this he remained but two days with them, at the
end of which time he disappeared, carrying the
jewels with him, and leaving his hapless child-bride
to her fate. I cannot describe my state of
mind when I was made aware of all that had
happened: indignation at the poor senseless
creature's having been taken this base advantage
of, and terror at the thought of her father's
fury when he should learn what had befallen,
alternately possessed me. It seems that
Karl had taken leave of his wife by the brink of
a lake in the woods near his mother's house,
and every day the poor child went and wandered
round and round the water like a restless ghost,
calling for him in the most piteous way until
night set in, and we had to lure her home with
lies, telling her that she would find him at the
house, or by the way, or under a tree in the
garden waiting for her, deluding the simple creature
with hopes never to be fulfilled. Margaret
Hentzel was too much paralysed by all that had
occurred, to advise or to oppose, and I got my
darling Wanda home to Wallendorf as soon as
possible; the change of scene and return to the
old life seemed to sweep all later events entirely
out of her memory. She never mentioned Karl's
name again, but she fell into a kind of melancholy
stupor. She would not utter, she ate next
to nothing, and was worn to a thread; the child
looked bewitched; she then gave up going out
altogether; she seemed too weak to move; she
lost all her colour, and would sit for hours playing
with some dead forget-me-nots she had brought
away with her from that lake of ill fortune, and
which, no doubt, her wicked husband had given
her.

"About this time my son Francis obtained a
secretary's place with a nobleman at Prague; it
was not a very great affair, but still an advance
upon his former position. William was quite
settled at Prague, so that the two brothers
would be together again; and I was glad of
that but most of all I was glad of anything
that would remove him entirely away from
Wanda. The Sunday before he was to leave
for Prague, Francis came out to Wallendorf to
bid us good-by. For some time before that
last disastrous circumstance he had avoided
Wanda as much as possible: her usual greeting
had been, 'Go—go—I hate you—you ugly
Francis!' and though he was half brokenhearted
by it, he bore her no ill will; he knew
the poor half-witted creature could not help
anything she did—the only misfortune was, that
her lovely looks undid her unkind words, and
he could no more help loving her than she
could help hating him. This evening he came in,
and kissed Elizabeth and me as usual; Wanda
was sitting at the little table in the window,
looking at her dead forget-me-nots. He did not
go near her, but just said, 'Good evening,
Wanda!' and, passing on, came and stood by
the fire. The day had been cold and damp, and
we had thrown on a few fagots to make a
blaze. Wanda gave him no answer, but looked
steadily at him in silence. At last she rose up,
came slowly across the room to where he was
standing, and putting both her arms round his
neck, laid her little thin white face against his
cheek, saying, in her sweet childish way, 'Poor
Francis! poor Francis!' It was almost more
than he could bear—she had never kissed him
in her life before. We were all ready to cry,
for it seemed as if some dumb grief at her heart
had made her know at last what he suffered;
but this new tenderness was the worst thing
that could happen for my poor boy, and I
looked with impatience to the end of the evening.
Early next day he left us.

"We had hardly been settled a month in our
old home, when I got a letter from Margaret
Hentzel acquainting me with the sudden and
awful death of her son. One night, while in a
fit of drunkenness, he had fallen from his horse,
had struck his head violently against a stone,
and had been taken up a corpse. I fell on my
knees, and thanked God for what seemed to me
an issue out of all our troubles. The count
need never know—Wanda would forget—we
would bury her terrible secret for ever in a
sealed silence—and all might yet be well.

"By degrees Wanda recovered her health and
strength, but an extraordinary change had come
over her. A sort of soft splendour (I have no
other word for it) seemed to rest upon her;
there was something new and angelic about her
that I had never seen before. Every day she
grew more beautiful; her skin so much fairer,
her eyes with such a soft tender haze over
them! Elizabeth was as much struck with her
appearance as I was, for one night she suddenly
exclaimed, 'Mother, what ails our Wanda?
She has human eyes!' A remark which had its
significance, sir, for until then Wanda's eyes
had been like the bright, clear, piercing eyes of
a bird, and entirely without any touch of human
warmth in them. She hardly ever spoke; but
though this might not seem to indicate a change
much for the better, when she did say anything
I was amazed to see how often now there was
something that looked almost like a followed-out
thought. She became very gentle and
caressing, too, which she bad never been before,
and instead of running wild as she used, she
would now try and imitate Elizabeth about the
house. At first it was like a little child playing
at housewife; but by degrees she got really to
do things handily, and to help, and it was pretty
to see the poor silly thing try so hard to do her
best. When she succeeded, we patted her and
praised her, and said, 'Good Wanda!' and she
was so happy and so proud! One day at dinner,
Elizabeth put a plum down beside me on the
table, which a neighbour had left for me. There
had been fruit of which the girls had eaten, and
this was a small plum which could not be
divided; so, while I was talking to Elizabeth
about the friend who had sent it me, I ate it up.
I had just finished the last morsel, when Wanda
suddenly made a savage spring at me, and struck
me a violent blow. At first I thought she must
be in play; but when I saw her face, I saw it
was no play—it was in a state of convulsion.
In the same instant, an awful, nameless fear