wish for happiness, lay with the letter.

"In his letter to me Klaus repeated that he was longing for home, that
he earnestly besought me to induce Anna Maria to be gentle, for he made
his home-coming especially dependent upon her state of mind, as he could
not possibly expose Susanna now to excitement and unfriendly treatment.
But he cherished a strong desire to return at the beginning of spring at
the latest, for this and other reasons.

"The two letters lay before me on the table; how should I make their
contents known to Anna Maria? For she read no letters at all. And how
would she receive the news of his return? A change in her feelings was
not to be hoped for so soon, not even at the announcement of this glad
news.

"Brockelmann had come in and complained, with a shake of her head, that
Anna Maria had not eaten a mouthful to-day, and it was four o'clock
already. 'She is growing old before her time,' added the old woman;
'does she look now as if she were under thirty? Yesterday I brushed her
hair and found two long silvery threads in it. O Lord! and so young!'

"In the depth of twilight Anna Maria came suddenly into the room. She
did not say 'Good evening' at all, but only, 'Please do not allude to my
birthday, aunt!' And after a pause she added: 'Things cannot remain as
they are here; Klaus will want to come home, and then there will be one
too many in Buetze. I have been considering lately how I should manage
not to be in his way, and have at last decided to go at once to the
convent in B----.'

"'You would grieve Klaus to death, Anna Maria,' said I; 'it does not do
to carry a thing too far. You are both defiant, you are both stubborn,
but Klaus has been the first to extend his hand, and he still offers it.
Here, read his letter, read it just this once, and be of a different
mind.'

"I lit a candle, and pressed the letter into her hand; and she really
read it. A slight blush rose to her pale face, then she nodded her head
seriously. 'Believe me,' she said, 'he will really be best pleased if he
does not find me here. Write him that, aunt. In this way no possible
conflict can ensue.'

"'Anna Maria, you would--you could really go away from here?' cried I,
pained. 'How can it be possible? Truly I had expected more feeling, more
attachment in you. You can be heartless sometimes!'

"She was silent. 'Stuermer is coming back next month,' she said at last,
in a strangely trembling voice, 'and I would like to be