u, carefully arranged the yellow
aureole, carefully adjusted the soft light hat. Then with feeble step
he descended the stairs. As he moved down the street his face was
mournful and his shoulders were drooped--a stage invalid. When Hilda
saw him coming she started up and gave a little cry of delight; but as
she noted his woebegone appearance, a very real paleness came to her
cheeks and very real tears to her great dark eyes.

Mr. Feuerstein sank slowly into the seat beside her. "Soul's wife," he
murmured. "Ah--but I have been near to death. The strain of the
interview with your father--the anguish--the hope--oh, what a curse it
is to have a sensitive soul! And my old trouble"--he laid his hand
upon his heart and slowly shook his head--"returned. It will end me
some day."

Hilda was trembling with sympathy. She put her hand upon his. "If you
had only sent word, dear," she said reproachfully, "I would have come.
Oh--I do love you so, Carl! I could hardly eat or sleep--and--"

"The truth would have been worse than silence," he said in a hollow
voice. He did not intend the double meaning of his remark; the Gansers
were for the moment out of his mind, which was absorbed in his acting.
"But it is over for the present--yes, over, my priceless pearl. I can
come to see you soon. If I am worse I shall send you word."

"But can't I come to see you?"

"No, bride of my dreams. It would not be--suitable. We must respect
the little conventions. You must wait until I come."

His tone was decided. She felt that he knew best. In a few minutes he
rose. "I must return to my room," he said wearily. "Ah, heart's
delight, it is terrible for a strong man to find himself thus weak.
Pity me. Pray for me."

He noted with satisfaction her look of love and anxiety. It was some
slight salve to his cruelly wounded vanity. He walked feebly away, but
it was pure acting, as he no longer felt so downcast. He had soon put
Hilda into the background and was busy with his plans for revenge upon
Ganser--"a vulgar animal who insulted me when I honored him by marrying
his ugly gosling." Before he fell asleep that night he had himself
wrought up to a state of righteous indignation. Ganser had cheated,
had outraged him--him, the great, the noble, the eminent.

Early the next morning he went down to a dingy frame building that
cowered meanly in the shadow of the Criminal Court House. He mounted a
creaking flight of stairs and went