of feeling he would ward off sternly. One day
sped with him like another. At six he would
take his frugal breakfast of beer, soup, and
coarse black bread, at one he dined as frugally,
at eight he took his supper, read for his
instruction or amusement until ten, then went to bed.

Paul's grief had not diminished by his brooding
on it as the years rolled on. Before he had
been three weeks at his new home old Emil
Bergen died, and Paul was left without a friend
in the world. The only people with whom he
might have visited were the keepers of the
hotel on the top of the Brocken, to whom it
was a two hours' walk over a rough, stony road.
But he never sought their society; besides, in
summer they were too busy with constant
visitors, and in the winter they were either totally
snowed up, or left the place altogether.

One winter night, the wind howled and
moaned, and beat against the firm-built house
as though it would level it at one gust, and
when the wind ceased, the snow began steadily
to fall, and falling still for eight whole days,
lay so high upon the ground that the only way
out of the house was by its roof. This was
not unusual, and when the snow had hardened
over, the inmates turned out by the roof as
though it were a most natural thing. After a
few days it snowed again, and one night Paul
was roused from sleep by hearing some
commotion in the house.

"What is it?" he called out; " what is the
matter?"

"Travellers lost in the snow, sir; we are
bringing them in."

"Right," he replied, "I shall be down
directly." And in a few moments he was standing
among his men in the long dark passage, where
by the dim light of a candle a woman's body was
being borne into the house, followed by a man
carrying a child. The boy was living, there was
no doubt of that, but the woman's fate was
doubtful. When he saw that it was a woman,
Paul approached no nearer.

"Prepare a warm bedroom at once," he
commanded. " Hand her over to the female
servants, and let me know if she be alive or
dead. For all restoratives come to me. You,
my brave fellows," he said, addressing the
rescuers, "come in here and drink something
hot."

This invitation they were not slow to obey,
and while drinking, they told how they had been
belated at their work, how they had heard
something moaning at their feet, and how they had
found this couple half buried in the snow.
Presently a woman servant came in and reported
that the mother was alive but very ill, and Paul
ordered that if it were possible, some one should
go over to Andreasberg next day to fetch the
doctor. Meanwhile they should take the usual
precautions for her and the child; for the care
of people rescued from the snow was not a new
experience at Oderbruck. Had the unfortunate
wanderer been a man, Paul would have been
the first at his bedside; but a woman, such a
case had not occurred before, and he avoided
women. For weeks this woman lay in his house
half dead. Daily he inquired after her, allowed
his two maids to devote themselves entirely to
her and the child, but in no other way allowed
this incident to interfere with his life. The
child, which had once run in his way and stood
in mute admiration of the splendid man in grey
and green, he sternly ordered to be kept out of
sight. " Feed and keep the boy well, let him
have all he needs, but do not let him run in my
path," he said. And it never happened again.

After months of illness, weeks of convalescence,
the sick woman was restored to health, and
with her complete restoration spring also had set
in, and she was anxious to proceed upon her way.
But though warned and dissuaded by all the
servants, she could not be induced to leave the
house without seeing its master, and thanking
him in person for his kindness.

So one evening in the twilight, when she had
heard his firm heavy tread along the gravel,
had heard him close the outer door behind him,
and when he was about to enter his parlour,
she ran down from her room and encountered
him in the dark passage.

"Who is it?" he asked; he seeing still less
than she, for he had come from out of the
light.

"The woman whom you have sheltered for
so long, sir. May I not speak a few words to
you?" she asked, for he seemed inclined to enter
the room and leave her standing without.

"What is it? Do you want to know your
way? My men can tell you. Or money?—
you shall have some."

"Neither," she said, taken aback by the hardness
of his address. " I wanted to thank you."
As she spoke, she followed him into the room.

He stood with his back to the window and
disembarrassed himself of his gun; she was
opposite him and the failing light fell full upon
her face.

"I do not love thanks. I have done no
more than common humanity demanded." He
looked up at her with a mien that said, you
can go now. But when he saw her, he was
spell-bound; a wild glare came into his eyes,
and he seized her fiercely by the hand.

"Beatrice, is it you?"

It was her turn to be amazed; she had not
seen him clearly before; now he had turned
more to the light.

"My God!" she stammered. "O no, it
cannot be Paul Smitt!"

"It is," he said, dropping her hand. The
wild look had faded, the face had regained
its hardness. " I am glad," he went on stiffly,
"that chance has thrown you in my way. I can
now deliver the message your dead father gave
me for you."

"My father dead!" she screamed. " Oh
Heaven, this also!" She fell down fainting at
his feet.

Coolly and with seeming unconcern Paul rang
for a servant, told him to remove the fainting
woman, said that if she asked for a message
from him, they should give her a letter he would
presently write, ordered that she should be sped
on her way with every comfort, but commanded