aid not a word, but put the ring on the table and sat down. She
waited for Susanna. She _must_ miss the ring, and would hurry down
directly, anxiously hunting for it.

"An hour passed. Anna Maria had taken up one of Scott's novels; she
turned the pages at long intervals. I had taken out my knitting again.
At last she laid aside the book.

"'We will go to bed, Aunt Rosamond,' said she. 'Will you give the ring
to Susanna?'

"I took the little pledge of love, wrought in heavy gold. 'It must be
too large for her,' said I, in excuse.

"'Yes,' replied Anna Maria, harshly, 'it is not suited to her hand.' And
nodding gravely, she left the room before me.

CHAPTER XV.

"It seemed as if the autumn had only delayed commencing its sway in
order not to interfere with the Buetze harvest festival. Now it broke in
all the more violently, with its gusts of rain, its storms, and its
hatred toward everything which reminded one of summer. Each little green
leaf was tinged with yellow or red, and the garden was gay as a paper of
patterns; the purplish-red festoons of the wild grape hung moistly down,
and in the morning a heavy white mist lay over the landscape. The
storks' nest on the barn roof was empty, whole flocks of wild geese flew
away screaming over the village, and inevitably came the thought of the
long, monotonous winter which Anna Maria and I were to pass alone.

"Anna Maria did not give herself up to idle reveries; she took hold of
work, even too much work, as the best defence against worry and against
a growing sadness. Only in the twilight she would sometimes stand idle,
and look away across the court-yard, and listen to the measured sound of
the threshing that came across from the barn. Then she would pass her
hand over her forehead, light a candle, and move up to the table with
her work--and work there was in abundance.

"Anna Maria had taken Susanna's outfit in hand without delay. She led
the young girl to the huge linen-chests, and, with the pride of a
housewife, showed her the piles of snow-white linen, told her which
pieces she had spun herself, and spread before her eyes the choicest
sets of table linen. Susanna stood beside her, and cast a look rather of
astonishment than admiration at these splendors; she did not understand
what one could do with such a monstrous pile; it was more than one could
use in a hundred years, she thought. Isa, too, seemed to have no
appreciation of the important treasures. '