On the soft moss under the trees near the border of the forest, a beautiful female, clad in blue, lay stretched in sleep. The trembling sunbeams played about her face. She awoke, and, resting her head upon her hand, gazed about her with the air of one to whom all is lost.

The air was laden with the odor of pines, and fresh, cooling breezes were wafted from the lake. The bells of the browsing cattle were heard from the neighboring hills. The dew glistened; every object was radiant with light; but to her, all was night. It was long before she realized that she was awake, or where she was. At last, she became conscious of herself; but still she moved not. Sad and gloomy thoughts passed through her mind. Why awake? Oh, pitiless nature! why cannot the soul's anguish destroy thee? Why is it necessary to use another force--fire, water, steel, or poison--to oppose thee? Why is it that the soul can ruin the body, and yet cannot destroy it? Sun! what dost thou want of me? I want thee no longer! My father's writing burns my brow. Conscience hammers at me, as if with a thousand fists, and yet does not destroy me!--Why is this? Why?

She closed her eyes and turned away from the sun. Something whispered to her: "There's time yet. It may all prove to be a hellish adventure, a waking dream. Turn back! You can, you may. You have fully expiated all."

As if moved by some invisible power, she again turned toward the sun. Below her lay the glittering lake, and its waves seemed to say; "In these depths, all thought, all trouble, all fear, all doubt is at an end."

She arose, and when she saw the impression her figure had made in the moss, she looked at it for a long while. Thus, thought she, does the stag look at his nightly couch when the fatal shot has struck him. Are we better than the hunted beasts of the forest? All is vanity! What use is there in torturing ourselves? One bold plunge will end all. She put on her hat and walked away, alone in the world with the one idea that possessed her. No voice dissuaded her; she was mistress over life and death.

The blackberry bushes caught her dress and held her fast, and, while extricating herself, the thorns scratched her hands and feet.

She felt a sense of gnawing hunger, and wept like a forsaken child.

Tears came to her relief.

Just then, she saw more berries, which she plucked and ate with eager appetite. Startled by her, a bird and its mate flew up from among the blackberry bushes. There was the empty nest. Every creature has its home. Irma stood there for some time, quite forgetting herself. She turned her head,--and, behold! beside the blackberries there were poison berries, belladonna--he who hungers for death can feed on these. Irma did not pluck the deadly fruit. She did not care to die a death of slow torture, perhaps to swoon away, to fall into the hands of men again. No; it must be in the bottomless lake.

Irma now hurried off, as if she had been loitering by the way. The dew moistened her wounded feet; she shivered with cold.

Suddenly the bright sounds of music and the flourish of trumpets were borne upon the breeze. Irma pressed her hand to her brow--it isn't music, it is only the play of my frenzied imagination. The world's pleasures are tempting me, and calling me back with violin, clarionet and trumpet. "Come, soothe yourself with our sounds; be merry and enjoy the days allotted to you." But listen! The sound is heard again, accompanied by the discharge of cannon, whose reports are echoed back from the mountains, again and again. Perhaps they are celebrating a wedding in some quiet village on yonder shore. A youth and a maiden who have loved each other truly, have to-day become united, and music and cannon call out to the mountains: "Rejoice with us; love's happiness is as eternal as ye are--" Irma walked on, lost in reverie and looking down on the ground. Her thoughts were with the happy ones. In imagination, she saw the glad looks of parents, of comrades, of friends, and heard the priest's benediction; while she walked on through the dewy grass and briars. Her hand was firmly clenched, as if she felt obliged thus to hold fast to the resolve that urged her onward. She walked along by the lake. The shore was flat, a mere reedy swamp. There could be no sudden ending there; only a slow, miserable death. She walked round and round, ran to and fro with hasty step and bated breath. At last she saw a rock extending to the water's edge. It was steep, almost perpendicular. She climbed up to the top, raised her hands, leaned over the edge. But hark! Who called to her from the water? She heard a shriek of anguish, a cry for help, a splash. In her excitement, she dropped her hat. It rolled over the edge of the rock and into the water. She saw a human figure wrestling with the waves. It rose to the surface--it was Black Esther! It rose once more and then sank out of sight.... Uttering a wild shriek, Irma sank upon the rock. She had seen the deed she purposed enacted before her very eyes. Her limbs seemed palsied, and she lay there as if at the bottom of the lake. She was conscious, and yet could not raise herself. A voice called within her, but no sound passed her lips.

And while she lay there, she heard voices singing:

"Ah, blissful is the tender tie

That binds me, love, to thee;

And swiftly speed the hours by,

When thou art near to me."