She had taken _that_ for love which had been only the commonest
mercenary speculation.

Ah, the humiliation was nothing to the dreadful feeling that stole over
her and chilled her to the heart--the pain of wounded pride and with it
the old bitter perversity. She had not felt it lately, she had been
good, happiness makes one so good--and now? and now?

CHAPTER XIII.

The carriage rolled quickly down the hill to Niendorf and stopped
before the house. Half-unconsciously the young wife descended and stood
in the rain on the steps of the veranda. It seemed to her as if she
were here for the first time; the small windows, the gray old walls
with the pointed roof--how ugly they were, how strange! All the flowers
in the garden beaten down by the rain--the charm that love gives fled,
only bare, sober, sad reality! and on the threshold crouched the demon
of selfishness, of cold calculation.

She passed through the garden hall and up the stairs to her room. In
the corridor Johanna met her.

"The master went away in the carriage directly after breakfast," she
announced. "He laid a note on your work-table, ma'am."

"I have a headache, Johanna, don't disturb me now," she said, faintly.

When she reached her own room she bolted first the door behind her and
then that which opened into his room. And then she read the note.

"The barometer has risen and the judge insists on going up the Brocken,
I go with him to Ille. I have something to do there and I shall not be
very late home--Thine,
FRANK."

And below a postscript from the guest:

"Don't be angry, Mrs. Linden. I belong to that class of persons who
cannot see a mountain without feeling an irresistible desire to ascend
it. I take the Brocken first, so when the weather clears again I can
bear the sight of it from my window with equanimity. I will send your
Frank home again soon, safe and sound."

Thank Heaven, he would not be back so very soon--but what was to be
done now? She sat motionless before her work-table, gazing out into the
garden without seeing anything there. Hour after hour passed. Once or
twice she passed her hand across her eyes--they were dry and hot, and
about the mouth was graven a deep line of scorn and contempt. Towards
evening there was a knock at the door. She did not turn her head.

"Mrs. Linden!" called the servant. No answer and the steps died away
outside.

Gertru