g to? I've been looking for you, the last two hours."

"Come in here," said Walpurga, leading Hansei into a covered way. "They
don't speak so loud here."

It turned out that, in her last letter, Walpurga had told Hansei to
come to the palace, and not to the inn. She begged him to forgive her,
for she had been so confused while writing, and then she said: "Now let
me give you a kiss of welcome. Thank God, all are well. I need lots of
love and kindness."

She asked him to wait at the door of Irma's apartment, while she went
in. Irma was still in bed, but, as soon as she heard Walpurga's voice,
asked her to enter. The countess looked lovely in deshabille, but she
was quite pale, and her loosened hair lay in wild profusion on the
pillow.

"I wanted to give you something to remember me by," said Irma, raising
herself, "but I thought the best thing I could give you would be money.
Take what's lying there. Take it all; I want none of it. Take
it; don't be afraid, it's real gold, won in honest play. I always
win--always--Take out your handkerchief and wrap the money up in it."

Irma's voice was hoarse. The room was so dimly lighted that Walpurga
looked about in fear, as if she were in some enchanted apartment; and
yet she knew the maid, the tables, the chairs, and could hear the
screaming of the parrot in the next room. She knew all this, but she
could not help thinking that there might be something wrong about the
money. She hurriedly made the sign of the cross over it, and then put
it in her pocket.

"And now, farewell," said Irma; "may you be happy; a thousand times
happy. You are happier than all of us. When I don't know where to go in
this world, I shall come to you. You'll receive me, won't you? and will
make room for me at your hearth? Now go! go! I must sleep. Farewell,
Walpurga, don't forget me. No thanks; not a word. I'll soon come to
you, and then we'll sing again; aye, sing. Farewell!"

"I beg of you, let me say only one single word!" cried Walpurga,
grasping her hands. "We can't, either of us, know which of us may die,
and then it would be too late."

Irma pressed her hand over her eyes, and nodded assent. Walpurga
continued:

"I don't know what ails you. Something's going wrong with you, and it
may go worse yet. Your hands are often so cold and your cheeks so hot.
I wronged you that day--the second day after I came here. Forgive me!
I'll never wrong you again, even in thought; and no one shall. No one