of the setting sun were forcing their way through the
pinks and rose bushes with which Pyramus kept her window adorned
throughout the year, because she loved flowers, and the vesper bells were
chiming, did her friend return.

This time she had dressed her boys with her own hands, and when, through
the door which separated her from the entry, she heard Wolf greet them
with merry words, her heart grew lighter, and the swift thanksgiving
which she uttered blended with the dying notes of the bells.

Leading Conrad by the hand, and carrying the three-year-old youngest boy
in his arms, Wolf entered the room.

The child of a former love easily wins its way to the heart of the man
who has been obliged to resign her. Wolf's eyes showed that he was
pleased with Barbara's merry lads, and she thanked him for it by the
warmest reception.

Not until after he had said many a pleasant word to her about the little
boys, and jested with them in the manner of one who loves children, did
he resume his grave manner and confess that he could not make up his mind
to leave Barbara without a farewell. He was glad to find her in the
possession of such treasures, but his time was limited, and he must,
unfortunately, content himself with this last brief meeting.

While speaking, he rose to leave her; but she stopped him, saying in a
low tone: "Surely you know me, Wolf, and are aware that I do not always
persist in the resolves to which my hasty temper urges me. It shall not
be my fault if the peace of your Dona Magdalena's soul remains clouded
longer, and so I release you from your vow so far as she is concerned."

Then, for the first time since their meeting, the familiar, pleasant
"Wawerl" greeted her, and with tearful eyes she clasped his outstretched
hands.

Wolf had just told her that his time was short; but now he willingly
allowed himself to be persuaded to put down his sword and hat, and when
Frau Lamperi brought in some refreshments, he recognised her, and asked
her several pleasant questions.

It seemed as though Barbara's change of mood had overthrown the barrier
which her stern refusal had raised between them. Calm and cheerful as in
former days he sat before her, listening while, in obedience to his
invitation, she told him, with many a palliation and evasion, about her
married life and the children. She made her story short, in order at last
to hear some further particulars concerning the welfare of her distant
son.

What