Waldruhe" he did not have to go upstairs. Gertrude was in the
park. She was standing at the end of a shady alley and perceiving her
uncle she came towards him, in her simple white summer dress.

"Uncle," she gasped out, and two anxious eyes sought to read his face.

"Come," said the old man, taking her hand, "let us walk along this
path. It will do me good. I shall have a stroke if I stand still. To
make my story short, child--he will not."

"Uncle, what have you done?" cried Gertrude, a flush of mortification
covering her face. "You have been to him?"

"'Yes,' I said, 'go and ask her forgiveness and everything will come
right--women are like that!' and he--"

She pressed her hand on her heart.

"Uncle!" she cried.

"And he said: No! That would be owning a fault which he had not
committed. There, my child! I have tried once more to play the part of
peace-maker, but--now I wash my hands of it all. You must do it for
yourselves now. Anger is bad for me, as you know, and I have had enough
now to last me a month. Good-bye, Gertrude!"

"Good-bye, uncle, I thank you."

He had gone a few steps when the old egotist looked round once more.
She was leaning against the trunk of a beech-tree like one who has
received a blow. Her eyes were cast down, a strange smile played about
her mouth.

"Poor child!" he stammered out, taking his hat from his burning
forehead, and then he went back to her.

"Come now, you must keep your spirits up," he said kindly. "Over there
in Niendorf that black little monkey was making a _mai-trank_ for the
judge who is going away. What do you say, Gertrude, shall we go and
have some? Come, I will take you over quite quietly. You see we would
go so softly into the dining-room, and I am not an egotist if you are
not--one--two--three--in each others' arms--you will cry 'Frank!' he
will say 'Gertrude!' and all will be forgotten. Gertrude, my good
little Gertrude, do be reasonable. Is life so very blissful that one
dares fling away the golden days of youth and happiness? Come, come,
take my advice just this once."

He had grasped her slender wrist, but she freed herself hastily and her
face grew rigid. "No, no, that is all over!" she said in a hard
distinct tone.

CHAPTER XIX.

The summer had come; the yellowing grain waved in the soft breezes, and
the cherry-trees in the orchards and along the high roads had all been
robbed of their fruit. The sky was clou