oliage of the birches.
"Waldruhe" lay as if dreaming in this early stillness. The green
jalousies were all closed, like sleepy eyelids; on the roof a row of
bright-feathered pigeons were sunning themselves. The lawn before the
house was like a wilderness, the grass-grown paths scarcely
distinguishable, which led from the great iron gate to the veranda
steps. From a side-building a little smoke rose up to the blue sky, and
a cat sat crouched on the wooden bench beside the hall-door. There was
no sound except the joyful trills of the larks as they soared out of
sight in the blue sky.

[Illustration: "She leaned with her ungloved hands against the misty
bars of the gate."]

From under the oaks a slender woman's figure drew near. She walked
slowly, and her eyes glanced now to the left over the green wheat
fields to the open country, and now rested on the trees beside her. She
must have come a long way, for the delicate face looked worn and weary,
dark shadows were under her eyes, and the bottom of her dress was damp
as were also the small shoes which peeped out under the gray woollen
robe. She went straight up to the iron gate, clasped the rusty bars
with her ungloved hands and looked at the house somewhat in the
attitude of an curious child, but her eyes were too grave for that.
Beside her stood a brown dog wagging his tail, raising inquiringly his
shrewd eyes to her face, but she took no heed of the animal that had
followed her so faithfully. Her thoughts took only one direction.

She had never been here since that day when she had run hither in
desperate fear, to arrive--only too late. Everything was the same now
as then--just as lonely and deserted. She pulled the bell, how hard it
pulled! Ah, no hand had touched it since!

It is true Sophie came here conscientiously every spring and every
autumn to beat the furniture and air the rooms, but no one else. Mrs.
Baumhagen had from the first declared this idyllic whim of her
husband's an absurdity, and Jenny always called the country house "Whim
Hall." She had been here once but would never come again, "one would
die of ennui among those stupid trees."

At length the bell gave out a faint tinkle. Thereupon arose a fierce
barking in the side-building and a woman of some fifty years in a
wadded petticoat and a red-flannel bed-gown came out of the house. She
stared at the young lady in amazement, then she clapped her hands
together and ran back into the house with her sli