her, and, sobbing convulsively, pressed kiss
after kiss on the little maid's wet and muddy gown.

"Why--why did you do this for me?" he exclaimed, in a choking voice.

The doctor's visit had, after all, benefited the invalid. The
spontaneous reaction which followed the violent fit of passion caused a
sudden turn in his illness. The salutary crisis came of its own accord
during the outburst of rage, which threw him into a profuse
perspiration. The brain gradually returned to its normal condition.

"You will get well again, will you not?" stammered the little maid
shyly, laying her hand on the invalid's brow.

"If you really want me to get well," returned Ludwig, "then you must
comply with my request. Go to your room, take off these wet clothes, and
go to bed. And you must promise never again to go on another errand like
the one you performed this evening. I hope you may sleep soundly."

"I will do whatever you wish, Ludwig--anything to prevent your getting
angry again."

The little maid returned to her room, took off her wet clothes, and lay
down on the bed; but she could not sleep. Every hour she rose, threw on
her wrapper, thrust her feet into her slippers, and stole to the door of
Ludwig's room to whisper: "How is he now, Henry?"

"He is sleeping quietly," Henry would answer encouragingly. The faithful
fellow had forgotten his master's anger, and was watching over him as
tenderly as a mother over her child.

"He did not hurt you very much, did he, Henry?"

"No; it did not hurt, and I deserved what I got."

The little maid pressed the old servant's hand, whereupon he sank to his
knees at her feet, and, kissing her pretty fingers, whispered:

"This fully repays me."

The next morning Ludwig was entirely recovered. He rose, and, as was his
wont, drank six tumblerfuls of water--his usual breakfast.

Of the events of the past night he spoke not one word.

At ten o'clock the occupants of the Nameless Castle were to be seen out
driving as usual--the white-haired groom, the stern-visaged gentleman,
and the veiled lady.

That same morning Dr. Tromfszky received from the castle a packet
containing his medical belongings, and an envelop in which he found a
hundred-guilder bank-note, but not a single written word.

Meanwhile the days passed with their usual monotony for the occupants of
the Nameless Castle, and September, with its delightfully warm weather
drew on apace. In Hungary the long autumn makes ample a