The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1903-03-20

desire and whose intellectual suprem-
acy she felt the world would later
acknowledge. Combined with these
I gifTsz he possessed "a nature of una
usual strength, straightforward in
ltegrity and self-forgetful devotion
Ito high principles which could but
make a powerful impression on girl
of Margaret's marked ability.
Days and weeks flew by, and it was
August, the last: day of the summer
semester. What is there that .hastens
time-like love? What is it that
makes the world so fair-as love?
| Wilhelm, as usual, was at the door
as Margaret left the lecture-room,
and slowly they walked toward the
Tiergarten, drawing in deep breaths
| of the morning air.
81 know there are hundreds of peo-
pie here" said Margaret, as they sat
beneath spreading linden, "and each
| feels as I, a personal ownership, and
vet never come but what this peace
| fulness seems for me alone"
Margaret talked almost at random,
CHANGING now and then at her silent
companion, knowing intuitively what
| his tense expression foreboded, yet,
womanlike, trembling and fearful,
while rejoicing in the knowledge.
"Fraulein, may [ tell you something
of myself-my home?" questioned
Wilhelm, abruptly. Scarcely waiting
for the low assent, he exclaimed, pas
sionately: "There has not been a
day since saw you three years ago
that you have not filled my every
| thought. Tomorrow you will leave
Berlin-I cannot let you go and not
| tell you what you are to me-life,
love, everything"
AS he leaned toward her trying to
read her blushing, half-averted face,
she faltered, "Your father-what will
| he think, what will he say?"
''My father-how 1 long to have you
| meet him; you would win him for
| ever" Wilhelm added smiling, 'If
| he once heard you express your fer
vid admiration for our great men
| Ach! how l envy them" he murmured
under his breath. "And Elizabeth
| did L ever tell you of Eliza beth, my
| cousin, who is like daughter to my
father? She is alone in the world
| and came to us five years ago. She
has given her life to. us-she came
| when all the world was dark-when
| my mother died." Wilhelm rose as
he spoke, and Margaret knew by his
sudden pallor what that loss still
meant. After moments pause, he
continues: "Marburg, though quiet,
is beautiful; and-and-oh, Margaret,
mein Liebchen-my beloved-could ]
| not make your happiness?"
All the passion of mans strong,
yet tender, love throbbed in the low
whispered words, and, trembling,
Margaret laid her hand in his as she
| replied, family: 81 cannot answer
now; must see her-my mother"
"She shall be mine!" he said.
AS in a dream they walked to Mar
garet's home, separating with one
| thought, one hope-'.To-morrow''
''To bear, to nurse, to rear, to watch
and then to lose" Involuntarily
these words rose to Mrs. Listemann's
lips, as Margaret, on her knees, her
head resting in her mothers lap, re-
vealed in broken sentences her whole
heart. The words were never spoken.
The pang which wrung the mothers
heart-the bitterness of abdicat ting
| where so long she had reigned first,
all-all were thrust aside, and draw
ing Margaret to her bosom she re-
joiced as only a mother can whose
one desire is her child's happiness.
"He is coming tomorrow, mother,
tomorrow at ten, for his answer.
Oh, I am SO happy, so happy
Margaret had scarcely finished her
tremulous confidence when a sharp
ring of the bell startled them. ''The
postman; it must be he," exclaimed
Mrs. Listemann; -Four home letters
are long overdue"
In moment the little maid tapped
at the door, delivering into Marga-
ret's hand number of letters, unmis-
takably American from the amount
of postage and the numerous dues"
with which they were stamped.
WV, 1911 eAiAo "hdO Jou Sdll Idll
treatment, Mutter MEN," cried Mar
garet, gayly; six for you and five
for me? But there's luck in odd num-
bers. you remember"
An hour later, Margaret, in dress
ing gown and slippers, her hair hang
ing in long, loose braids, was in her
chamber reading with absorbed inter
est the home news, her frequent low
laugh proving how interesting it
all was. Finally, she reached for the
last one of her letters. The handwrit-
ing was unfamiliar, the postmark al
most iilegible. Holding it closely to
the lamp, she slowly deciphered Mar
burg" Margaret read the postmark
over and over, faint flush tingeing
her face. "Can it be from his father?
How foolish of me: we did not know
ourselves until to-day"
With an odd, strange sinking of
her heart she broke the seal and be-
gan to read:
"It is with fear and trembling that
I write you, and an overwhelming
dread that you may not understand
me, and yet something within tells
me you are noble and good, and will