she enter? Ah, his room, that dear old room! And Gertrude wrung
her hands in bitter envy. "Go!" she cried, half-aloud, "go! That
threshold is sacred--I--I crossed it on the happiest day of my life--on
his arm!"

And she could see him sitting at his writing-table in his gray jacket
and his high boots just as he had come in from the fields; his white
forehead stood out in sharp contrast to his brown face. She had always
liked that.

And gray hair on his temples? Ah, he had none a few weeks ago! And
again a dainty little figure fluttered before her eyes going towards
him. Ah, she would like to know that one thing--if he could ever forget
her for another--for this girl perhaps? But of what use was all this?

She got up and went out of the room across the corridor to her father's
room. What her father had done thousands had done before him, and
thousands would do it--a man need not live!

On the table by the bed stood the glass with his monogram, out of which
he had drunk that dreadful potion. The servants had washed it and put
it back there. She walked a few steps toward the window and started
suddenly. Ah yes, it was only her image in the glass. She walked
quickly up to the shining glass and looked in--there was a wonderful
bluish shimmer in it and her face, pale as death, looked out at her
from it. The deep shadows under the eyes spread far down on her cheeks.
Shuddering, she turned away; there was something ghostly about her own
face.

And again she stood still and thought. What was left for her in life?
Everything was gone with him, everything!

"Mrs. Linden," said a voice behind her, "Judge Schmidt."

She nodded.

"In my room."

Ah, yes, she had forgotten that she had sent for him. He came to-day,
and she had only written yesterday. But it was just as well, she must
make a beginning.

She turned back again; let him wait, she could not go just yet. She
went to the window and saw how the heavy leaden clouds were spreading
over the sky; a storm was brewing in the west. Courage, now, courage!
When it was past the sun would shine again; sometimes a broken branch
could not lift itself again. So much the better! There would be no more
of this quiet, this deadly calm.

Only something to do--even if--

"Ma'am!" called the voice once more, and then she composed herself and
went.

She knew him very well, the old gentleman who came towards her with a
kind smile, but she could not speak a word to him. She could on