Delightful times followed. A game of hide-and-seek with herself, a long-drawn draught from an unfailing fount of expectancy, anticipation, delicious aftertaste and joyous recollections. Each day brought new pleasures and untold wealth.

Sometimes when Lilly threw open the shutters in the morning and the fresh red September air flowed in over her she felt as if God had spread a mantle of sunny gold over the heavens to wrap both of them in, so snug and close that the whole world disappeared, leaving no one but themselves behind, pressed against each other in laughter and drunk with all that light.

She felt she was growing more beautiful from day to day and emanated a sort of radiance which caused all who met her to look up with a smile of astonishment and satisfaction, mingled, however, with a touch of melancholy, such as always comes over us when we see a human being or a flower developing too happily, too proudly for its glory to endure.

The two High Mightinesses did not keep their eyes closed, either.

The colonel found no formula for such symptoms in his store of experiences. Had Lilly gone about downcast, staring dreamily into space, had she crept about him timidly, had she wavered between ardour and estrangement, his suspicions would have grown lively. He would have begun to sound and spy on her. But it was not in his power to discern aught else than increased spiritual well-being in her pliable, blissful tenderness.

So he smirked complacently at the harmless gaiety his young wife radiated, and with paternal calm accepted the lavish caresses, which served as an outlet for her overwrought ecstasy.

Anna von Schwertfeger shared no less benevolently in Lilly's happiness. She seemed to harbour as little suspicion as the colonel that a third person was playing a part in her life. Otherwise she would scarcely have viewed the growing frequency with which the two young people met with such unbegrudging kindliness.

Often after supper she drew Lilly into the room on the ground floor, where she dwelt amid her account books. A genuine old maid's home, with canary birds, flower pots, faded family photographs, and all sorts of gilt and china knick-knacks, remnants of past glory such as are handed down from generation to generation in families of decayed gentlefolk.

At other times she came gliding into Lilly's bedroom at an incredibly late hour, seated herself on the edge of the bed, and did not stir until she heard the sound of the colonel's carriage coming from the station.

The two women would plunge into profound conversations concerning life and death, solitary old age and overflowing youth, the measure God has set for each mortal, and the misfortune of trying to exceed that measure. Anna von Schwertfeger no longer pried or warned, yet her fashion of hopping from subject to subject, of heedlessly expressing an opinion the very reverse of one she had uttered a moment before, seemed sufficient reason for supposing that her mind was occupied with very, very different things.

Often while her speech flowed on monotonously Lilly would be astonished to look up and find her eyes resting on her intently, almost apprehensively. Then again Lilly would feel herself stroked and kissed with such pitying inwardliness that she herself was touched, and later, when left alone, she began to feel afraid of the dark, as if a menacing fate were crouching at the bottom of her bed ready to pounce on her and choke her.

But from where was misfortune to drop on her? Wasn't she more securely stowed away than ever before in her life? Whom did she deceive? Wherein did she sin? Even if the few little secrets binding her to Walter should be discovered, how would she be punished? She would simply get a fine sermon like a naughty child, nothing worse.

Thus she comforted herself before the aftertaste of Miss von Schwertfeger's late visits was dispelled by new dreams of happiness.

September neared its end.

Lilly went horseback riding with Von Prell almost every day, or she met him at twilight, as if by chance, in deserted parts of the park. They would spy each other strolling about some one of the various places they had fixed upon once for all. Then there was the pea-shooter to fall back upon in case different arrangements had to be made.

Von Prell had brought the convenient instrument from the city, and it reposed innocently in a corner of Lilly's balcony, to all appearances nothing more than a superfluous curtain-rod. It enabled her to blow whatever message she wanted through the foliage on the balcony directly into his open window.

Sometimes it was only "Good morning, comrade," sometimes the hour of meeting, or sometimes a harmless jest, the outgrowth of a moment's exuberance.

On the evenings the colonel remained at home Von Prell was usually invited to supper. Though he then assumed his according-to-rules-and-regulations stiffness, the opportunity for a little byplay was now always afforded.

Neither Lilly nor Von Prell moved a muscle and the two High Mightinesses sat there unsuspecting.

But Lilly had a rival whom she feared and detested, because that rival had the power to draw her "comrade's" attention from her for hours at a time. The mere mention of the rival's name sufficed to reduce Lilly to the position of nothing but a lay figure. The rival was—the regiment.

The time of the autumn manoeuvres had come, and both gentlemen read the papers with feverish interest to see what part was being taken by their former regiment.

One evening they sent off a picture postal with congratulations to the regiment. Two days later the reply came, also on a postal, all scribbled over with names which it required a vast effort to decipher.

Three remained illegible, or, rather, inexplicable, until all of a sudden Walter lit upon the solution: Von Holten, Dehnicke, Von Berg, summer lieutenants, who had been called into service for the manoeuvres and had signed their names along with the other officers.

All but one of the names fell upon Lilly's ear unheeded. "Dehnicke" struck her as a little odd, because its bourgeois simplicity did not seem to chime in well with the ringing charm of the old patrician names.

The greeting from out of his past had no benign influence on the colonel's mood. He grew taciturn, then surly; and Lilly caught a sidelong glance of his fixed on her, which caused her to start in terror, it was so wildly, fiercely reproachful.

Thereafter his visits to the neighbouring garrison town grew more frequent, and despite his painful gout he never refused an invitation to join a hunt.

It was the first Sunday in October.

The colonel had left at dawn to go to a neighbour with the intention of not returning until late at night.

A soft grey mist shot with violet suggestions of the sun lay over the ground when Lilly, bored and writhing internally, came out of church on Miss von Schwertfeger's arm.

The sunflowers in the tenants' gardens were already sinking their singed heads and the asters showed signs of having suffered from the murderous blows of Jack Frost.

But the air was as sweet and spicy as in spring, and from the fields came a singing as of meadow larks.

"Such a day, such a day!" thought Lilly, and stretched herself in a vague yearning for secret conversation and glad pranks.

She must have thought a little too loud, for Miss von Schwertfeger asked:

"What's the matter with to-day?"

"I don't know," replied Lilly, blushing. "I feel as if it were some festival."

Miss von Schwertfeger looked at her askance and said, emphasising each word:

"I should like to make a festival of it for myself and visit a friend of mine in the city. But the colonel is away and I don't know—"

Lilly started so violently that she lost her breath for an instant. But she mastered herself cleverly and began to persuade Miss von Schwertfeger, first speaking coolly, then more warmly and urgently. She needed a little outing; she hadn't left the place all summer; she lived like a prisoner, and ought to grant herself at least one hour of freedom.

Miss von Schwertfeger nodded meditatively, and that glassy stare came into her eyes which always discomfited Lilly.

At the midday meal, which the two took in each other's company, she was still undecided; but as soon as they rose from table she ordered the carriage to be brought around and drove off without saying good-by.

Lilly, who watched her departure, ran for the pea-shooter. The foliage of the creepers still hedged in her little domain so perfectly that Von Prell could not see her. But she could see him as he sat at the open window brooding over a book with a deep fold between his brows.

"My good influence," thought Lilly triumphantly, and it almost made her feel sorry to tear him away from so salutary an occupation.

The inspector and the bookkeeper were walking up and down near the lodge smoking their Sunday afternoon cigarettes.

So more than ordinary caution was necessary.

The pellet containing her missive hit Von Prell's forehead, rebounded, and fell on the grass outside the window.

Von Prell had himself so well in hand that he even refrained from looking up to show he understood. After a while, however, he let the book fall out of the window as if by accident, and then got up to fetch it with an indifferent air.

Half an hour later they met behind the carp pond.

He was wearing a new black and white checked fall suit, similar to the one the fateful stranger in the railroad train had worn.

"You're entirely too elegant," Lilly joked. "I'd rather not be in your company to-day."

"That would be a sin and a shame," he observed. "I had these trappings constructed extra for to-day."

"Why for to-day?"

"Because to-day's our festival."

"How did that occur to you?" she faltered, startled that their thoughts had taken the same course.

"Oh, a person gets notions," he replied, and smiled significantly.

Under the same impulse they took the path leading to the beech grove which they had wandered through on the first evening of their renewed friendship.

"How's Tommy?" Lilly asked, recollecting the third party to the alliance.

"He bit away the flooring in my room and dug a hole for himself, where he snarls like an eagle-owl. I shouldn't advise you to stick your wedding-ring finger into his hole. You might suddenly lose your ring and your finger, too."

"Why have you let him get so wild?" she asked reproachfully.

"Why have I let myself get so wild?" he retorted.

"Well, you're growing tame again," replied Lilly, caressing him with her eyes. His recent tameness was all her doing.

"Do you think so?" he asked, and drew his brows together masterfully, as in his lieutenant days.

"Haven't I your word of honour?" she exulted.

"Pshaw!"

Lilly basked in the superbness of her mission of salvation.

"No matter how much you disdain my influence," she replied, "everybody sees that a change has taken place in you. Mr. Leichtweg says you're always the first to begin work now. You've borrowed that great book on agriculture from the colonel—it impressed him tremendously—and Miss von Schwertfeger said a little while ago you always look so appetizing now. Yes, Mr. von Prell, I take the credit for all this, and if things continue the same way we shall remain good friends."

"Apropos of appetizing," he said, "your neck beginning back of your ears is all covered with tiny, silky hairs. Do you know from what that comes?"

"Oh, nonsense," Lilly exclaimed, blushing. "Why? Do you know?"

"A wise man has theories. For instance, observe this plot of grass." He pointed to a clearing below them, through which a rill trickled, and which was closely grown with tender, juicy grass of a vivid green. "From the way it looks you'd suppose it was still spring. Until late in the summer that plot stood under water, and the spots that least often or never get dry grow the finest down—that's nature."

Lilly was on the point of taking his botany lesson in earnest when she chanced to notice the wicked grimace he was making. Then she understood the shameless allusion and had to laugh over it helplessly.

"Listen, baronissima, how about playing tag? We owe it to the circulation of your excellency's blood."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when with a blithe shout she darted off down the slope, the bottom of which was lost in the purple darkness of autumn. But at the end of a short stretch she tripped over the Scotch plaid she had taken along and had refused to let Von Prell carry. She fell full length and he came just in time to help her to her feet.

This having spoiled Lilly's taste for tag they mounted the hill like well-behaved children.

Here their eyes could travel over a rippling lake of leaves far, far away. The beeches glowed a deep red, the maples danced in all the colours of the rainbow, the birches quivered with bright flames, the elm flaunted its flakes of gold, while the oak alone obstinately retained its green garb of summer.

Lilly stared into the violet-veiled distance.

The sun hid itself behind gold-rimmed clouds, from which fiery tracks descended to earth. A narrow band of scarlet edged the horizon.

"Shall we sit down here?" asked Von Prell.

"No, not here," said Lilly, seized with a vague dread. "I'll begin to cry here."

She ran ahead of him, back into the woods, and came again upon the path leading along the rill.

Here the darkness of evening prevailed, but the sun-charm in which they had been enveloped worked its magic here, too, and filled her heart with a happy devoutness.

Oh, how happy she was! How happy she was!

No fear and no danger so far as her thoughts could reach; and no danger from her own heart, for the man walking by her side was her friend and playmate, nothing more. He might not and could not be anything else. No secret wish, no distorted desire came from him or went to meet him.

Everything uniting him to her was clear and transparent as sunlight. Even if the others must not have a suspicion of their intercourse, there was no sin in it—only salvation for him and laughter for her and youth for both.

She felt a warm-hearted impulse to take his hand, but fearing to be misunderstood she checked herself.

Thus they walked at each other's side to the spot where the rill was caught up in a rotting wooden conduit, from which it spouted with a soft singsong.

Withered ferns covered the light green moss with their ragged red fronds and tired leaves came fluttering down out of the beech trees.

"Let us rest here," suggested Lilly.

"But it's damp."

"We'll spread the plaid," she said eagerly, taking the blanket from him—he had managed to snatch it away from her—and threw it over the fern stalks, which cracked under the weight.

She sat down on the right side of the plaid and invited him to make use of the left side, to keep his fine new suit clean.

"Do you hear the vesper bells?" he asked. "We ought to be eating supper now."

"We poor church mice, we have nothing," she laughed.

"Who told you so?" he asked, triumphantly producing a small paper package from his pocket, which contained a mashed, crumbly piece of cake. They laid it between them and ate the morsels from their hollowed hands, laughing all the while. The cake tasted like sweet wine, and Lilly felicitously hit upon its correct name, punch-tart, of which she was especially fond.

"The English call it tipsy-cake," he explained. "It quite befuddles one."

"That amount of intoxication I'll risk," she laughed, and threw herself on her back, folding her hands behind her head.

She lay there a time without moving and looked up to the sky, of which jagged oval bits shimmered through the foliage. Rosy flakes swam in the opalescent ether, and way beyond appeared the vault of another heaven, which in some places burst through the nearer sky like a deep blue foreboding.

Lilly stretched her arms upward yearningly.

"Do you want to catch the larks?" he asked.

No, not that, but she would like to have one of the falling leaves.

They kept dropping, dropping from the boughs like birds with broken wings, and fluttered over the ground in little spirals, as if undecided where to rest.

"We'll see to which of us the first one comes," he said, and also stretched himself on his back.

"The one to whom a leaf comes first will be blessed with a great piece of good fortune," she added.

They lay still and waited.

At last one floated toward him and prepared to settle on his nose.

But he would not permit this—hers must be that great piece of good fortune—and he blew the leaf back to her.

She in turn was too proud to accept so munificent a gift and blew it back to him.

Thus laughing and tossing themselves about, they kept the leaf whirling between them, and suddenly in the heat of the struggle their lips touched—touched and would not separate.

The next instant they held each other in close embrace, and the instant after she was his.

The rill purled, the leaves fell as before. But a fiery mist lay upon the earth, and all over small suns winked rainbow coloured eyes.

Why had it happened?

She fell back without thinking and noticed that the heavens above were also clothed in fire.

Her comrade sat beside her with his back curved like a berated schoolboy and rubbed his nails against one another.

"Oh, let's go home," said Lilly, downheartedly.

"As my lady commands," he replied, grotesquely respectful again.

She laughed a weary, mirthless laugh.

Apparently he was concerned with getting rid of what had happened as speedily as possible.

"Oh, now it's all the same," she sighed; "now we can quite calmly call each other by our first names."