he baron plainly proved. "The post
is come in," said she, reaching him a packet of letters and newspapers;
"I dare say there is no letter from Eugene again."

"He has many other things to do," replied her father; but he himself
looked eagerly for the handwriting of his son. Then he saw a direction
in a strange hand, and on the letter the postmark of the very town in
which Eugene was quartered. It was Anton's letter. The baron tore it
open. When he had seen from its respectful tenor how well it was meant,
and had read the name of Itzig in it, he put it up in his pocket. The
secret terror which had so often shot through his heart fell upon him
again, and then followed the unwelcome thought that his embarrassments
were the subject of conversation even in foreign towns. Ill-timed
warnings were the last thing that he wanted; they only humbled. He stood
long in gloomy silence by his daughter. But, as the letter contained
tidings of Eugene, he forced himself at length to speak. "A Mr. Wohlfart
has written to me. He is now traveling in his mercantile capacity on the
other side of the frontier, and has made Eugene's acquaintance."

"He!" cried Lenore.

"He seems to be an estimable kind of man," said the baron, with an
effort. "He speaks affectionately of Eugene."

"Yes," cried Lenore, in delight; "one learns to know what
conscientiousness and stability mean when one associates with him. What
a strange coincidence! The sister and the brother. What has he written
to you about, father!"

"Matters of business, kindly meant, no doubt, but not of any present use
to me. The foolish boys have heard some idle rumor, and have
unnecessarily troubled themselves about my affairs." And, so saying, he
gloomily walked toward his factory.

Much perturbed, Lenore followed him. At length he opened the newspaper,
and carelessly turned it over till his eye fell upon a certain
advertisement. His face flushed deeply, the paper fell out of his hand,
and, catching hold of one of the wagons, he leaned his head upon it.
Lenore, much shocked, took up the paper, and saw the name of the Polish
estate on which she knew that her father had a large mortgage. A day was
specified for the sale of that estate by auction on behalf of a
concourse of creditors.

The intelligence fell like a thunderbolt upon the baron. Since he had
burdened his own property, the sum that he had invested in Poland was
his last hope of well-doing. He had often doubted whether he