a walked down the corridor, and in both hearts was the same
sunshine. She must hurry, for Klaus would surely be waiting for her, he
wanted to speak with her about the work in the garden.

Next to Klaus's room was a small room, where Anna Maria remembered to
have put away in her portfolio of drawings the roughly sketched plan of
the alterations, and as Klaus was not yet in the sitting-room she
hurried back to get it.

It was almost dark, and she could but indistinctly discern the objects
in the little room, which Klaus jokingly called his library because of a
bookcase which found its place there. So the more distinctly came to her
ears a hearty laugh from her brother, and, with the laugh, the sound of
her own name.

"Anna Maria, do you say? My own aunt, it is perfectly ridiculous!"

"Laugh then, you unbeliever, you will soon be convinced of the truth of
my conjecture. We women, especially we old maids, Klauschen, look at
such things more sharply. Soon some one will come and carry away your
darling, and then we too may sit here and have the dumps, my beloved
boy! What will become of us?"

"_Some one_, aunt? You speak in riddles."

"Well, since you are so dreadfully smitten with blindness, _mon cher_,
it is a Christian duty on my part to open your eyes. Do you not see the
girl's entirely altered manner? Have you never--But to what purpose is
all this? In short, Anna Maria loves Stuermer!"

Another hearty laugh interrupted the old lady. But Anna Maria, with
closed eyes, leaned against the door-post; the ground seemed to give way
beneath her feet.

"Kurt Stuermer? Uncle Stuermer? But, my dear aunt," cried the young man,
"he might almost be her father!"

"Is that a hindrance, Klaus?"

"No! I don't believe it, however. Shall we bet?"

Anna Maria straightened up. She was on the point of going in and saying,
"Why do you argue? I do love him--yes! a thousand times, yes!" But she
stood still; her brother's voice sounded so strangely altered.

"Aunt Rosamond, I _cannot_ believe it!"

"Klaus! Have you not thought for a long time that it must happen some
day?"

"Yes, yes! But--Ah! I have stood in fear of this hour, since the child
is the only one to whom my heart clings; you do not know how much,
perhaps, aunt!"

"Klaus,"--the old lady's voice was melting with tenderness--"my dear old
lad, you are still young: why should there not be a happiness yet in
store for you? I have often told you you ought to marry."

"M