ca, Frau Werner exerting herself to give a cheerful tone to the
conversation, and Randall answering her questions absently and without
taking his eyes off Ida, who felt herself beginning to be seized with a
nervous trembling. At last Frau Werner rose and silently left the room,
looking back at them as she closed the door with eyes full of tears.
Then, as if by a common impulse, they rose and put their arms about each
other's necks, and their lips met in a long, shuddering kiss. The breath
came quicker and quicker; sobs broke the kisses; tears poured down
and made them salt and bitter, as parting kisses should be in which
sweetness is mockery. Hitherto they had controlled their feelings, or
rather she had controlled him; but it was no use any longer, for
the time had come, and they abandoned themselves to the terrible
voluptuousness of unrestrained grief, in which there is a strange,
meaningless suggestion of power, as though it might possibly be a force
that could affect or remove its own cause if but wild and strong enough.

"Herr Randall, the carriage waits and you will lose the train," said
Frau Werner from the door, in a husky voice.

"I will not go, by God!" he swore, as he felt her clasp convulsively
strengthen at the summons. The lesser must yield to the greater, and
no loss or gain on earth was worth the grief upon her face. His father
might disinherit him, America might sink, but she must smile again. And
she did,--brave, true girl and lover. The devotion his resolute words
proved was like a strong nervine to restore her self-control. She smiled
as well as her trembling lips would let her, and said, as she loosed him
from her arms:--

"No, thou must go, Karl. But thou wilt return, _nicht wahr?_"

I would not venture to say how many times he rushed to the door, and,
glancing back at her as she stood there desolate, followed his glance
once more to her side. Finally, Frau Werner led him as one dazed to the
carriage, and the impatient driver drove off at full speed.

It is seven years later, and Randall is pacing the deck of an ocean
steamer, outward bound from New York. It is the evening of the first day
out. Here and there passengers are leaning over the bulwarks, pensively
regarding the sinking sun as it sets for the first time between them and
their native land, or maybe taking in with awed faces the wonder of the
deep, which has haunted their imaginations from childhood. Others are
already busily striking