too. Wilhelm she doted upon; they were
always playing together, and he seemed to
understand her, and to make her understand
him, better than any one else. Francis was the
only one she did not care at all for; she seemed
positively to dislike him, and he was so devoted
to her! He was not like William; he was grave
and thoughtful, and did not play with her, but
he worshipped the ground she trod on; I have
seen his eyes fill with tears when she has said,
'Go, go, you ugly Francis!' Nothing that he
could do for her ever seemed to touch her, and
when he has gone long distances to get her the
flowers that he knew she liked, she would take
a malicious pleasure either in giving them to
William, or in picking them to pieces before his
face. It was a very wild life while they all remained
young ; they passed all their days playing
about in the woods, and when suddenly I
felt that they were all growing up, and that
something must be done, it seemed as if their
childhood had slipped away in one single summer's
day.

"Francis went back to Altheim; my husband
had been an upright man, respected by his
neighbours, and the boy found friends there.
William had a great turn for music, and we
placed him with the organist of a church at
Prague, that he might study so as to make it a
profession. Francis got a situation with Mr.
Hartmann. Elizabeth remained with me to
help me with the housekeeping. The only one
of the family to whom time brought no change
was Wanda; she led the same life as ever,
wandering all day about the woods, making
garlands, or taming the wild creatures by imitating
their different cries. I have often seen her
entice the owls down by hooting to them, and
she had an odd way of singing in a soft low
voice that brought the lizards all round about
her to listen. She ran quite wild, but we never
felt anxious if she stopped out late; her deficient
state was well known; the peasants were
all fond of the poor child, and no one would
have harmed a hair of her head. The boys
came home occasionally to see us, and I began
to look forward to those times with sorrow.
Francis had grown into a man, and his devotion
for Wanda had taken a more serious turn—he
was becoming passionately in love with her. I
was grieved to see my child suffer; and though
I could not have thought for a moment of his
marrying this poor senseless girl, I used almost
to hate her when I saw how unfeeling, how
wantonly unkind and cruel she was to him; he
felt it so bitterly, that I was glad when his
little holiday was over, and that he went back
to his work at Altheim.

"One autumn time, somewhere about the
beginning of September, we got a letter from
Wilheim, complaining of illness (fever and pain
brought on by having sat in wet clothes), and
expressing so strong a desire to see some of us,
that I could not help feeling that he must be
worse than he stated himself to be. It was
always a matter of impossibility to leave Wanda,
so, although I was full of apprehension, I determined
upon sending Elizabeth to pass a week
with her brother. The letter I got from her
when there, only confirmed my own forebodings:
she had found him very ill, and he soon became
desperately so. He had a severe attack of
rheumatic fever, and Elizabeth, young and
unused to sickness, wrote in alarm to implore
me to go to her. I was at my wits' end to
know what I could do with Wanda during my
absence; at last I bethought me of an old
schoolfellow of my own, who had lately come to
settle in a village about ten miles distant, and
on the direct road to Prague; and I made up
my mind to leave Wanda there, and get my
friend to take charge of her for a week or two,
meaning to pick her up on my way home.

"Margaret Hentzel and I had not met since
we were girls, but I had heard of her from time
to time. She had not had a happy fate: first,
a bad husband, then a bad son—a handsome,
worthless fellow, who had been an incessant
anxiety and heartbreak to her. She was now,
like myself, a widow, and her son a soldier in
the Austrian service.

"It is a great shock to meet again—aged and
broken with the trouble of life—those from
whom one had parted in all the freshness and
trust of youth. When I had last seen poor
Margaret, she was a bright vigorous girl, full of
hope and courage; now she was old and worn and
feeble, all the bravery gone, and only thankful
to be left alone to die in peace after all the
misery caused by her husband and her good-for-
nothing Karl, who never had anything to recommend
him but his looks, and a voice of marvellous
power and sweetness, but who, with those
two gifts, had contrived to bring sorrow and
trouble to many a poor girl's heart. He was at
Vienna then, his mother told me, and little did
I think, when I kissed Wanda at parting, that
it would so soon be given to this man, on
whom we had none of us set eyes, to work the
terrible mischief that ruined us all. I was detained
six weeks by the bed of my sick child,
and when at last I hurried back full of anxiety
—for I had had no news from Margaret for a
considerable time—it was to find Wanda (then
but barely sixteen) the wife of this miscreant.
He had arrived suddenly soon after my
departure, having gambled away every farthing
that he possessed, and with the design of
extorting what money he could from his poor
frightened mother. He saw Wanda; he also
saw some jewels which had belonged to her
mother, and which I had left with Margaret
Hentzel, as an earnest of payment for her
trouble; he found out that Wanda belonged in
some mysterious way to great and powerful
people, and from that moment he conceived the
project of marrying her, and never rested until
he had so bewildered the poor deficient creature
with his beautiful evil face and wondrous voice,
and so worked upon the terrors of his helpless
old mother, that he induced them to go with
him to another place some miles away, where
they were totally unknown, and where, after a
sojourn of a few days, they were married. After