does not suit him."

"It is unworthy," cried Sabine.

"At all events, it is not what would be recognized as honorable in this
house," replied Anton. "Fink is upright, and has lived too long with
your brother to take pleasure in the wild speculations so common on the
other side the Atlantic. His partners and colleagues are for the most
part men without a conscience, and his feelings revolt against their
companionship."

"And can Herr von Fink tolerate such relations as these for a day?"

"It is a remarkable thing that he whose own will was ever so arbitrarily
exercised, should now be obliged against that will to obey a pressure
from without, and every where to work with his hands tied. The
organization of such speculations in America is so complicated that one
shareholder can do little to alter it; and, now that Fink has attained
what used to be the goal of his wishes--a large capital, and the
management of immense districts--his condition appears more uncertain
than it ever was before. He was always in danger of thinking slightingly
of others, now I am distressed at the bitter contempt he expresses for
his own life. His last letter paints an intolerable state of things, and
seems to point to some decisive resolve."

"There is only one resolve for him," cried Sabine. "May I ask what you
said to him in reply?"

"I entreated him instantly, come what would, to free himself from the
business in which he was entangled. I said that his own strong will
might find a way of extrication, even if that which I pointed out proved
impracticable. Then I begged of him either to carry out his old plan of
becoming a landed proprietor in America, or to return to us."

"I knew that you would write thus," said Sabine, drawing a long breath.
"Yes, Wohlfart, he shall return," said she, gently, "but he shall not
return to us."

Anton was silent.

"And do you think that Herr von Fink will follow your advice?"

"I do not know. My advice was not very American."

"But it was worthy of you," cried Sabine, with proud delight.

"An officer wishes to speak to Mr. Wohlfart," said a servant at the
door.

Anton sprang up. Sabine went to her flowers and bent mournfully over
them. The shadows of others hovered still between her friend and her.

The few words spoken by the servant filled Anton with a vague terror. He
hurried into the ante-room: there stood Eugene von Rothsattel. Anton was
gladly rushing forward to greet him, but the young s