trade, perhaps. It is not our fault that we are placed in charge of four
or five thousand human beings who are no more capable of helping
themselves than are sheep. It is not our fault that the forefathers of
these sheep cut down the forests and omitted to plant more, so that the
flocks with whom we have to deal have no fuel. It is not our fault that
a most terrific winter annually renders the land unproductive for four
months. It is not our fault that the government to which we are forced
to bow--the Czar whose name lifts our hats from our heads--it is not our
fault that progress and education are taboo, and that all who endeavor
to forward the cause of humanity are promptly put away in a safe place
where they are at liberty to forward their own salvation and nothing
else. Nothing is our fault, mein lieber, in this country. We have to
make the best of adverse circumstances. We are not breaking any human
law, and in doing nothing we should be breaking a divine command."

Paul flicked the ash off his cigar. He had heard all this before. Karl
Steinmetz's words were usually more remarkable for solid thoughtfulness
than for brilliancy of conception or any great novelty of expression.

"Oh!" said Paul quietly, "I am not going to leave off. You need not fear
that. Only I shall have to tell my wife. Surely a woman could help us in
a thousand ways. There is such a lot that only a woman understands."

"Yes!" grunted Steinmetz; "and only the right sort of woman."

Paul looked up sharply.

"You must leave that to me," he said.

"My very dear friend, I leave every thing to you."

Paul smiled.

There was no positive proof that this was not strictly true. There was
no saying that Karl Steinmetz did not leave every thing to every-body.
But wise people thought differently.

"You don't know Etta," he said, half shyly. "She is full of sympathy and
pity for these people."

Steinmetz bowed gravely.

"I have no doubt of it."

"And yet you say that she must not be told."

"Certainly not. A secret is considerably strained if it be divided
between two people. Stretching it to three will probably break it. You
can tell her when you are married. Does she consent to live in Osterno?"

"Oh, yes. I think so."

"Um--m!"

"What did you say?"

"Um--m," repeated Steinmetz, and the conversation somewhat naturally
showed signs of collapse.

At this moment the door was opened, and a servant in bright livery, with
powdered wig, silk