ame impossible to me. I only
looked at the child, and went away, weary and weakened from watching and
anxiety, up to my room.

"A basket of garlands was standing in the corridor, and beside it the
package of the unfortunate lanterns. The baptism was to have been
to-morrow, but the coachman was already on his way to inform the
numerous guests that it was given up, as the master was ill. My God in
heaven, let not the worst come, be pitiful! What would become of
Susanna, of his child--ah! and of Anna Maria?

"Then I sat down in my arm-chair and listened to the pattering of the
rain, and the wind blowing against the windows; after a little while
there came a knock at my door, and Edwin Stuermer entered. He was quite
changed from what he used to be; indeed, the news of Klaus's illness
might well make him so. Conversation would not flow. I could not help
thinking of how I had last seen him, when he took leave of Susanna and
me; how she had wept, and how he had written to me afterward. 'There
have been great changes here!' said I, in a low tone.

"He did not answer immediately. 'How does Anna Maria get on with--with
her sister-in-law?' he asked.

"'Anna Maria?' I was embarrassed. Should I tell him that those two had
not learned to understand each other yet?

"'She is here very little,' I said at last; 'she has been living in the
convent since Klaus's marriage.'

"He started. 'Still the old quarrel?' he murmured. 'Anna Maria never
liked her; I noticed it from the beginning. She is a strange character.
There are moments when one might believe she has a heart; but it is ever
deception, ever delusion!'

"'Edwin,' I cried bitterly, 'you think you have a right to affirm that;
you are mistaken! Perhaps she has more heart than all of us.'

"'It may be,' he remarked coldly, 'but she never shows it.'

"He too, he too! My poor Anna Maria! If I could have taken him down to
the sick-room, if I could have shown him how she knelt beside her
brother's bed and buried her weeping face in the pillows, if I could say
to him: 'See, that is the secret of all her actions; she has too much
heart, too much generosity. She has done everything for the sake of her
only brother, who once lost a happiness on her account.' If I only might
show him this----

"Slowly the tears ran from my eyes.

"'I did not mean to grieve you, Aunt Rosamond,' said he, tenderly. 'I
am in a hateful mood, and ought not to have come over. The empty house
has put me