Year: 1873

men in the long dark passage, where
BY the dim light Of a candle q NO.
mans hody was being borne into the
house, followed by man carrying q
child. The boy was living, there
was no doubt Of that but the Wo-
mans fate was doubtful. When he
saw that it was woman, Paul ap-
preached no nearer.


Prepare q warm bedroom at
once," he commanded. "Hand her
Eoder to the female servants, and let
me know if she be alive or dead.
For all restoratives come to me.
You, my brave fellows" be said ad-
dressing the rescuers, 'come in here
and drink something hot"


This invitation they were not
slow to obey, and while drinking,
they told how they had been belat-
ed at their work, how they had heard
something moaning at their feet, and
how they had found this couple
half-buried in the snow. Presently
woman servant came in and re-
ported that the mother was alive
but very i'll, and Paul ordered that if
it were possible, some one should go
over to Andreasberg next day and
fetch the doctor. Meanwhile they
should take the usual precautions
for her and the child; for the care
of people rescued from the snow was
not new experience at Oderbruck.
Had the unfortunate wanderer been
man, Paul would have been the
first at his bedside; but q woman,
such a case had not occurred before,
and he avoided women. For weeks
this woman lay in his house half
dead. Daily he inquired after her,
allowed his two maids to devote
themselves entirely to her and the
child, but in no other way allowed
this incident to interfere with his
life. The child, which had once run
in his way and stood in mute admira-
tion of the splendid man in gray and
green, he sternly ordered to be kept
out Of sight. "Feed and keep the
boy well, let him have all he needs,
bntdon'tlet him run in my path" he
said And it never happened again.


After months of illness, weeks Of
convalescence, the sick woman was
restored to health, and with her COM
plete restoration spring also had set
in, and she was anxious to proceed
upon her way. But though warned
and dissuaded by all the servants,
she could not be induced to leave
the house without seeing its master
and thanking him in person for his
kindness.


So one evening in the twilight,
when she had heard his firm, heavy
tread along the gravel, had heard
him close the outer door behind him,
and when he was about to enter his
parlor, she ran down from her room
and encountered him in the dark
passage.


"W6o is itP' he asked, he seeing
still less than she, for he had come
from out of the light.


''The woman whom you have shell
tered for so long, sir. May not
speak few words to youP' she ask
ed, for she seemed inclined to enter
the room and leave her standing
without.


"What is it2 Do you want to
know your wayP My man can tell
you. Or money-you shall have
some"


''Neither," she said. taken aback
by the hardness of his address. II
wanted to thank you" As she
spoke she followed him into the
room.


He stood with his back to the
window and disembarrassed himself
of his gun; she was opposite him,
and the falling light fell upon her
face.


81 do not love thank I have
done no more than common human
ity demanded" He looked upon
her with a mien that said, you can
60 now. But when he saw her, he
was spell hound; a wild glare came
into his eyes, and seized her fercely
by the hand.


Beatrice, is it you'll"


1t was her turn to be amazed; she
had not seen him clearly before; now
he had turned more to the light.


"My Godr' she stammered. 30
no, it cannot be Paul Smitt!"


''It is" he said, dropping her
hand. The wild look had faded, the
the face had regained its hardness.
II am glad" he went on stifhy,
"that chance has thrown you in my
way. can now deliver the message
your dead father gave me for you"


"My father deadI" she screamed.
"Oh, Heaven, this also!" She fell
down fainting at his feet,


Coolly and with seeming uncon-
cern Paul rang for a servant, told
him to remove the fainting woman,
said that if she asked for a message
from him, they should give her let
ter he would presently write, order
ed that she should be sped on her
way with every comfort, but CON-
manded sternly that she might be
brought no more into his presence.


Her father dead, the father to
whom she was now about to go, to
fall down at his feet aud eatreat his
forgiveness, to pray him to grant
home, if not to herself, at least to
her child. Led away by childish
vanity, Beatrice had trusted the
promises of the young Squire Of
" that be would make Ter a
lady, elevate her to his own rank.
She had firmly believed, until some
few years since, that he had married
her, that the paper he had given her
to sign was a true document, and
that she had been basely deserted by
her husband. When be left her,
she had settled down quietly and
soberly in busy little Andreasberg,
where neither her name nor her
story was known. There she had
lived, respected and beloved, work.
ing her way steadily, keeping her
self and educating her child, and eV-
en- her own keen shame was begin
ming to deaden somewhat in feeling,
from its having no nourishment from
without. Till one day, as she was
walking through the market
place to take some work home, she