"'Baron Sturmer is with Frau von Hegewitz,' Brockelmann announced one afternoon, as she came into Anna Maria's room, where I was sitting by the window. 'The baron inquired for the baby, and the Frau was just coming out of the salon; she took him in with her, laughing, and said I was to get the child.'

"Silently Anna Maria lifted him up from the carpet, where he had sat playing, and with a kiss gave him to the old woman. 'There, now, go to mamma and be good.'

"She then bent over her housekeeping book.

"'Will you not go down, Anna Maria?' I asked.

"She raised her head. 'Oh, aunt, I have something important to do now, and--he will not miss me. He will be here again often,' she added. And a faint, traitorous blush tinged her face. 'I think they still love each other.'

"I shook my head. 'Ah, Anna Maria, she still wears her widow's cap!'

"'It will come, nevertheless,' whispered the girl, and an expression full of anguish lay about her mouth; 'and then she will go away with him, and will take the child with her, and at last the cup of my unhappiness will be full. Then I shall feel nothing any longer, no longer call anything in the world _mine_, not even a miserable hope!'

"I was silent and looked at her sadly. How many hundred times I had said to myself that this would come. I shuddered at the thought of an empty, icy-cold future--poor Anna Maria!

"And it certainly was as Anna Maria had said. Sturmer came often, Sturmer came every day. We sat together at coffee in the garden-parlor, or on the terrace on warm summer evenings. Susanna had quite regained her old happy disposition. Sometimes, too, a white rose shone out from her dark curls, and her eyes laughed down over the garden, without a thought of the grave there below. It seemed sometimes as if something took hold of me, as if a dear, familiar voice said to me: 'So quickly am I forgotten?'

"And Anna Maria would sit for hours with the child on her lap, and say the word 'father' to him countless times, and rejoice like a child over his first awkward attempts. She guided his first steps; she did not let him out of her arms, but carried him about everywhere, all over the house and in the garden. 'Perhaps he will retain a recollection,' said she, 'and this is all his; he will live here some time, in his home, and then he will be tall and strong like his father, and dear and good to his old Aunt Anna Maria.'

"Was Sturmer really drawing nearer to Susanna? I could not bring myself to perceive it, and then--it could not be announced yet, the year of mourning had not expired. But perhaps she had her word already; he loved her, had already loved her as a girl; no other hindrance except the mourning lay any longer between them.

"The day following the anniversary of Klaus's death some one gave a quick, excited knock at my door. Sturmer entered; he wore a short coat and high boots, as if he had come from hunting.

"'Dear Aunt Rosamond,' said he, throwing himself into a chair, as if exhausted, and drying his moist forehead with his handkerchief--'dear Aunt Rosamond, we have always been good friends, have known each other so long. I have a favor to ask of you, a very great favor.'

"'Of me?' I asked, my heart beating hard from a painful fear.

"He looked pale, and quickly threw his gloves on the table. 'Speak for me!' he begged. 'I am a coward. I cannot tell you what would become of me if a second time I--' He hesitated.

"'Are you so little sure of your case, Edwin?' I asked, bright tears running from my eyes. I thought of Klaus, I thought of Anna Maria, my dear old Anna Maria!

"'I am not at all sure of my case,' he replied, 'or should I be standing here? Should I not long ago have explained an old, unhappy mistake?'

"'You are in great haste, Edwin,' said I bitterly. 'Yesterday was the first anniversary of Klaus's death!'

"'It has been very hard for me to wait so long,' he answered, in the calmest tone. 'Well, if you will not, I must devise some means by myself,' he declared impetuously. 'Where is Anna Maria?'

"'No, no,' I begged, 'for G.o.d's sake! It would grieve her to death. I will go. I will speak for you, if it must be!' And again burning tears came into my eyes. 'So tell me what message am I to deliver?'

"He was silent. 'If--if--I beg you, aunt, I do not know,' he stammered at length; 'it will be best for me to speak to her myself.' And before I could say a word he had hurried out.

"I do not know how it happened, but I was bitterly angry with him--he, usually the man of tenderest feeling and greatest tact! 'To think that love should sometimes drive the best people so mad!' I said angrily, wiping the tears from my eyes.

"And now there would be a love-affair and an engagement; yesterday deep widow's weeds, to-morrow red roses! I clinched my fists, not for myself, but for Anna Maria. I was pained to the depths of my heart. For Anna Maria it was the death-blow. The love for Sturmer was deeply rooted in her heart. She would get over this, too; she would rise up from this, too; but the spirit of her youth was broken forever. She could no longer call anything in the world hers, for Susanna would take the child away with her. I did not want to hear or see any longer. I took my shawl and went into the garden.

"The first yellow leaf lay on the ground, a fine mist hung in the trees, and the sun was going down crimson. I walked down the path to the little fish-pond. I saw the decaying boat lying in the clear brown water, and the reflection of the oaks. Then I suddenly stopped. I had recognized Edwin Sturmer's voice. They must be standing close by me, behind the thicket of barberry and snow-berry bushes.

"'No, no, I shall not let you again!' he said, strangely moved. I turned to go. It seemed to me I must cry out from pain and indignation.

"I walked back quickly. I know not what impelled me to go first to the child's bed, as if I must look in that little innocent face to still believe in love and fidelity in the world. The little man was asleep, the curtains were drawn, and the night-lamp already lighted. The door leading to Susanna's room was just ajar. All at once I started up, for the sound of Isa's voice came in to me and made my heart almost stop beating.

"'It won't do to put off any longer, my lamb; if you have said A, you must say B too. This is the third letter already, and you can't remain a widow forever. Oh, don't make faces now; over there--that is nothing. If I am not very much mistaken, he has turned about now, and--' She probably made a sign, and then she laughed.

"Now I heard Susanna, too. 'My child!' she sobbed.

"'But, darling, do be reasonable. One can't take little children about everywhere. What would you do with the rascal? Let him grow up on his inheritance; few children have so good a one. You can see him at any time, too, darling,' she continued, as Susanna kept on sobbing. 'You will only have to come here. Oh, don't be so fearfully unreasonable; have I ever given you any bad advice? Do you mean to live on here, under the sceptre of your sister-in-law? I should laugh!' said she, after a while, playing her last trump.

"Susanna's weeping suddenly ceased. 'I do not know yet,' she said shortly.

"Then I roused myself from my numbness, and hurried through the garden-parlor to the terrace. There they stood--yes, in truth, there they stood--under the linden, Anna Maria and Sturmer, and looked over toward Dambitz. The last ray of the setting sun tinged the evening sky with such a red glow that I closed my eyes, dazzled; or were they dimmed by tears of joy? Now I heard a light rustle behind me, and, looking around, I saw Susanna. She had laid aside her widow's dress, and had a white rose in her hair. The tears of a few minutes ago were dried.

"I took her by the hand and pointed mutely to the two under the linden.

She looked over in surprise. 'Anna Maria?' she asked softly.

"'And Edwin Sturmer!' I added. She did not answer. But she had grown pale, and looked at them fixedly.

"'They have long loved each other, Susanna,' said I, gravely; 'even before you ever came here. But Anna Maria once refused his proposal'--Susanna's eyes were fixed on my lips--'_because she would not forsake her only brother!_'

"The young wife was silent; but, as Anna Maria and Sturmer now turned in the direction of the house, she turned and went in. Now they came walking up the middle path. And when they stood before me, I saw a happy light in Anna Maria's eyes which I had never seen shine before.

She bent over to me and kissed my hand.

"'She has made it very hard for me, has Anna Maria,' said Edwin Sturmer, drawing the girl to him. 'She tried to put on her icy mask again; she could not go away from Susanna and the child. But this time I was too quickly at hand. Was I not, my Anna Maria?'

"Very early the next morning I heard a carriage roll away from the court. I rang for Brockelmann. 'The gracious Frau has gone away with Isa; and has left a letter for Anna Maria down-stairs on the table.'

"'Have you delivered it yet?' I asked.

"The old woman nodded. 'There is some secret about it,' she said sadly; 'Isa was altogether too important.'

"Anna Maria came, very much surprised, with the open letter.

"'I don't understand it, aunt. Susanna has a rendezvous in Berlin with an acquaintance from Nice?'

"I shrugged my shoulders.

"'She is angry with me,' she whispered, with pale lips. 'She did love him, aunt; it is horrible!'

"'No, no, my child,' I tried to calm her, 'no, do not believe that.' But she made an averting gesture, and left me with tears in her eyes.

Already a shadow lay over her happiness. Reluctantly I followed her down-stairs, and then went, almost aimlessly, into Susanna's room. Here all was topsy-turvy, just as occasionally in former times. In the haste of departure all sorts of things had been left lying about, on every chair some article of clothing, fans, ribbons, strips of black c.r.a.pe, and books, and in the fire-place was still a little heap of burned paper. The fragments of a letter had fallen beside it, in the hurry probably. I picked them up--a bold handwriting, English words.

"'I beg for something positive at last,' I read. 'To Berlin--no hindrance--my love--in a short time--mine forever--Robbin.'

"I sat quite still for a while, with the bits of paper in my hand. Now it gradually became clear to me--Susanna's restless, distraught manner, Isa's mysterious conduct, her words of yesterday, and the sudden departure. Susanna was gone, Susanna would never return; in a short time she would be the wife of another, of a perfect stranger; she would never belong to us any more!

"And I took up the pieces of the letter and went to look for Anna Maria.

She was sitting at the window, looking over toward Dambitz. 'Here, Anna Maria,' said I, 'your fear is groundless.'

"She read, and a painful expression came over her face. 'I pity her, aunt. She thinks her happiness is floating about without, but it is slumbering here in this little cradle. She will find it out sooner or later, and she will return, don't you think so?' she asked, anxiously confident.