indignant reply; "the plate is under my own
care."

"Which of the gentlemen is so reckless?" asked Sabine, severely.

"It is Herr von Fink," was the reply; "he has a habit of constantly
running his fork through the napkins. It goes to my heart, Miss Sabine;
but what can I do?"

Sabine hung her head. "I knew that it was he," she sighed; "but we can
not go on thus. I will give you a set for Herr von Fink's use, and we
must sacrifice it." She went to the cupboard, and began to look for one,
but the choice was difficult; the beautiful table-linen was dear to her
heart. At length, with a lingering look at the pattern, she sorrowfully
laid a set on the servant's arm.

Franz still lingered. "He has burned a curtain in his bed-room," said
he; "the pair is spoiled."

"And they were quite new!" sighed Sabine again. "Take them away
to-morrow. What more, Franz? What else has happened?"

"Ah! ma'am," replied the servant, mysteriously, "Herr von Fink has
insulted Herr Wohlfart, who is quite raging, and Herr Specht says there
is to be a duel."

"A duel!" cried Sabine; "you must have misunderstood Herr Specht."

"No, indeed, ma'am, it's all too true. Something dreadful will happen.
Herr Wohlfart brushed past me angrily, and did not touch his tea."

"Has my brother returned?"

"He does not come back till late to-day; he is on committee."

"Very well," said Sabine; "say nothing about it, Franz, to any one."

And Sabine sat down again at the table, but the damask was forgotten.
"So that was what made poor Wohlfart look so sad! This wild youth--he
came to us like a whirlwind, and the blossoms all fall in his path. His
whole life is confusion and excitement, and he carries away with him all
who approach within his reach. Even me--even me! Do what I will, I too
feel his spell--so beautiful, so brilliant, so strange. He is always
grieving me, and yet all day long I am thinking and caring about him.
Oh, my mother! it was in this room that I sat at your feet for the last
time when, with your hand on my head, you prayed that Heaven might
shield me from every sorrow. Beloved mother, shield thy daughter against
her own beating heart. Strengthen me against him, his ensnaring levity,
his daring mockery."

Long did Sabine sit thus, communing with her guardian spirits. Then
wiping her eyes, she resolutely returned to count and arrange the
table-linen.

Anton had got into bed, and was just going to put out his candle, when a
loud kno