already written down in your
note-book that she wandered through the streets with winged feet, with
straying hair, and shy black eyes in which a longing for the moorland
lay and for the wind which through the reed-grass sweeps--and so on.
Ha, ha! And she really came from the Jew's quarter and went begging
from house to house for old rags."

They all three laughed, Gertrude the most heartily; then she became
suddenly grave.

"You are a malicious fellow," declared Frank, rising to light a candle.
"It is late, Richard, and we are early risers here."

As the friends bade each other good-night at the door of the
guest-chamber, the judge said,

"Well, Frank, I congratulate you. You have won a prize--such a dear,
sensible little woman!

"As for the _other_--my dear fellow, what did I tell you about that
man? Well, good-night! That Uncle Henry is a good old soul, too,--now
take yourself off."

Gertrude was standing by the open window in her room, looking out into
the night. The lamplight from the next room shone in faintly. Dark
clouds were gathering, far away over the mountains there were flashes
of lightning and in the garden a chorus of nightingales was singing.

"Gertrude," said a voice behind her.

"Frank," she replied, leaning her head on his shoulder.

"Hush! Listen! It is so lovely tonight."

They stood thus for awhile in silence. This afternoon's conversation
was still lingering in Linden's mind. Uncle Henry could not understand
why he should not cut his timber from his own woods. But the Niendorf
woods had been greatly thinned out and no new plantations made.

"Tell me, Gertrude," he began, suddenly, "where is your villa
'Waldruhe?'"

His young wife started as if a snake had stung her. "Our--my villa?"
she gasped, "how did you know--who told you about the villa?"

He was silent. "I cannot remember who," he said after a pause, "but
some one must have told me that there is a little wood belonging to it.
But, Gertrude, what is the matter?" he inquired. "You are trembling!"

"Ah, Frank, who told you about _that_?" she reiterated, "and _what_?"

Her voice had so sad a ring in it that he perceived at once that he had
hurt her.

"Gertrude, have I hurt you? I beg your pardon a thousand times; I was
only thinking of cheaper timber which I might have cut there this
winter."

"Timber? There? It is only a park. Ah, Frank--"

"But what is it pray?" he asked with a little impatience. "I cannot
possibly know-