hrew her apron over her face and began to
weep bitterly.

"'Do write, gracious Fraeulein, for the master to come back soon, or
things will not go right in my life-time with Anna Maria,' she sobbed.
'It eats into my heart like a worm that he went away without a good-by.
She says nothing, but, Fraeulein, I have known her ever since she was
born; I know her as well as I do myself. She stays for hours in the
master's room, and when she comes out her eyes are red with weeping, and
then it is always: "Brockelmann, the master would certainly do this so,
and wish that so," and "When the master is here," or "When the master
comes," is the third word with her. When Christian brings the mail she
runs out into the court to meet him, and the first time the master wrote
I was just going through the room, as she read the letter. She did not
see me, but I saw how the letter trembled in her hands, and then she
said to herself: "He is different from what he used to be; it is past!"
And then she got up and went into the garden, and I looked after her and
watched her as I used to when she was yet a wild thing with long braids.
And then she walked up and down by the spot where her mother lies
buried, up and down, up and down, oh! certainly for an hour. It was
nothing to her that it rained, and that the wind blew her half to
pieces. At last I went out there and asked her something about the
housekeeping; I could not see it any longer. Then she came in with me.
But last night, when she came back from the fire, when I had brought her
a glass of mulled wine, she looked so wretched. When I knew she was in
her own room I took it to her--I did not wish to disturb her here. But
listen, Fraeulein Rosamond, when I went in there Anna Maria had just been
crying, crying as if her heart would break. She did not see me; she had
laid her head on the table, and on Herr Klaus's picture, and her whole
body shook and trembled. Then I closed the door again softly, for,
believe me, it would have been dreadful to her to have had any one see
that she was crying. Indeed, she does not like it if anybody cries
aloud. But to-day I could not rest. Only write, Fraeulein; when the
master is here all will be well again!'

"'Ah, good old Brockelmann, if that would settle it! Yes, Klaus would
come, but it would never be again as it used to be, never again!'

"The old woman took my silence for acquiescence. 'And, Fraeulein,' she
continued, drying her eyes, 'I know perfectl