Otto obeyed his grandfather's commands, handed in his resignation, and was shortly established as a volunteer assistant in the administration of Count Klausenburg's model estates, a step which naturally gave rise to the most contradictory reports. According to some, Otto had run in debt again, and the Freiherr had now 'taken him in hand;' others stated from a trustworthy source that the young man had broken away from all his associations on account of an unfortunate love-affair; others, again, had heard that quarrels with his comrades had caused him to leave his regiment. His fellow-officers were convinced that he never would 'stick to agriculture,' but would soon return to the army; and the youthful fair bewailed his resignation, declaring that he was not half so handsome in civilian's dress.

Elfrida Klausenburg, the shining light of the family, put by all these reports and explanations with a meaning smile. The dress of an heir was even more becoming than a uniform, she declared, and it seemed to her only just and fitting that in view of Johann Leopold's continued ill health the Freiherr should contemplate the possibility of another grandson's proving his heir, and that he should wish to educate this grandson in a way to enable him to administer such extensive estates with judgment and skill.

Countess Elfrida repeated this so often and so decidedly, old Count Klausenburg smiled so diplomatically when he declared that he knew really nothing of Otto's circumstances and prospects, and Otto was so continually at DÖnninghausen, that all reports to his disadvantage gradually died away, and he came to be looked upon more and more as the future heir. It did no good for him to contradict this view of the matter whenever it was brought to his knowledge. The DÖnninghausens had always been rather reserved with regard to their family arrangements, and out of consideration for Johann Leopold they were of course especially inclined to secrecy in the present case. That Otto never ceased to pay this consideration to his cousin, even in intercourse with his most intimate friends, spoke well for his delicacy, his prudence, and his trustworthiness. It was remarkable how many excellent qualities, hitherto concealed in him, now came to light.

Otto knew that the many attentions which he received were paid, for the most part, to the future heir; but he was rather vain than proud, and vanity delights in the homage paid to appearances. So he allowed himself to be borne along in contemptuous ease upon the current of universal favour without asking whither, and helped Elfrida Klausenburg to build castles in the air, the rule of which she was resolved, in spite of all rivals, to share with him.

The most dangerous of these rivals seemed to her to be Magelone. "It is disgraceful the way she flirts with Otto DÖnninghausen," the young lady said to her sisters; "but I hope he is too clever to allow himself to be caught. Any one can see that it is the heir she is after."

Amelie, whose years forbade her joining in this contest, replied with some asperity, "The same thing might just as well be said of others who until now never seemed to think much of the young man." And Helena, who had for some time played the part of a man-hater, declared, sharply, that for her part she thought it doubtful whether Magelone were flirting with Otto or he with her. Elfrida replied to her sisters' remarks only by an indifferent shrug. She was sure that Otto had fallen a victim to her flaxen hair and blue eyes, and knew from his own lips that he only rode over to DÖnninghausen to please his grandfather.

It was true that these visits formed part of the programme laid down by the Freiherr, but if Otto had not found them agreeable he would soon have devised a way to curtail them. His intercourse with his family had proved pleasant beyond his anticipations. His grandfather, immediately after meals,—during which, it is true, he paid less attention to Otto than formerly,—retired to his study, where Johanna read aloud to him; and then Aunt Thekla would try, by redoubled kindness, to indemnify the 'poor boy' for the old Herr's coldness, and Magelone was so enchanted to have the monotony of her days relieved by her cousin's visits, that her coquetry wore at times the disguise of sincere affection. Even the diminution of his intercourse with Johanna, caused by the Freiherr's claims upon her time, was rather a relief than a disappointment to the young man, for, although she never had referred to the help she had been so ready to give him, he could not but feel a sense of obligation and embarrassment when with her. Nevertheless, at times she exercised the old influence upon him, and then if he could speak with her alone, which was rarely the case, he would complain that they saw so little of each other, accusing her of intentionally avoiding him, and assuring her that only the prospect of her society had induced him to comply with his grandfather's arrangements.

"You influence me for the best; you arouse and bring to the surface all that there is in me worth anything. With you I am cleverer, stronger, better than at any other time," he said, and he was really sincere so long as he could gaze into her eyes. But when she had left him he seemed to breathe more freely, and Magelone's graceful folly appeared to him more graceful than ever.

Thus the last half of August was reached, and his birthday drew near. The morning before, Aunt Thekla had summoned up all her courage and reminded her brother of it. "As to-morrow is Saturday, he will come to dinner as usual," she added, "and I wanted to ask you, dear Johann, if you would not like to have a few friends invited. No party, only from eight to ten people, perhaps——"

"What for?" the Freiherr burst out, and she lowered her eyes before his, which flashed angrily. "Not, I hope, to celebrate that fellow's birthday. He will be thirty years old, and he conducts himself like a boy of twenty."

Aunt Thekla took courage again. "Dear Johann, there is more joy over one sinner that repenteth——"

"Repenteth?" the Freiherr again interrupted her. "There's no question of that here. Monsieur accommodates himself to circumstances for the present, but he is ready for a fresh escapade at any moment. No, Thekla, there's no occasion for slaughtering the fatted calf. If you wish to bake the boy a cake, I've no objection; I'll put the customary bit of money underneath it and wish him joy decently; but no further festivities, I beg."

It was impossible to transgress these orders; and although Aunt Thekla took care that the cake and its customary wreath were provided, and even increased the Freiherr's 'bit of money' to the extent that her resources would permit, and although Magelone and Johanna presented their gifts duly, Otto felt the depression which weighed upon the family generally, and it did not need the Freiherr's homily, in which he was reminded that now he was thirty years of age and must put away boyish follies, to put him thoroughly out of humour.

The crosser he felt, however, the more he resolved not to show it. In defiance of the old Herr, who, he said to himself, was always doing his best to crush out all independent thought and action, he persisted, undeterred by Aunt Thekla's warning glances, in provoking conversation at the dinner-table, and, failing in this attempt, he proposed as soon as the meal was over, in direct opposition to the custom of the family, to take coffee under the three oaks in the forest,—a spot dedicated by all the gentry in the country round to parties of pleasure in the open air.

The Freiherr, who had just reached the door of the dining-hall, paused. "Well, child, you are not going to absent yourself from the party?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Johanna, who was following him. "I will do without you to-day."

She cast one longing glance towards the group at the window, and then looked into her grandfather's gloomy face. "Thank you," she made reply, stepping up to his side; "I would rather stay at home with you."

The next moment the door closed behind them. Otto bit his lip impatiently, Magelone laughed derisively. "Oh, this Johanna!" she exclaimed, irritated by Otto's evident vexation, "how clever she is! She has added in a twinkling another ray to the saintly halo around her brow."

"But, my child," Aunt Thekla interposed, reproachfully, "you cannot mean—Johanna is really so good,—so simple,—so modest."

"There is just where she shows her art, my dear aunt, in preventing almost every one from observing the pains she takes to make herself of importance," Magelone rejoined. "A simple creature like myself would have said, 'Thanks, my dear Otto; it is rather too warm for your scheme.' But she sacrifices herself for grandpapa,—stays in a cool room entirely for his sake."

"You are unjust," Otto said, with unusual emphasis.

"And you are partial," Magelone declared. "But wait; your eyes will be opened. At present it would be pleasant to close them," she added, changing her tone, "in this intolerable heat." And, fluttering her fan diligently, she followed Aunt Thekla into the drawing-room, where the old lady took her accustomed seat in the corner of the sofa for a short nap, and her niece seated herself near her in a rocking-chair, and from beneath her drooping eyelids watched Otto, who had withdrawn to the centre window in an ill humour and was turning over the leaves of a periodical.

Magelone's fan fluttered faster. How strange that Otto should not avail himself of this rare opportunity for an undisturbed tÊte-À-tÊte! Had he been really provoked by her attack upon Johanna? If this were the case, he must be duly punished. A minute or two passed in impatient expectation, and then, when Aunt Thekla's regular breathing betrayed her unconsciousness, Magelone called, in an undertone, "Otto!" He looked up, and she signed with her fan towards an ottoman near her.

He obeyed, drew the ottoman close beside her, put both hands upon the arm of the rocking-chair, and looked into Magelone's mocking, glimmering eyes.

"Well?" she asked, after a short pause.

"Well?" he repeated. "I thought you had something to say to me."

"Yes, all sorts of things," she replied, and leaned back her head without ceasing to look at him. "First of all, I want to know why you are so cross on your birthday?"

"Cross?" he repeated, bitterly. "Have I not cause to be seriously out of humour? Thirty years old, and what am I?—what do I possess? Not even a prospect! But it is no easy matter to put one's self in another's place. You settle the affair by calling a man cross when he is sad, then shrug your shoulders and let him go. Ill humour deserves neither sympathy nor consolation."

Magelone's laugh sounded forced: the serious turn the conversation was taking was not at all to her mind. "Oh, we are positive monsters," she said, mockingly. "Nevertheless, it is not worth while to call black white. Honour bright, fair sir; did not your ill humour come on first when Johanna refused to go to the woods with us?"

And as she spoke the elfish eyes gleamed strangely into his own. Scorn, anger, jealousy, flickered and danced in their depths. He could not resist the spell they wove around him to-day, and, adopting Magelone's tone, he replied, "Honour bright, fair lady; I was greatly depressed when I came here, and have been so for a long time."

"Elfrida Klausenburg maintains the contrary; the dear girl is charmed with your constant cheerfulness; she raves of the 'perpetual sunshine of your soul.' Oh, dear Otto, when that grenadier in petticoats grows sentimental——" She laughed, and her eyes seconded her laughter. "Oh, oh, is that the 'perpetual sunshine?'" she added, when Otto frowned darkly; "what would Elfrida say——"

"For heaven's sake spare me!" Otto exclaimed, crossly. "What does the Countess Klausenburg know of me?—what do we care for her?"

Again the elfish eyes glimmered strangely, but before Magelone could reply the drawing-room door opened.

"The Countesses Klausenburg and Herr von Rothkirch!" the servant announced.

Aunt Thekla started up from her nap, and the guests made their appearance,—Elfrida first, in a short white gown with blue ribbons, her hair floating over her shoulders, her face red with the heat, and her eyes beaming. Whilst Amelie and Herr von Rothkirch paid their respects to the ladies of the house, she hurried up to Otto.

"'Blest be the day that gave thee bi-i-rth,'" she chanted, attempting to toss a wreath upon his head; a misfortune which he averted by catching it in his hands. "Oh, you are a naughty man to run away from our congratulations," she went on in the midst of his confused thanks; "you wanted to pass your birthday incognito, but we are not to be cheated of our fÊte. Dear FrÄulein DÖnninghausen, dearest Magelone, we are here on behalf of our parents, to carry you off by force if needs must. 'And art thou not willing——'"

"Elfrida!" Amelie interrupted her, reprovingly, and, turning to Aunt Thekla, she continued: "Papa and mamma have arranged a little picnic in honour of the day, to which they send you a cordial invitation. The Remmingens and the GrÜnroda people are coming, with, of course, the usual amount of pastors, doctors, and bailiffs. Papa and mamma drove on before with Helena, and we are come in the char-À-banc to take our dear guests with us."

"The rendezvous is at the three oaks," put in Herr von Rothkirch, as he clapped his heels together and made a low bow.

"At the three oaks? Oh, now I understand your little game!" Magelone said in a low voice to Otto.

"You are mistaken," he whispered; "all this is a surprise to me——" but Elfrida did not permit him to proceed. "No whispering, no plotting," she cried. "Get your hats and gloves, and come immediately."

"But my dress," said Magelone, looking down at her blue muslin gown.

"Ah, madame, you look charming, as you always do," Herr von Rothkirch assured her. "This blue drapery seems woven by fairy hands to deck the fairy queen."

Magelone smiled graciously; coarse as the compliment was, it was better than none at all.

"Aunt Thekla, what do you say? Shall we go?" she asked, and her tone betrayed her wish to hear a 'yes' in reply.

"My child, I do not know," the old lady answered. "To celebrate a birthday outside of one's family circle,—I don't know what my brother would think——"

"The Freiherr must come too," Elfrida interposed. "Hurry, Magelone; we will go bring him. I will tell him that we Klausenburgs as good as belong to the family——"

"Elfrida!" Amelie admonished her sister in a whisper, and tried to detain her by her gown; but with a twitch she extricated herself,—rather sacrifice a flounce than a whim,—drew Magelone away with her, and sang as she hurried to the Freiherr's room, in her thin shrill soprano, 'Give me your hand, my darling.' Herr von Rothkirch expressed his belief that the Freiherr could not possibly resist twin stars of such beauty and wit.

But he did. He consented 'gruffly,' as Elfrida expressed it, that his family should take part in the festival, and even insisted that Johanna should join the rest. He himself, he said, was an old man, and not fit for such merry-makings. He made no allusion to the Klausenburgs' having arranged the party in his grandson's honour, and intimidated the overconfident young lady who had gone to him to such a degree—how, she could not herself tell—that she declared to Magelone that no power on earth should induce her ever again to cross the threshold of her grandfather's study. "How strange it is," she added, "that the most amiable of men should be the grandson of that ogre!"

'The most amiable of men' soon succeeded in dispersing Elfrida's annoyance. Her customary high spirits returned during the drive, and when they reached the forest her loud laugh echoed in shrill discord with the peaceful woodland sounds.

It was still noisier beneath the three oaks; there was the rattle of cups and plates, and the talking and laughter of the various groups seated at their ease in the shade. On one side the deep bass of the Forstmeister von GrÜnroda resounded, and on the other the cackling laugh of Colonel von Remmingen arose amid the droning monotone of Countess Klausenburg, and the commanding tones of the stout wife of the bailiff, to whom the arrangement of the feast was intrusted, and who was assisted by her nephew and niece, and by the Remmingen nursery, as Elfrida called the colonel's three fair rosy daughters, aged respectively sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, while loud shouts from another group greeted the anecdotes of the jovial doctor of the village.

Then came the welcome of the new arrivals, with question and reply as to the Freiherr's absence. Suddenly, at a sign from Count Klausenburg, a horn sounded from the neighbouring shrubbery, and the younger portion of the assembly hastily grouped themselves together, and sang a birthday carol to the air of 'Ye shining stars above us,' with an obligato on the horn.

Under the disguise of intentional exaggeration the song paid to the hero of the hour every compliment which he could possibly accept, and which Otto certainly seemed to accept as he listened with sparkling eyes and a self-satisfied smile. When the last tones had died away, and singers and audience thronged around him to shake hands with him and wish him joy, he expressed his pleasure in the charming surprise, and declared that he never could forget this most delightful birthday fÊte.

"Is he speaking truth, or playing a part?" Johanna asked herself. She had listened with downcast eyes in painful confusion while she heard Otto's chanted praise for having in early youth supplemented the glory of the soldier with the pursuit of serious labour, for which field and grove offered him their best gifts, and the grateful soil promised to bind him in imperishable fetters of fairest flowers.

"A charming poem, is it not? What a delightful talent is that of the poet!" Herr von Rothkirch repeated again and again, as he passed from group to group.

"Indescribably stupid and out of taste,—actually insufferable!" Magelone whispered to Aunt Thekla.

The old lady drew her aside in terror. "Pray, pray, child, take care!" she said. "Countess Klausenburg has just confided to me that Elfrida composed the poem!"

"Of course; who but she?" Magelone pouted. "She personates the 'grateful soil'; the fair Elfrida is shamelessly throwing herself at his head. Just look! Just look!"

Otto was just then bowing before her; she held out both hands to him, and she looked around triumphantly as he kissed them.

"He cannot but thank her," Aunt Thekla said, by way of excuse. Magelone clinched her little fists in angry disgust. Herr Rothkirch approached her with his unlucky question, "Charming poem, is it not?"

Aunt Thekla looked anxiously at Magelone, who, however, had collected herself, and with a laugh, in which Herr Rothkirch did not notice the mockery, she took his arm and followed him to where the younger portion of the assembly were engaged in earnest consultation. Otto and Elfrida came towards them from the other side.

"At last!" Otto whispered to Magelone.

She shrugged her shoulders, scarce perceptibly. "Take care that Elfrida does not hear you," she whispered in return; and then she turned to Herr von Rothkirch with her gayest air. "Yes, with pleasure. Puss-in-the-corner is delightful," she replied to his question, and in an instant she had flitted to the nearest tree and clasped its trunk with a burst of silvery laughter.

Elfrida seized Otto's hand. "Here, here! there are two trees left," she cried, and dragged him away with her. He was her property to-day,—the captive of her bow and spear.

Somewhat apart in the deep shade, unnoticed and unmissed, Johanna sat gazing about her with veiled eyes, and feeling separated as by invisible barriers from all this merry-making.

"Am I, then, so much older than my years?" she asked herself, "or is it really so long since I enjoyed my youth and the summer-time in Lindenbad? Or does my father's grave still lie between me and life?"

She looked towards the players. Otto, who had lost his tree, was looking about for another, amid the mocking shouts and laughter of those who flitted past him exchanging places. Suddenly Elfrida came leaping along, more like a Valkyria than ever. He tried to catch her; she sprang aside, tripped and fell, and was clasped the next moment in Otto's arms. Only for an instant; in the next she extricated herself, and laughed in her careless fashion, unmindful of the looks and shrugs of the lookers-on, whilst Otto contemplated her with a triumphant smile.

"Is it possible that all this clumsy homage can gratify him?" thought Johanna, "or has he, perhaps, found the all-delivering love which he sought awhile ago from me? Elfrida's light clasp of his hand before she left him certainly looked like an understanding between them."

Involuntarily she arose, to flee from a sight that so pained her. Otto, who was hastening to the tree that Elfrida had left, saw her, and was at her side in an instant. "Where are you going, Johanna?" he asked. "Come, join our game——"

"I cannot," she whispered, withdrew the hand he would have taken, and hurried away, for Elfrida came rushing up to take possession of Otto's tree, and her peals of laughter rang in Johanna's ears as she slowly sauntered along the woodland path.

For a moment Otto looked after her, and was conscious of a sensation of annoyance; he ought to have paid her some attention before; she had a right to expect it of him. But ought she not, just because she had laid him under obligations, to be doubly careful to avoid everything that could remind him of these obligations? Ought she not, if she really liked him, to take pleasure in his cheerfulness? Instead of which she adopted a tragic, sentimental air. He did not feel at all disposed to sympathize with it at present.

With a shrug he put a stop to such reflections, and was soon, apparently, entirely appropriated by Elfrida; in fact, however, not a gesture, not a look, not a laugh, of Magelone's escaped him. Her graceful coquetry asserted its charm more than ever to-day with old and young, men and women alike; Otto alone seemed excluded from her magic circle. He was possessed by an ardent desire to force her to pay heed to him, and, finding himself alone for an instant, he hurriedly tore a leaf from his note-book, scribbled a couple of lines upon it, folded the paper tightly, and awaited an opportunity to thrust it into Magelone's hand. The childish games that were the order of the day would surely give him the occasion he sought.

He waited, however, in vain. As often as he met her, Magelone evaded him like a breeze or a wave. The game was almost over; the voices no longer sounded so merry, the movements were no longer so elastic. The summons by the horn to supper beneath the three oaks was obeyed willingly and without delay.

Magelone, who seemed the most fatigued, had taken Herr von Rothkirch's arm, and was walking slowly along behind the rest. Suddenly she remembered that she had left her parasol where they had been playing. Rothkirch went back to look for it; she stood still awaiting him.

In an instant Otto was beside her.

"Read it, pray," he entreated, thrusting his note into her hand.

She looked round startled, frowned when she recognized him, dropped his note on the ground, saying, "Don't be ridiculous!" and hastened after the others, while Otto, mortified and angry, picked up the despised note and followed her.

Beneath the oaks he found an unusual stir. The Freiherr von DÖnninghausen had appeared unexpectedly, and was making his way, amid all kinds of friendly greetings, and accompanied by his inseparable escort, Leo, to where the tables were spread. As Otto appeared, his grandfather, looking around the circle, asked after Johanna.

No one could answer him; she had not been seen for an hour. Aunt Thekla had supposed that Johanna was with the younger people; Magelone thought she had stayed with the older ones; the rest seemed to be reminded of her for the first time.

The Freiherr knitted his brows; this was not the degree of consideration his grand-daughter had a right to expect.

"It is a pity that she is not here," he said, his head erect, and with a look that was almost a menace around the circle. "I bring her a letter——"

"From Dr. Werner?" Aunt Thekla asked, interrupting him. "Have you had one from Johann Leopold?"

"Yes; he sends you his love," the Freiherr replied. "I will tell you about it by and by; at present I wish particularly for Johanna."

"I will call her," said Elfrida; and to the horror of her mother and sister she yelled, "Johanna!" at the top of her voice several times.

At the first call Leo pricked his ears, and the second had not died away before he began to bark, and plunged into the thicket, whence he soon appeared, carrying his head proudly and wagging his tail, followed by Johanna.

"Aha, there she is!" said the Freiherr. "Thank you, Countess; pray don't trouble yourself any further."

As Johanna emerged from the thicket and saw her grandfather and the eyes of all present surveying her with curious, annoyed, and searching glances, she hesitated for a moment and blushed. Quickly recovering herself, however, she advanced, and begged pardon for having yielded to an old propensity and strayed so far into the forest that it had taken her a long time to find her way back.

As she spoke, the Freiherr looked at her with angry surprise. Although her brow was smooth and her eyes bright, he fancied that she had been weeping,—she whom he had always found so brave. How they must have neglected and insulted her! But he would show them that disrespect of her was disrespect of himself; he would not stay here a moment longer.

"Here, Johanna, take your letter," he said, kindly. "Feed your eyes with the sight of the sugar-plum for a while, and then call Magelone; we must go home. You are ready, my dear Thekla?"

She was always ready to do his bidding, and instantly began to take leave, for she knew but too well from her brother's erect bearing and forced smile that the entreaties and remonstrances with which he was besieged on all sides would be of no avail. With a cold "Sorry to say no, Countess! No, thank you, my dear colonel," he refused all invitations to supper, and to put an end to the tiresome entreaties, slowly set out for home. Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister walked part of the way with him. Aunt Thekla, detained by loud regrets, waited for her niece. Everything seemed so usual and commonplace,—no one dreamed what the consequences of the next few moments would be.

Magelone was standing, bathed in the golden light of evening, in the midst of the forest meadow, talking with some of her friends, when Otto, who was contemplating her with ardent eyes, heard his grandfather's words. All the spirit of bravado of his race stirred within him,—she must not and should not escape him without having heard or read his request; and, hoping in some way to force her to listen, he joined Johanna.

Magelone saw the pair approaching; she guessed what were Otto's intentions, and a wayward smile played about her delicate lips. Just then Leo pushed between Johanna and Otto; a wild idea occurred to the young man.

"Laugh on; you shall heed me!" he said to himself; and restraining the dog with his left hand, he took his note in his right, and held it up for an instant. A flash in Magelone's eyes betrayed that she had seen it, and she then saw him slip the folded paper under the leather lining of Leo's brass collar. Now she would be forced to take it, and once in her possession, Otto was quite certain she would read it. Sure of his victory, he joined Amelie Klausenburg, who just then approached him.

But Magelone, too, was a DÖnninghausen,—she was not to be compelled. Paying no heed to Leo, she listened to Johanna's report of her grandfather's message.

"I should like to stay," she replied, to the entreaties of her companion, "but grandpapa must not be kept waiting." And bidding a hasty farewell, she accompanied Johanna, passing Otto with a little mocking nod. Immediately afterwards Aunt Thekla joined them, and they all three followed the Freiherr by a side-path, Leo running at some distance in front of them.

"She will take the note when I am not in sight," thought Otto, as he looked after her.

But, as he ran, a twig caught in Leo's collar. He twitched his head away: something white fell on the ground; the dog picked it up in his mouth and trotted on, wagging his tail in high glee at the opportunity for exhibiting his talent as a messenger.

Magelone paused, fairly paralyzed by terror, and even Otto's heart beat fast.

Leo went up to the Freiherr, who, engaged in conversation with his companions, did not at first notice the animal. But the dog thrust his nose into his master's hand. How clearly it all stood out against the evening sky! And finally the Freiherr took the paper, probably supposing it some message sent him by Leo, opened it, and put it in his pocket. Then he walked on, Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister on either side of him. What would Magelone not have given for a glimpse of his face!

She could not follow him in this uncertainty. A sign brought Otto to her side, and stepping into the thicket, so as not to be seen if the Freiherr turned round, she asked, "What did you write to me?"

"Do not be worried," he made answer, but his tone betrayed that he was far from easy in his own mind; "the note was not addressed; there is no name in it. I wanted to speak to you. I asked for an interview——"

"Of me!" she interrupted him; "of me, Johann Leopold's betrothed!" She clasped her hands. "Think again," she continued, after a pause; "did you really not mention my name? You must have addressed me by some title. Tell me the truth."

"Some title, yes,—just at the end," he said, hesitating.

"What—what was it?" she cried, quivering with impatience.

"My only love!" he whispered, and tried to take her hand. She thrust him from her.

"You called me that?" she exclaimed; "me—Johann Leopold's betrothed? How can I dare to look grandpapa in the face!" Suddenly her eyes flashed like lightning. She stepped up close to Otto, laid both hands on his arm, and said, almost inaudibly, "There is only one way out of this. You wrote that note to Johanna. If grandpapa asks, it was for Johanna. You must say so,—you must!" And without waiting for his reply she hurried after the others.