him if I may tell you. I doubt not but that he will permit me."

"It is a long time to wait," said Albert; "and really I cannot drive
his image out of my head. If you will not tell me, I'll ask the dog;
perhaps he will be kinder than you."

"Well, try him," said Bertha, laughing; "if he can speak, I'll allow
him to satisfy your curiosity."

"Hearken, you enormous beast," said Albert, turning to the dog, who
looked at him attentively; "tell me, what is your master's name?"

The dog raised himself proudly up, opened his broad jaws, and roared
out, in terrifying tones, "U--U--U!"

Bertha coloured: "Let's have no more of this nonsense," she said, and
called the dog to her; "who would talk to a dog when in Christian
society?"

Albert appeared not to heed her remark. "He said 'U,' good dog; I'll
wager he has been trained to it! It is not the first time he has been
asked what his master's name was?"

Scarcely had he pronounced the last words than the dog repeated his
U--U--U! in a still harsher tone. Bertha coloured again, she made
it come and lay down at her feet, scolding him in displeasure.

"Well, we have it now," said Albert, in triumph; "his master's name is
U!" He recollected that the curious word on the ring which the exile
had given him began with an U. It is extraordinary, thought he. "Is
your master's name, perhaps, Uffenheim? or Uxhuell? or Ulm? or, by the
bye,----"

"Nonsense! the dog has no other note than U. How can you plague
yourself in trying to find out a meaning to it? But here comes my
father. If you wish to conceal our love from him, do not commit
yourself. I'll leave you now, as it would not be right to be found
together."

Albert promised to be discreet, and once more embraced Bertha, an
indulgence which was likely to be the last for some time, should the
presence of her father render it impossible to see her again alone. The
dog appeared to watch the movements of the loving couple with
astonishment, as if he were really gifted with human sense. The first
sound of the horse's feet on the drawbridge was the signal for
separation, when Bertha left the room accompanied by the faithful
animal.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The Duke, so sad, can find no rest,
And dark reflections fill his breast;
"How far, alas! from me removed,
How much is sunk, the land I loved."
G. SCHWAB.