"Then her face lighted up: Sturmer was coming across the garden; he was leading his horse by the bridle, and sent up a greeting.

"'Your lover, Anna Maria!'

"She grew very red. 'Is it not like a dream?' she asked softly.

"It was in November, the day before Anna Maria's marriage, that a letter with a strange post-mark lay in the mail-bag for me, the address in a man's handwriting. I gave a start; I recognized the bold hand, the peculiar flourish at the last letter of a word. It was the same hand that had written that letter whose remains I had found in Susanna's room.

"I broke open the envelope; it contained two letters. The one which first fell into my hands was a formal announcement of the marriage of Frau von Hegewitz, _nee_ Mattoni, to Mr. Robbin Olliver, London.

"I took up the other letter. 'Dearest aunt,' my astonished eyes read, 'the accomplished fact has just come to your knowledge; forgive me, forgive me everything! I am not wicked, not light-minded; I have only sought for myself the freedom which is as necessary to my life as air to breathing. I shall gladly follow my husband, with whom I became acquainted in Nice, to Brazil, out of the narrow circle of rusty old customs, to a more stirring, varied life, in which to-day and to-morrow, weeks and months, do not follow each other in dull repet.i.tion.

"'With longing I think of my child. I have no right to take him with me over the sea; he belongs to his ancestral home, and I know that Anna Maria must love him more than I. Forgive me, I beg you once more from my heart, and send me occasionally--it is the last request I shall make of the family which chains me with inward bonds--a lock of my child's hair, and teach him to think without ill-will of his mother.'

"No signature, nothing more. I turned the sheet over--nothing! I gave a sigh of pain, and yet it seemed as if the weight of a mountain had rolled from my heart.

"And now I must tell Anna Maria about it. But no, not to-day or to-morrow. These days ought never to be troubled. I went down-stairs toward evening. Anna Maria was by the graves in the garden. Brockelmann informed me; and the old woman showed me with pride what she had arranged in the hall for her Fraulein's wedding-day--all about, evergreen, and countless candles in it.

"'It is no great festival,' said she; 'only two or three people are coming; Anna Maria will have it so, and he too. But just for that reason it should be right beautiful.'

"I went into the girl's sleeping-room and stepped up to the child's little bed. He was slumbering sweetly, without a suspicion that his mother had left him forever. But be quiet, you poor little fellow; you still have a mother, a true, earnest one--Anna Maria. I stood in the recess of the window and listened to the breathing of the boy.

"After a while the door opened softly and Anna Maria entered. She did not see me, but I saw that she had been weeping. She knelt down to the child and kissed it, and then stood with folded hands before the bed a long time.

"Then footsteps sounded in the next room. 'Anna Maria!' called Sturmer.

She flew to the door. 'Edwin!' I heard her say jubilantly. They whispered together a long time, and when I came in they were standing at the window.

"'Is that a nuptial eve?' I asked, in jest. 'In the dark thus, and without any ringing of bells and music?'

"They both laughed. But then the church-bell began its evening peal, and from the next room came in the clear sound of a child's voice: 'Mamma, mamma, Anna Maria!' Then she threw her arms about my neck and kissed me.

'And do you call that without ringing of bells and music?' she asked happily. Then she brought in the child, and they sat together on the sofa, with it between them, and spoke of Klaus, of past days, of the future, and of their happiness.

"It was Anna Maria who first mentioned Susanna's name. 'It is so long since she has written,' she said. 'I have received no answer to two letters. Can she be coming, Edwin? She knows that to-morrow is to be our wedding-day.'

"'Susanna?' I replied. 'No, Anna Maria, she is _not_ coming!'

"'Have you news?' they asked, both together.

"'She is married, Anna Maria, and is no longer in Europe.'

"Neither of them answered.

"'And she lays the child on your heart.'

"Then she bent over and kissed the baby, who had gone to sleep on her lap. 'Edwin,' she whispered, in a strangely faltering voice, 'this is the wedding present from my only brother!'"

So ended the ma.n.u.script. It was the third evening of the reading. The young man laid the sheets on the table and looked in the agitated face of his wife. "My mother died in America," he said. "Mother Anna Maria tied a strip of c.r.a.pe about my arm one day, and cried, and kissed me so often; we were living right here in Butze then; and then we went up to Aunt Rosamond, and she cried too, and kissed me. They told me that my mother was dead, but I did not understand them, because I saw Anna Maria before me, and I did not know or care to know any mother but her."

The young wife took his hand. She was about to speak, but did not, for just then the door opened and a tall woman's figure crossed the threshold.

"Mother!" they cried, both springing up, "Mother Anna Maria!" And the young man tenderly put his arm around her and kissed her hand.

"Good evening, children," she said simply, and her eyes looked gently over to them, under the white hair.

"Oh, dearest mother, how charming of you!" cried the young wife, exultingly. "How are father and the sisters?"

"Edwin is well," she replied; "and the sisters are looking forward to Sunday, when you are coming over."

"And you, mother?"

"Well, I had a longing to see my eldest daughter and my only son," she said lovingly; "and besides, to-day is Martinmas."

She let bonnet and cloak be taken off, and sat down on the sofa. "What have you there?" she asked, turning over the papers. Then her eyes rested upon them; she read, and a delicate blush gradually mounted to her face.

"Those were the sad years," she whispered; "now come the bright ones.

When I am dead then write underneath:

"'She was the happiest of wives, the most beloved of mothers!'"

Lives of Famous Men

In this series of historical and biographical works the publishers have included only such books as will interest and instruct the youth of both s.e.xes. A copy should be in every public, school and private library.

LIFE OF GEORGE WASHINGTON. By George Washington Parke Custis, the adopted son of our first president.

LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. By Hon. Joseph H. Barrett, ex-member of Congress.

LIFE OF U. S. GRANT. By Hon. B. P. Poore and Rev. O. H. Tiffany, D. D.

LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY. By Murat Halstead, Chauncey M. Depew and John Sherman.

LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT. By Thomas W. Handford.

LIFE OF HENRY M. STANLEY. By Prof. A. M. G.o.dbey, A. M.

LIFE OF JOHN PAUL JONES. By Charles Walter Brown.

LIFE OF ETHAN ALLEN. By Charles Walter Brown.

LIFE OF W. T. SHERMAN. By Hon. W. Fletcher Johnson and Gen. O. O.

Howard.

LIFE OF P. T. BARNUM. By Hon. Joel Benton.