er maternal air
toward both invalids, for the sound of that hollow cough always
brought a shadow over her face, recalling the brother she had lost.

Amy was particularly merry and charming, and kept the whole party
laughing at her comical efforts to learn Polish and teach English as
they drove up the mountainside to the old Schloss.

"I'm not equal to mounting all those steps for a view I've seen a
dozen times; but pray take care of the child, Nell, or she'll get lost
again, as at Heidelberg," said the major, when they had roamed about
the lower part of the place; for a cool seat in the courtyard and a
glass of beer were more tempting than turrets and prospects to the
stout gentleman.

"She shall not be lost; I am her body-guard. It is steep--permit that
I lead you, mademoiselle;" Casimer offered his hand to Amy, and they
began their winding way. As she took the hand, the girl blushed and
half smiled, remembering the vaults and the baron.

"I like this better," she said to herself, as they climbed step by
step, often pausing to rest in the embrasures of the loopholes,
where the sun glanced in, the balmy wind blew, and vines peeped from
without, making a pretty picture of the girl, as she sat with rosy
color on her usually pale cheeks, brown curls fluttering about her
forehead, laughing lips, and bright eyes full of pleasant changes.
Leaning opposite in the narrow stairway, Casimer had time to study the
little tableau in many lights, and in spite of the dark glasses,
to convey warm glances of admiration, of which, however, the young
coquette seemed utterly unconscious.

Helen came leisurely after, and Hoffman followed with a telescope,
wishing, as he went, that his countrywomen possessed such dainty feet
as those going on before him, for which masculine iniquity he will be
pardoned by all who have seen the foot of a German Fraulein.

It was worth the long ascent, that wide-spread landscape basking in
the August glow.

Sitting on a fallen block of stone, while Casimer held a sun-umbrella
over her, Amy had raptures at her ease; while Helen sketched and asked
questions of Hoffman, who stood beside her, watching her progress with
interest. Once when, after repeated efforts to catch a curious effect
of light and shade, she uttered an impatient little exclamation, Karl
made a gesture as if to take the pencil and show her, but seemed to
recollect himself and drew back with a hasty "Pardon, mademoiselle."
Helen glanced