her stroke his curls, kiss his cheeks and eyes,
as in the old happy days. Then he drew her into the tent, whispering
"Softly, softly, the snorer yonder is the German."

She followed him, leaned against him, and raised his hand to her lips; he
felt them grow wet with tears. They had not yet said anything to each
other, except how happy, how glad, how thankful they were to have each
other again; then a sentinel passed, and she started up, exclaiming
anxiously: "So late, so late; Zorrillo will be waiting!"

"Zorrillo!" cried Ulrich scornfully, "you have been a long time with him.
If they give me the power. . . ."

"They will choose you, child, they shall choose you," she hastily
interrupted. "Oh, God! oh, God! perhaps this will bring you misfortune
instead of blessing; but you desire it! Count Mannsfeld is coming
tomorrow; Zorrillo knows it. He will bring a pardon for all; promotions
too, but no money yet."

"Oh, ho!" cried Ulrich, "that may decide the matter."

"Perhaps so, you deserve to command them. You were born for some special
purpose, and your card always turns up so strangely. Eletto! It sounds
proud and grand, but many have been ruined by it. . . ."

"Because power was too hard for them."

"It must serve you. You are strong. A child of good fortune. Folly! I
will not fear. You have probably fared well in life. Ah, my lamb, I have
done little for you, but one thing I did unceasingly: I prayed for you,
poor boy, morning and night; have you noticed, have you felt it?"

He drew her to his heart again, but she released herself from his
embrace, saying: "To-morrow, Ulrich; Zorrillo. . . ."

"Zorrillo, always Zorrillo," he repeated, his blood boiling angrily. "You
are mine and, if you love me, you will leave him."

"I cannot, Ulrich, it will not do. He is kind, you will yet be friends."

"We, we? On the day of judgment, nay, not even then! Are you more firmly
bound to yon smooth fellow, than to my honest father? There stands
something in the darkness, it is good steel, and if needful will cut the
tie asunder."

"Ulrich, Ulrich!" wailed Flora, raising her hands beseechingly. "Not
that, not that; it must not be. He is kind and sensible, and loves me
fondly. Oh, Heaven! Oh, Ulrich! The mother has glided to her son at
night, as if she were following forbidden paths. Oh, this is indeed a
punishment. I know how heavily I have sinned, I deserve whatever may
befall me; but you, you must not make me more wretched,