from Eric and friendly greetings from Carl.
Carl told him by degrees of his mother's
illness. He did not know much about
it; he only knew that she had been very
ill. Ernst's letters were very short, and he
had only spoken of it in two—one at the first,
when he had given it as a reason for not
being able to leave her and go in search of
Eric, and one in which h e had told Carl under
what circumstances his marriage was to take
place. Eric's heart bled within him.

"I will go to them soon," he said. "I
will go to my poor mother!"

CHAPTER THE SIXTH.

AUTUMN was drawing near, and Carl declared
that he must have a holiday: he
had been working so hard.

"Come with me, Eric. Let us go and have
a ramble somewhere. What do you say to
Venice? It is four years since we were there."

" I can't go with you, Carl. I must finish
my picture of the Wolf Hunt before Christmas.
It is to be my wedding present to
Ernst, you know, and I want to take it with
me. Remember, too, we have work cut out
besides. I shall have enough to do to get
through it all."

'' So you still abide by the resolution not
to go to Kronenthal before Christmas?"

"I do not think I shall go before that,"
said Eric, smiling faintly. " I believe that
I am heart-whole now, but it is as well
not to try my strength too soon. You are
coming with me, Carl."

"Well, considering that I was cheated out
of my visit last year, I think I will; and I
shall keep a better look out after you this
time. Why, you might have died in that
small auberge in Bavaria, and no one have
been a bit the wiser for it."

" I am glad I did not, Carl. I should not
have known what it is to conquer temptation
and tread evil thoughts under foot."

So Carl departed, not for Venice, but for a
fortnight's trip with some friends of his
on a short cruise in a yacht to some of
the Mediterranean islands. And Eric returned
to his picture, and worked with redoubled
pleasure, when he thought how
pleased Ernst would be with it. And
Schwartz sat for his portrait again, and slept
at his master's feet between each sitting. It
was a representation of the self-same hunt in
which Ernst had saved Eric's life, and
Schwartz was grappling with one wolf whilst
Ernst, standing over his prostrate brother,
held another at bay. Eric smiled and thought
of the time when he would unpack his
picture before the eyes of Ernst and his wife.
He thought of calling her, sister! He was
strong now and could bear it.

Carl had been gone nearly ten days; he
would be home soon; and Eric thought he
would go down to the quay to inquire if the
marble had arrived out of which the two
friends were going to cut a group. He had
been hard at work all the morning, and
wanted a little fresh air. So, calling Schwartz,
who lay under the table sleeping, he went
out, not even locking the door; and, telling the
young matron who kept his rooms for him and
acted as portress that he would be back very
soon, he went down towards the quay. Turning
the corner of a street, he suddenly met
two ladies, face to face. One of them was
Marie! He saw her for a moment; felt a
sudden choking, a violent throbbing in
his head, and saw no more. He turned
before he had been recognised. He flew
over the burning pavement, no stopped
till he got into the country far beyond the
suburbs. He could not rest till miles and
miles he had left the city far behind him;
and then he sat down and thought. Was
this his boasted strength?

He rose and walked on. A cooler breeze
was beginning to temper the fierce heat of
the afternoon. He saw a small village at a
little distance. The fierce emotions which
had arisen in his breast on so suddenly metting
Marie began gradually to subside. The
road he followed wound through rich fields;
where the purple grapes blushed through the
green leaves of the vines, twined in the
turees and fell in luxuriant festoons from
branch to branch. The bright cicala sung
lustily among the stones which formed the
low walls, the boundaries of fields where the
yellow corn fell beneath the sickles of the
sunburnt labourers, their swarthy brows
bound round with bright-coloured handkerchiefs.
Farther on, a beautiful little brook
murmured over the large loose stones in its
bed, and fell into a small hollow, where some
dark, curly-haired children, with sparkling
eyes, were dipping a brown pitcher, and
where Schwartz cooled his hot tongue. But
Eric heeded not all this beauty; which, at
another time, would have excited his warmest
admiration. He was holding fierce communion
with himself.

He reached the village he had seen at a
distance. As he entered it, he looked round
for some one of whom he could inquire
the way, or ask where he could find a
lodging for the night. He was determined
that he would not return to Rome—at any
rate not till he had heard from Carl.  He
would wait in that village; he would write
to Carl from thence. When Carl could assure
him that she was gone, then he would return;
but he must give up all thoughts of Kronenthal
that winter. He and Carl would spend
it somewhere else; perhaps in Paris, perhaps
London; but trust himself where she was—
no! he dare not do that, now!

As he advanced up the street of the little
village, he found a child sitting on a doorstep
weeping bitterly. At sight of Schwartz,
she was frightened. Eric drew new; and,
sitting on the step beside her, took her on
his knee, and tried to soothe her. She told
him her father was very ill—her mother