the ground-floor were dark, but the sleeping apartments in the upper
stories were lighted. In Edith's room the inside shutters were closed,
but one of the windows was a little down at the top. And as he stood
gazing with tremulous happiness up to that window, a stanza from Heine
which he and Edith had often read together, came into his head. It was
the story of the youth who goes to the Madonna at Kevlar and brings her
as a votive offering a heart of wax, that she may heal him of his love
and his sorrow.

"I bring this waxen image,
The image of my heart,
Heal thou my bitter sorrow,
And cure my deadly smart!" [4]

Then came the thought that for him, too, as for the poor youth of
Cologne, there was healing only in death. And still in this moment
he was so near Edith, should see her perhaps, and the joy at this was
stronger than all else, stronger even than death. So he sat down beside
the steps of the mansion opposite, where there was some shelter from the
wind, and waited patiently till Edith should close her window. He was
cold, perhaps, but, if so, he hardly knew it, for the near joy of seeing
her throbbed warmly in his veins. Ah, there--the blinds were thrown
open; Edith, in all the lithe magnificence of her wonderful form, stood
out clear and beautiful against the light within; she pushed up the
lower window in order to reach the upper one, and for a moment leaned
out over the sill. Once more her wondrous profile traced itself in
strong relief against the outer gloom. There came a cry from the street
below, a feeble involuntary one, but still distinctly audible. Edith
peered anxiously out into the darkness, but the darkness had grown
denser and she could see nothing. The window was fastened, the shutters
closed, and the broad pathway of light which she had flung out upon the
night had vanished.

Halfdan closed his eyes trying to retain the happy vision. Yes, there
she stood still, and there was a heavenly smile upon her lips--ugh, he
shivered--the snow swept in a wild whirl up the street. He wrapped his
plaid more closely about him, and strained his eyes to catch one more
glimpse of the beloved Edith. Ah, yes; there she was again; she came
nearer and nearer, and she touched his cheek, gently, warily smiling
all the while with a strange wistful smile which was surely not Edith's.
There, she bent over him,--touched him again,--how cold her hands were;
the touch chilled him to the heart. Th