se was accepted. And what was more, it was no comedy
on her part; he even now believed that she really loved him. All the
turbulent forces of her being were toned down to a beautiful, womanly
tenderness. She clung to him with a passionate devotion which seemed
to be no less of a surprise to herself than it was to him--clung to
his stronger self, perhaps, as a refuge from her own waywardness,
listened with a sweet, shame-faced happiness to his bright plans for
their common future, and shared his pleasures and his light
disappointments with an ardor and an ever ready sympathy, as if her
whole previous life had been an education for this one end--to be a
perfect wife and to be his wife.

But alas, their happiness was of brief duration. At the end of a year
he had finished his legal studies, and passed a brilliant examination.
An excellent situation was obtained for him in a small town on the
sea-coast, whither he removed and began to prepare for the foundation
of his home. It was here he contracted his taste for quaint furniture,
all that was now left to him of his happiness--nay, of his life.
Suddenly, at the end of eight months, she ceased writing to him--a
fact which after all, argued well for her sincerity; full of
apprehension, he hastened to the capital and found her engaged to a
young lieutenant,--a dashing, hare-brained fellow, covered all over
with gilt embroidery, undeniably handsome, but otherwise of very
little worth. At least that was Storm's impression of him; he may have
done him injustice, he added, with his usual conscientiousness. A man
who sees the whole structure of his life tumbling down over his head
is not apt to take a charitable view of the author of the ruin. A week
later, Storm was on his way to America,--that was the end of the
story.

Yes, if my friend had died, according to his promise, the story would
have ended here; but, as for once, he broke his word, I am obliged to
add the sequel. I noticed that for some time after his recovery he
kept shy of me. As he afterward plainly told me, he felt as if I had
purloined a piece of his most precious private property, in sharing a
grief which had hitherto been his own exclusive treasure.

III.

Fuercht' dich nicht, du liebes Kindchen,
Vor der boesen Geister Macht;
Tag und Nacht, du liebes Kindchen,
Halten Engel bei dir Wacht.--HEINE.

Once, on a warm moonlight night in September, Storm and I took a walk
in the Park. The n