rtial darkness of the stair-landing, he seized her hand
passionately, and said--"Good-night, my Elizabeth, _my--my_ Elizabeth!"

She was not in a condition to return the pressure of his hand, and when
he approached his lips to her forehead, she hastily drew herself away.

"I came out here alone to tell you this, dear, dearest Elizabeth," he
whispered, with passion trembling in his voice, and making an effort to
draw her to him. "I must be on land again to-morrow. Must I go without
one sign that you care for me?"

She bent her forehead slowly towards him, and he kissed it, and she then
immediately left him.

"Good-night, my beloved one!" he whispered after her.

Elizabeth lay for a long while awake. She would have given anything to
have been able to cry, but the tears would not come; and she felt as if
she was freezing internally. When at last she did fall asleep, it was
not of him she dreamt, but of Salve--the whole time of Salve. She saw
him gazing at her with that earnest face--it was so heavy with grief,
and she stood like a criminal before him. He said something that she
could not hear, but she understood that he condemned her, and that he
had thrown the dress overboard.

She rose early, and tried to occupy her thoughts with other dreams--with
her future as an officer's lady. But it was as if all that had before
seemed to be pure gold was now changed to brass. She felt unhappy and
restless; and it was a long time before she could make up her mind to go
into the sitting-room.

Carl Beck did not leave that morning. He had perceived that there was
something on Elizabeth's mind.

During the forenoon, when his sisters were out, and his stepmother was
occupied, he found an opportunity to speak with her alone: she was in a
fever, always waiting for him to have spoken to Madam Beck.

"Elizabeth," he said, gently smoothing her hair, for she looked
dispirited, and stood with her eyes fixed upon the ground, "I couldn't
leave without having spoken to you again."

She still kept her eyes upon the ground, but didn't withdraw herself
from his hand.

"Do you really care for me?--will you be my wife?"

She was silent. At last she said, a shade paler, and as if with an
effort--

"Yes--Herr Beck."

"Say 'du' to me--say Carl," he pleaded, with much feeling, "and--look at
me."

She looked at him, but not as he had expected. It was with a fixed, cold
look she said--

"Yes, if we are engaged."

"Are we not then?"