p beating for a moment,
now it throbbed wildly: there in the large chair--he had not gone to
bed, but sleep had overtaken him. There he sat, his wounded arm rested
on the arm of the chair, the other supported his head. He wore still
the soiled, singed coat he had on the day before, and ah, he looked so
pale, so changed!

The dog, which lay at his feet, lifted up his head and wagged his tail.
Then she went towards him. "Make way for me," she murmured, "_I_ must
take that place!"

And she knelt down before her husband, and taking the shrinking injured
hand put it to her lips.

"Gertrude, what are you doing?"

"Forgive me, Frank, forgive me?" she whispered, weeping, resisting his
endeavors to raise her.

"No, Frank, no, let me stay here, it should be so--"

"Forgive you? There is no question of that. Thank God you are here
again!"

But before she got up she tore a bit of paper into shreds, then she ran
to the window and opened her hand and they danced away in the air like
snowflakes. And when she turned back again she looked into his grave
eyes.

"What was that?" he asked, drawing her towards him.

She threw her arms round his neck and hid her streaming eyes on his
breast. They stood thus together at the open window, in the clear rays
of the morning sun. The twittering swallows flew past them over the
tops of the trees up into the blue sky.

"Back again! Back again!" was the burden of their song.

Gradually the house woke up. The little brunette laid the table in the
garden-hall.

"Two cups, two plates, and a bunch of roses in the middle--for the last
time," said she, "then she can do it for herself again."

Then she stood thinking for a moment.

"He doesn't in the least realize how fortunate he is to get such a
yielding, lamb-like wife as I am," she murmured. "To be sure, I _could_
not possibly fancy that he married me for my money."

She laughed a clear ringing laugh.

"I shall have a nice little trousseau if Aunt Rosa gets it."

And she opened the garden door and ran out into the green shrubbery.

The world was so beautiful, the sun so golden and Adelaide was so fond
of the little judge.

She was engaged, secretly engaged, for the good fellow would not come
before his friend in all his bridegroom's bliss, when his happiness was
so utterly shattered. So they had plighted their troth secretly--after
the bowl of _mai-trank_ on that last day. Aunt Rosa was no check
upon them, for she slept placidly