ise me that
you will not leave me, and when I return that I shall find you there. If
you leave me, I will never come back. Promise me!"

"Then I will promise you, my poor child," sighed Trude.

Marie laughed scornfully. "You call me poor--do you not see I am rich? I
carry a fortune about my neck. Go, do not bewail me--I am rich!"

"Marie, do not laugh so, it makes me feel badly," whispered the old
woman. "I came to tell you the bridegroom and the clergyman are there."

"The time has arrived for the marriage of the rich and happy bride. Go,
Trude, beg my mother to come up and adorn me with the myrtle-wreath."

"Dear Marie, can I not do it?" asked Trude, with quivering voice.

"No, not you; touch not the fatal wreath! You have no part in that! Call
my mother--it is time!"

Trude turned sadly toward the door, Marie glancing after her, and
calling her back with gentle tone.

"Trude, my dear, faithful mother, kiss me once more." She threw her
arms around Marie's neck and imprinted a loving kiss upon her forehead,
weeping. "Now go, Trude--we must not give way; you know me; you well
understand my feelings, and see into my heart."

The old woman went out, drying her eyes. Marie uttered her last
farewell. "With you the past goes forth, with you my youth and hope!
When the door again opens, my future enters a strange, fearful life. Woe
to those who have prepared it for me--woe to those who have so cruelly
treated me! They will yet see what they have done. The good angel is
extinct within me. Wicked demons will now assume their over me. I will
have no pity--I will revenge myself; that I swear to Moritz!"

Her mother rustled in, clothed in her splendid wedding-garments. "Did
you send for me, dear Marie?" she whispered.

"Yes, mother--I beg you to put on my myrtle-wreath."

"How! have you no endearment for me?" she asked, smilingly. "Why do you
say 'you' instead of 'thou?'"

"It is better so, mother," she coldly answered. "Will you adorn me with
the bridal-wreath?"

"Willingly, my dear child; it is very beautiful and becoming."

"Do you realize, mother, what you are doing? You place the wreath to
consecrate me to an inconsolably unhappy life with the man that I hate
and despise!"

"My dear child, I know that you think so to-day; but you will soon
change, and find that wealth is a supportable misfortune."

"Mother, one day you will recall these words. Crown me for the hated
bridal. The sacrifice is prepared!"