a glance.

Wallmoden had been greatly disturbed and annoyed at the result of the
previous night's performance. He had scarcely spoken as they drove from
the theatre, and his wife had been equally taciturn. She explained that
the heat of the crowded room had given her a headache, and in
consequence retired at once upon reaching home.

Her example was followed by her husband, who, as he bade his nephew
good-night, said:

"Do not forget our talk, Willibald. Be silent before every one, no
matter who. You'll have to be on your guard, too, for the name of
Rojanow will be on every one's lips for the next few days. He's had luck
this time, like all adventurers!"

Willibald made no answer to this, but he felt that something beyond
adventurer's luck had come to the author of Arivana. Under other
circumstances he should have looked on this drama as something unheard
of, inexplicable, without in the least understanding it, but last night
he seemed to comprehend it all fully.

One could love without the consent of parent or guardian; such freedom
was not confined to India alone--it often happened in Germany as well. A
promise given thoughtlessly and blindly could be broken, but what then?
Yes, then came the fate which Hartmut had pictured so beautifully, yet
so vividly. Will was fully determined to transfer the lesson which
Arivana had taught him to Burgsdorf. Surely the punishment invoked by
the furious priestcraft, would be no worse than the vial of Frau von
Eschenhagen's wrath.

The young heir sighed deeply as he thought of the second act of the
drama, where, from the group of Hindoo maidens, the sacrificial figure
steps forth. How lovely she looked in her soft, white, clinging
garments, with the wealth of flowers in her dark curly hair. His eyes
had never left her during the two or three times when she had appeared
for a moment on the stage; then her song sounded forth from the shore of
the moonlit river, the same clear, sweet voice which had captivated him
in the little parlor of Waldhofen, and here again were the same old
unholy feelings against which he had battled so bravely then.

And the worst of it was that he no longer considered them unholy.

The energetic walker came for the third time to a little temple which
was open at one side and within which were seats inviting to rest, and a
marble bust in the centre. Willibald stepped in and sat down, less from
necessity for rest than with the hope he might in this sec