her as a girl; no other hindrance except the
mourning lay any longer between them.

"The day following the anniversary of Klaus's death some one gave a
quick, excited knock at my door. Stuermer entered; he wore a short coat
and high boots, as if he had come from hunting.

"'Dear Aunt Rosamond,' said he, throwing himself into a chair, as if
exhausted, and drying his moist forehead with his handkerchief--'dear
Aunt Rosamond, we have always been good friends, have known each other
so long. I have a favor to ask of you, a very great favor.'

"'Of me?' I asked, my heart beating hard from a painful fear.

"He looked pale, and quickly threw his gloves on the table. 'Speak for
me!' he begged. 'I am a coward. I cannot tell you what would become of
me if a second time I--' He hesitated.

"'Are you so little sure of your case, Edwin?' I asked, bright tears
running from my eyes. I thought of Klaus, I thought of Anna Maria, my
dear old Anna Maria!

"'I am not at all sure of my case,' he replied, 'or should I be standing
here? Should I not long ago have explained an old, unhappy mistake?'

"'You are in great haste, Edwin,' said I bitterly. 'Yesterday was the
first anniversary of Klaus's death!'

"'It has been very hard for me to wait so long,' he answered, in the
calmest tone. 'Well, if you will not, I must devise some means by
myself,' he declared impetuously. 'Where is Anna Maria?'

"'No, no,' I begged, 'for God's sake! It would grieve her to death. I
will go. I will speak for you, if it must be!' And again burning tears
came into my eyes. 'So tell me what message am I to deliver?'

"He was silent. 'If--if--I beg you, aunt, I do not know,' he stammered
at length; 'it will be best for me to speak to her myself.' And before I
could say a word he had hurried out.

"I do not know how it happened, but I was bitterly angry with him--he,
usually the man of tenderest feeling and greatest tact! 'To think that
love should sometimes drive the best people so mad!' I said angrily,
wiping the tears from my eyes.

"And now there would be a love-affair and an engagement; yesterday deep
widow's weeds, to-morrow red roses! I clinched my fists, not for myself,
but for Anna Maria. I was pained to the depths of my heart. For Anna
Maria it was the death-blow. The love for Stuermer was deeply rooted in
her heart. She would get over this, too; she would rise up from this,
too; but the spirit of her youth was broken forever. She could no long