s sacred. I wrapped it in the
paper, and afterward I put the lock of hair beside it. So soon as I
could, I went to Heidelberg, to the pension. You had gone and there was
no address, no trace--"

"I left my address with the countess--"

"My aunt is dead," said the young German gravely. "I would not criticize
her, but she had her own choice of a wife for my uncle; I do not think
one could trust her with addresses."

"We all gave ours to her to give to Frau Mueller."

"That is why, then, I could not find you. My grandmother also tried. But
you were gone. I thought of the banks, long after, but I found nothing.
Often it has seemed dreadful that you should learn of this only through
the papers. But I could not tell whether--_anything_. When I came to
America, I confess it was always in my mind. I always carried my uncle's
little packet with me. I will have it sent to you."

"Excuse me," said Miss Wing gently. "Will you please bring me the glass
of water--I--am afraid--I can't walk to it."

But she would not let him pour the water on his handkerchief to bathe
her head. She sipped the water, and very pale, but quite herself,
brought him back to his own matters. She found that it was a cousin,
miscalled an uncle, in the German manner, who had died. It did not seem
to her that Max's nephew could be unworthy of any girl; yet she
conscientiously questioned him regarding his worldly affairs, for
Florence was an only daughter whose father had great possessions and a
distrust of adventurers, and at last she sent him forth to walk in the
grove with his sweetheart. "And speak to her," she said, with a look
that sank into his heart; "it is the American way; don't wait to write,
the American way is best."

So, at last, she was alone. Alone with her lover who had always been
true; whose love many waters could not quench, and it was stronger than
death. She often pondered, afterward, whether there had not been some
note written to her and sent with the photographs; whether the countess
might not have tampered with the package, taking the note, but not
suspecting the picture. But none of these puzzles troubled her to-day.
She stood in front of the picture. All the years, an obscure and
virginal shyness had withheld her from ever overstepping her first
attitude. She told him every thought of her heart in regard to others
and herself. He was her dearest friend. She called him "Max" and "my
friend." Recalling the French use of the latt