect that he had some sentiment about it. The currents of life, hesaid, then ran more serenely, with a slower and healthier pulse-beat;the unfathomable mysteries of life crowded in upon us; our shallowindividualities were quenched, and our larger human traits rose nearerto the surface. The best test of sympathy was a night walk; twopersons who then jarred upon each other might safely conclude thatthey were constitutionally unsympathetic. He had known silly girls whoin moonlight were sublime; but it was dangerous to build one's hopesof happiness upon this moonlight sublimity. Just as all complexions, except positive black, were fair when touched by the radiance of thenight, so all shades of character, except downright wickedness, borrowed a finer human tinge under this illusory illumination. Thusran his talk, I throwing in the necessary expletives, and as I amneither black nor absolutely wicked, I have reason to believe that Iappeared to good advantage. 

"It is very curious about women, " he broke forth after a longmeditative pause. "In spite of all my pondering on the subject, Inever quite could understand the secret of their fascination. Theirgoodness, if they are good, is usually of the quality of oatmeal, andwhen they are bad--"

"'They are horrid, '" I quoted promptly. 

"Amen, " he added with a contented chuckle. "I never could see theappropriateness of the Bible precept about coveting your neighbor'swife, " he resumed after another brief silence. "I, for my part, neverfound my neighbor's wife worth coveting. But I will admit that I have, in a few instances, felt inclined to covet my neighbor's child. Noamount of pessimism can quite fortify a man against the desire to havechildren. A child is not always a 'thing of beauty, ' nor is it apt tobe a 'joy for ever'; but I never yet met the man who would not bewilling to take his chances. It is a confounded thing that thepaternal instinct is so deeply implanted, even in such a piece ofdried-up parchment as myself. It is like discovering a warm, live veinof throbbing blood under the shrivelled skin of an Egyptian mummy. "

We sauntered on for more than an hour, now plunging into dense massesof shadow, now again emerging into cool pathways of light. Theconversation turned on various topics, all of which Storm touched witha kindlier humor than was his wont. The world was a failure, but forall that, it was the part of a wise man to make the best of it as itwas. The clock in some neighboring tower struck ten; we took astreet-car and rode home. As we were about to alight (I first, andStorm following closely after me), I noticed a woman with a wild, frightened face hurrying away from the street-lamp right in front ofus. My friend, owing either to his near-sightedness, or hispreoccupation, had evidently not observed her. We climbed the longdimly lighted stairs to his room, and both stumbled at the dooragainst a large basket. 

"That detestable washwoman!" he muttered. "How often have I told hernot to place her basket where everybody is sure to run into it!"

He opened the door and I carried the basket into the room, while hestruck a match and lighted the drop-light on the table. 

"Excuse me for a moment, " he went on, stooping to lift the cloth whichcovered the basket. "I want to count--Gracious heavens! what is this?"he cried suddenly, springing up as if he had stepped on somethingalive; then he sank down into an arm-chair, and sat staring vacantlybefore him. In the basket lay a sleeping infant, apparently abouteight months old. As soon as I had recovered from my firstastonishment, I bent down over it and regarded it attentively. It wasa beautiful, healthy-looking child, --not a mere formless mass of fatwith hastily sketched features, as babes of that age are apt to be. Its face was of exquisite finish, a straight, well-modelled littlenose, a softly defined dimpled little chin, and a fresh, finely curvedmouth, through which the even breath came and went with a quiet, hardly perceptible rhythm. It was all as sweet, harmonious, andartistically perfect as a Tennysonian stanza. The little waif won myheart at once, and it was a severe test of my self-denial that I hadto repress my desire to kiss it. I somehow felt that my friend oughtto be the first to recognize it as a member of his household. 

"Storm, " I said, looking up at his pale, vacant face. "It is adangerous thing to covet one's neighbor's child. But, if you don'tadopt this little dumb supplicant, I fear you will tempt me to breakthe tenth commandment. I believe there is a clause there aboutcoveting children. "

Storm opened his eyes wide, and with an effort to rouse himself, pushed back the chair and knelt down at the side of the basket. With agentle movement he drew off the cover under which the child slept, anddiscovered on its bosom a letter which he eagerly seized. As heglanced at the direction of the envelope, his face underwent amarvellous change; it was as if a mask had suddenly been removed, revealing a new type of warmer, purer, and tenderer manhood. 

The letter read as follows:

 "DEAREST EDMUND:

 It has gone all wrong with me. You know I would not come to if there was any other hope left. As for myself, I do not care what becomes of me, but you will not forsake my little girl. Will you dear Edmund? I know you will not. I promise you, I shall never claim her back. She shall be yours always. Her name is Ragna; she was born February 25th, and was christened two months later. I have prayed to God that she may bring happiness into your life, that she may expiate the wrong her mother did you. 

 I was not married until five years after you left me. It is a great sin to say it, but I always hoped that you would come back to me I did not know then how great my wrong was. Now I know it and I have ceased to hope. Do not try to find me. It will be useless. I shall never willingly cross your path, dear Edmund. I have learned that happiness never comes where I am; and I would not darken your life again, --no I would not, so help me God! Only forgive me, if you can, and do not say anything bad about me to my child--ah! what a horrible thought! I did not mean to ask you that, because I know how good you are. I am so wild with strange thoughts, so dazed and bewildered that I do not know what I am saying. Farewell, dear Edmund. --Your, EMILY. 

 If you should decide not to keep my little girl (as I do not think you will), send a line addressed E. H. H. , to the personal column in the 'N. Y. Herald. ' But do not try to find me. I shall answer you in the same way and tell you where to send the child. E. H. "

This letter was not shown to me until several years after, but eventhen the half illegible words, evidently traced with a trembling hand, the pathetic abruptness of the sentences, sounding like thegrief-stricken cries of a living voice, and the still visible marksof tears upon the paper, made an impression upon me which is noteasily forgotten. 

In the meanwhile Storm, having read and reread the letter, was liftinghis strangely illumined eyes to the ceiling. 

"God be praised, " he said in a trembling whisper. "I have wronged her, too, and I did not know it. I will be a father to her child. "

The little girl, who had awaked, without signalling the fact in theusual manner, fixed her large, fawn-like eyes upon him in peacefulwonder. He knelt down once more, took her in his arms, and kissed hergravely and solemnly. It was charming to see with what tenderawkwardness he held her, as if she were some precious thing made offrail stuff that might easily be broken. My curiosity had alreadyprompted me to examine the basket, which contained a variety of clean, tiny articles, --linen, stockings, a rattle with the distinct impressof its nationality, and several neatly folded dresses, among which along, white, elaborately embroidered one, marked by a slip of paper as"Baby's Christening Robe. "

I will not reproduce the long and serious consultation which followed;be it sufficient to chronicle the result. I hastened homeward, and hadmy landlady, Mrs. Harrison, roused from her midnight slumbers; shewas, as I knew, a woman of strong maternal instincts, who was fond ofreferring to her experience in that line, --a woman to whom yourthought would naturally revert in embarrassing circumstances. Sheresponded promptly and eagerly to my appeal; the situation evidentlyroused all the latent romance of her nature, and afforded her no smallsatisfaction. She spent a half hour in privacy with the baby, whore-appeared fresh and beaming in a sort of sacerdotal Norsenight-habit which was a miracle of neatness. 

"Bless her little heart, " ejaculated Mrs. Harrison, as the small fathands persisted in pulling her already demoralized side curls. "Shecertainly knows me;" then in an aside to Storm: "The mother, whoevershe may be, sir, is a lady. I never seed finer linen as long as Ilived; and every single blessed piece is embroidered with two letterswhich I reckon means the name of the child. "

Storm bowed his head silently and sighed. But when the baby, afterhaving rather indifferently submitted to a caress from me, stretchedout its arms to him and consented with great good humor to a finalgood-night kiss, large tears rolled down over his cheeks, while hesmiled, as I thought only the angels could smile. 

I am obliged to add before the curtain is dropped upon this nocturnaldrama, that my friend was guilty of an astonishing piece of Vandalism. When my landlady had deposited the sleeping child in his large, exquisitely carved and canopied bed (which, as he declared, made himfeel as if a hundred departed grandees were his bed-fellows), we bothwent in to have a final view of our little foundling. As we stoodthere, clasping each other's hands in silence, Storm suddenly fixedhis eyes with a savage glare upon one of the bed-posts which containeda tile of porcelain, representing Joseph leaving his garment in thehand of Potiphar's wife; on the post opposite was seen Samson shearedof his glory and Delilah fleeing through the opened door with hisseven locks in her hand; a third represented Jezebel beingprecipitated from a third-story window, and the subject of the fourthI have forgotten. It was a remnant of the not always delicate humor ofthe seventeenth century. My friend, with a fierce disgust, strangelyout of keeping with his former mood, pulled a knife from his pocket, and deliberately proceeded to demolish the precious tiles. When he hadsucceeded in breaking out the last, he turned to me and said:

"I have been an atrocious fool. It is high time I should get to knowit. "

A week later I found four new tiles with designs of Fra Angelico'sangels installed in the places of the reprobate Biblical women. 

IV. 

 "Wer zum ersten Male liebt, Sei es auch glücklos ist ein Gott. "--HEINE. 

During the following week, Storm and I, with the aid of the police, searched New York from one end to the other; but Emily must haveforeseen the event, and covered up her tracks carefully. Our seekingwas all in vain. In the meanwhile the baby was not neglected; myfriend's third room, which had hitherto done service as a sort ofstate parlor, was consecrated as a nursery, a stout German nurse wasprocured, and much time was devoted to the designing of a cradle (anodd mixture of the Pompeiian and the Eastlake style), which was wellcalculated to stimulate whatever artistic sense our baby may have beenendowed with. If it had been heir to a throne, its wants could nothave been more carefully studied. Storm was as flexible as wax in itstiny hand. Life had suddenly acquired a very definite meaning to him;he had discovered that he had a valuable stake in it. Strange as itmay seem, the whole gigantic world, with its manifold and complicatedinstitutions, began to readjust itself in his mind with sole referenceto its possible influence upon the baby's fate. Political questionswere no longer convenient pegs to hang pessimistic epigrams on, butbecame matters of vital interest because they affected the moralcondition of the country in which the baby was to grow up. Socialisticagitations, which a dispassionate bachelor could afford to regard withphilosophic indifference, now presented themselves as diabolical plotsto undermine the baby's happiness, and deprive her of whatever earthlygoods Providence might see fit to bestow upon her, and so on, _adinfinitum_. From a radical, with revolutionary sympathies, my friendin the course of a year blossomed out into a conservative Philistinewith a decided streak of optimism, and all for the sake of the baby. It was very amusing to listen to his solemn consultations with thenurse every morning before he betook himself to the office, and towatch the lively, almost child-like interest with which, on returningin the evening, he listened to her long-winded report of the baby'swonderful doings during the day. On Sundays, when he always spent thewhole afternoon at home, I often surprised him in the most undignifiedattitudes, creeping about on the floor with the little girl riding onhis back, or stretched out full length with his head in her lap, whileshe was gracious enough to interest herself in his hair, and evenlaughed and cooed with much inarticulate contentment. At such times, when, perhaps, through the disordered locks, I caught a glimpse of abeaming happy face (for my visits were never of sufficient account tointerfere with baby's pleasures), I would pay my respectful tribute tothe baby, acknowledging that she possessed a power, the secret ofwhich I did not know. 

But in spite of all this, I did not fail to detect that Storm's lifewas not even now without its sorrow. At our luncheons, I often saw asad and thoughtful gloom settling upon his features; it was no longerthe bitter reviling grief of former years, but a deep and mellowsadness, a regretful dwelling on mental images which were hard tocontemplate and harder still to banish. 

"Do you know, " he exclaimed once, as he felt that I had divined histhoughts, "her face haunts me night and day! I feel as if my happinessin possessing the child were a daily robbery from her. I havecontinued my search for her up to this hour, but I have found no traceof her. Perhaps if you will help me, I shall not always be seeking invain. "

I gave him my hand silently across the table; he shook it heartily, and we parted. 

It was about a month after this occurrence that I happened to besitting on one of the benches near the entrance to Central Park. Thatrestless spring feeling which always attacks me somewhat prematurelywith the early May sunshine, had beguiled me into taking a holiday, and with a book, which had been sent me for review, lying open uponmy knees, I was watching the occupants of the baby carriages whichwere being wheeled up and down on the pavement in front of me. Presently I discovered Storm's nurse seated on a bench near by ineager converse with a male personage of her own nationality. The baby, who was safely strapped in the carriage at the roadside, waspleasantly occupied in venting her destructive instincts upon a linenedition of "Mother Goose. " As I arose to get a nearer view of thechild, I saw a slender, simply dressed lady, with a beautiful butcareworn face, evidently approaching with the same intention. At thesight of me she suddenly paused; a look of recognition seemed to bevaguely struggling in her features, --she turned around, and walkedrapidly away. The thought immediately flashed through me that it wasthe same face I had seen under the gas-lamp on the evening when thechild was found. Moreover, the type, although not glaringly Norse, corresponded in its general outline to Storm's description. Fearing toexcite her suspicion, I forced my face into the most neutralexpression, stooped down to converse with the baby, and then saunteredoff with a leisurely air toward "Ward's Indian Hunter. " I had no doubtthat if the lady were the child's mother, she would soon reappear; andI need not add that my expectations proved correct. After havingwaited some fifteen minutes, I saw her returning with swift, warysteps and watchful eyes, like some lithe wild thing that scents dangerin the air. As she came up to the nurse, she dropped down into theseat with a fine affectation of weariness, and began to chat with anattempt at indifference which was truly pathetic. Her eyes seemed allthe while to be devouring the child with a wild, hungry tenderness. Suddenly she pounced upon it, hugged it tightly in her arms, and quiteforgetting her _role_, strove no more to smother her sobs. The nursewas greatly alarmed; I heard her expostulating, but could notdistinguish the words. The child cried. Suddenly the lady rose, explained briefly, as I afterward heard, that she had herself latelylost a child, and hurried away. At a safe distance I followed her, andsucceeded in tracking her nearly a mile down Broadway, where shevanished into what appeared to be a genteel dressmaking establishment. By the aid of a friend of mine, a dealer in furnishing goods, whom Ithought it prudent to take into my confidence, I ascertained that shecalled herself Mrs. Helm (an ineffectual disguise of the NorwegianHjelm), that she was a widow of quiet demeanor and most exemplaryhabits, and that she had worked as a seamstress in the establishmentduring the past four months. My friend elicited these important factsunder the pretence of wishing to employ her himself in the shirtmakingdepartment of his own business. 

Having through the same agency obtained the street and number of herboarding-place, I visited her landlady, who dispelled my last doubts, and moreover, informed me (perhaps under the impression that I was apossible suitor) that Mrs. Helm was as fine a lady as ever trod God'searth, and a fit wife for any man. The same evening I conveyed toStorm the result of my investigations. 

He sat listening to me with a grave intensity of expression, which atfirst I hardly knew how to interpret. Now and then I saw his lipsquivering, and as I described the little scene with the child in thepark, he rose abruptly and began to walk up and down on the floor. AsI had finished, he again dropped down into the chair, raised his eyesdevoutly to the ceiling, and murmured:

"Thank God!"

Thus he sat for a long while, sometimes moving his lips inaudibly, andseemingly unconscious of my presence. Then suddenly he sprang up andseized his hat and cane. 

"It was number 532?" he said, laying hold of the door-knob. 

"Yes, " I answered, "but you surely do not intend to see her to-night. "

"Yes, I do. "

"But it is after nine o'clock, and she may--"

But he was already half way down the stairs. 

Through a dense, drizzling rain which made the gas-lights across thestreet look like moons set in misty aureoles, Storm hastened on untilhe reached the unaristocratic locality of Emily's dwelling. He rangthe door-bell, and after some slight expostulation with the servantwas permitted to enter. Groping his way through a long, dimly-lithall, he stumbled upon a staircase, which he mounted, and paused atthe door which had been pointed out to him. A slender ray of lightstole out through the key-hole, piercing the darkness withoutdispelling it. Storm hesitated long at the door before making up hismind to knock; a strange quivering agitation had come upon him, as ifhe were about to do something wrong. All sorts of wild imaginingsrushed in upon him, and in his effort to rid himself of them he madean unconscious gesture, and seized hold of the door-knob. A hastyfluttering motion was heard from within, and presently the door wasopened. A fair and slender lady with a sweet pale face stood beforehim; in one hand she held a needle, and in the other a bright-coloredgarment which resembled a baby's jacket. He felt rather than saw thathe was in Emily's presence. His head and his heart seemed equallyturbulent. A hundred memories from the buried past rose dimly intosight, and he could not chase them away. It was so difficult, too, toidentify this grave and worn, though still young face, with that soft, dimpled, kitten-like Emily, who had conquered his youth and made hislife hers. Ah! poor little dimpled Emily; yes, he feared she wouldnever return to him. And he sighed at the thought that she hadprobably lost now all that charming naughtiness which he had oncespent so much time in disapproving of. He was suddenly roused fromthese reflections by a vague, half-whispered cry; Emily had fled tothe other end of the room, thrown herself on the bed, and pressed herface hard down among the pillows. It was an act which immediatelyrecalled the Emily of former days, a childish, and still naturalmotion like that of some shy and foolish animal which believes itselfsafe when its head is hidden. Storm closed the door, walked up to thebed, and seated himself on a hard, wooden chair. 

"Emily, " he said at last. 

She raised herself abruptly on her arms, and gazed at him over hershoulder with large, tearless, frightened eyes. 

"Edmund, " she whispered doubtfully. "Edmund. "

"Yes, Emily, " he answered in a soothing voice, as one speaks to afrightened child. "I have come to see you and to speak with you. "

"You have come to see me, Edmund, " she repeated mechanically. Then, asif the situation were gradually dawning upon her, "You have come tosee _me_. "

His _role_ had appeared so easy as he had hastily sketched it on theway, --gratitude on her part, forgiveness on his, and then a speedyreconciliation. But it was the exquisite delicacy of Storm's naturewhich made him shrink from appearing in any way to condescend, topatronize, to forgive, where perhaps he needed rather to be forgiven. A strange awkwardness had come over him. He felt himself suddenly tobe beyond his depth. How unpardonably blunt and masculinely obtuse hehad been in dealing with this beautiful and tender thing, which Godhad once, for a short time, intrusted to his keeping! How cruel andwooden that moral code of his by which he had relentlessly judged her, and often found her wanting! What an effort it must have cost herfiner-grained organism to assimilate his crude youthful maxims, whatsuffering to her tiny feet to be plodding wearily in his footstepsover the thorny moral wastes which he had laid behind him! All thiscame to him, as by revelation, as he sat gazing into Emily's face, which looked very pathetic just then, with its vague bewilderment andits child-like surrender of any attempt to explain what there waspuzzling in the situation. Storm was deeply touched. He would fainhave spoken to her out of the fulness of his heart; but here againthat awkward morality of his restrained him. There were, unfortunately, some disagreeable questions to be asked first. 

Storm stared for a while with a pondering look at the floor; then hecarefully knocked a speck of dust from the sleeve of his coat. 

"Emily, " he said at last, solemnly. "Is your husband still alive?"

It was the bluntest way he could possibly have put it, and he bit hislip angrily at the thought of his awkwardness. 

"My husband, " answered Emily, suddenly recovering her usual flute-likevoice (and it vibrated through him like an electric shock)--"is healive? No, he is dead--was killed in the Danish war. "

"And were you very happy with him, Emily? Was he very good to you?"

It was a brutish question to ask, and his ears burned uncomfortably;but there was no help for it. 

"I was not happy, " answered she simply, and with an unthinkingdirectness, as if the answer were nothing but his due; "because I wasnot good to him. I did not love him, and I never would have marriedhim if mother had not died. But then, there was no one left who caredfor me. "

A blessed sense of rest stole over him; he lifted his grave eyes tohers, took her listless hand and held it close in his. She did notwithdraw it, nor did she return his pressure. 

"Emily, my darling, " he said, while his voice shook with repressedfeeling (the old affectionate names rose as of themselves to his lips, and it seemed an inconceivable joy to speak them once more); "youmust have suffered much. "

"I think I have deserved it, Edmund, " she answered with a little poutand a little quiver of her upper lip. "After all, the worst was that Ihad to lose my baby. But you are very good to her, Edmund, are younot?"

Her eyes now filled with tears, and they began to fall slowly, one byone, down over her cheeks. 

"Yes, darling, " he broke forth, --the impulse of tenderness nowovermastering all other thoughts. "And I will be good to you also, Emily, if you will only let me. "

He had risen and drawn her lithe, unresisting form to his bosom. Shewept silently, a little convulsive sob now and then breaking thestillness. 

"You will not leave me again, Edmund, will you?" she queried, with asweet, distressed look, as if the very thought of being once morealone made her shudder. 

"No, Emily dear, I will never leave you. "

"Can you believe me, Edmund?" she began suddenly, after a long pause. "I have always been true to you. "

He clasped her face between his palms, drew it back to gaze at it, andthen kissed her tenderly. 

"God bless you, darling!" he whispered, folding her closely in hisarms, as if he feared that some one might take her away from him. 

How he would love and keep and protect her--this poor bruised littlecreature, whom he had once so selfishly abandoned at the very firstsuspicion of disloyalty! As she stood there, nestling so confidinglyagainst his bosom, his heart went out to her with a great yearningpity, and he thanked God even for the long suffering and separationwhich had made their love the more abiding and sacred. 

The next day Storm and Emily were quietly married, and the baby and Iwere present as witnesses. They now live in a charming little cottageon the Jersey side, which is to me a wonder of taste and comfort. Outof my friend's miscellaneous assortment of ancient furniture his wifehas succeeded in creating a series of the quaintest, most fascinatingboudoirs and parlors and bedrooms--everything, as Storm assures me, historically correct and in perfect style and keeping; so that, inwalking through the house, you get a whiff of at least three distinctcenturies. To quote Storm once more, he sleeps in the sober religiousatmosphere of the German Reformation, with its rational wood-tints andsolid oaken carvings, dines amid the pagan splendors of the ItalianRenaissance, and receives company among the florid conventionalitiesof the French rococo period.