e an English house-mistress; proud of her
nectarines and pineapples; proud of her Hungarian horses; proud of the
quiet and comfort of the home she can offer to her friends, when they
come for a space to rest from their labors.... "_Schlaf selig und
suss!_" the night-wind seemed to say: "The white morning is bringing
with it a message!"

To him the morning brought an end to all those golden dreams of the
night. There action had set in. His old misgivings returned with
redoubled force. For one thing, there was a letter from Reitzei, saying
that the man Kirski had at length consented to begin to work at his
trade, and that Miss Lind need fear no further annoyance; and somehow he
did not like to see her name written in this foreign way of writing. She
belonged to these foreigners; her cares and interests were not those of
one who would feel at home in that Buckhamshire home; she was remote.
And, of course, in her manifold wanderings--in those hotels in which she
had to pass the day, when her father was absent at his secret
interviews--how could she avoid making acquaintances? Even among those
numerous friends of her father's there must have been some one here or
there to accompany her in her drives in the Prater, in her evenings at
La Scala, in her morning walk along the Chiaja. He remembered how seldom
he had seen her; she might have many more friends in London than he had
dreamed of. Who could see her, and remain blind to her beauty? Who could
know her, and remain insensible to the fascination of her enthusiasm,
her faith in the right, her courage, her hope, her frank friendship with
those who would help?

He was impatient with the veteran Waters this morning; and Waters was
himself fractious, and inclined to resent sarcasm. He had just heard
from Buckinghamshire that his substitute had, for some reason or other,
intrusted the keys of the wine-cellar to one of the house-maids; and
that that industrious person had seized the opportunity to tilt up all
the port-wine she could lay her hands on in order to polish the bottles
with a duster.

"Well," said his master, "I suppose she collected the cobwebs and sold
them to a wine-merchant: they would be invaluable."

Waters said nothing, but resolved to have a word with the young woman
when he went down.

The morning was fine; in any case, Brand could not have borne the
distress of waiting in all day, on the chance of her reply coming. He
had to be moving. He walked up to Li