tely bewildered. Perhaps both letters
would be found.--Be it so.

And then Walpurga's song passed through her mind.

If the good peasant woman who lives by the lake knew that her friend
was thus groping her way through the woods, all alone, in darkest
night, and with such dread thoughts for her companions--she would
hasten to her aid, would draw her to her heart and would not let her
go. Who knows but that, although far away, she is thinking of me now,
dreaming of me and, perhaps, singing her song--sending it, like some
invisible messenger, on the wings of night. How the poor creature will
grieve when she hears of my death. Perhaps she will be the only one who
will sincerely mourn for me.

Memories of many kinds floated through her mind. Years hence, some
boatman like the one at the island convent, will tell the story of the
drowned maid of honor. What effect will the news of my death have
upon others? None of them can help me, nor can I help them. Day after
to-morrow they'll be playing, dancing and singing as usual. No one can
keep another in remembrance. He who is absent has no claim on our
thoughts. Life is as pitiless as death. She went further into the
thicket, passing wild ravines on the way. The stones loosened by her
tread tumbled over the precipice, and the dull, hollow thud with which
they struck the earth below, told her how far they had fallen. The
rocks on either side drew closer together, the mountain torrent rushed
down over them and, all at once, she reached the edge of a precipice;
further, she could not go. I will take the fatal leap and dash myself
to pieces. But to lie there, perhaps for days, bruised and half dead.
To die a lingering death! No!

She sought a path. A branch struck her in the face just where her
father's icy finger had touched her.

"No; this brow shall nevermore see the light of day," she cried,
holding fast with her hands, while trying to find a way along the edge
of the cliff. Suddenly, she heard the loud voice of a woman singing.
Irma drew a long breath, for it was a human voice--a woman's, perhaps
that of a young and lovely girl, giving her lover a signal in the
night. The sounds were repeated again and again, and grew more and more
piercing, and, trembling with fear, Irma sat on the rock. She answered
with a scream. She was frightened at the sound of her own voice, but
she cried out again and again, for now there was an answer. The other
voice seemed to approach; dogs rush