on their excursions, and the treasures they won were then
artistically arranged in a tower-room--"a regular rag-shop," Aunt
Rosamond had once said in banter. "I only wonder they don't get me too
for this '_Collection Antique_.'" After the death of Hegewitz this
really valuable collection was found to be made over, by will, to Baron
Stuermer, "because Klaus did not understand such things." Stuermer
accepted the bequest, but he had it appraised by a person intelligent in
such matters, and paid the value to the heirs. Klaus von Hegewitz
refused to accept the sum, and so the two men agreed to found an
almshouse for the two villages of Buetze and Dambitz.

That had happened ten years ago, and the collecting furor of the old
gentleman had borne good results.

Soon after his death, Baron Stuermer went away on a journey; he had long
wished to travel, and had deferred his cherished plan only on his old
friend's account. His first goals had been Italy, Constantinople, and
Greece; he went to Egypt, he visited South America, Norway and Sweden,
and had travelled through Russia and the Caucasus. No one knew where he
was staying at present. He had written seldom of late years, at last not
at all; but his memory still lived in Buetze. Only Anna Maria no longer
spoke of him; indeed, she scarcely remembered him now: she was just
eight years old when he went away. Only this she still knew: that Uncle
Stuermer had often taken her by the hand and led her to her father, and
that at such times her heart had always beaten more quickly from fear.
Anna Maria had stood in real awe of her father, and when he died and was
buried, not a tear flowed from the child's eyes. Her entire affection
belonged to her brother, as she used to say, full of pride and love for
him.

Aunt Rosamond had never been able to exert the slightest influence over
the girl's independent character.

As soon as Anna Maria was confirmed, she hung the bunch of keys at her
belt, and took up the reins of housekeeping with an energy and
circumspection that aroused the admiration of all, and especially of the
old aunt, who was particularly struck by it, since she herself was a
tender, weak type of woman, to whom such energy in one of her own sex
could but seem incomprehensible.

Anna Maria spun on quietly as all these thoughts succeeded each other
behind the wrinkled brow of her companion. She could sit and spin thus
whole evenings, without saying a word; she was quite differen