flush
spread over her countenance--of the cradle in the attic. She could see
the old cradle so plainly before her; two red roses were painted on one
end, in the middle a golden star, and beneath it stood written: "Happy
are they who are happy in their children."

She put her hand in her pocket and took out the note-book--the carriage
was crawling so slowly up the hill--she could not remember it all yet,
she must read the verses again.

It was a vision he had had of her kneeling before a cradle, singing a
cradle-song about the father bringing something home to his son from
the green wood.

She let the paper fall. She knew what song he meant--the old nursery
song that she had been singing to her godchild when he had heard her
from the window outside. He had told her about it and that in that
moment he had come quite under her spell.

She pressed the book to her lips. Ah, how far beneath her seemed envy
and spite! how powerless they seemed before the expectation of such
happiness!

Just then a piece of paper fell down, a piece of blue writing-paper.
She picked it up; it was part of a letter on the blank side of which
was written in Frank's handwriting:

"Half a hundred-weight grass-seed, mixed," with the address of a
manufactory of farming utensils.

She turned it over, looked at it carelessly, then suddenly every trace
of color left her face. She raised her eyes with a scared expression in
them, then looked down again--yes, there it was!

"----Besides the above-mentioned property Miss Gertrude Baumhagen owns
a villa near Bergedorf. A massive building, splendidly furnished, with
stables, gardener's house and a garden-lot of ten acres, partly wood,
enclosed by a massive wall.

"The property is recorded in the name of the young lady, being valued
at twenty-four thousand dollars.

"For any further details I am quite at your service,

"Very respectfully yours,

"C. Wolff, Agent.
D. 21 Dec. 1882."

Gertrude tried to read it again, but her hand trembled so violently
that the letters danced before her eyes. She had seen it, however,
distinctly enough; it would not change read it as often as she might.
With pitiless certainty the conviction forced itself upon her: it is
the truth, the horrible truth! and every word of his had been a lie.

She had been bought and sold like a piece of merchandise--she, _she_
had been caught in such a snare!