uary when she disappeared; she did not leave a trace of her
whereabouts behind her. Little Agnes cried in vain for her "Pina." Six
days after Philippina had left, she came back just as mysteriously as
she had gone away. She was desperately gloomy; her hair was towsled, her
clothes were wrinkled, there were no soles on her shoes; she was as
speechless as a clod, and remained so for weeks.

No one knew, nor has any one ever found out, what she did during those
six days or where she had been.

Eleanore insisted on a church wedding; this caused Daniel a great deal
of worry; it made him run many a vexatious errand. But he consented to
do as Eleanore had asked; for he did not wish to deprive her of any
pleasure she might imagine such a ceremony would give her. Eleanore made
her own white dress and her veil. Gisela Degen, a younger sister of
Martha Ruebsam, and Elsa Schneider, the daughter of the rector of the
Church of St. AEgydius, were to be her bridesmaids. Marian Nothafft and
Eva were also to come over from Eschenbach; Eleanore had already sent
them the money for the tickets.

"Help me with my sewing, Philippina," said Eleanore one evening, and
handed her silent house companion the veil, the border of which had to
be made.

Philippina took her seat opposite Eleanore, and began to sew; she was
silent. In the meanwhile, little Agnes, tottering about on the floor,
fell and began to cry in a most pitiable fashion. Eleanore hastened over
and picked the child up. Just then she heard a sound as if cloth were
being torn. She looked around, and saw that the veil had an ugly rip in
it: "You wicked thing! What do you mean, Philippina?" she exclaimed.

"I didn't do it; it tore itself," growled Philippina, taking every
precaution to see that Eleanore might not catch her cowardly eye.

"You just leave that alone! Keep your hands off of it! You will sew evil
thoughts into my veil," replied Eleanore, filled with forebodings.

Philippina got up. "Well, it's torn anyway, the veil," she said in a
defiant tone; "if harm is to come it will come; you can't keep it off by
sending me away." Philippina left the room.

The injury to the veil was not as great as Eleanore had feared. It was a
relatively easy matter to cut off the torn piece entirely, and still use
the remainder.

But from that hour Eleanore was filled with sadness: her face might be
compared to a beautiful landscape on which the first fog of autumn has
settled. It is proba