denly endowed with a strength she had never before
known. She was willing to suffer for Irma, and even to sacrifice her
own good name, for the sake of protecting the penitent.

She thanked fate that Doctor Gunther had treated her unkindly. How
would it have been if a friendly reception on his part had induced her
to betray a portion of her secret?

The elements that mingled in Walpurga's character were now in
agitation, now in repose; the quiet life at home, the unquiet one at
court, vanity, honor, humility, a desire to appear of consequence--all
these were in a constant ferment. But at last all was clear.

"What have you done for Irma, after all?" she asked herself. "Nothing;
you've only let her live with you."

For Irma's sake, she was willing to submit to disgrace.

"It isn't what people think of you, but what you really are, that's
most important," thought she to herself, and breathed freely once more.

When she, at last, calmly rested her head on her pillow, she felt as if
her mother's hand were stroking her brow.

CHAPTER VI.

It was a mild spring night.

Irma was sitting by the spring and looking up at the starry heavens.
She felt strangely at the thought of again wandering forth, for on the
following morning she was to start for the shepherd's hut, there to
spend the summer. How would it be with her when she again sat here in
the night, listening to the stream rushing by?

At that moment she heard whispering. It seemed to come from the dark
stable, the door of which was open.

"Yes, Gundel; our mistress is just as changeable as April weather. On
the way from home, she was as jolly as she could be, and on the way
back, she was just as glum as if she'd been beaten. She went to see the
great doctor. Something must have happened to her. But what does she
matter to us, after all? She bought pots and pans, but I got something
better. Let's have your hand. There! I put this little silver ring on
your finger and make you fast to me, in soul and body, for life. Now
you may go wherever you choose; you're mine, all the same."

Hearty kisses were heard, and Gundel at last said:

"But you'll come up to the meadow to see us, once in a while, won't
you?"

"Of course I will!" And then there was more soft and unintelligible
whispering.

"Why, just look!" said Franz, suddenly; "there's cousin Irmgard, and
she's heard every word of what we've said."

"That's no harm; she kn