most things, and her heart understands mine. She knows that Scripture says a woman shall leave her father and mother to follow her husband; she is aware of our attachment, and, since our door has been closed against you, I have not shed a tear that she has not detected and replied to by another. You misjudge my mother, Herbert. Something tells me she has suffered, and knows that a little happiness is essential to life as the air we breathe. Nor would it surprise me, if one day, when embracing me, as she does each night when we are alone, she were to whisper: Begone, my poor child!" "I cannot think it, Christine. She will bid you obey, be comforted, forget!" 66 Forget! Herbert, my mother forgets nothing. To forget is the resource of cowardly hearts. Nonone will bid me forget." ent. not fly, I will wait!" And she made a movement to regain the strand. I "One instant-yet one second-Christine! know not what chilling presentiment oppresses my heart. Dearest-if we were to meet no more. If this little corner of earth were our last trysting-place these melancholy willows the witnesses of our eternal separation! Is it can it be-the last happy hour of my life that has just slipped by ?" He covered his face with his hands, to conceal his tears. Christine's heart beat violently-but she had courage. Letting herself drop from the tree, she stood upon the bank, separated from the boat, which could not come nearer to shore. "Adieu, Herbert," said she, "one day I will be your wife, faithful and loving. It shall be, for I will have it so. Let us both pray God to hasten that happy day. Adieu, I love you! Adieu, and till our next meeting, for I love you!" And once more a gloomy fire flashed in Christine's eyes, like the rapid passage of a flame which illumines and instantly expires. It was a revelation of the future rather than the expression of the pres- The barrier of reeds and willows opened before An ardent soul dwelt within her, but had not the young girl. A few small branches crackled beyet cast off all the incumbrances of childhood. It neath her tread; there was a slight noise in the struggled to make its way, and at times, succeed-grass and bushes, as when a bird takes flight; then ing for a moment, a word or cry revealed its pres- all was silence. Herbert wept. ence. breakfast. "No-I shall not forget," added Christine; "I love you, and you love me, who am so little loved! The clock in the red brick house struck eight, You find me neither foolish, nor fantastical, nor ca- and the family of Van Amberg the merchant were pricious; you understand my reveries and the thou- mustered in the breakfast-room. Christine was the sand strange thoughts that invade my heart. I am only absentee. Near the fire stood the head of the very young, Herbert; and yet, here, with my hand in family-Karl Van Amberg-and beside him his yours, I answer for the future. I shall always love brother, who, older than himself, yielded the preyou! and see, I do not weep. I have rogative of seniority, and left him master of the faith in the happiness of our love; how? when? I community. Madame Van Amberg was working know not-it is the secret of my Creator, who would near a window, and her two elder daughters, fairnot have sent me upon earth only to suffer. Hap-haired, white-skinned Dutchwomen, prepared the piness will come when He deems right, but come it will! Yes-I am young, full of life, I have need Karl Van Amberg, the dreaded chief of his famof air and space; I shall not live enclosed and ily, was of lofty stature; his gait was stiff; his smothered here. The world is large, and I will physiognomy passionless. His face, whose features know it; my heart is full of love, and will love for at first appeared insignificant, denoted a domineer ever. No tears, dearest! obstacles shall be over-ing temper. His manners were cold. He spoke come, they must give way, for I will be happy!" little; never to praise, but often in terms of dry and "But why delay, Christine? My love! my imperious censure. His glance preceded his words wife! an opportunity lost may never be regained. and rendered them nearly superfluous, so energetA minute often decides the fate of a lifetime. Per-ically could that small sunken gray eye make itself haps, at this very moment, happiness is near us! understood. With the sole aid of his own patience A leap into my boat, a few strokes of the oar, and and ambition, Karl Van Amberg had made a we are united forever! Perhaps, if large fortune. His ships covered the seas. Never you again return to the land, we are forever separ-loved, always respected, his credit was everywhere ated. Christine, come! The wind rises: beneath my feet is a sail that will quickly swell and bear us away rapidly as the wings of yon bird." Tears flowed fast over Christine's burning cheeks. She shuddered, looked at her lover, at the horizon, thought of liberty; she hesitated, and a violent struggle agitated her soul. At last, hiding her face amongst the leafage of the willow, she clasped her arms round its stem, as if to withhold herself from entering the boat, and in a stifled voice muttered the words" My mother!" A few seconds afterwards, she raised her pallid countenance. excellent. Absolute monarch in his own house, none dreamed of opposing his will. All were mute and awed in his presence. At this moment, he was leaning against the chimney-piece. His black garments were very plain, but not devoid of a certain austere elegance. William Van Amberg, Karl's brother, was quite of an opposite character. He would have passed his life in poverty, subsisting on the scanty income left him by his parents, had not Karl desired wealth. He placed his modest fortune in his brother's hands, saying, "Act as for yourself!" Attached to his "If I fled," said she gently, "to whom would native nook of land, he lived in peace, smoking and my mother speak of her dear country? Who would smiling, and learning from time to time that he was weep with her when she weeps, if I were gone? a richer man by a few hundred thousand francs. One She has other children, but they are gay and happy, day, he was told that he possessed a million; in reply, and do not resemble her. Only my mother and my- he merely wrote, "Thanks, Karl; it will be for self are sad in our house. My mother would die your children." Then he forgot his riches, and of my absence. I must receive her farewell bless- changed nothing in his manner of life, even adhering or remain by her side, chilled like her by this ing in his dress to the coarse materials and graceinclement climate, imprisoned in yonder walls, ill-less fashion of a peasant dreading the vicinity of treated by those who love me not. Herbert, I will cities. His youthful studies had consisted of a "Annunciata, my dear, take some tea," said her brother-in-law. "The day is chill and damp, and you seem to suffer." course of theology. His father, a fervent Catholic, destined him for the church, but it came to pass, as a consequence of his indecision of character, that William neither took orders nor married, but lived Annunciata smiled sadly at William. For sole quietly in his brother's family. The habitual peru- answer she raised to her lips the tea he offered her, sal of religious books sometimes gave his language but the effort was too painful, and she replaced the a mystical tone, contrasting with the rustic sim- cup upon the table. M. Van Amberg looked at plicity of his exterior. This was his only pecu- nobody; he ate, his eyes fixed upon his plate. liarity; otherwise he had nothing remarkable but "Sister," resumed William, "it is a duty to his warm heart and strong good sense. He was the care for one's health, and you, who fulfil all your primitive type of his family: his brother was an ex-duties, should not neglect that one." ample of the change caused by newly acquired wealth. Madame Van Amberg, seated at the window, sewed in silence. Her countenance had the remains of great beauty, but she was weak and suffering. A single glance sufficed to fix her birth-place far from Holland. Her black hair and olive tint betrayed a southern origin. Silently submissive to her husband, his iron character had pressed heavily upon this delicate creature. She had never murmured; now she was dying, but without complaint. Her look was one of deep melancholy. Christine, her third daughter, resembled her. Of dark complexion, like her mother, she contrasted strongly with her rosy-cheeked sisters. M. Van Amberg did not love Christine. Rough and cold, even to those he secretly cherished, he was severe and cruel to those he disliked. He had never been known to kiss Christine. Her mother's were the only caresses she knew, and even those were stealthily and tearfully bestowed. The two poor women hid themselves to love each other. At intervals, Madame Van Amberg coughed painfully. The damp climate of Holland was slowly conducting to her grave the daughter of Spain's ardent land. Her large melancholy eyes mechanically sought the monotonous horizon, which had bounded her view for twenty years. Fog and rain surrounded the house. She gazed, shivered as if seized with deadly cold, then resumed her work. Eight o'clock had just struck, and the two young Dutchwomen, who although rich heiresses, waited upon their father, had just placed the tea and smoked beef upon the table, when Karl Van Amberg turned abruptly to his wife. "Where is your daughter, madame?" He spoke of Christine, whom the restless gaze of Madame Van Amberg vainly sought through the fog veiling the garden. At her husband's question, the lady rose, opened the door, and, leaning on the banister, twice uttered her daughter's name. There was no reply; she grew pale and again looked out anxiously through the fog. "Go in, madame," was the surly injunction of Gothon, the old servant woman, who knelt on the hall flags, which she had flooded with soap and water, and was now vigorously scrubbing; "Go in, madame; the damp increases your cough, and Mademoiselle Christine is far enough away! The bird flew before daybreak." Madame Van Amberg cast a mournful glance across the meadow, where nothing moved, and into the parlor, where her stern husband awaited her; then she went in and sat down at the table, around which the remainder of the family had already placed themselves. No one spoke. All could read displeasure upon M. Van Amberg's countenance, and none dared attempt to change the course of his ideas. His wife kept her eyes fixed upon the window, hoping her daughter's return. Her lips scarcely tasted the milk that filled her cup; visible anguish increased the paleness of her sweet, sad countenance. A slight flush tinged the brow of Annunciata. Her eyes encountered those of her husband, which he slowly turned towards her. Trembling, almost weeping, she ceased her attempts to eat. And the silence was again unbroken, as at the commencement of the meal. At last steps were heard in the passage, the old servant grumbled something which did not reach the parlor, then the door opened, and Christine entered; her muslin dress damp with fog, her graceful curls disordered by the wind, her black mantle glittering with a thousand little rain-drops. She was crimson with embarrassment and fear. Her empty chair was beside her mother; she sat down, and hung her head; none offered aught to the truant child, and the silence continued. Yielding to maternal anxiety, Madame Van Amberg took a handkerchief and wiped the moisture from Christine's forehead and hair; then she took her hands to warm them in her own. For the second time M. Van Amberg looked at his wife. She let Christine's hands fall, and remained downcast and motionless as her daughter. M. Van Amberg rose from table. A tear glistened in the mother's eyes on seeing that her daughter had not eaten. But she said nothing, and returning to the window, resumed her sewing. Christine remained at table, preserving her frightened and abashed attitude. The two eldest girls hastened to remove the breakfast things. "Do you not see what Wilhelmina and Maria are about? Can you not help them?" At her father's voice, Christine hastily rose, seized the cups and tea-pot, and hurried to and fro from parlor to pantry. 66 Gently! You will break something!" cried M. Van Amberg. Begin in time, to finish without hurry." Christine stood still in the middle of the room. Her two sisters smiled as they passed her, and one of them muttered-for nobody spoke loud in M. Van Amberg's presence-"Christine will hardly learn housekeeping by looking at the stars and watching the river flow!" "Now then, mademoiselle, you are spoiling everything here!" said the old servant, who had just come in; " go and change that wet gown, which ruins all my furniture." Christine remained where she was, not daring to stir without the master's order. "Go," said M. Van Amberg. The young girl darted from the room and up the stairs, reached her chamber, threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears. Below, Madame Van Amberg continued to sew, her head bent over her work. When the cloth was removed, Wilhelmina and Maria placed a large jug of beer, glasses, long pipes, and a store of tobacco upon the mahogany table, and pushed forward two arm-chairs, in which Karl and William installed themselves. "Retire to your apartment, madame," said M. Van Amberg, in the imperious tone habitual to him when he addressed his wife; "I have to discuss matters which do not concern you. Do not leave the house; I will call you by and by; I "Brother Karl!" said he, resting his arms upon the table, and looking M. Van Amberg in the face, "before proceeding to business, and at risk of offending you, I must relieve my heart. Here, all fear you, and counsel, the salutary support of man, is denied you." "Speak, William," coldly replied M. Van Amberg. "Karl, you treat Annunciata very harshly. God commands you to protect her, and you allow her to suffer, perhaps to die before your eyes, without caring for her fate. The strong should sustain the weak. In our native land, we owe kindness to the stranger who cometh from afar. The husband owes protection to her he has chosen for his wife. For all these reasons, brother, I say you treat Annunciata ill." "Does she complain?" said M. Van Amberg, filling his glass. "No, brother; only the strong resist and complain. A tree falls with a crash, the reed bends noiselessly to the ground. No, she does not complain, save by silence and suffering, by constant and passive obedience, like that of a soul-less automaton. You have deprived her of life, the poor woman! One day she will cease to move and breathe; she has long ceased to live!" 66 Brother, there are words that should not be inconsiderately spoken, judgments that should not be hastily passed, for fear of injustice.” "Do I not know your whole life, Karl, as well as my own, and can I not therefore speak confidently, as one well informed?” M. Van Amberg inhaled the smoke of his pipe, threw himself back in his arm-chair, and made no reply. Your young, you married a very young woman. 66 "Change it, William," said M. Van Amberg coldly. Be it so. You returned hither, and when your business again took you forth upon the ocean, you left Annunciata to my care. She lived many years with me in this house. Karl, her youth was joyless and sad. Isolated and silent, she wore out her days without pleasure or variety. Your two eldest daughters, now the life of our dwelling, were then in the cradle. They were no society to their mother; I was a very grave companion for that young and beautiful creature. I have little reading and knowledge, no imagination; I like my quiet arm-chair, my old books, and my pipe. I at first allowed myself to believe-because I loved to believe it-that Annunciata resembled me-that tranquillity and a comfortable dwelling would suffice for her happiness, as they sufficed for mine. But at last I understood-what you, brother, I fear, have never comprehended-that she was never intended for a Dutch housewife. In the first place, the climate tortured her. She constantly asked me if finer summers would not come-if the winters were always so rigorous-the fogs so frequent. I told her no, that the year was a bad one; but I told her a falsehood, for the winters were always the same. At first she tried to sing her Sevillian romances and boleros, but soon her song died away and she wept, for it reminded her too much of her own native land. Silent and motionless she sat, desiring, as I have read in the Bible, 'The wings of the dove to fly away and be at rest.' Brother, it was a melancholy sight. You know not how slowly the winter evenings passed in this parlor. It was dark at four, and she worked by lamp-light till bed-time. I endeavored to converse, but she knew nothing of the things I knew, and I was ignorant of those that interested her. I saw at last that the greatest kindness was to leave her to herself. She worked or was idle, wept or was calm, and I averted my eyes to give her the only consolation in my power-a little liberty. But it was very sad, brother!" "I know you as I know myself," resumed William gently, "although our hearts were made to love and not to resemble each other. When you found our father's humble dwelling too small, I said nothing; you were ambitious; when a man is born with that misfortune or blessing, he must do like the birds, who have wings to soar; he must strive to rise. You departed; I pressed your hand, and reproached you not; it is right that each man should be happy his own way. You gained much gold, and gave me more than I needed. You returned married, and I did not approve your marriage. It is wiser to seek a companion in the land where one's days are to end; it is something to love the same places and things, and then it is only generous to leave one's wife a family, friends, wellknown objects to gaze upon. It is counting greatly on one's self to take sole charge of her happiness. Happiness sometimes consists of so many things! There was a moment's silence, broken by M. Often an imperceptible atom serves as base to its Van Amberg. "Madame Van Amberg was in her vast structure: for my part, I do not like presump- own dwelling," said he, severely, "with her chiltuous experiments on the hearts of others. In short, dren, and under the protection of a devoted friend. you married a foreigner, who perishes with cold in Her husband toiled in foreign parts to increase the this country, and sighs, amidst our fogs, for the sun fortune of the family; she remained at home to keep of Spain. You committed a still greater fault-house and educate her daughters; all that is very Forgive me, brother; I speak plainly, in order not to return to this subject." "I am attending to you, William; you are my elder brother." "Thanks for your patience, Karl. No longer natural." And he filled his pipe. "True," replied William; but still she was unhappy. Was it a crime? God will decide. Leave her to his justice, Karl, and let us be merciful! During your long absence, chance conduct and tell Madame Van Amberg to come to me in a quarter of an hour." Why not say, Tell Annunciata?" Why for so long a time has that strange sweet name never passed your lips?" ed hither some Spaniards whom Annunciata had known in her childhood, and amongst them the son of an old friend of her father's. Oh! with what mingled joy and agitation did the dear child welcome her countrymen! What tears she shed in the midst of her joy-for she had forgotten how Tell Madame Van Amberg I would speak with to be happy, and every emotion made her weep. her, and leave me brother," replied Karl sternly. How eagerly she heard and spoke her native William felt he had pushed Karl Van Amberg's tongue! She fancied herself again in Spain; for patience to its utmost limit; he got up and left the a while she was almost happy. You returned, room. At the foot of the stairs he hesitated a mobrother, and you were cruel; one day, without ex- ment, then ascended, and sought Annunciata in plaining your motives, you shut your door upon the Christine's chamber. It was a narrow cell, shining strangers. Tell me, why would you not allow with cleanliness, and containing a few flowers in fellow-countrymen, friends, a companion of her glasses, a wooden crucifix, with chaplets of beads childhood, to speak to your wife of her family and hanging on it, and a snow-white bed; a guitar (it native land? Why require complete isolation, and was her mother's) was suspended on the wall. a total rupture with old friends? She obeyed with- From the window was seen the meadow, the river, out a murmur, but she suffered more than you and the willows. Christine sat on the foot of the thought. I watched her closely; I, her old friend. bed, still weeping; her mother was beside her, Since that fresh proof of your rigor, she is sadder offering her bread and milk, with which Christine's than before. A third time she became a mother; tears mingled. Annunciata kissed her daughter's it was in vain; her unhappiness continued. Broth-eyes, and then furtively wiped her own. On enterer, your hand has been too heavy on this feeble creature." M. Van Amberg rose, and slowly paced the room. "Have you finished, William ?" said he; "this conversation is painful, let it end here; do not abuse the license I give you." 66 ing, William stood for a few moments at the door, mournfully contemplating this touching picture. 66 My brother, my good brother," cried Annunciata, "speak to my child! She has forgotten prayer and obedience; her heart is no longer submissive, and her tears avail nothing, for she murmurs and menaces. Ask her, brother, by whom it was told her that life is joy? that we live only to be happy? Talk to her of duty, and give her strength to accomplish it!" "Your husband inquires for you, sister. Go, I will remain with Christine." 66 "I go, my brother," replied Annunciata. Approaching the little mirror above the chimney-piece, she washed the tear-stains from her eyes, pressed her hand upon her heart to check its throbbings, and when her countenance had resumed its expression of calm composure, she descended the stairs, Gothon was seated on the lower steps. "You spoil her, madame," said she roughly to her mistress; "foolish ears need sharp words. You spoil her." Gothon had been in the house before Annunciata, and had been greatly displeased by the arrival of her master's foreign lady, whose authority she never acknowledged. But she had served the Van Ambergs' mother, and therefore it was without fear of dismissal that she oppressed, after her own fashion, her timid and gentle mistress. No; I have yet more to say. You are a cold and severe husband, but that is not all; you are also an unjust father. Christine, your third daughter, is denied her share of your affection, and by this partiality you further wound the heart of Annunciata. Christine resembles her; she is what I can fancy her mother at fifteen-a lively and charming Spaniard; she has all her mother's tastes; like her she lives with difficulty in our climate, and although born in it, by a caprice of nature she suffers from it as Annunciata suffered. Brother, the child is not easy to manage; independent, impassioned, violent in all her impressions, she has a love of movement and liberty which ill agrees with our regular habits, but she has also a good heart, and by appealing to it you might perhaps have tamed her wild spirit. For Christine you are neither more nor less than a pitiless judge. Her childhood was one long grief. And thus, far from losing her wild restlessness, she loves more than ever to be abroad and at liberty; she goes out at daybreak; she looks upon the house as a cage whose bars hurt her, and you vainly endeavor to restrain her. Brother, if you would have obedience, show affection. It is a power that suc- Annunciata entered the parlor and remained ceeds when all others fail. Why prevent her mar-standing near the door as if waiting an order. Her rying the man she loves? Herbert the student is husband's countenance was graver and more gloomy not rich, nor is his alliance brilliant; but they love than ever. each other!" M. Van Amberg, who had continued his walk, now stopped short, and coldly replied to his brother's accusations; "Christine is only fifteen, and I do my duty by curbing the foolish passion that prematurely disturbs her reason. As to what you call my partiality, you have explained it yourself by the defects of her character. You, who reproach others as pitiless judges, beware yourself of judging too severely. Every man acts according to his internal perceptions, and all things are not good to be spoken. Empty your glass, William, and if you have finished your pipe, do not begin another. The business I had to discuss with you will keep till another day; it is late, and I am tired. It is not always wise to rake up the memories of the past. I wish to be alone a while. Leave me, "Can no one hear us, madame? Are you sure we are alone?" "Quite alone, sir," replied the astonished Annunciata. M. Van Amberg recommenced his walk. For some moments he said nothing. His wife, her hand resting on the back of an arm-chair, silently awaited his pleasure. At last he again spoke. "You bring up your daughter Christine badly; I left her to your care and guidance, and you do not watch over her. Do you know where she goes and what she does?" "From her childhood, sir," replied Annunciata gently, pausing between each phrase, "Christine has loved to live in the open air. She is delicate, and requires sun and liberty to strengthen her. Till now you have allowed her to live thus; I saw no harm in letting her follow her natural bent. If you | peeping from its silken folds. Christine eyed them disapprove, sir, she will obey your orders." with mingled love and melancholy. She thought "You bring up your daughter badly," coldly it a century since she saw the sun rise on the river, repeated M. Van Amberg. "She will dishonor on the old trees, and on Herbert's skiff. Her mother the name she bears." slowly approached her. "Sir!" exclaimed Annunciata, her cheeks suffused with the deepest crimson; her eyes emitting a momentary but vivid flash. "Look to it, madame, I will have my name respected, that you know! You also know I am informed of whatever passes in my house. Your daughter secretly meets a man to whom I refused her hand; this morning, at six o'clock, they were together on the river bank!" 66 My daughter! my daughter!"—cried Annunciata in disconsolate tones. "Oh! it is impossible! She is innocent! she shall remain so! I will place myself between her and evil, I will save my child! I will take her in my arms, and close her ears to dangerous words. My daughter, I will say, remain innocent, remain honored, if you would not see me die !" With unmoved eye M. Van Amberg beheld the mother's emotion. Beneath his frozen gaze, Annunciata felt embarrassed by her own agitation; she made an effort to calm herself; then, with clasped hands, and eyes filled with tears, which she would not allow to flow, she resumed, in a constrained voice: "Is this beyond doubt, sir?" 66 My child," said she, "where were you at daybreak this morning?" Christine raised her eyes to her mother's face, looked at her, but did not answer. Annunciata repeated her question without change of word or tone. Then Christine let herself slide from the bed to the ground, and kneeled before her mother. "I was seated," said she, " upon the trunk of a I willow that overhangs the stream. I was near Herbert's boat." 66 "Christine!" exclaimed Madame Van Amberg, can it be true? Oh, my child, could you so infringe the commands laid upon you! Could you thus forget my lessons and advice! Christine, you thought not of me when you committed that fault!" "Herbert said to me, 'Come, you shall be my wife, I will love you eternally, you shall be free and happy; all is ready for our marriage and our flight; come!' I replied, I will not leave my mother!' Mother, you have been my safeguard; if it be a crime to follow Herbert, it is the thought of you alone that prevented my committing it." I would not leave my mother!" A beam of joy illumined Annunciata's counte"It is," replied M. Van Amberg; "I never ac-nance. Murmuring a thanksgiving to God, she cuse without certainty." raised her kneeling child and seated her by her side. There was a moment's silence. M. Van Amberg again spoke. "You will lock Christine in her room, and bring me the key. She will have time to reflect, and I trust reflection will be of service to her; in a prolonged seclusion she will lose that love of motion and liberty which leads her into harm; the silence of complete solitude will allay the tumult of her thoughts. None shall enter her room, save Gothon, who shall take her her meals, and return me the key. This is what I have decided upon as proper." Madame Van Amberg's lips opened several times to speak, but her courage failed her. At last she advanced a pace or two. "But I, sir, I," said she in a stifled voice, "I am to see my child!" "I said no one," replied M. Van Amberg. "But she will despair, if none sustain her. I will be severe with her; you may be assured I will! Let me see her, if only once a day. She may fall ill of grief, and who will know it? Gothon dislikes her. For pity's sake, let me see Christine! For a minute only, a single minute." M. Van Amberg once more stood still, and fixed upon his wife a look that made her stagger. "Not another word!" he said. "I allow no discussion, madame. No one shall see Christine; do you hear?" "I will obey," replied Annunciata. "Convey my orders to your daughter. At dinner bring me the key of her room. Go." Madame Van Amberg found Christine alone, seated on her bed, and exhausted by long weeping. Her beautiful face, at times so energetic, wore an expression of profound and touching dejection. Her long hair fell in disorder on her shoulders, her figure was bent, as if weighed down by grief; her rosary had fallen from her half-open hand; she had tried to obey her mother and to pray, but had been able only to weep. Her black mantle, still damp with rain, lay upon a table, a few willow sprays "Speak to me, Christine," she said, "open your heart, and tell me all your thoughts. Together we will regret your faults, and seek hope for the future. Speak, my daughter; conceal nothing." Christine laid her head upon her mother's shoulder, put one of her little hands in hers, sighed deeply, as though her heart were too oppressed for words, and spoke at last with effort and fatigue. "Mother," she said, "I have nothing to confess that you do not already know. I love Herbert. He is but a poor student, intrusted to my father's care, but he has a noble heart-like mine, somewhat sad. He knows much, and he is gentle to those who know nothing. Poor, he is proud as a king; he loves, and he tells it only to her who knows it. My mother, I love Herbert! He asked my hand of my father, whose reply was a smile of scorn. Then he was kept from me, and I tried to exist without seeing him. I could not do it. I made many neuvaines on the rosary you gave me. I had seen you weep and pray, mother, and I said to myself Now that I weep as she does, I must also pray like her. But it happened once, as day broke, that I saw a small boat descend the stream, then go up again, and again descend; from time to time a white sail fluttered in the air as one flutters a kerchief to a departing friend. My thoughts, then as now, were on Herbert; I ran across the meadow-I reached the stream. Mother, it was he! hoping and waiting my coming. Long and mournfully we bewailed our separation; fervently we vowed to love each other till death. This morning Herbert, discouraged and weary of waiting a change in our position, urged me to fly with him. I might have fled, mother, but I thought of you and remained. I have told you all; if I have done wrong, forgive me, dearest mother!" With deep emotion Madame Van Amberg listened to her daughter, and remained buried in reflection, when Christine paused. She felt that the |