enry."

And she took up her book again and began to read.

The house had long been quiet, when she put down the book for a moment
and gazed into space.

"No!" she murmured, "no!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

Three days later the Niendorf carriage stopped before the gate of
"Waldruhe," and waited there a quarter of an hour in the blazing heat
of the mid-day sun, so that the gardener's children could gaze to their
heart's content on the brilliant coloring of Aunt Rosa's violet parasol
and the red ostrich feathers which adorned Adelaide's summer hat,
mingling effectively with the dark curly hair which hung in a fringe
over the youthful forehead. This sight must have been an agreeable
one to the judge also, for he did not take his eyes off his pretty
_vis-a-vis_.

"Mrs. Linden regrets that she is not well enough to receive visitors,"
announced Johanna with her eyes cast down.

Two of the occupants of the carriage looked disappointed, while the
judge felt in his pocket for his card-case.

"There!" He gave the servant the turned-down card.

"And here is a letter, an _important letter_--do you understand,
Johanna? My compliments, and I trust she will soon recover."

"So do I," said the young girl, timidly.

Aunt Rosa, however, was silent, and when they looked at her more
closely they saw she was asleep, the wrinkled old face nodding absurdly
above the enormous bow under her chin.

"Burmann, drive slowly, when we get to the wood," whispered the judge,
"Miss Rosa is asleep."

The coachman made a clucking sound with his tongue and drove
noiselessly over the soft grass-grown road. Johanna could see that the
judge moved over from the middle of the seat opposite the young lady
and that she glowed suddenly like the feathers on her hat.

Johanna went back into the house with her card and letter and gave them
to Gertrude.

"A letter?" inquired the young wife.

"The judge gave it to me," replied Johanna, as she left the room in
which, in spite of the outside heat, the air was always damp and cold.

Gertrude slowly opened the letter. It was in his handwriting--she had
expected it. Her heart beat so quickly she could scarcely breathe, and
the letters danced before her eyes. It was some time before she could
read it:

"GERTRUDE--Wolff died last evening. It is no longer possible to call
him to account on earth; it is no longer possible to expose his guilt.
He has gone to his grave without hav