her in watching the
warehouse opposite than in sedulous attention to her needle. Her eyes
were fixed upon the little doorway, not expecting that any one would
be seen there, but full of remembrance of the figure of him who had
stood there and had kissed his hand. Her aunt, as was her wont on
every Saturday, was leaning over a little table intent on some large
book of devotional service, with which she prepared herself for the
Sabbath. Close as was her attention now and always to the volume, she
would not on ordinary occasions have allowed Linda's eyes to stray
for so long a time across the river without recalling them by some
sharp word of reproof; but on this evening she sat and read and said
nothing. Either she did not see her niece, so intent was she on her
good work, or else, seeing her, she chose, for reasons of her own,
to be as one who did not see. Linda was too intent upon her thoughts
to remember that she was sinning with the sin of idleness, and would
have still gazed across the river had she not heard a heavy footstep
in the room above her head, and the fall of a creaking shoe on the
stairs, a sound which she knew full well, and stump, bump, dump,
Peter Steinmarc was descending from his own apartments to those of
his neighbours below him. Then immediately Linda withdrew her eyes
from the archway, and began to ply her needle with diligence. And
Madame Staubach looked up from her book, and became uneasy on her
chair. Linda felt sure that Peter was not going out for an evening
stroll, was not in quest of beer and a friendly pipe at the Rothe
Ross. He was much given to beer and a friendly pipe at the Rothe
Ross; but Linda knew that he would creep down-stairs somewhat softly
when his mind was that way given; not so softly but what she would
hear his steps and know whither they were wending; but now, from the
nature of the sound, she was quite sure that he was not going to the
inn which he frequented. She threw a hurried glance round upon her
aunt, and was quite sure that her aunt was of the same opinion. When
Herr Steinmarc paused for half a minute outside her aunt's door, and
then slowly turned the lock, Linda was not a bit surprised; nor was
Madame Staubach surprised. She closed her book with dignity, and sat
awaiting the address of her neighbour.

"Good evening, ladies," said Peter Steinmarc.

"Good evening, Peter," said Madame Staubach. It was many years now
since these people had first known each other, and