most hard-hearted and contemptuous frame of
mind. "He is sure of me, is he? Could he
say more if we had been betrothed before the
whole village? And why shouldn't he be jealous,
indeed? As if it were impossible to love any
one better than him! Advises me not to go
to the Black Eagle! It's downright insolent.
I know very well what I'm doing." And so
she worked up her wrath to boiling-point. On
a sudden she crushed the offending letter in
her hand, and ran down to the water's brink,
where her father was pottering about the old
boat, trying to mend it in an awkward,
unworkmanlike way. He looked tired and aged, and
conscious of waning strength and failure in his
attempt. His clothes were very threadbare and
shabby. His broad placid forehead was puckered
up into ignoble cross lines. The down-hill
path was getting steeper and steeper; the downward
pace quicker and quicker. Tears came into
Kätchen's eyes as she looked at him, and, with an
impulse born of many mingled emotions, she ran
to him, and putting her hands on his shoulders,
said, "Father, would you really like me to marry
Herr Ebner? Would it make you happy?"

"Child! it is as if you had dropped from
heaven! I was just brooding over a tangled
web of troubles, and thinking that there was
but one way to unravel them, and that you
wouldn't take that way, when behold, you come
with the welcomest words on your lips that
I've heard this many a long year."

"Would it really and truly make you happy,
father?"

"Happy! More happy than I thought ever
to be again, child."

"Then I will," said Kätchen, in a low voice.

Josef kissed his daughter, and blessed her,
but repressed any exuberant demonstrations of
joy, although he could have leaped and shouted
aloud. Thought he: "If I say too much, she'll
begin to argue on the other side, and change her
mind altogether." Josef was growing cunning.

                  CHAPTER V.

NOT to be tempted to break his word to
Kätchen, Herr Ebner had gone away from
Gossau, thus leaving her quite free and
unmolested for her week of consideration. Had
Ebner been on the spot, Josef Nester would
have stolen up to the Black Eagle to give him
the good tidings secretly. As it was, he had
no choice but to wait until the end of the week.
The days passed slowly with him, but to Kätchen
they seemed to fly past with unwonted rapidity.
She sat idly dreaming from morning to night,
scarcely making a pretence of turning the great
spinning-wheel, before which she sat nearly all
day. The servant girl was indignant, and
complained that all the work fell on her shoulders;
but old Josef bade her hold her tongue, and
gave hints of some grandeur that was shortly to
befal the family, to which Liese listened
openmouthed. At length dawned Saturday morning.
The year was well advanced now. Cold
winds, chilled by the mountain snows, rushed
across the lake and whistled in the scanty
foliage, stripping the boughs barer and barer at
every gust. The early morning hours were raw
and comfortless, although towards mid-day the
sun gained power and brightness. When
Kätchen arose that Saturday morning she felt
as though a tight hand were pressing on her
heart. "I must decide — I must decide!"
These words rang in her ears as if another had
spoken them aloud, but they were only uttered
by her own anxious thoughts. She came down
to prepare breakfast so pale and heavy-eyed
that even slow-witted Liese perceived there
was something wrong, and bluntly asked her
young mistress what was the matter with her,
for which attention Liese received a sharp
snubbing. Old Kester noticed Kätchen's wan
looks, but said nothing. In truth, he was a
little anxious himself. She had promised to
marry Herr Ebner, and that was well; but
he did not wish his child to be unhappy.

"It is cold," said Kätchen, turning from the
table to cower over the great cooking-stove in
the kitchen. "I'm so cold, I can't eat."
There she sat all the morning, idly clicking
her knitting-needles now and again. Slowly
the day wore on. Dinner-time came, but
Kätchen was still too cold to eat, she said, though
the sun was high in the heavens. She tasted
a few spoonfuls of soup, and then wrapped a
warm cloak around her and went out. It was
impossible, she said to herself, to sit there any
longer, fancying every step to be Ebner's, and
expecting to see him each time the latch clicked.
Kätchen wandered down to the lake's brink,
where a pile of fuel was stacked, and sat down
on some logs, just as she had done that Sunday
at Hallstadt. She thought of that day, and of
the many subsequent days when she had
received kindness from Caspar Ebner, and she
remembered the high character he bore, and
his reputation for honour and honesty. She
summed up his good qualities in her mind one
by one, and asked her heart— so she phrased it
mentally— could she consent to be his wife? and
something, which I too must call her heart for
want of a better word, answered, "No!"

"He is far better than I— far, far better. He
is true, and gentle, and generous. Can't I marry
him?" "No!"

"He is a learned man compared to ignorant
little me, and rich and well thought of. Can't
I marry him?" "No!"

"He offers a home to father, and will smoothe
his last years, and be as a son to him. Can't I
marry him?" "No!"

Katchen was aghast. She had fancied there
was nothing to be done but for her to say
unconcernedly, "I will have this man for my
husband." To bring herself to thie point might be
difficult, but the point once reached, all would
be settled. And now, behold, when she said
"I will," some voice in her bosom answered
"I won't!" All this time, too, the image of
Fritz was haunting her brain. She tried not to
think of him, and even thought she was not
thinking of him; but there was his face, looking
sadly and fondly at her, if she but closed her
eyes an instant in her efforts at reflection.
Truly this "self" of hers was a most incomprehensible