had fainted in the sleigh, seemed a year or
two older than the sister who had supported
her in her arms. She had hair rather darker
than that of her sister, but there was a great
likeness between them; and, except that she
was a little taller, a stranger would have been
puzzled for a time to distinguish between
them. On closer observation, however, he
would have found that they were different,
especially in their eyes—those of the tallest
being of a deep brown, whilst those of her
younger sister were of that beautiful deep
blue, which had so fascinated Eric's gaze.

"O, Marie, Marie!" said the eldest to her
golden-haired sister, "you must have thought
it so cowardly in me to faint."

"No, dear Katrine! I never thought it
cowardly. The sight was frightful enough.
I certainly did feel when you had fainted,
as if you were dead, and I were left alone
in the world; left to the mercy of the
horrible wolves. And, yet, not alone, either;
did I forget you, dear old Schwartz?" and the
beautiful girl, kneeling clown, flung her arms
round the neck of the wolf-hound, who had
been thrusting his black nose into her small
white hand.

"Ah, noble Schwartz! ah, dear Schwartz!
brave hound," said Katrine, kneeling in her
turn to pat and kiss the delighted animal,
whose huge feathery tail swept backwards
and forwards on the ground.

"Katrine, do you know," said Marie, rising
from beside the dog, "who it was that came
to our rescue?"

"No," said her sister. "I did not see him
at first, when the moon shone so brightly, and
afterwards as we were in the sleigh with him
it was so dark."

"But I saw him well, there was no mistaking
him; it was no less a person than our
Roman artist; do you remember? He who
followed us out of the Sistine chapel?"

"O, yes!" answered Katrine, "he I called
your inamorato; the one we saw afterwards
in the gallery, copying that beautiful statue
of Canova."

"Well, well, you need not laugh at me,
Katrine; you were quite as much struck
with him as I was. I am not surprised at it
now. Do you not see the likeness?"

"Likeness! to whom, dear Marie?"

"Why, to Ernst—Ernst Walderthorn. I
knew there was something more than usual
which attracted me to him. Depend upon it, he
is Eric Walderthorn, the brother whom Ernst
is expecting so anxiously from Rome. And he
was driving Ernst's greys, Oscar and Harold."

"Do you think he knew us?"

"That was not possible, Katrine dear. It
must be years since he saw us, and I sat a
child of six years old on his knee, and he was
a boy of fourteen. How many years ago is
that, ten or twelve?"

"Twelve, it must be; of course that makes
a wonderful difference between a little girl of
six and a woman of eighteen."

"It must be Eric. We will ask the landlady
when she comes in again, if she knows
him. How surprised he will be when he
finds out who we are, and that it is his
brother's bride whom he has rescued from
such a fearful death."

"We must not let him know who we are,
Marie," said Katrine. "Only fancy what his
surprise will be when Ernst presents him
to us."

"But how can we keep our name from
him? He must know it already."

"No, I do not think he does; the people
here do not know us. We will give him our
mother's name."

"But Fritz and Wilhelm, Katrine?"
pleaded Marie.

"O, I will give them their lesson. I must
go and see poor Fritz when he comes in; I
am afraid he is badly hurt. O, here comes
Madame Wirkmann; let us ask her about
Eric."

The landlady came in preceding the
servants, bringing in the equipage for tea and
coffee, and fresh wood and coals for the fire.

"It was a wonderful escape, gracious ladies,"
said the smiling landlady, in answer to a
remark of Katrine's, "and he is a noble
gentleman who came to your rescue. But it was
just what one would have expected of a
Walderthorn. They are all brave; all strong;
all handsome. God bless him and his brother,
the young Baron of Kronenthal."

"So, this is young Eric Walderthorn?"
said Katrine. "We had our suspicions it
was he; it was so very likely to be him."

"He is very like the young baron, saving
your presence, gracious lady; only he is
taller."

"Will you tell him that when he is at
leisure, Katrine and Marie von Mellenthin
would like to see him, to express their
gratitude to him for the great service he has
rendered them to-night?"

"Ah, that I will, noble lady—ah, that I
will. Beautiful ladies' thanks are due to
handsome, noble gentlemen, who risk their
lives for them. As soon as he returns, I will
let him know your wishes."

"Return!" said Marie. "Is he gone?"

"He is gone to look after his friend, who
remained behind to conduct your Grace's
sleigh and your wounded servant. He was
uneasy about him because of the storm. Ah,
how it rages!"

It was true. The storm was raging
fearfully. The wind swept up the streets, and
howled and raved round the houses. Marie
from the window, saw nothing before her
but thick darkness, through which the lamps
in the streets of Stettin glimmered faintly
and flickered to-and-fro in the strong blast;
as she stood there, vainly striving to pierce
the darkness with her eyes, the hail rattled
against the window, the fierce sleet cut the
glass, the wind raged, the thunder rolled.

Meanwhile Eric rode for life, for death