feel myself indebted for that to you when I had treated you so badly."

She hung her head. Von Rittenheim made a gesture of polite dissent, and
walked again to the window.

"You always had enough money, I hope?"

"No sum ever was large enough for Max." They both smiled. "But a piece
of great good fortune came to me just after you went away."

Von Rittenheim turned again to the window and betrayed some
embarrassment, but Hilda was intent upon her story, and noticed
nothing.

"Some of the investments into which my dowry had been put appreciated
enormously in value."

So that was the way Herr Stapfer had explained it. Friedrich nodded
approvingly.

"So I always had enough for my needs, even when----"

"When what?"

"Forgive me. I did not mean to say it."

"You were going to say, 'Even when Maximilian took it?'"

She hung her head again, like a sorry child. He noticed how her neck
and arms shone white through the thin black of her gown.

"After all, you are his brother. Perhaps I should tell you. At the
end--it was because of that that he shot himself, poor Max! He came to
me in my room and asked me for money, and I told him I had none.
Indeed, he had taken the last I had a few days before. He did not
believe me, and he threatened to shoot himself if I did not give it to
him."

"Coward!"

"Of course, I did not think that it was more than--excitement. How
could I believe that he was in earnest? But he kept crying, 'Give it
up, give it up!' The servants heard him. And then----"

Friedrich crossed quickly to her and leaned over the chair as she sat
with her face buried in her handkerchief.

"Hilda, it seems to me no woman ever needed pity and comfort more than
you. You have come many thousands of miles to claim it from me, and I
will not fail you. You reminded me last night of my oath to you. I
repeat it now. My life is at your service if it can bring you
happiness."

The words sounded forced and stilted to his ears, even while he pressed
the little white hand that she put out blindly towards him. He was not
sorry for his pledge; he felt that he could have done no less; but
Sydney's proud, earnest face flashed before him, and his memory saw it
soften and flush with the happy shyness that covered it when she gave
him her handkerchief,--and he wondered to what extent Hilda would
consider that his promise bound him.

A few days made it clear that he had committed himself to no mere form
of words. She rec