anger."

"Is he to eat with the servants, then?" asked Lenore, bitterly.

"He will have his table laid in his own room, and on Sundays we shall
always invite him, and, if he is not disagreeable to your father, often
in the evenings also. More would be troublesome to all parties. It is
desirable to reserve at first a comfortable amount of freedom. Your
father's state will be sufficient excuse."

She rang, and Anton was summoned. Lenore went to meet him, and with
tearful eyes silently held out her hand. Anton was moved when he saw the
traces of suffering in her mother's face. The baroness prayed him to be
seated, and in well-chosen words expressed her gratitude for all he had
done, and asked him both for information and advice. Then she went on to
say, "My husband wishes to speak to you. I earnestly beg you to remember
that the baron is an invalid. He has suffered fearfully in mind and
body. He is never free from pain, and his helplessness distresses him
inexpressibly. We are careful to avoid whatever may excite him, and yet
we can not avert dark hours, nay, days. You, sir, will be considerate if
his gloomy mood should affect you disagreeably. Time, they say, heals
all. I hope it will restore him to peace."

Anton promised all possible consideration.

"My husband will naturally wish to be placed in possession of all the
facts connected with this property, and yet I dread any painful
impressions for him. Therefore, whenever you have any thing important to
communicate, try to make the matter intelligible to me in the first
instance. I may thus spare you much that is disagreeable. I shall have
my writing-table carried into one of the rooms near yours, and I shall
daily spend part of my mornings there. Lenore is her father's private
secretary. And now, be kind enough to wait till I have announced your
visit to the baron."

The baroness left the room. Anton looked down gravely. Lenore went up to
him and said, as cheerfully as she could, "Brown walls, Wohlfart! my
favorite color. You are not glad we are come, you ungallant man!"

"Only on your own account," replied Anton, pointing to the snowy plain.
"Whenever I walked through the fields, I have always thought how lonely
you would be here, and when I paced these great rooms of an evening, I
have feared that your time would hang very heavily. The town is more
than six miles distant, and even there you will find but little; the
wretched lending-library will hardly satisfy