ming people.
But I will not influence you, I am only telling you this by the way.
Sophie tells me an invitation has come from the Stadtraethin for
to-morrow. One never has a day to one's self. You will come too? It is
about the Society festival; you young girls will have something to do.

"Jenny had a light still," she continued, without noticing her
daughter's silence. "Arthur brought home Carl Roeben, who came for his
young wife, and Lina was just coming up out of the cellar with
champagne.--I beg you will not tell any one about that scene in the
church to-day; I have asked the pastor's wife to be silent too.

"Good night, my child. Of course the tea wasn't fit to drink at Mrs.
S---- as usual."

"Good-night, mamma," replied Gertrude. She took the lamp and looked at
her father's picture once more, then she went to bed. She awoke
suddenly out of a half-slumber; she had heard the voice so distinctly
that she had heard in the church to-day for the first time. She sat up
with her heart beating quickly. No, what she had experienced today had
been no dream. Like a ray of sunshine fell that friendly act of the
unknown into this world of egotism and heartlessness. And then she
staid long awake.

CHAPTER III.

The storms of late autumn came on among the mountains, heavy showers of
rain came down from the gray flying clouds and beat upon the dead
leaves of the forest and against the windows of the dwelling-houses.
Frank Linden sat at his writing-table in the room he had fitted up for
himself in the second story, and his eyes wandered from the denuded
branches in the garden to the mountains opposite. His surroundings were
as comfortable as it is possible for a bachelor's room to be--books and
weapons, a bright fire in the stove, good pictures on the walls, the
delicate perfume of a fine cigar, and yet in spite of all this the
expression on his handsome face was by no means a contented one.

He thrust aside a great sheet full of figures and took up instead a
sheet of writing-paper, on which he began rapidly to write:--

"My Dear Old Judge:

"How you would scoff at me if you could see me in my present downcast
mood. It is raining outside, and inside a flood of vexatious thoughts
is streaming over me. I have found out that playing at farming is a
pleasure only when one has a large purse that he can call his own. The
expenses are getting too much for me; everything has to be repaired or