ew information from his wife; but at
her charitable judgment, which nothing could shake, he had long since
left off being astonished.

They wandered on; and as they proceeded, the greetings given the wife
were, if possible, more earnest than those given the judge himself. She
nodded to some with special friendliness, and to a few she gave a
pleasant passing word.

CHAPTER VIII.

On one side of the river was the noise and bustle of the crowded fair;
on the other, in the shade of the elms and willows, hidden from all the
world, sat Anton and Thoma, caressing each other.

"Now be sensible, and say something," said Thoma at length.

"No, no, I cannot talk, and I don't need to, for everything I would say
you know already," replied Anton. He told, however, of his awakening
before day, of his morning walk, and how he had greeted Thoma from the
far distance.

She laughed gladly, and tears came to her eyes. She was certainly
sincerely fond of Anton, but the deep, gushing love which now burst
from him she had scarcely dreamed of.

"Yonder is the fair," said he, "anything can be got there. I should
like to buy something for you, but it would be useless; the world, the
whole world, is yours."

"Not quite the whole," she laughed, "but you are right, don't buy
anything for me. All I want is your good heart; that I have, and such a
one all the gold in the world couldn't buy. Do you know what pleases me
best in all you say?"

"Tell me what it is."

"I believe every word you speak. I don't believe you could possibly
tell an untruth."

Again they were silent until, as a happy smile broke over Anton's face,
Thoma said:

"Why do you smile? Your soul laughs out. Tell me why!"

"Yes, yes, love; doesn't it seem as if our river were more joyous than
usual to-day? I've grown up on its banks, you know. When I was in the
war, I often fancied at night I heard it rushing. It made me homesick.
I was thinking just now, darling, that the little fishes must be happy
down there in the water."

"It will be hard, Anton, for me to grow accustomed to it. I have a real
horror of water. When I was a very little child, one of our servants
was drowned, and they told me that the river must have its sacrifice
every year, and after three days it would give up the dead; so I hated
it. But nonsense, what foolish talk! See, there comes Titus's wagon,
with his son and daughter. The son wanted me and the daughte