xicating fragrance was wafted from
it toward the quiet house.

Within it was still a real, old-fashioned German house; for there were
dim corridors and deep niches, great vaulted rooms and large alcoves,
little staircases with steep steps worn by many feet, and curious low
vaulted doors. A flight of steps would lead quite unexpectedly from one
room into the next, and here and there a door, instead of leading out of
a room, opened, to one's surprise, into a huge closet. Then there were
cemented floors, and great beams dividing the ceilings, and the smallest
of window-panes. And yet where could more real comfort be found than in
such an old house, especially when a November storm is howling without,
and here indoors great fir logs are crackling in the gay-tiled stove?

And just now, down the stairs from the upper story, came an old lady,
looking as if comfort itself came with the green silk knitting-bag on
her arm, her large lace cap, and the brown silk shawl over her
shoulders. She might have been in the fifties, this small, spare figure,
and she limped. Fraeulein Rosamond von Hegewitz had limped all her life,
and yet a more contented nature than hers did not exist. She now turned
to the left and walked along the narrow corridor. This was her regular
evening walk, as she went to her nephew and niece in the sitting-room--a
dear old walk, which she had taken for years, since the time when the
children were little, and her brother and sister-in-law were still
alive; when twilight came she could no longer endure the solitude of
her spinster's room.

Just as she was about to lay her hand on the bright brass door-handle,
she perceived by the dim light of the hall-lamp a girl who was sobbing
gently, her coarse linen apron thrown over her face.

"What are you crying about, Marieken?" asked the old lady kindly, coming
back a step or two. The curly brown head was raised, and a young face,
bathed in tears and now red from embarrassment, looked up at Fraeulein
Rosamond.

"Ah, gracious Fraeulein, I am to leave," she stammered, "and I----"

"Why, what have you--?" The old lady got no further, for just then the
door was opened a little way and the clear, full tones of a youthful
feminine voice came out into the corridor.

"That is my last word, Maertensen; I will not suffer such things in my
house. She may thank God that I have noticed her folly in good season.
Only think of Louisa Keller!"

"God in heaven, Fraeulein!" the per