an one. Frau Helena trembled
all over when she saw this stranger clothed in the fine linen she
herself had spun for her son, and marked with his initials. That she
might avoid seeing anything else in the room, she fixed her eyes on the
young face that in spite of its deadly pallor had a boyish, harmless,
good-natured expression. She saw at once from his clothing that he was
the son of respectable parents, and the tone in which he had implored
her to save him, still rung pathetically in her ears. A motherly
feeling overcame her, and great tears rolled down her faded face.

Then the old servant returned with a pitcher of cold water, and
prepared to wash the temples of the unconscious youth. "Leave that to
me," said his mistress, taking the sponge out of his hand. "Bring the
best vinegar out of the side-board, and a flask of our old wine. When
he comes to himself he will need a cordial." Then she washed the blood
out of his hair, and held the ice-cold sponge to his lips. This brought
him round: he opened his eyes, and on seeing the noble lady who had
saved him bending over his couch, he tried to sit up and speak to her.
But she gently constrained him to lie down again, and to let her go on
with her ministrations. "I am better already," he gasped out, while he
took hold of her hand to carry it to his lips. "O how much you are
doing for me! And you do not know me, and must think ill of me. Let me
just tell you how it all came about."

"Not another word to-night," interposed the lady, gently laying her
hand on his lips. "You have lost too much blood to exert yourself
safely. I leave you in the care of my old servant who will sit up with
you. I hope that you will get some sleep, and to-morrow be on the way
to recovery. Good night."

She left the room without casting a look around at any of the things
that evoked such bitter memories. But as soon as she found herself in
the dark lobby, she leant her head against the wall, and sobbed in
secret. This burst of grief lasted but a few minutes, then she raised
her head again, and with her usual lofty bearing went down to her
daughter. "Valentin thinks that there is no danger," she said. "Let us
go to our rest."

"Mother," asked the girl, "do you believe that he is a murderer? There
is something about him that seems as if he would not hurt the meanest
thing that lives, let alone a fellow creature."

"Yet on the other hand how did he get to that tavern on the island?"
said the mo