nt you that
money through the post, and made an end of it. She simply desired, as
was evident all along, to apologize for having been rude to a person who
had been kind to her. I can quite understand it, and I am not sure that
your behavior will not have the very opposite effect to that you
expect."

"I think you are mistaken. However, it does not matter; our paths lie
quite apart. She will have plenty of other things to take up her time
and thoughts. Anyhow I am glad that you and I are quits once more."

So was I. We said no more upon the subject, but I always felt as if a
kind of connecting link existed between my friend and me, and that
beautiful, solitary English girl.

The link was destined to become yet closer. The concert was over at
which she sung. She had a success. I see she has not mentioned it; a
success which isolated her still more from her companions, inasmuch as
it made her more distinctly professional and them more severely
virtuous.

One afternoon when Eugen and I happened to have nothing to do, we took
Sigmund to the Grafenberg. We wandered about in the fir wood, and at
last came to a pause and rested. Eugen lay upon his back and gazed up
into the thickness of brown-green fir above, and perhaps guessed at the
heaven beyond the dark shade. I sat and stared before me through the
straight red-brown stems across the ground,

"With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged,"

to an invisible beyond which had charms for me, and was a kind of
symphonic beauty in my mind. Sigmund lay flat upon his stomach, kicked
his heels and made intricate patterns with the fir needles, while he
hummed a gentle song to himself in a small, sweet voice, true as a
lark's, but sadder. There was utter stillness and utter calm all round.

Presently Eugen's arm stole around Sigmund and drew him closer and
closer to him, and they continued to look at each other until a mutual
smile broke upon both faces, and the boy said, his whole small frame as
well as his voice quivering (the poor little fellow had nerves that
vibrated to the slightest emotion): "I love thee."

A light leaped into the father's eyes; a look of pain followed it
quickly.

"And I shall never leave thee," said Sigmund.

Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss.

"I love thee too, Friedel," continued he, taking my hand. "We are very
happy together, aren't we?" And he laughed placidly to himself.

Eugen, as if stung by some tormenting though