ntied it, and pushed off from the shore. And now, to
her unspeakable horror, she saw that Wilhelm had disappeared, and the
thick muddy waters gave no clew to the spot where he had gone down.
This was too much, and she altogether lost consciousness. When she came
to herself she was lying on the sofa in her husband's smoking room, her
dress in disorder, and the maids busy about her. She first looked round
her startled, then her memory returned with a flash, and she cried with
quivering lips: "How is Willy--and Dr. Eynhardt?"

"Master Willy has quite come round, and they are putting him to bed,"
the servants hastened to answer.

"But Dr. Eynhardt?"

To that they had no reply.

Malvine jumped up and would have rushed out.

"Gnadige Frau!" cried the girls, horrified, "you can't go out like
that!"

They held her back; Malvine struggled to free herself, but at that
moment there was a sound of heavy footsteps and a confused murmur of
voices in the hall, some one flung open the door, the man-servant put
in his head, but started back at sight of his mistress and closed the
door abruptly. Then he went on, and the footsteps and murmuring voices
followed him.

"They are bringing him in!" shrieked Malvine, and they could hold her
back no longer. A moment later and she knew that she was right. On the
billiard-table, in the room to the right of the hall, lay Wilhelm's
motionless form, while the people who had carried him in stood round.
Water flowed from his clothes and made little pools on the green cloth
and trickled into the leather pockets of the billiard-table. His breast
did not move, and death stared from the glazed, half-open eyes.

A doctor was soon on the spot, the curious were turned out of the
house, and they began the work of resuscitation. They had labored
uninterruptedly for nearly an hour when Paul burst in, crying in a
choking voice: "Doctor--doctor, is he alive?" The servants had told him
all in flying haste outside.

The doctor shook his head. "There is nothing more to be done."

But Paul would not believe it. He would not suffer them to cease their
efforts. The rubbing, the movements, the artificial respiration had to
be kept up for another full hour. But death held his prey fast, and
would not let them force it out of his clutches.

Two days later, on a gray rainy day, they buried him. Schrotter came
over from Berlin for the funeral. He looked quite broken down, and
grief had aged his leonine features