e then it had become, as it were, the
temple of her recollections, to which she daily made her pilgrimage to
offer up her devout, sincere, and ardent prayer of love.

She sat and looked up to heaven, and her ear, dwelling on words which
had died away long ago, did not hear sounds which were perceptible on
the other side of the wall. It appeared as if some one were striving
to climb it, and indeed there could be now seen a hand feeling about,
and then a man's figure rising above the wall.

Cautiously spying around, large flashing eyes looked into the garden.
One moment the figure rested upon the wall, as if exhausted by the
exertion, or listening for some sound. It was a young man, in the garb
of a peasant, who sat upon the wall; but the heavy, black mustache
little suited this peaceful dress, and his bold air, verging on
insolence, seemed to challenge the dangers which surrounded him.

He rested for a moment on the wall, and listened attentively. Then
he drew a pistol from his breast, and examined carefully its lock and
barrel. He then cocked it, and holding it in one hand, began carefully
and noiselessly to descend. With one leap he sprang to the ground;
the leaves rustled under his feet, and again he stood motionless in
a listening attitude. His glance was as keen and bright as that of an
eagle, and it seemed to penetrate the dark foliage. Suddenly a light
flashed across his countenance, and a smile of delight played about
his lips. He had seen the young girl, who was seated on the bench lost
in deep thought, and that he had recognized her was betrayed by his
animated expression. Quietly, carefully, he drew nearer, ever and
again standing still and listening. Then he stood close behind her at
the tree. Again he listens, but every thing is silent and hushed. Now
he calls her softly by name, and whispers almost inaudibly, "Elise!"

She started and looked up, but saw no one, and as she recovered
herself, she sighed gently, and said: "I was mistaken, it was only the
wind."

But again he whispered: "Start not, Elise; do not utter a word or
cry!"

"O God!" murmured she in a low tone, trembling in all her limbs. An
ardent embrace, a glowing kiss upon her brow, and a well-beloved voice
whispered her name.

"Feodor!" uttered she faintly. Overcome by the sudden violence of
her feelings, her head dropped languidly on his breast. Then, drawing
herself up, she gazed at him, and her eager, loving look encountered
his flash