, because I can't sing to-day,
and because--because--because--I entreat you, leave me in peace."

Old Fraulein Van Hoogstraten let her fan sink by her side, and said
coolly:

"Were you singing two hours ago--yes or no?"

"Yes."

"Then your headache can't be so very bad, and Denise will dress you."

"If she comes, I'll send her away. When I just took the harp, I did so
to sing the pain away. It was relieved for a few minutes, but now my
temples are throbbing with twofold violence."

"Excuses."

"Believe what you choose. Besides--even if I felt better at this moment
than a squirrel in the woods. I wouldn't go down to see the gentlemen. I
shall stay here. I have given my word, and I am a Hoogstraten as well as
you."

Henrica had risen, and her eyes flashed with a gloomy fire at her
oppressor. The old lady waved her fan faster, and her projecting chin
trembled. Then she said curtly:

"Your word of honor! So you won't! You won't!"

"Certainly not," cried the young girl with undutiful positiveness.

"Everybody must have his way," replied the old lady, turning towards the
door. "What is too wilful is too wilful. Your father won't thank you for
this." With these words Fraulein Van Hoogstraten raised her long train
and approached the door. There she paused, and again glanced enquiringly
at Henrica. The latter doubtless noticed her aunt's hesitation, but
without heeding the implied threat intentionally turned her back.

As soon as the door closed, the young girl sank back into her chair,
pressed her forehead against the marble slab and let it remain there
a long time. Then she rose as suddenly and hastily as if obeying some
urgent summons, raised the lid of her trunk, tossed the stockings,
bodices and shoes, that came into her way, out on the floor, and did
not rise until she had found a few sheets of writing-paper which she
had laid, before leaving her father's castle, among the rest of her
property.

As she rose from her kneeling posture, she was seized with giddiness,
but still kept her feet, carried to the table first the white sheets and
a portfolio, then the large inkstand that had already stood several days
in her room, and seated herself beside it.

Leaning far back in her chair, she began to write. The book that served
as a desk lay on her knee, the paper on the book. Creaking and pausing,
the goosequill made large, stiff letters on the white surface. Henrica
was not skilled in writing, but to-day it mu