upied were full of agony. He seated himself
in his accustomed chair, and looked from the aunt to the niece and
then from the niece to the aunt. Give him the slip, would she? Well,
perhaps she would. But she should be very clever if she did.

"I thought you would have been in earlier, Peter," said Madame
Staubach.

"I was coming, but I saw the fraulein in the kitchen, and I ventured
to speak a word or two there. The reception which I received drove me
away."

"Linda, what is this?"

"I did not think, aunt, that the kitchen was the proper place for
him."

"Any room in this house is the proper place for him," said Madame
Staubach, in her enthusiasm. Linda was silent, and Peter replied to
this expression of hospitality simply by a grateful nod. "I will not
have you give yourself airs, Linda," continued Madame Staubach. "The
kitchen not a proper place! What harm could Peter do in the kitchen?"

"He tormented me, so I left him. When he torments me I shall always
leave him." Then Linda got up and stalked out of the room. Her aunt
called her more than once, but she would not return. Her life was
becoming so heavy to her, that it was impossible that she should
continue to endure it. She went up now to her room, and looking out
of the window fixed her eyes upon the low stone archway in which she
had more than once seen Ludovic Valcarm. But he was not there now.
She knew, indeed, that he was not in Nuremberg. Tetchen had told her
that he had gone to Augsburg,--on pretence of business connected with
the brewery, Tetchen had said, but in truth with reference to some
diabolical political scheme as to which Tetchen expressed a strong
opinion that all who dabbled in it were children of the very devil.
But though Ludovic was not in Nuremberg, Linda stood looking at the
archway for more than half an hour, considering the circumstances of
her life, and planning, if it might be possible to plan, some future
scheme of existence. To live under the upas-tree of Peter Steinmarc's
courtship would be impossible to her. But how should she avoid it?
As she thought of this, her eyes were continually fixed on the low
archway. Why did not he come out from it and give her some counsel
as to the future? There she stood looking out of the window till she
was called by her aunt's voice--"Linda, Linda, come down to me."
Her aunt's voice was very solemn, almost as though it came from the
grave; but then solemnity was common to her aunt, and Linda,