a I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 189- 
 
MISJUDGED 
 
 BY 
 
 W. HEIMBURG. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY MRS. J. W. DAVK 
 
 CHICAGO: 
 
 M. A. DoNOHUE & ca 
 
 407-429 Dearborn St. 
 
CDrrxBJi 
 \63- 
 
 MISJUDGED. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Akd now, my dear fellow, since I have expressed 
 m two closely-written pages my delight at hearing 
 from you again after a silence of five years, I will 
 proceed to answer all your questions. But I must 
 say once more that you cannot imagine what a 
 pleasure your letter gave me— though I have already 
 enlarged on that. 
 
 " In the first place, you ask : * What have you 
 been doing with yourself ? ' My dear Wolf, I have 
 entered on a new life, just as you have done 
 — whether a better one or not, you shall be the 
 judge. 
 
 " When we had shaken hands for the last time in 
 Berlin, as you seated yourself in the third-class car-^ 
 riage of the Hamburg train which was to carry you 
 to the Brazilian steamer, I was left standing there for 
 a long time after the train had disappeared, feeling 
 that I should have done better to go too, for there 
 seemed nothing left for me in my own country. 
 
 " You know how it was^not a penny did I possess, 
 or, at any rate, very little ; my pictures were unsold, 
 and my father had just iaformted me that he*could not 
 
 I I 795 ! 6 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 give me any more assistance, for the simple reason 
 that he was nearly at the point of starvation himself, 
 with his wife and daughter, since he had been pen- 
 sioned off. 
 
 " And why did I not go with you ? I do not know 
 myself, now. But the fact is I stayed behind, and 
 the next day I set up my easel in the Harz, with all 
 my worldly goods — that is, with a few thalers a friend 
 had lent me, Andreas, you know. You know that 
 lonely forest-house in the neighborhood of the Brock- 
 en ; you know the low room over the kitchen, and 
 the red-haired young forester's wife with the daz- 
 zling white skin and the strange, reddish-brown eyes, 
 a beautiful woman. Do you remember how that 
 whimsical fellow, the forester, told us one stormy 
 night that she was a witch who had slipped through 
 the key-hole, the previous April, just at midnight, 
 into his lonely kitchen ; that she had lost her bal- 
 ance as she was riding on her broom-stick high up 
 in the air, and so she had got a good husband by it ? 
 I can hear her laugh now as she listened to him — 
 and she was really a witch. Well, I meant to paint 
 there, as I had done so often before, and wait on 
 destiny ; I must sell a picture some time in Munich 
 or Berlin. 
 
 " I will spare you the details of that time. I went 
 there in June, and autumn found me still there — 
 and still without money. I did not care to follow 
 my father's advice to become a decorative or scene 
 painter, and one day I found myself wandering 
 restlessly through the woods, in a frame of mind 
 which I cannot describe to yqu. I had borrowed a 
 gun of the forester, and, when I came to what 1 
 
Misjudged, 
 
 thought was a very lonely spot, I put it against my 
 breast and pulled the trigger. I shot myself — not 
 dead, as I had hoped, but badly enough to make 
 me ill for a long time. 
 
 " Then, of course, comes the old story of uncon- 
 sciousness, of waking to life in a comfortable room, 
 with a beautiful nurse sitting by the bed-side, with 
 whom one "falls in love straightway, and ends by 
 marrying. And it all happened in the usual way, 
 except for the falling in love. When, after my long 
 illness, I went down into the garden of the iron 
 manufacturer Frey — it was April then — I asked 
 Fraulein Anna Frey, or "Antje," as she was called 
 — her mother is Dutch by birth — if she would marry 
 a poor fellow like me, and she accepted me without 
 a moment's hesitation. What induced her to do it 
 I have never been able to understand to this 
 day. 
 
 " Heaven knows that at that time I was not a very 
 eligible parti. I never spoke a word of love to her, 
 and yet she said yes, notwithstanding the fact that 
 both her parents wore very long faces when they 
 learned their daughter's choice. 
 
 " We were just married, were still absent on our 
 wedding journey, when her father died. She would 
 rather have stayed with her mother then, at the iron- 
 works, where the hammers were going day and night. 
 She said her mother would be glad to build us a 
 pleasant villa in the midst of the wood, from which 
 Antje could reach her father's house in four or five 
 minutes. Of course I objected — the very thought 
 of this mother-in-law's idyl made me shiver ; and so 
 she left her stately mother alone in her home, for 
 
Misjudged, 
 
 the latter had grasped the reins of the great busi- 
 ness immediately after her husband's death, and 
 managed it as skilfully and as firmly as he had 
 done. But Antje went away with me to make a 
 new home. 
 
 " We settled down here in the immediate neighbor- 
 hood of Dresden. We have a stately old house at 
 the foot of the vine-covered hills, though we are still 
 high above the valley of the Elbe, in the midst of 
 a great, park-like garden. Augustus the Strong built 
 it, as a gift to one of the ladies to whom he was at- 
 tached. It is called " Sibyllenburg." In the uppel 
 hall — which was the chief inducement to us to buy 
 this place — I have fitted up a studio which might 
 satisfy the most fastidious artist. It extends the 
 whole length of the house, and is divided in two by 
 a great ^vaymz. portiere My easel is placed in the 
 north window ; before the open balcony door, on 
 the south, is my writing-table, and whenever I lift 
 my eyes I can look out over the terraced foreground, 
 over country-houses, villages, and green fields across 
 to the mountains on the other side of the Elbe ; on 
 the right, to the point where the Albrechtsburg 
 towers over Meissen ; on the left to the towers of 
 Dresden. If I wish to go the city, I have the car- 
 riage out, or take one of the express trains which 
 have to stop in the village because the connec- 
 tions 
 
 *' But, upon my word, I am forgetting your chief 
 question — yes, it is underlined in your letter : * Above 
 all, tell me about your wife.* 
 
 ** Old fellow, how shall I manage it without bor- 
 ing you ? You ask : * Is she one of those slender, 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 capricious, fanciful women you used to admire so 
 much when we were in Berlin ? ' 
 
 " No, Wolf, no ! She is not a brunette ; she is a 
 blonde, with the hair that Titian lived to paint. She 
 is tall, but — * swaying in the breeze like a palm * \ 
 Oh, no ! Rather like a strong young beech in hei 
 native woods. She would be called without flattery 
 a handsome, stately woman. She has a dainty 
 round head, a full face, with a short, straight nose, 
 red lips which she often forgets to shut, and which 
 thus give her an expression of childish wonder, and 
 a pair of clear, greenish -brown eyes — * Nixie's eyes,' 
 people call them. When shaded by the long, dark 
 lashes which curve upward, they look as if there 
 were unfathomable depths in them. But, Wolf, you 
 are my oldest and best friend ; to you I will say 
 that these unfathomable depths are a delusion — it 
 is only shallow water. . . . 
 
 " I have been wondering for some time how I shall 
 get it off my pen — of force of character and intel- 
 lect, Wolf, there is not the slightest vestige. Un* 
 fortunately I am forced to acknowledge that — she is 
 an utter nonentity. 
 
 " I will give you an instance of it. On our wed- 
 ding journey we went to Haarlem, her mother's birth- 
 place. Antje was radiant at having found out by the 
 description the gabled old house in the market-place 
 in which the worthy lady first saw the light of day. 
 She wanted to go straight in and ask the good people 
 who were eating their dinner, to let her go through 
 all the rooms. I was obliged to use all my powers 
 of persuasion to get her away, and at last I said : 
 ' Come, child, I am aching to get to Franz Hals * 
 
Misjudged* 
 
 She looked at me with wide-open mouth. * Franz 
 Hals ? ' sK^ said at length. * Who is he ? Where 
 does he live ? I did not know you knew anybody 
 here, Leo.* 
 
 " I canno\ tell you what I felt at that moment, 
 Wolf ! I said to myself : * And this is an artisf s 
 wife — my wife ! ' I believe I was angry. I told her 
 she ought to bw ashamed of her ignorance ; I said I 
 could not comprehend how it was possible that she 
 had never heard the name of one of the most cele- 
 brated of the Duteh painters, she who had Dutch 
 blood in her veins * She followed me in abashed 
 silence, and dutifully stood with me before those 
 wonderful pictures, without saying a word, only 
 afterward she asked mw shyly if those pictures were 
 really so beautiful. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Wolf, I was quite crushed ! 
 And so it is in everything. I talk to her at dinner, 
 for instance ; she raises those unfathomable eyes 
 to me and inquires : * What did you say, Leo ? * I 
 repeat my sentence. **ndeed ? I don't know, I am 
 sure.' Or she says siniply : * Ah ! ' Or, worse still, 
 she tries to enter int<y the conversation. Then she 
 gets red and stammrrs, gets confused, and at length 
 in despair urges mc to try some dish that is really 
 excellent, for she is absolute mistress of the art of 
 cooking and of housekeeping, my friend. 
 
 " I can hear you say : * That is something, at all 
 events, and something very desirable.' But I 
 require more from my companion for life. She 
 ought to understand my profession and its needs ; 
 and yet, as you can easily perceive, it is impossible 
 to talk with her about art. The poor child is really 
 
Misjudged. \ 
 
 color-blind ; she mixes up Van Eyck with Van 
 Dyck, and talks of varnishing oil-paintings, I get 
 irritated and make myself disagreeable, and she cries 
 and leaves the room, and we finally make it up over 
 the cradle of our little daughter, who looks up at 
 me with precisely the same eyes, opens her mouth 
 in just the same way, and, unhappily, seems to 
 be constructed on the same simple system as her 
 mamma. 
 
 " As I said before, she cries after these scenes — 
 but she cries after a fashion of her own. She shuts 
 her mouth then, her lips are drawn down at the 
 corners and begin to quiver, and suddenly two big 
 drops hang on her long, curved lashes ; you cannot 
 help wondering how they got there. Not a feature 
 of her face changes ; she does not wring her hands 
 as other people do ; she does not sob aloud ; her 
 handkerchief is not wringing wet ; she does not 
 stamp her foot, or throw herself into a chair, nor 
 does she knock the vases off the table — she keeps 
 as still as a mouse. The servants never know there 
 has been a quarrel, but — good Heavens, I think I 
 could stand almost anything else ! 
 
 " In fact, Wolf, I married her in haste to save my- 
 self from ruin, and I am her debtor in every way. 
 I do not deny that she has good qualities, and yet 
 — it is hard. 
 
 " You ask me whether I am still a painter. Yes. 
 And whether I am happy. That is hard to say. I 
 feel sure I should have made my way had not 
 my wife — but I will tell you about it. I know 
 very well, Wolf, you never liked to hear of my pro- 
 fession. You said some harsh things to me once 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 in a bitter hour, that almost broke the bonds of 
 friendship between us ; you declared I should 
 never get beyond a certain dilletanteism ; that I 
 ought only to employ my talent as a recreation 
 while devoting myself to some solid career by which 
 I could earn my bread. I remember it distinctly, 
 and I have thought of it a hundred times when I 
 have made my failures. But I cannot yet bring 
 myself to believe it, and so I still go on painting. 
 Once I had a stroke of luck. I sold the picture of 
 the red-haired woodland beauty, under the title, 
 * A Witch of the Brocken,' and had the pleasure of 
 hearing it well spoken of. But since then .? I have 
 kept on painting as I did before. I painted genre 
 pictures, and I painted landscapes, but no one 
 would buy my poor things. No one noticed them, 
 no one even found fault with them. In the exhibi- 
 tions they were always hung in the worst places, 
 either in the darkest corner or in a totally bad 
 light, and they always returned with touching devo- 
 tion to the arms of their creator. Happily, there is 
 still plenty of room in our big house, and if in the 
 course of years that gets filled up, I can always fit 
 you out with painted canvases, for — but just let me 
 tell you. 
 
 " When our little girl was about three months old I 
 tvent one day into my mother-in-law's sitting-room. 
 We did not have any home of our own then. We 
 had bought this place, but it was not furnished, and 
 I stayed in the quiet woodland valley for the sake 
 of my wife and child. Well, then, I went into 
 my mother-in-law's sitting-room and stopped sud- 
 denly, charmed by the picture before me. Thanks 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 to the century-old linden trees before the windows, 
 there was a genuine Rembrandtesque darkness in 
 the room, and you can picture to yourself an an- 
 tique arm-chair in the midst of the curious old 
 Dutch furniture, with old Faience plates and black- 
 ened family portraits on the walls. Fancy in these 
 surroundings a woman's figure bending her hear" 
 over the child in her arms. A single golden ray a 
 sunlight just rested on the shimmering hair, a 
 Raphael has painted it in the Sistine Madonna. It 
 was the first time. Wolf, that I was charmed and 
 carried away by my wife. * Antje,' I said, * I 
 must paint you like that.' 
 
 " She raised her head and smiled at me pleasantly, 
 I began the next day. It was a beautiful picture, 
 Wolf. Every one who saw it said so. It would 
 have made a sensation at the Exhibition. And it 
 was a perfect likeness. She sat in the curious old 
 arm-chair in her white, airy morning-dress, her head 
 bent down over the child, and the sunshine lighting 
 up her golden hair — not a Madonna, though sug- 
 gesting one, but more human, more touching, ap- 
 pealing more to the heart. 
 
 " It seems absurd to you. Wolf, no doubt, that I 
 should praise my own work like this, and I cannot 
 even prove to you that the praise was deserved — 
 for the picture no longer exists. When I was having^ 
 it packed up to send it to the Exhibition in Berlin, 
 my mother-in-law declared that she did not wish 
 to have her daughter exhibited like that. It was 
 improper, it was immoral, and she could not under- 
 stand how I could be willing to expose Antje in her 
 morning-dress to so many strange eyes. 
 
lo Misjudged. 
 
 " I stared at her, quite stupefied ; then Antje, too. 
 blushing deeply, begged me to keep the picture for 
 myself. She, too, seemed to consider it a want of 
 delicacy in me to be willing to exhibit a portrait of 
 her. I looked from the original to the picture and 
 began to explain to her patiently the reasons which 
 prompted me to exhibit this picture of all others. 
 She listened to me with downcast eyes, and when 
 at the close of my long harangue I thought I had 
 convinced her that no one had a right to hide away 
 a work of art, that it was her duty and mine to take 
 a step forward in the world by means of this really 
 admirable picture, that almost all the great painters 
 had painted their wives, to the great delight of their 
 fellow-men, she only shook her head and repeated 
 for the hundredth time her imploring, * Ah, please 
 don't do it, Leo ! ' 
 
 " Still, I did not give up the battle, but after three 
 days of infinite trouble on my part and obstinate 
 refusal on hers, I lost patience ; I got angry, and 
 slit the canvas up and down with a sharp knife, 
 ordered the servant to make up a fire in the fire- 
 place, and burned it with my own hand. Antje 
 stood by till the last spark had died out, looking as 
 white as chalk, and then she left the room without 
 a word. But / suffered more from the whole affair 
 than you can imagine. 
 
 " Since then I have given my wife to understand 
 that her presence in my studio is not exactly desired 
 — and she understands me. She has never entered 
 the room since she helped me to arrange it. What 
 \s there here to interest her ? 
 
 " I keep on painting. Formerly I did it out of am- 
 
Misjudged. 11 
 
 bition and hunger ; now the ambition still remains, 
 but it is dimmer than when it was joined to neces- 
 sity. I look about for something to arouse my 
 enthusiasm and I find nothing. Just now I have 
 a canvas on my easel, again a woman's portrait. I 
 am painting a neighbor of ours, Baroness Erlach, an 
 interesting person, a widow about thirty-two. When 
 she was a girl of eighteen she married a man sixty- 
 four, who died in the course of nature, when she 
 was twenty-six. Her two sons are at the Military 
 School ; for herself, when she is not here in her 
 splendid old country-house, she is everywhere and 
 nowhere — in Paris, London, or St. Petersburg ; 
 neither the North Cape nor the Pyramids are safe 
 from her. She knows the world thoroughly ; she is 
 gay, witty, sometimes with a spice of malice, and 
 has the exterior of a woman who lives more by can- 
 dle-light than in the sunshine. Pale, delicate, and 
 slender, she has great brown eyes, with that peculiar 
 expression sometimes given by excessive short-sight- 
 edness, and, which is often most effective, that soft, 
 appealing look which hardly seems to accord with 
 the rather roguish face. I am painting her in the 
 rich Spanish costume of a noble lady of the six- 
 teenth century, in the Stuart cap trimmed with 
 pearls, the high lace ruff, and in a red velvet dress 
 open at the throat. She comes every morning at 
 nine o'clock, and generally stays to dinner with us. 
 Before the picture vanishes into the twilight of its 
 destination — she is very mysterious about the name 
 of its future possessor — I shall exhibit it in Dresden, 
 that is to say, my dear Wolf, if I ever succeed in 
 /('nishing it. for Antje — this is another drawback 
 
12 Misjudged. 
 
 — possesses, among many other delightful qualities, 
 the Philistine one of bitter jealousy. She is not 
 fond of the Baroness, and she makes it manifest to 
 her on all possible occasions, and yesterday she put 
 the finishing touch to her icy reserve by simply 
 leaving the room, during dessert, driven away by a 
 few anecdotes which apparently offended her sense 
 of propriety. The consequence was that the amia- 
 ble original of the Spanish lady soon went home, 
 and excused herself from coming to-day on the 
 plea of nervous headache, which is a very good 
 excuse, but which shows me very plainly that as 
 a married man I must suffer for my wife's rude- 
 ness. 
 
 " This is the way matters stand, Wolf. You se2 1 
 am still the same old enthusiast, who shrinks from 
 sober reality, and tries in vain to gild it ; the passion- 
 ate man with his too strong affections, who has always 
 had the misfortune, when he was ready to give him- 
 self entirely, to have his hopes dashed by a stream 
 of cold water. Wolf, can you feel with me what it 
 is to live always among petty natures ? 
 
 " You see, I know that she is an excellent, perfectly 
 upright woman ; she does not know the meaning of 
 the word passion, she will never take a step aside 
 from the path of duty or of honor. But neither would 
 she ever forgive such a lapse ; and, what is worse, 
 would never understand it. We are like fire and 
 water together. 
 
 '* Come soon. I will come to Dresden to meet 
 you. 
 
 " Your 
 
 " Leopold." 
 
Misjudged. 13 
 
 The writer of these lines folded up the several 
 sheets, put them into an envelope, addressed it, 
 sealed it, and then sat leaning back in his arm- 
 chair for a few minutes absolutely motionless. The 
 autumn sunshine shed a warm glow into the ele- 
 gant, richly-furnished room, lighting up the pale 
 colors of the Smyrna portilre which divided the 
 room, and the carpet which covered the floor, and 
 rested on the pictures in their broad gold frames 
 which hung behind the occupant's back. They 
 were for the most part landscapes, but there were 
 also single portraits, studies, all painted in a pe- 
 culiar style. Leo Jussnitz was a disciple of the 
 modem realistic school ; the gnarled oaks, the 
 clouds in the stormy sky, the harsh light on the 
 sea, were all sketchily flung on the canvas, though 
 with a certain force. The reeds in the foreground 
 almost cast a shadow, so thickly were the colors 
 put on. It could not be denied that there was 
 character in these landscapes, but the amateurish' 
 ness was also not to be denied. 
 
 Leo himself looked up at a picture placed on an 
 easel behind the low writing-table. It was the por- 
 trait of a woman, life-size ; a slender figure in a red 
 velvet dress, leaning against a pillar and looking 
 out at the spectator with languishing biown eyes. 
 With the brown hair, the languid smile on the lips, 
 which were much too full for the small pale face, 
 it was like one of Makart's creations. 
 
 A satisfied smile crept over the dark face of the 
 painter, to which a well-tended moustache lent a 
 mihtary air. He got up, walked across to the north 
 window, and stopped before the easel on which was 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 placed the picture of the beautiful baroness. There 
 he dipped his finger into a shallow glass dish filled 
 with water, which was standing on the table, and 
 drew it across the hair which peeped out from 
 under the Stuart cap. The golden lights in the 
 chestnut waves came out more clearly, and an ex- 
 pression of satisfaction brightened up his face. He 
 nodded at the beautiful woman's face, went to the 
 window, opened it, and called out : " The carriage 
 in ten minutes ! " 
 
 Then he disappeared into an adjoining room, 
 and in a few minutes had changed his brown velvet 
 coat for an elegant walking suit, asked the servant 
 if his mistress was in her room, and when the latter 
 replied that he thought Frau Jussnitz was down- 
 stairs, a frown appeared for a moment on his fore- 
 head, and he ordered the servant to say that he 
 should not be home that evening. With a lighted 
 cigar between his fingers, he ran down-stairs ; he 
 would not have entered the housekeeper's rooms 
 at any price. 
 
 A young woman was standing in the hall before 
 an enormous antique linen-press, just behind the 
 broad staircase ; she wore a plain black silk dress, 
 over which was a very costly fichu of beautiful old 
 lace, caught up in the manner of those Marie An- 
 toinette was so fond of wearing. On her arm she 
 carried a key-basket, and her hands seemed to 
 be wandering aimlessly among the linen, for she 
 pushed and pulled about the packages arranged 
 with such painstaking care, without taking any out. 
 A pale young face turned toward the master of 
 the house, and a pair of wonderfully clear, greenish 
 
Misjudged, 15 
 
 iyes looked up at him with a glance of anxious 
 inquiry. 
 
 *' Leo," she called out to him in a low voice — • 
 ** Leo, are you going to drive ? " 
 
 He turned quickly. 
 
 " Yes, as you can see, Antje," he said, with the air 
 «)f a man who is vexed at being detained. 
 
 The pale face flushed up to the golden hair. 
 
 " To-day, Leo ? " 
 
 " To be sure ! Or do you want me for any- 
 thing ? " The voice sounded very cold and very 
 impatient. 
 
 She leaned against the carved press and twisted 
 the delicate blue ribbons, which tied together the 
 dazzlingly white linen, about her fingers in evident 
 embarrassment. The pale pink of her cheeks had 
 deepened to a crimson flush. 
 
 " I thought, Leo," she began, but was checked 
 by the glance that raet hers. 
 
 " You wanted me to stay at home, Antje ? Then 
 you should hav^ said so before and I would have 
 sent a t^legz^m. Now it is too late ; they are ex- 
 pecting me." 
 
 " They expect you, Leo ? Oh, that is another 
 thing ! " she said. There was a perceptible change 
 in her voice, as if she were suffering severe pain. 
 He did not perceive it, e-'idently, for he asked : 
 
 " Have you any comruissions in Dresden, Ant- 
 je? 
 
 " Nothing, Leo " 
 
 " Then good-by ! " 
 
 He pressed her hand for a moment to his lips 
 and was gone. 
 
1 6 Misjudged. 
 
 " This confounded indifference ! " he murmured, 
 as he got into the carriage. " If the woman would 
 only ask for something once, would defy me once — 
 but this everlasting monotony ! Even her way o^ 
 being jealous is enough to bore me to extinction 
 The clothes-press and the kitchen are the end and 
 aim of her existence." 
 
 As he drove away he unconsciously glanced up 
 at a window in the first story ; a child's face framed 
 in fair hair was pressed against the pane. He 
 threw a kiss at her, but the child did not stir, and 
 not the slightest look of recognition lighted up the 
 soft features. 
 
 " The mother all over ! " he muttered, as he 
 drove away into the reddening autumn evening. 
 *• The mother all over ! " 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 Frau Antje remained standing for a while be- 
 fore her clothes-press, trying to untie a knot which 
 she had made as she played with the ribbon, but 
 the effort seemed entirely mechanical, for when a 
 servant passed through the hall to the dining-room 
 she gave a sudden start, hurriedly arranged the 
 linen, and shut up the press. Then she went down 
 to the shining kitchen, where the old cook, who 
 had served as such in the house of Antje's father 
 for twenty years, was standing before the dazzlingly 
 white table busily setting out a number of dishes of 
 cold meat and other appetizing viands. 
 
 " You need not go on with it, Classen," said the 
 young wife. " Your master will not be at home 
 this evening ; he was obliged suddenly to go to 
 Dresden." 
 
 The withered face under the white cap stared at 
 her mistress with an expression of amazement, as if 
 the latter had just announced that the world was 
 coming to an end to-morrow, or something similar. 
 Antje had turned away in the meantime, and was 
 looking at the crackling flames on the hearth. She 
 did not reply to the old woman's hurried question : 
 " To-day — Ant — to-day, Frau Jussnitz ? Was he 
 obHged to go away to-de^y of all days ? " 
 
l8 Misjudged. 
 
 " I shall have my tea as usual," said Antje. 
 
 ** Very well, gracious Frau — yes — but " 
 
 "And send the footman over to the Baroness, 
 Classen, to say that I am very sorry we cannot 
 carry out our little surprise, for Herr Jussnitz was 
 obliged to go to Dresden, and I — with me alone — I 
 have a headache — Frau von Erlach must give us 
 the pleasure of her company another time. Do 
 you understand, Classen ? Or had I better write it 
 down ? " 
 
 She put her hand to her forehead and left the 
 kitchen without waiting for an answer. 
 
 " Oh, yes, I understand," muttered the old 
 woman, following her with her eyes. " I understand 
 very well. Dearie me ! And it is just four years 
 to-day since they were made man and wife. I said 
 so then, when I saw him looking about all round 
 the church when he went to the altar with the 
 child, that no good would ever come of it. Why 
 would she have him at any price, when she might 
 as well have had some one else as such a — such 
 
 She made a furious rattling among her dishes, and 
 the unflattering epithet she applied to the husband 
 of her idolized young mistress was swallowed up in 
 the noise. 
 
 " He didn't have a penny to his name ! " she 
 went on, and then she went to the speaking-tube 
 and ordered the footman to carry out her mistress's 
 commands. 
 
 In the meantime the young wife had mounted the 
 broad staircase and went into her own room with a 
 bitter smile. He had never before failed to pay her 
 
Misjudged, i^ 
 
 some little attention on this day ; was he so embit- 
 tered that he must needs punish her so severely 
 for what any one would consider she had a perfect 
 right to do ? Why should she alone have no likes 
 and dislikes ? Why should she alone not be allowed 
 to say that such a person was agreeable to her and 
 such a one disagreeable ? Could she help it if this 
 Baroness was utterly antipathetic to her, though 
 she seemed so charming to Leo ? To be sure, she 
 might have kept silence, but Leo did not like that 
 either. 
 
 She sighed and went to the window, through 
 which the last pale rays of the setting sun were 
 shining. The two great lindens, whose branches 
 stood out sharply against the pale gold of the even- 
 ing sky, had scarcely a leaf left on them. The wistful 
 eyes could see far away into the distance through 
 the branches ; she could see the towers of Dresden 
 gleaming out in the blue twilight sky like a minia- 
 ture picture in a rococo frame. She gazed at it till 
 the bright tears came into her eyes and the round 
 dome of the Frauenkirche swam before her in the 
 rapidly deepening dusk. She passed her handker- 
 chief over her eyes, but she remained standing 
 motionless, thinking how, four years ago to-day at 
 this very hour, she had been driving with him 
 through the autumn woods, with such a deep happi- 
 ness in her heart, looking forward to a wonderful 
 future — as she thought ! 
 
 If she could only be different, not so ** stupid," 
 not so " narrow-minded," as Leo had called her 
 yesterday in his blaze of anger. But she felt so sure 
 she would never learn that comfortable complai- 
 
20 Misjudged. 
 
 sance in conversation, never understand how peo- 
 ple could manage to smile at things like — well, for 
 instance, like that story which the Baroness had 
 told yesterday in her fine, deep contralto voice, and 
 with her droll manner, a story of a married couple 
 who had been faithless to each other for years, and 
 at last had agreed in the friendliest manner to get 
 divorced, and who never met in the street now since 
 their separation without exchanging a few friendly 
 words and asking politely after each other's health. 
 She had sat by listening with a shocked expression, 
 and she could not comprehend how Leo and the 
 Baroness could go into fits of laughter over the fact 
 
 that this couple at Count L 's last ball had even 
 
 eaten a philopena top'ether, and had related to each 
 other all manner ol queer things about their present 
 manner of life. 
 
 Antje felt as if her ideal of married life were being 
 dragged through the mire, and she had sat there 
 grave and silent, finding it impossible to speak. 
 This had provoked the Baroness into relating other 
 stories, which grew more and more piquant, and at 
 last Antje got up and left the room on the pretext of 
 looking after her child. Upstairs she had sat down 
 by the bed, and angry tears rushed to her eyes. 
 Then Leo had come up, and, half-laughing, half- 
 angry, had said : " You don't mean to stay up here ? 
 It is very rude to leave your guest like this." And 
 when he saw the two great tears on her lashes, he 
 cried out : " Of course you can't come down like 
 that ; but it is incredible, Antje, how ridiculous you 
 make yourself, simply ridiculous ! " 
 
 " It is very possible," she replied. 
 
Misjudged. a» 
 
 Then he went away, and she followed him to the 
 head of the stairs, but he did not look round. She 
 could hear him say as he entered the dining-room : 
 " I am sorry, Baroness ; my wife wishes to be 
 excused. She has a bad headache." Then there 
 was a drawling, compassionate "Ah!" and soon 
 after the delicious, contagious laughter of the beau- 
 tiful woman. Antje had stood in the hall till the 
 Baroness went away ; it seemed to her as if the 
 walls were of glass, as if she could see the young 
 Baroness in the rocking-chair, her beautiful head 
 leaning back against the velvet cushion, her cigar- 
 ette between the red lips, and when she laughed, 
 that row of brilliantly white teeth — Leo thought 
 her mouth so wonderfully beautiful. When she was 
 out of the house at last, a deep sigh seemed to lift 
 a weight off Antje's heart that she had never felt 
 before. 
 
 She had waited on the same spot for her hus- 
 band, and she had put out her hand to him ; and 
 when they were in their room she had said : " Don't 
 be angry, Leo ; we were always very merry at home, 
 very merry indeed, but we never could laugh at 
 that sort of thing." 
 
 " Oh, I know your mother's sort of wit and 
 humor very well, my dear," he replied with a 
 yawn. 
 
 She was silenced, for she loved her mother, and 
 Leo knew he could not hurt her more than by a 
 slighting remark about the simple old lady who had 
 spent her life in working and caring for her husband 
 and child — notwithstanding her wealth. But during 
 the long, sleepless night she had recalled how clev* 
 
22 Misjudged. 
 
 erly her mother had known how to manage her 
 father and to put up with or overlook disagreeable 
 things, which had perhaps been as little to her 
 mother's taste as the free remarks of the Baroness 
 were to hers. And she took herself seriously to 
 task, telling herself that she had married an artist, 
 and that it was wrong in her to offend a beautiful 
 woman who must charm the eye of a painter, and 
 that even if she listened to her foolish chatter she was 
 in no danger of changing her principles ; and she 
 made up her mind th^t for Leo's sake she would 
 put up with it for the future. He could not be 
 painting her picture forever, and when the picture 
 was finished these constant visits must come to an 
 end, or at least become rarer. She had fallen asleep 
 toward morning with the firm resolution to make 
 it up with Leo by inviting the gay, handsome 
 woman for that evening, and thus prepare for him 
 at the same time a surprise for the anniversary of 
 their wedding-day. 
 
 And now this delightful plan was all upset. Leo 
 had apparently forgotten that there had ever been 
 a seventeenth of October on which he had led to 
 the altar a young and happy bride. He went 
 straight to his studio after breakfast, without no- 
 ticing the late roses which stood in a brown majolica 
 vase on the table, and without casting a glance at 
 his little daughter's white embroidered dress. 
 
 Antje Jussnitz felt the blood rush suddenly to 
 her cheeks. Thank Heaven that she had not put 
 on the pale pink morning-dress which she had 
 secretly prepared for this day, because Leo had 
 said once, lately : " My wife is always either a moth 
 
Misjudged. *3 
 
 or a bat ; she never wears anything but gray or 
 black." And Antje wanted to please him ! She 
 desired it as passionately as only a wife can who 
 loves her husband. So she ordered for herself a 
 colored morning-dress, and had put it on this morn- 
 ing, but when she looked in the glass she shrank 
 before the image that was reflected there. She 
 could not help seeing that she was beautiful, but 
 she seemed to herself absolutely coquettish in the 
 lace-trimmed dress with the long train and the little 
 cap with pink ribbons. It reminded her of the 
 morning toilet of an actress in some modem society 
 piece. She felt as if she were trying to flirt with 
 her husband, an action unworthy of a wife who 
 knew herself to be beloved without all this finery. 
 Thank Heaven, she had slipped back into her 
 simple gray dress, otherwise she would have ielt 
 horribly ashamed if he had looked at her in sur- 
 prise — and to-day, of all days, when he had forgot- 
 ten what day it was. 
 
 She suddenly pressed her hand against her eyes, 
 for she felt horribly hurt ; for the first time she 
 had experienced an actual slight. She had been 
 accustomed from the first to a certain Avant of 
 consideration, for even as a lover he had never 
 been at her feet. She did not know what it was 
 to be an idolized wife, whose wishes her husband 
 reads in her eyes and for whose slightest whim he 
 will sacrifice time and money — nay, more than 
 that, his own comfort ; whose smiles or tears will 
 drive him to commit any folly. She knew noth- 
 ing of this, and she did not miss it. She knew 
 no married life except that of her father and 
 
24 Misjudged. 
 
 mother, in which the father was looked up to as 
 the master, whom the wife waited upon and obeyed. 
 At table he had the most comfortable place and 
 all the daintiest morsels, the most comfortable cor- 
 ner on the sofa or in the carriage, " If you wish it, 
 dear," were the words Antje was most accustomed 
 to hear from her mother's lips ; and the stately 
 master of the house wrote in the album which he 
 presented to his only daughter on the day of her 
 confirmation, Goethe's words : " Let the woman 
 iearn betimes to serve according to her destiny." 
 
 Well, Leo evidently had different ideas ; he did 
 not understand her efforts to make the house com- 
 fortable for him. They had servants who made the 
 tea, who got the supper, who kept the house in 
 order. Antje did not know what there was for her 
 to do, and she looked forward with joyful expecta- 
 tion to the birth of the child who was to fill up her 
 life. When it was born in her mother's house she 
 was able to do everything for it, but when they had 
 moved into their own house it was different ; then 
 it seemed as if Antje only had a very costly doll, 
 which she was allowed to play with sometimes on 
 Sundays. Leo thought that it was quite the 
 proper thing that the nurse and the bonne should 
 take care of the child, and should bring it to its 
 mother every day in the most charming toilet, like 
 a young princess. At first Antje was quite incon- 
 solable about it, but Leo had frowned upon all her 
 entreaties, her mute, imploring looks, as utter non- 
 sense. Now that the child was older and knew its 
 mother, Antje found this state of things more en- 
 durable, though she still clenched her fists some- 
 
Misjudged. 25 
 
 times as she looked on and watched the strange 
 liands bathing the little rosy limbs, wrapping them 
 in soft, white linen, and heard strange voices sing- 
 ing her darling to sleep, . . . 
 
 The young wife suddenly brightened up and ran 
 out of the room into the nursery. The stout nurse 
 was just preparing the baby's bath. There was a 
 smell of fine soap and warm water, the hanging- 
 lamp was lighted and shed its rays on the bright 
 carpet on the floor, which was covered with all 
 manner of toys, and on which sat a fair-haired child 
 of three years. The golden curls made a sort of 
 halo round the delicate little face. 
 
 " Mousie ! " cried the young wife, gayly, kneeling 
 down impulsively before the little one ; " little 
 Mousie, your naughty mamma almost missed your 
 bath ! " 
 
 And she pressed her tearful eyes against the 
 child's hair and kissed it passionately. 
 
 " Dear Christine, please, oh, please let me bathe 
 my little Mousie to-day ! " she cried, after a while. 
 
 The old woman shrugged her shoulders and mut- 
 tered something. 
 
 " Mousie, whom will you have to bathe you 1 " 
 asked Antje, as anxiously as if the happiness of her 
 whole life rested on this decision. 
 
 " Mamma," said the child, 
 
 " As madame pleases," said Christine in reply. 
 " I have a favor to ask of the gracious lady. My 
 Minna was carried to the hospital to-day, and I am 
 so anxious about her that I turn everything topsy- 
 turvy. May I go down to the village this evening 
 to inquire for her ? " 
 
26 Misjudged. 
 
 ** Why, to be sure, Christine ! Go at once and 
 send Classen up to me." 
 
 The old cook came with a frown on her face, and 
 found Frau Antje happy and smiling as she bathed 
 the child, who laughed and splashed in the water. 
 But she was not deceived, for the long lashes were 
 still wet with tears. She had nursed her Antje as. 
 a baby and had known her through all the years of 
 her young life, as no one else but a mother could 
 know her, and, going up to the tub, she said in a 
 low voice : " It is not worth while to cry about it, 
 gracious Frau ; with married people one day is like 
 another, and it is all nonsense to mind anniversa- 
 ries." 
 
 " You are mistaken, my good Classen ; the baby 
 has splashed the water in my eyes," was the reply. 
 
 " Oh, yes, so I see," murmured the old woman,. 
 " it is the water from the tub. " And she took up 
 the hot-water bottle from the flannel wrapper. 
 
 And while Frau Antje dried the child, she said 
 over her shoulder : " Herr Jussnitz had important 
 business m Dresden, Classen, or he would gladly 
 have stayed at home with Mousie and me — eh,, 
 Mousie ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure ; important business, that 
 was it, of course, " replied Frau Classen ; " and I 
 am sorry for him that to-day, of all days, he — " 
 The rest was unintelligible, for she was already out 
 of the door and could not see how a few bright 
 drops fell on the child's little forehead, which this 
 time, with the best will in the world, could not be 
 accounted for by the water from the bath. 
 
 Antje remained in the nursery sitting by the crib 
 
Misjudged. 27 
 
 till the nurse came back. Then she went down 
 into the dining-room, which, like the studio above 
 it, extended the whole length of the house. It 
 had been made to resemble an old German ban- 
 queting-hall, with the addition of a hundred articles 
 of modern luxury which gave it an unusually com- 
 fortable lock. The lamplight played about the 
 silver and bronze vessels with which the enormous 
 buffet was adorned ; the handsome chairs, covered 
 Avith leather and adorned with the artist's coat-of- 
 arms stamped in gold, stood in a row round the 
 massive dining-table ; the ceiling and the panels on 
 the walls were magnificently carved. 
 
 In front of the fireplace, near the crackling 
 flames, stood a table set for two persons — for the 
 servants knew that their master always liked a trifle, 
 no matter how late he came in, and that Frau 
 Antje usually sat by him while he ate. On it was a 
 profusion of those dainty plates, saucers, shallow 
 dishes, and little spoons, which are so useless and 
 yet so charming. And in the centre stood the roses, 
 giving an air of festivity to the cosey, inviting corner, 
 as if saying : " We are blooming for a happy pair." 
 
 Antje took up the flowers and carried them to a 
 table in a distant comer of the great room, and then 
 she could think of nothing better to do than to go 
 to the window and gaze out in the direction where 
 a clear light on the horizon marked out the great city 
 with its thousands of gas-lights. The tall antique 
 clock in the room swung its pendulum untiringly, 
 and marked off quarter after quarter. Antje knew 
 she would have to stand here a long time waiting 
 this evening, for the last train did not get in until 
 
28 Misjudged. 
 
 nearly twelve, and he would not come before. She 
 knew very well the sort of meetings Leo was accus- 
 tomed to attend and how long they lasted. 
 
 It had grown windy outside. Antje wondered 
 if he had ordered the carriage to be sent to the 
 station. And that carried her thoughts back to a 
 letter she had received from her mother that day. 
 She took it out of the key-basket that she had set 
 down on the window-seat in front of her. She did 
 not need to read it, for she knew every word of it 
 by heart. At first came hearty good wishes for the 
 anniversary of her wedding-day, with a hope that 
 it might be with the daughter as it had been with 
 the mother, who had loved her husband better every 
 year, and had felt more and more how great a sup- 
 port and comfort he was to her. Then she recalled 
 Antje's wedding-day, the pastor's sermon, the whim- 
 sical toast of the Bergrath, the torch-light proces- 
 sion of the workmen. Antje could almost see her 
 mother's smile as she said : " Daughterje, when I 
 was married it was merrier. We had music and 
 dancing, and I had to waltz with all the guests, and 
 they were not few. But, to be sure, wedding-jour- 
 neys were unknown among us then." 
 
 Finally, there was a postscript : " You know, 
 Antje, that I never like to meddle in your affairs, 
 but I think I ought to tell you that I think your 
 income will not admit of your setting up another 
 carriage. You could both very well drive out in the 
 same carriage, and when Leo needs it for himself 
 you are reasonable enough to content yourself with 
 a walk on such days. Do not be offended ; I mean 
 it only for your good. " 
 
Misjudged. 2^ 
 
 Antje's heart was very heavy. She thought the 
 same, but Leo wished it, and she would not for all 
 the world have said, as some women do who have 
 brought a fortune to their husbands : " Be more 
 economical with my money. " What was hers was 
 his, and he was the master. 
 
 What would her father have said to this luxury ? 
 she thought to herself; and when she recalled his 
 grave, honest face she could not help feeling ashamed 
 of the man who flung away this hard-earned gold in 
 all manner of foolish extravagances. But Leo was 
 an artist, different from other people, and she loved 
 his light, careless laugh, loved his delight in beauti- 
 ful things, his shining eyes. She did not grudge 
 him anything — if he were only contented. 
 
 All at once she started up. There were steps on 
 the ground outside, steps that she knew very well. 
 All the blood rushed to her heart. She stood in 
 the middle of the room, pale and trembling with 
 joy. 
 
 " Leo ! " she said softly, and her eyes were fixed 
 on the man who entered hastily, his forehead moist 
 as if from walking quickly, his hat in one hand and 
 in the other a bunch of violets, such a bouquet as 
 one buys in a shop — poor, drooping things which 
 would so gladly hang down their heads if the wires 
 would only suffer it. 
 
 Antje did not see the half-embarrassed, half- 
 vexed expression in her husband's eyes, nor the 
 faded condition of the flowers. She only felt that 
 he had come back, that he had brought her some 
 violets, that, after all, he had not quite forgotten the 
 day. 
 
CHAPTER IIL 
 
 That afternoon Leo Jussnitz had reached the 
 station just in time to jump into the first compart- 
 ment he came to. The whistle of the trainmaster 
 had already sounded the signal for starting, and 
 the conductor pulled open a door and thrust him 
 m. He had a first-class season ticket, but he found 
 himself in a third-class carriage, and alone with a 
 lady. At first he paid no attention to her ; the air 
 was horribly close and he went to the window to 
 open it. But first he turned and, lifting his hat, 
 said : " Will you allow me, Fraulein ? " 
 
 The head, covered with a broad-brimmed felt 
 hat, was raised a little. 
 
 " Oh, certainly," was the reply, in a clear voice. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz cast a hasty glance at the face 
 beneath the shady hat, and saw two dark, almost 
 unnaturally large eyes. The window was open 
 half-way, and he sat down opposite her and looked 
 at her. He saw a small mouth, bright red lips, and 
 a delicately formed chin. The short nose and the 
 two glowing eyes were shaded by the Rembrandt 
 hat. Where, for Heaven's sake, had he seen this 
 face before ? 
 
 Her eyes fell beneath his gaze ; the dark lashes 
 wU^h xuyti rested oo the pale cheek were wonder- 
 luily long. He felt sure he nad seen this all before ; 
 
Misjudged. 31 
 
 and suddenly there came before him the picture of 
 his father's garden in the little city of the Mark, 
 and a girl's face with great dark eyes was looking 
 over the white-thorn hedge which separated their 
 neighbor's garden from their own, and these eyes 
 smiled at him and fascinated him, the gymnasiast 
 of eighteen, till he found himself standing by the 
 hedge with two slender hands clasped in his 
 which stood out like snow against the dark green 
 of the leaves. And the moon shone down upon 
 them, and over in the castle park across the brook 
 the nightingales were singing as he kissed the rosy 
 lips. 
 
 But this could not be she, for sixteen years had 
 passed since that period of his first love ; and this 
 young creature before him was perhaps twenty 
 years old. He looked at her again, and the memory 
 of that time became so vivid that he felt quite be- 
 wildered. 
 
 " Tony von Zweidorf I " he said, half aloud. 
 
 A light laugh was the reply. 
 
 " You know me, then ? " inquired the girL " But 
 I am not Tony — ah, my dear Tony ! — I am the 
 youngest, Hilda." 
 
 " Hildegarde von Zweidorf — from Altwedel ? " 
 
 She nodded. " And you, sir ? " 
 
 He took off his hat and murmured his name. 
 
 " You used to know Tony ? " inquired the young 
 girl, drawing up her slender figure as comfortably 
 as possible into the hard corner of the wooden seat. 
 
 " Yes, Fraulein Hilda." 
 
 " But, then, you must have seen me too \ ** 
 
 ** You were a child then, Fraulein von Zweidorf, 
 
3a Misjudged. 
 
 and will not be likely to remember the tall gymna 
 siast who used to go to dancing-school with Frauleiu 
 Tony." 
 
 " No, I do not. Have you been long away from 
 Altwedel?" 
 
 " Very long. My father was sent from there to 
 Silesia, and I . . . Are you still living in the 
 little house on the * Alta * .? " 
 
 " Yes. It is such a queer little old house." 
 
 " Ah, I used to think it was delightful ; we lived 
 close by.*'^ 
 
 " There is a factory there now, an ugly red-brick 
 building, with tall chimneys and a lot of factory 
 girls, and a shrill bell which calls them to work." 
 
 " What a pity ! And how are your parents ? " 
 
 " Oh, thank you, papa is sometimes very poorly 
 and he is always cross, and mamma " — she shrugged 
 her shoulders — " of course suffers from it. It is 
 always like that with us, sir." 
 
 " And Fraulein Tony ? Is she as fond of dancing 
 as ever ? " 
 
 " Oh, Tony dance ! Tony has grown very quiet 
 and sad. Besides, it is always dull and stupid at 
 our house," she replied with a sigh. 
 
 He made no answer ; he looked at his opposite 
 neighbor with a compassionate glance. What a pic- 
 ture of discomfort her words called up before him ! 
 
 He knew every nook and corner of the little 
 house that the family occupied, and he knew that 
 in every corner were the traces of poverty, priva- 
 tion, and discontent. The tax-collector, Von Zwei- 
 dorf, formerly an officer, had become acquainted 
 with his wife, the little Mademoiselle Berg^re, at a 
 
Misjudged. 33 
 
 comrade's house ; she came from French Switzer- 
 land, and filled the position of a bonne. Of course, 
 he had not been in earnest at first in his pursuit of 
 the beautiful girl, but the time came when as a man 
 of honor he could not refuse to marry her. The 
 commander of the regiment and his comrades 
 had moved heaven and earth in trying to dissuade 
 him from taking. this step, but he was not to be 
 turned from his resolve, and the hand that wrote 
 his resignation did not tremble. He never told 
 any one how hard it had been for him, but his 
 troubled face, his crushed air, his shrinking shyness 
 spoke loudly for him, and his wife suffered no less. 
 His eldest daughter, Tony, a beautiful child, had at 
 first brought some consolation to the heart of the 
 unhappy man, but then other children had come, all 
 girls, miserable girls ; and his cares grew day by 
 day, and his daughters bloomed unseen and un- 
 sought and were embittered by their wretched life. 
 They had their father's pride, too — they would not 
 marry beneath them, the poor Fraulein von Zwei- 
 dorf. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz was perfectly well aware of all this. 
 And the youngest daughter was sitting before him, 
 as lovely as her sister had been, gazing out toward 
 the future with the same wistful eyes, and the same 
 smile rested on the lovely little mouth. A beautiful 
 vision of something he had not thought of for a long 
 time rose before him — all the blissfulness of his 
 early youth, with its high hopes and its foolish 
 raptures of a first love. 
 
 " What are you going to do out in the wide world, 
 Tony ? " 
 
 3 
 
34 Misjudged. 
 
 He said it aloud, and was only recalled to him- 
 self by her hearty laugh. 
 
 " My name is Hildegarde, and I am going to my 
 aunt who lives in Dresden. I want to be " — she 
 drew herself up proudly — " to be a painter." 
 
 " A painter ? " he inquired, with a smile. " Don't 
 do it, Fraulein Hilda ; it only brings disappointment 
 and bitterness." 
 
 " But I have talent, sir." 
 
 " I do not doubt it for a moment, but still " 
 
 " But you cannot know what my future will be ! " 
 she pouted. 
 
 " No, I am only judging from my own experience. 
 When a man struggles for the rewards of destiny 
 and almost succumbs, how can a weak, delicate girl 
 hope to maintain herself ? And the life of an artist 
 is and always must be a thorny path. " 
 
 "Ah," she laughed, "I will not let you frighten 
 me, and I am not going to boast ; but really, sir, I 
 am very lucky. I must have been bom under a 
 lucky star. Just listen and see what will happen. 
 I shall get a teacher, a good one, and then I shall 
 be as industrious as I can, and then I shall get my 
 first commission, perhaps half out of compassion, 
 and then I shall do my very best — the picture is suc- 
 cessful, it makes a sensation, and some fine morn- 
 ing I wake up and find myself famous ! No, no," 
 she continued, " I will not hear anything. I shall 
 believe in my luck. I have heard croakings enough 
 at home. I cannot do as my sisters have done, for 
 I am different myself. Please, please," she con- 
 cluded appealingly, clasping her beautifully shaped 
 hands, from which she had drawn off the gloves, " do 
 
Misjudged. 35 
 
 not say anything, do not rob me of my trust in a 
 brighter future than that I have so far had daily 
 marked out for me." 
 
 Her pale face had flushed and her eyes sparkled 
 with a wonderful fire. 
 
 *' No," he replied, quite carried away by her en- 
 thusiasm, " no, I will not ! May you be as success- 
 ful in everything as you hope, and if I can be of 
 use to you in any way — I am an artist myself and 
 well known in artistic circles — you may count on 
 me." 
 
 " There, didn't I tell you so ? " she cried. " If 
 that isn't luck ! This very morning I was wonder- 
 ing how I should ever manage to penetrate to the 
 studio of some celebrated artist — and here I find 
 an old acquaintance of Tony's, and the doors fly 
 open to me." 
 
 "It is to be hoped you will be satisfied with a 
 lesser celebrity." 
 
 " You are an artist. Then you must be that Juss- 
 nitz who painted the ' Witch of the Brocken ' ! I 
 saw the picture in an illustrated journal — didn't I ? 
 And in the original the witch had red hair, the most 
 wonderful effect of color, the description said. Was 
 that really you ? " And she gazed at him with wide, 
 astonished eyes. 
 
 " Yes, it was I," he said, in a low tone, returning 
 her gaze. 
 
 They were silent for a while after this. " What 
 beauty," he thought, "what race !" as he studied 
 every line of the blushing, girlish face. The train 
 slowed up, and the whistle of the locomotive indi- 
 cated that they were approaching their destination. 
 
36 Misjudged. 
 
 ** Where does your aunt live ? " he inquired 
 hastily. 
 
 " X Strasse, in the Friedrichstadt. Is it far 
 
 from here ? " 
 
 She was standing up, and, with her slender figure 
 drawn to its full height, she was taking a handbag 
 down from the rack overhead. 
 
 " Yes, a long way," he replied. 
 
 " Oh, what a pity ! " she said. 
 
 He took the bag from her hand. 
 
 " Will any one come to meet you ? " 
 
 " No. Auntie does not expect me till to-morrow, 
 but I had no peace at home, and I didn't want to 
 hear any .more sighs and croakings. So I started off 
 by myself this morning, without telling any one, and 
 without saying good-by. I hate to say good -by." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " Give me your bag. I will carry it to the 
 droschky for you." 
 
 " Thank you, but I am going to walk. I shall 
 hire a porter." 
 
 " It is impossible, Fraulein von Zweidorf. You 
 must have a carriage. I have something to do in 
 the Friedrichstadt, too. Permit me to offer you a 
 seat in my carriage — I " 
 
 " No, I thank you," she said coldly, with the air 
 of a princess. 
 
 " I entreat you to accept it," he urged, with genu- 
 ine anxiety. "You have no idea how far it is ; you 
 really cannot wander about alone in Dresden in the 
 night. Just consider : I am an old acquaintance of 
 your family and I have a right to help you with my 
 advice and assistance." 
 
Misjudged. 37 
 
 She gave a careless laugh. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, we are neighbors, even though 
 i really know nothing about you. But I will ask 
 Tony to tell me all she knows. Well, then — if you 
 will take me with you ! " 
 
 Jussnitz called a droschky, and they drove away 
 together. He sat quite silent at Hilda's side, 
 while a curious feeling came over him in the pres- 
 ence of this stranger whom yet he seemed to know 
 so well — she recalled the past so vividly to him. 
 
 What a Philistine these passing years had made 
 of him — especially these last few ! That time of 
 youthful gayety, of enthusiasm, of ambition, and of 
 mad pranks came back to him with an alluring 
 charm. 
 
 Tony von Zweidorf ! There was a sort of violet 
 fragrance about the memory of this first love, and 
 the gentle mood of that springtime of his life came 
 over him with renewed force at this moment. 
 
 His companion was charmed with the River Elbe, 
 with the many lights that were reflected in the dark 
 water, with all the life and movement of the great 
 city. She had a hundred questions to ask to which 
 he had to find answers. When at length the streets 
 grew quieter and the lights farther apart, she said 
 in a disappointed tone : " I am afraid my aunt lives 
 quite out of the world." 
 
 At this moment the carriage stopped at a small 
 house of only two stories, which looked like a dwarf 
 among the large buildings four and five stories high. 
 There was a shop on the ground floor, which on a 
 nearer view proved to be a grocer's, where vege- 
 tables, eggs, butter, cheese, and pickles were to be 
 
38 Misjudged. 
 
 had, and from which a by no means delightful odor 
 streamed out when Jussnitz opened the door to 
 inquire if Frau Secretary Berger lived in this house. 
 
 An enormously stout woman, who came out of a 
 door so small that it was hard to comprehend how 
 she had contrived to squeeze through, wiped her 
 hands on her apron, and said : 
 
 " You are the niece of Frau Berger, I suppose ? 
 Eh, but I am sorry ; she's gone out to a tea-party, 
 and I don't know no more than a baby where it is 
 she's gone to." 
 
 Hilda von Zweidorf laughed gayly. 
 
 " What am I to do till she comes back ? " she cried. 
 " Does my aunt generally get home very late ? " 
 
 " Generally about eleven, Fraulein. You can stay 
 here with me, if you like. Or just you wait a min- 
 ute ; sometimes Frau Berger puts the key under the 
 mat before the door. I'll just slip up and see," 
 
 The benevolent giantess disappeared, and they 
 could hear the stairs creaking beneath her weight 
 as she toiled up, and then after a while came down 
 again. 
 
 " I'm awful sorry, it ain't there ; but if you want 
 to wait here with me " 
 
 " Perhaps you will look after the Fraulein *s trunk,'* 
 Jussnitz interrupted, an uncomfortable expression 
 on his face. " And in the meantime you had better 
 come with me, Fraulein von Zweidorf. You will 
 want something to eat, at any rate, and a walk 
 through the streets will be much better than waiting 
 here in this horrible place." 
 
 This last he said in French, and she replied in 
 the same language, with a faultless pronunciation ; 
 
Misjudged, 39 
 
 " To be sure I The beginning of my future 
 does not seem to be very brilliant, does it ? This 
 is my first disappointment. Auntie wrote about 
 her pleasant house in the suburbs, and I pictured 
 to myself an avenue of old trees and a garden in 
 front. Oh, reality, how hateful thou art ! " 
 
 She took the arm which he offered her, and 
 walked away with him through the streets. 
 
 For one moment he thought of going to some 
 fashionable restaurant, but then he turned toward 
 a modest little place in the Friedrichstadt ; it was 
 quite empty. They sat down opposite each other 
 at the neat little table, and at length were able to 
 see each other distinctly in the bright gas-light. 
 
 Hilda's beauty lost nothing as she took off her 
 hat and displayed her beautiful forehead. It was 
 evident she was enjoying the situation. 
 
 " Please tell me something about yourself," she 
 said, as she took a little cold meat. " Do you live 
 in Dresden or out of the town ? " 
 
 " Out of the town," he replied. 
 
 " Oh, I think I should prefer the city itself. Is 
 your studio pretty ? May I see it ? " 
 
 Something like a shadow came over his face. 
 
 " Of course you may see it, and very often, I 
 hope. Perhaps you will put up with me for a 
 teacher till you find a better one ? " 
 
 She put down her knife and fork and stretched 
 out her hand to him across the table. 
 
 " How very kind you are ! But I — paint land- 
 scapes ! " 
 
 " So do I, occasionally. Besides, I only said till 
 you find a better one. And then there is something 
 
40 Misjudged. 
 
 I should like — I should like to paint you, Fraulein 
 Hilda. I may say Hilda for old acquaintance' 
 sake ? " 
 
 " Of course ! And do you know that I remember 
 you very distinctly now ? You used to be always 
 lying in wait for Tony. I used to sit with my 
 sisters on the doorstep, and you always looked up 
 and bowed to Tony when she stood at the window." 
 
 " But you know," he said, as if in excuse, " my 
 way led me past your house, and as her partner at 
 dancing-school it was my duty to bow." 
 
 " Oh, yes, to be sure ! " She laughed again. 
 " And you wish to paint me ? " There was a scarcely 
 suppressed tone of delight in her voice. 
 
 " If you will allow it " 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 ** But you must permit me to send the picture to 
 the Exposition," he added hastily. 
 
 She blushed with pleasure. " Really ? " she said. 
 
 " Do you dislike it ? " 
 
 *' No, indeed ! Why should I ? People can look 
 at me in the street. " 
 
 *' Very well. I will come to your aunt's in a day 
 or two." 
 
 Hilda had finished her supper. 
 
 " What shall we do now ? " she inquired, as she 
 stood up before the glass to put on her hat with its 
 crushed ostrich feather, which, nevertheless, was 
 very becoming to her. 
 
 " We can go and look in at the shop windows, if 
 you are not too tired." 
 
 No, she was not too tired ; far from it ! She put 
 on her black woollen gloves, from which a rosy 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 finger-tip peeped out here and there, and allowed 
 Herr Jussnitz to help her on with her close-fitting 
 jacket of cheap rough cloth, which, as it was new, 
 did not look so badly, and took up her muff. It 
 was of black catskin, or of colored rabbit. Then 
 she declared herself ready. 
 
 They took the horse-car to the Post-platz, and 
 then made their way through the crowd of people to 
 the brilliantly lighted sidewalk. He never seemed 
 tired of standing with her before the shop windows, 
 each one of which put her into ecstasies of delight. 
 She had never seen so large a city before. In front 
 of a jeweller's window in which were flashing jewels 
 of all colors, she became fairly speechless. She 
 stood with wide-open eyes and parted lips. It 
 seemed to Jussnitz as if a look of longing came 
 over the lovely childish face. 
 
 " What would a thing like that cost ? ** she in- 
 quired at length, pointing to a small brooch of 
 diamonds. 
 
 " Oh, a couple of thousand marks ! " he replied. 
 
 " Two thousand marks ? Oh, impossible ! " 
 
 That was more than her father's whole income, on 
 which a large family had to live. 
 
 " But tell me," she continued, as they walked on 
 again, " how much does one get for a picture when 
 one is celebrated ?" 
 
 He smiled a little, her eyes looked so feverishly 
 eager. 
 
 *' When one is celebrated, he can get his own 
 price, Fraulein Hilda." 
 
 " More than such a brooch costs, much more ? * 
 she inquired. 
 
42 MtsjudgeOi 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " 
 
 She gave a deep sigh. 
 
 " Now I must take you home," he began, after a 
 Jong silence. He felt suddenly in a hurry. 
 
 She followed him without a word to the nearest 
 droschky, and they drove back in silence to hei 
 aunt's little house. 
 
 " I will wait with the woman ; it is still all dark 
 upstairs," said Hilda. " Thank you so much, Hen 
 Jussnitz, and — please, please " 
 
 He was standing with his hat in his hand, besidf 
 her, in front of the grocer's shop. 
 
 " Command me in anything, Fraulein Hilda." 
 
 " Please, please do not forget your promise, and 
 come to us for the — for the lessons." 
 
 " I will come in three days." 
 
 He felt a grateful pressure of the little hand and 
 she disappeared in the doorway, and Jussnitz could 
 see through the window the stout woman conduct- 
 ing the beautiful girl into the room behind the shop. 
 
 The droschky was still waiting. " Drive to 
 
 Z Strasse, No. 13," he called out ; " but go fast, 
 
 if you want to earn a good, pour-boire." 
 
 The driver grumbled a little, for Z Strasse was 
 
 quite at the other end of the town. Then he gave 
 a cut at his horse and they rattled away. In half 
 an hour they got off the pavement, the scattered 
 gas-lamps shed their light on the trees of a splendid 
 old avenue, and a few villas appeared among the 
 autumn foliage. The carriage stopped at the end 
 of this street of gardens. Jussnitz jumped out and 
 touched the electric bell on the wrought-iron gate, 
 and as he waited for some one to come and open it 
 
Misjudged, 43 
 
 he tried to catch a glimpse of the house belonging 
 to this garden. It must be very far down in the 
 garden, for he could only see a confusion of leafless 
 trees, of shrubs and green firs, among which the 
 avenue was lost to sight. At length he perceived a 
 lantern approaching, swung in the hand of an old 
 woman. 
 
 " Who is there ? " was the rather peevish ques- 
 tion, asked from a distance. 
 
 " Is there a studio to let here ? " said Jussnitz. 
 
 " Yes, but it can only be seen from nine o'clock 
 in the morning till five in the afternoon." 
 
 " I don't want to see it. I want to rent it." 
 
 The old woman, who had only just opened the 
 gate, held up the lantern and let it shine on the face 
 of the stranger, who she thought must be slightly 
 insane. 
 
 " Are there any other rooms belonging to it ? " 
 he inquired. 
 
 "A sitting-room, a bed-room, and another little 
 room." 
 
 " Very good. Who else lives in the house ? " 
 
 " No one, except Fraulein Brandt, who is here a 
 few weeks in the summer sometimes." 
 
 " Does the villa belong to her ? " 
 
 " Yes. But she has got another house in Strehlen, 
 and she is old besides." 
 
 " You are the wife of the porter ? " 
 
 " Yes, if you like to call me so, but I haven't any 
 husband now." 
 
 " Do you attend to the service ? '* 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 ** Very well, then, I will take the studio, and in 
 
44 Misjudged, 
 
 three days I will send some people here to furnish 
 it. Here is my card, and this is for you." 
 
 " Without coming in ? But if you wish to see 
 the rooms, sir — " The old woman was suddenly all 
 politeness. 
 
 " I will look at them in three days," he replied. 
 " Good-night." 
 
 " Good-evening, sir." 
 
 Jussnitz got into the droschky again and men- 
 tioned a well-known restaurant, while the old woman 
 went away with her lantern, shaking her head vig- 
 orously, and was soon lost to sight in the lonely 
 garden. 
 
 Jussnitz suddenly took off his hat ; his face was 
 hot and flushed. What was he about to do ? He 
 laughed at his own eagerness. The feverish desire 
 to accomplish something, the old strong, creative 
 force, had been reawakened in him by the sight of 
 this beautiful girl with a power that he had not felt 
 for a long time. He felt like a sick man who begins 
 for the first time to have a hope of recovery. 
 
 He would paint her. He would make a sensa- 
 tion with this picture, and in order to do this he 
 must free himself from all bondage. He must have 
 this quiet studio, for how could he bring this girl 
 home to Antje ? It was impossible. Antje with her 
 prudery, her narrow-mindedness — and this young 
 creature, who reminded him of a superb wild horse 
 of the steppes. It would be absurd. Besides, if 
 he were ever going to amount to anything as a 
 portrait painter, it was absolutely necessary that 
 he should tear himself away from all his pres- 
 ent surroundings, from the neighborhood of his 
 
Misjudged. 45 
 
 wife. He would not encounter her horrified eyes 
 when a model entered the house, for she would 
 never be able to understand ; he had long felt that, 
 and therefore had long desired to take a studio. 
 
 Strangely enough, at this moment there stole over 
 him a feeling of compassion for his wife. She ought 
 to have married some good fellow, who beside her 
 would have had nothing in his head but his count- 
 ing-house. What could she do for him with her 
 narrowness, inherited, and fostered by her training ? 
 And he ? He felt the paralyzing burden of a woman 
 who was not his intellectual equal more and more 
 every day. An artist had no right to marry, at least 
 not like this. No, he was doing the best thing pos- 
 sible when he took the studio, which a fellow artist 
 had had who had now gone for a long sojourn at 
 Sorrento. 
 
 " It is best so," he said half-aloud, as he entered 
 with unclouded brow the fashionable restaurant 
 ^hich he was accustomed to frequent. Only four 
 or five gentlemen greeted him, and they looked sur- 
 prised at the sight of him. 
 
 " What the devil, Jussnitz, brings you here at 
 nine o'clock at night ?" inquired an officer. "Do 
 you know that Kloden and I had actually planned 
 to take you by storm this evening ? Your old friend 
 declared you were celebrating the anniversary of 
 your wedding-day to-day. He heard it from Baron- 
 ess Erlach, who was to take supper with you this 
 evening." 
 
 " YeG, she told Fraulein von Bardeleben so this 
 morning m my presence," said another, in confirma- 
 tion. 
 
46 Misjudgea. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz looked quite dismayed for a mo- 
 ment. Then he said, quickly recovering himself : 
 *' My wife has a very bad headache. I had some 
 important business in town, and I am only going 
 to drink a glass of beer and then I am going straight 
 home. By the way," he continued, as he took up 
 his beer-glass with its silver cover, " I shall hold 
 you to your word, gentlemen ; come out to us to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Oh, certainly, they would all come, but Jussnitz 
 must stay a while longer, it was so infernally dull, as 
 every one had gone to the wedding of little Count- 
 ess Mellenthieu. 
 
 " Impossible ! " replied Jussnitz, and after having 
 settled everything for the following day, he left the 
 restaurant. In the first flower-shop which he found 
 open, he bought a bunch of violets. As he was 
 leaving the shop with the violets in his hand, he 
 turned back and ordered a basket of flowers to be 
 sent to Fraulein von Zweidorf, in X Strasse. 
 
 " Will you send your card with it ? " inquired 
 the shop-woman, 
 
 " No," he replied, putting up his purse. 
 
 " But you have forgotten your violets, sir," the 
 woman called after him. 
 
 He came back in some vexation, snatched up the 
 forgotten flowers, and drove to the station. He just 
 caught the train and jumped into a carriage. 
 
 " How you look, Jussnitz ; are you ill ? " asked a 
 good-natured voice. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Barrenberg ? No, not at all ill, 
 only rather hurried. I wanted to catch this 
 train." 
 
Misjudged. 47 
 
 " Have you been at the club ? I suppose there 
 was no one there " 
 
 " Oh, yes." And he mentioned the names of the 
 gentlemen. 
 
 " My cousin is at your house this evening, Juss- 
 nitz." 
 
 " Oh, I don't think so, Barrenberg ; the Baroness 
 was there yesterday." 
 
 " And she had an invitation from your wife for 
 to-day. I am sure of it." 
 
 Jussnitz laughed. 
 
 " All a mistake, my dear Barrenberg. She even 
 refused me a sitting — on the score of headache." 
 
 " The little liar ! She wrote me not to come this 
 afternoon, not till late this evening. We are going 
 
 with the horses to the races at H to-morrow 
 
 morning. Are you going ? " asked the portly man, 
 whom one would hardly believe had once been a 
 cavalry officer. 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Jussnitz. 
 
 " You had better come ! The hussars have in- 
 vited us to breakfast — and I will take you." 
 
 " Thanks, if I possibly can," he said carelessly. 
 The cousin of the beautiful Baroness was a bore to 
 him this evening. He was thinking of Antje and 
 how he could excuse himself for having forgotten 
 what day it was. He hoped she had not waited up 
 for him. 
 
 *' Have you a carriage to meet you, Barrenberg ? " 
 he inquired. He remembered that he had ordered 
 his for a later train. 
 
 " I hope Irene will have sense enough to send me 
 her coupe.'' 
 
48 Misjudged. 
 
 " Then will you give me a lift, Barrenberg ? " 
 
 " Of course, Jussnitz." 
 
 The carriage was there, and Jussnitz got out near 
 his house as they drove by. As he walked along by 
 the garden wall, he saw a light in the dining-room, 
 and angrily bit his lip. She was really sitting there 
 waiting for him, and he knew precisely how she 
 would receive him, without a word of reproach, with 
 a pale face, with a quiet, indifferent manner, and in 
 her eyes an expression sad as death. 
 
 He opened the hall-door angrily. There she 
 stood in the middle of the room, glowing^like a rose, 
 and with a happy light in her eyes as she saw the 
 bouquet in his hand. 
 
 She said, ** Leo ! " in her usual hesitating fashion. 
 
 She was utterly different from, the vision he had 
 just had of her, but that did not make matters 
 easier for him. " How good of you, Leo," she said 
 as she took the flowers from his hand. She would 
 gladly have said : " You don't know how glad I am 
 you have come back," but she dared not. He 
 looked so tired and worn, 
 
 " I hurried a good deal," he said, as if he had 
 read his wife's thoughts. " I wanted to catch the 
 nine o'clock train." 
 
 He poured himself out a wine-glass half full of 
 rum, and sitting down at the table, he added : " I 
 had to go to town to-day, on account of — on ac- 
 count of the studio. I have taken it." 
 
 Antje looked at him with startled eyes ; she knew 
 nothing about it. 
 
 " A studio in town ? " she inquired, and her voice 
 was husky. 
 
Misjudged. 49 
 
 " Yes ; you know I want to try portrait painting. 
 Should I have my models come here ? That would 
 not suit me." 
 
 " And you will go there every day, and ? " 
 
 " Oh, every day — I don't know about that. It 
 may be that I shall be away for weeks, when I have 
 an interesting work on hand. That will settle 
 itself." 
 
 She drooped her head and was silent. 
 
 ■* Do order in something fit to eat, Antje. I can't 
 satisfy my appetite with those little thin slices of 
 bread and butter and sausage. Do you always 
 spread such a splendid table when you are alone ? 
 I shouldn't wonder if you followed your mother's 
 example next and acquired a taste for gruel when 
 I am away. — Franz ! " — he turned to the servant— 
 " bring me a bottle of Roderer." And turning to 
 Antje with a yawn, he added : " We will drink to 
 our wedding-day, child. Good Heavens, how tired 
 I am ! The shop is out at Racknitz, or whatever 
 the hole is called." 
 
 " So far away ? " she inquired, absently, and laid 
 the violets, which smelt like dried grass, down on the 
 mantle-piece. 
 
 " Far ? " he said. " What do you call far ? It is* 
 an hour's drive, perhaps, from hers." 
 
 Only an hour ! But this hour seemed to Antje 
 like thousands of miles. 
 4 . 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Frau Secretary Berger might be designated 
 as the very pattern of a worthy burgher-woman, 
 with all the virtues and failings of her class — good- 
 natured, painfully neat, economical even to stingi- 
 ness, • inquisitive as a magpie with regard to the 
 affairs of her good friends and neighbors, always 
 ready to help others in misfortune, and pitilessly 
 stern in all moral questions ; added to this, a rather 
 choleric temperament, a wagging tongue, and a 
 great liking for coffee- and tea-parties, in which 
 one could always speak a word in season among 
 those who were like-minded. 
 
 She lived on her very modest widow's pension 
 and the income of a fortune of five thousand tha- 
 lers which she had brought with her to her hus- 
 band, and lived very comfortably according to her 
 own ideas, even saving out something for the poor 
 and sick, though she always stormed and scolded 
 horribly whenever any one applied to her for help. 
 Her relations in the little city of the Mark had al- 
 ways been a thorn in her side. She had always de- 
 clared openly to her late husband that she couldn't 
 bear such shiftless people as those Von Zweidorf& 
 Every time the announcement of the birth of a 
 child reached her — and this had happened nine 
 
Misjudged, 51 
 
 times — she lifted up her voice and called heaven 
 and earth to witness that she would never, never 
 do anything for these wretched tempters of Provi- 
 dence ; that the relations in the Mark were very 
 much mistaken if they thought that she, Frau Polly 
 Berger, born a Trutz, would ever help to put bread 
 into the mouths of all those superfluous chil- 
 dren. 
 
 " I never, never will ! Do you hear, Berger ? " 
 she concluded. 
 
 Yes, Berger heard, but he made no remark. He 
 knew very well that within the next twelve hours a 
 little package, with every possible thing that could 
 be needed for mother and child, and even with a 
 few shining thalers, would be done up in a bundle 
 of linen and sent off by post. And so he let her 
 scold, the plump little woman with the saucy snub- 
 nose, from which her glasses were always falling off. 
 
 Occasionally he would say : " Polly, you shouldn't 
 make foolish vows. You see, I sha'n't live much 
 longer, and when you have carried me out to the 
 churchyard, it will be very lonely for you, for you 
 won't have any one to listen to you quietly when 
 you scold, and so you will be sure to take one of 
 the Zweidorf young ones home " 
 
 " I ? To be my everlasting plague and torment ? " 
 cried Frau Polly. "Just consider a little, Berger, 
 before you talk such nonsense, what an extra por- 
 tion of folly those children must inherit from such 
 parents. A girl like that would be just as likely as 
 not to get up a love-affair under my very eyes, just 
 as her mother did before her, or get into debt as her 
 father does. And you want me to lend my coun- 
 
$2 Misjudged, 
 
 tenance to a thing like that ? Berger, I haven't 
 deserved this of you." i 
 
 And then she burst into sudden sobs. " I know- 
 she is your sister — but — you know, Berger, I am 
 your wife, and, not to mention all the other things, 
 you ought not to talk about dying. I shall die of 
 grief if you leave me all alone in this wicked world." 
 
 But he did leave her alone one day, and at first 
 Frau Polly was quite crushed by the loneliness 
 which followed upon his death. It was fortunate 
 that she had 40 many good friends, and was so 
 fond of her tea- and coffee-parties. By degrees 
 she grew accustomed to her widowhood, grew still 
 more economical, interested herself more for stran- 
 gers, and had plenty of time to observe her neigh- 
 bors from her window. She did not die of grief. 
 
 Sometimes, it is true, she was overcome by a long- 
 ing for a friendly voice — when it was bad weather, 
 and she sat at home all alone in the twilight with 
 her knitting — but as yet she had no thought of 
 taking one of the Zweidorfs. 
 
 And now it had come to pass, after all, just as 
 the late Berger had prophesied. A Zweidorf girl 
 was to make her entry into the quiet widowed 
 dwelling of the Frau Secretary Berger. When, one 
 day, one of those weary, anxious letters had come 
 from Herr von Zweidorf, she had made answer that 
 he might send her, in Heaven's name, the girl who 
 wanted to learn to paint. It is true that a few hours 
 later she was scolding herself for it. Now her easy 
 life was all over, and instead of buying half a 
 pound of meat, as she now did, she must in future 
 buy three-quarters. She hesitated as to whethet 
 
Misjudged. 53 
 
 she should not write and stop her on the score of 
 illness. Then the thought occurred to her, that 
 this Hildegarde — "What a silly, high-flown name! 
 Well, we will soon drive your aristocratic ideas out 
 of your head, my dear " — that this Hildegarde could 
 not paint the whole day long, and it would be a 
 very good thing if she should do something prac- 
 tical in the mornings. In this way perhaps she 
 might do without the charwoman, if not altogether, 
 at least for some hours. "Well," she said to her- 
 self, comfortingly, " I will try it." She would not 
 confess even to herself that her compassion was 
 greater than all other considerations. 
 
 The good Polly ! When she came home late 
 that evening from her tea-party, a slender, girlish 
 figure was standing in the dark hall beside the 
 stout grocery woman. " Like a young countess," 
 thought Frau Polly, at the first glance. And as 
 this young countess developed into the niece she 
 had not expected till the next day, Frau Polly, who 
 had just been impressing the whole tea-party with 
 her weighty speeches, was quite abashed. 
 
 She had never thought of that! She even ex- 
 cused herself, in her first confusion, for not being 
 at home ; she made excuses for the bedroom, which 
 was at the back, was hardly big enough to hold the 
 little bed, and was absolutely stifling with the smell 
 of cheese from the store-room of the little shop, 
 which was directly beneath. 
 
 But Hilda von Zweidorf said she was tired, very 
 tired, and was sure she should sleep beautifully ; 
 and, as she spoke, her eyes shone so, and seemed to 
 look so indifferently at the more than simple fumi* 
 
54 Misjudged. 
 
 ture, far, far away into some vague distance, that 
 Aunt Polly came to the conclusion that she would 
 have as an inmate one of those dreamy, enthusiastic, 
 artistic natures that hardly know if they have warm 
 water set before them instead of coffee. In fact, 
 Hilda declined everything that was offered her, say- 
 ing she was not hungry. But, on the other hand, 
 she was so heartily grateful for the refuge she 
 had found with her dear Aunt Polly, and asked 
 with such an expression of touching sympathy for 
 her aunt's health, that the old lady, when the girl 
 was finally shut up in her room, did not know 
 whether to be glad or sorry; only one thing was 
 clear to her, and that was that Hilda would neither 
 cook nor sew nor help to clean up the house. 
 
 Neither Aunt Pdlly nor Hilda slept much that 
 night. The young girl buried her glowing face in 
 the pillows and dreamed of a wonderful future. 
 The first step was taken. Hilda von Zweidorf had 
 absolute faith in her success in life ; she had had a 
 hard struggle to gain her father's consent to her be- 
 coming an artist, and she had carried out this strug- 
 gle with a determination that no discouragements 
 could overcome. It was impossible for her to be- 
 lieve that she, Hilda von Zweidorf, could live on till 
 all her bloom had faded, as her sister Tony had 
 done, and as her other sisters seemed in a fair way 
 to do. She had called them " poor-spirited crea- 
 tures " over and over again, and had tossed back 
 her head when she saw the four sisters who were 
 still at home assembling in the little room every 
 day as the clock struck eight, to sew or to knit. 
 " You are not human beings ; you are mere ma- 
 
Misjudged, 55 
 
 chines ! " she would cry out. ** Do try something 
 «lse. Go out into the world; good fortune will 
 never come here to this wretched house ; we must 
 ^o and look for it ! " 
 
 But the others thought Hilda was too extravagant 
 in her ideas ; they were far better off here at home 
 than Barbie and Lottie in their deaconess house, 
 where they were always in the midst of sickness, 
 misery, and death. Well, Hilda had never sewed ; 
 she earned her money by painting on silk and 
 leather. She would sit out in the meadow half the 
 day, painting water-color pictures of the old castle 
 on the other side of the river, the oak-grove which 
 was marked out against the distant horizon, or a 
 peasant's hut with a Wendish gable roof half hidden 
 beneath huge linden-trees. Then, when it was so 
 lonely all around her, when the golden sunlight 
 rested on the meadows, the noon-day bells sounded 
 from afar, and the bees hummed in the grass, her 
 dark eyes would gaze dreamily out into the distance. 
 She no longer saw what lay before her, she only saw 
 a bright, shimmering chaos, very vague, far from 
 clear, but she knew it was happiness, and happiness 
 was fame and riches ; and then — he 
 
 " He " must be something very aristocratic and 
 distinguished. She would not be always kept down 
 in this miserable poverty ; she would mount into the 
 more rarefied atmosphere of the higher circles. And 
 why should she not ? Hilda knew she was talented 
 and — beautiful. If she could only get away from 
 this wretched place, where, in the absence of any 
 real men, the gymnasiasts had dress coats made for 
 themselves and put on all the airs of grown-up men- 
 
§6 Misjudged. 
 
 Hilda had never been to a ball in Altwedel, and 
 when her sisters washed and ironed their white 
 dresses in the sweat of their brows, and turned 
 their sashes on the other side, she would shrug her 
 shoulders and say : " Who is there to see you ? " 
 And while the others were dancing she was lying at 
 home in bed with wide-open eyes, thinking : " How 
 shall I manage to get out of this place ? How shall 
 I begin to see life, real life ? " 
 
 Hilda did not get on very well with her mother \ 
 the shy, crushed air of the pale woman always irri- 
 tated her. Accustomed to receive only the very 
 smallest share of all that goes to make up life, the 
 humble woman had got into the habit of using a 
 word which she unconsciously wove into all her 
 remarks : " Children, shall we have a ' bit ' of broth 
 to-day ? " Or, " We will go to church for a ' bit ' to- 
 day." " Papa has a * bit ' of a headache." " I have 
 bought a ' bit ' of stuff for a dress for Gretchen." 
 " Hilda, let us have a * bit * of fresh air in the 
 room." 
 
 " Good heavens, mamma, why should we have a 
 * bit ' ? Fresh air doesn't cost anything, at any rate ; 
 you can have as much of it as you like," cried 
 Hilda. 
 
 " Oh, child, don't be so cross. I didn't mean 
 anything by it ; I was only a * bit ' absent-minded." 
 
 Ah! this life that consisted entirely of "bits "had 
 been frightful for Hilda. Then at last she had pre- 
 vailed upon her father to write to her aunt in Dres- 
 den, and the bored, weary man had yielded for the 
 sake of peace, as he said ; and, contrary to his 
 expectations, a reply in the affirmative had come 
 
Misjudged. 57 
 
 from Aunt Polly. The letter had come upon the 
 Household like a bomb. 
 
 Frau von Zweidorf had fitted out her child a 
 " bit," as well as she could. The sisters good-nat- 
 ur^^'diy gave whatever they could spare themselves 
 to help out Hilda's wardrobe, for Hilda had a 
 decided inclination for adorning and improving her 
 simple costumes, especially her hats. She accepted 
 without a ^ang the scraggy ostrich feather that was 
 the pride ot Tony's heart, and fastened it into her 
 broad-brimmed Rembrandt hat after her mother 
 had curled it a Jiitle "bit." In any case, according 
 to Hilda's views, Tony had passed the age when 
 one cares to dress-she was thirty-twc The last 
 day before her departure, the excited, impatient 
 girl was quite upset. She could not bear any of her 
 sisters' good advice, still less their teasing. But her 
 father, with a sad face, laid down a twe"" "ly-mark 
 piece on his work-table and said : " I would gladly 
 give you more, dear child, but I have no more now." 
 
 Hilda was almost touched, and she did not wish 
 to feel like that ; soft-hearted people seldom accom- 
 plish anything. And she couldn't bear it at all when 
 her mother said : " Ah, Hilda, if you were only to 
 have a * bit ' of good luck ! " What should she 
 do with a "bit" of good luck? She wanted a 
 great deal, all she could get ! What was the use of 
 hanging back ? 
 
 She made short work of it finally ; she took her 
 departure a day earlier. She made her prepara- 
 tions quite secretly for leaving the house at five 
 o'clock in the morning. It was easy enough for hei 
 to get away, for she slept alone in an attic room. 
 
58 Misjudged. 
 
 Fritz, a little neighbor, carried her bag to the 
 station ; she had given it to him the night before 
 over the hedge. The trunk could be sent after her. 
 She wrote a few lines of farewell on a piece of 
 paper, laid it on the kitchen table, and stole away. 
 She lingered a moment in front of her parents' 
 door ; then she hurried down-stairs all the faster. 
 It almost seemed as if she could hear her mother 
 saying : " Hilda, isn't it a little bit hard for you 
 to leave us ? " No, it was not hard for her, for 
 before her was the world, the whole wide world ! 
 
 It was the first journey Hilda von Zweidorf had 
 ever undertaken. It would have made another girl 
 anxious and bewildered, but Hilda was as cool and 
 collected as if she had been an American who had 
 done nothing but travel from her childhood up. 
 There was a singing and ringing in her ears ; even 
 the very rolling of the wheels made a melody for 
 her, for she was travelling toward her happiness ! 
 
 How fortunate it was that she had not waited 
 another day ! She sat up in bed and pressed her 
 hands against her throbbing temples. Was she 
 really to find everything at the very first step she 
 had taken out into the world ? '" 
 
 He had looked at her so strangely, with such un- 
 feigned admiration. She recalled his appearance ; 
 he was a handsome man and very aristocratic look- 
 ing. Hilda only knew such men from hearsay, but 
 he came up to the ideal she had formed of them. 
 And he was an artist besides, his name was already 
 known. And he had such good taste ! What a 
 seductive figure that " Witch of the Brocken" was 
 which Hilda had seen ! 
 
Misjudged. 59 
 
 With her excitable fancy, with her young heart 
 thirsting for happiness, with the determined char- 
 acter which knew no half-way measures, she had 
 fully determined by the time morning had dawned 
 that she had found "him," that she loved him and 
 was beloved by him, and that in the next few days 
 some wonderful fairy miracle would bring her the 
 fulfilment of all her wishes. She pictured it all to 
 the minutest details ; she fancied herself walking 
 through the streets of her native town on his arm 
 — they were on their way to Italy — and she heard 
 the people say: " That is Hilda von Zweidorf, who 
 married the celebrated Jussnitz." 
 
 With burning cheeks and sparkling eyes she went 
 into the sitting-room to drink her coffee with Aunt 
 Polly. She replied absently to a great number of 
 curious questions, gazed vacantly at the very hum- 
 ble furniture of good Frau Berger, who in a bright 
 calico night-cap, with a jacket to match, was doing 
 the honors, and then went and sat down by the 
 window. 
 
 Aunt Polly dusted the room, occasionally casting 
 a wrathful, questioning look at the young girl, who 
 with carelessly folded hands sat there, motionless, 
 looking out into the street. It was an ugly street, 
 with houses that looked like barracks ; her aunt's 
 house — one of the few old buildings which had not 
 yet fallen a sacrifice to the wide-spread love of 
 building — stood there like a dwarf among the other 
 giant buildings packed to the roof with tenants. 
 On the sidewalk, which a thick autumn mist had 
 made damp and slippery, people were hurrying to 
 and fro— not the finer sort who had charmed Hilda's 
 
6o Misjudged. 
 
 eyes the day before, but people who were going 
 with an air of haste and business to their work or 
 on some special errand. The horse-cars jingled by, 
 coal-carts rumbled over the pavements, and then 
 there came a funeral — it was all so ugly in the gray 
 tints of an October mist. 
 
 Aunt Polly left the room, but Hilda did not per- 
 ceive it ; she was still gazing out into the street, 
 waiting for something. Presently she saw her aunt 
 crossing the street in her dark, ample waterproof, 
 her umbrella in her hand. She waddled rather 
 clumsily over the pavement, and before she disap- 
 peared in the opposite butcher's shop she came into 
 collision with a young fellow. Hilda saw her turn 
 and call something after him, nodding angrily the 
 while, but he took no notice but came straight 
 across to the little house. Hilda's heart stopped 
 beating for a moment ; he carried a wonderful bas- 
 ket of roses in his hand, and she felt with unmistak- 
 able certainty that those roses were for her. She 
 got up and went out into the hall. Yes, the bell 
 was really ringing ; the boy came up the stairs and 
 asked for Fraulein Hildegarde von Zweidorf. 
 
 " I am Fraulein von Zweidorf," she said. " From 
 whom ? " 
 
 " I do not know," replied the messenger, giving 
 the basket into the young girl's hand. He lingered 
 a little, waiting for his fee, and looking at the door 
 behind which Hilda had disappeared ; then he went 
 down-stairs again, whistling. But the young girl 
 within the room was hiding her face in the flowers 
 and inhaling their fragrance, which quite intoxicated 
 her. 
 
Misjudged. 6 a 
 
 Aunt Polly found her walking up and down the 
 room with quivering limbs and burning cheeks, the 
 roses still in her hand. 
 
 " What is all this ? " asked the old lady, who "^-as 
 just going to put her veal in to roast. " Where did 
 you get the flowers ? " 
 
 The words were spoken in a very suspicious 
 tone. 
 
 " I don't know, aunt ; they were just left here for 
 me. 
 
 " That is curious ! That thing must have cost 
 twenty marks at least, at this time of the year. Just 
 you listen to me, child " — and the stout little aunt 
 stood before the slender niece with uplifted finger 
 and wrathful eyes — " all this stuff of anonyr~ous 
 bouquets and that sort of thing won't go dov i with 
 me, do you understand ? You are living vnth a 
 respectable woman, and you will behave like a 
 respectable girl, or the door will be open to you — 
 there!" 
 
 Every drop of blood had fled from the girl's face, 
 and the basket with the flowers dropped from her 
 limp hand. 
 
 **Aunt," she gasped, "what are you sajring? 
 What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Oh, don't fly into a passion. I am only telling 
 you-jvhat you have got to do," was the reply, and 
 Frau Polly peeled an onion over the frying-pan. 
 
 *' I don't know who the flowers came from," said 
 Hilda, defending herself. " I declare to you, 
 aunt, that I only suppose they must have come from 
 Herr Jussnitz, the artist, the man who came here 
 vith me yesterday. I knew him before, he used ta 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 live next door to us, and he is going to give me 
 lessons." 
 
 "Well, wcJ, we shall see about that. For the 
 present you can do something to occupy yourself, 
 so you need not be sitting round thinking your silly 
 thoughts. The stockings that came back from the 
 last wash are not darned yet, and the yarn is there 
 OR the work-table." 
 
 " I — aunt — I have a headache, and I must go out 
 into the air. I didn't come here to dam stockings 
 either ; I want to educate myself for an artist. You 
 will surely let me visit the galleries ? " 
 
 Aunt Polly was still standing speechless, with the 
 onion in her hand, when her insulted niece shut the 
 hall-door behind her, and hurried down the street, 
 crying with vexation at the treatment she had un- 
 dergone. 
 
 The indignant girl followed the horse-car track, 
 and at length found herself in the handsomer part 
 of the town. She asked some one to tell her where 
 the picture gallery was, and was told to turn to the 
 right. She was forced to wait on the comer of 
 the street, there was such a confusion of carriages 
 and foot-passengers. Among a couple of horse- 
 cars, several carts, and various droschkies, an ele- 
 gant landau was slowly making its way. Hilda at 
 first only saw the magnificent black horses, which, 
 with their bits flecked with foam, were tossing their 
 heads with impatience at their delay. Then she 
 started. Wasn't that "he"? The occupant of the 
 carriage had his head turned toward his neighbor, 
 a young, light-haired woman, whose delicate oval 
 face was framed in a simple steel-blue capote. Il 
 
Misjudged. 63 
 
 must be he; two men could not look so much 
 alike ! 
 
 Hilda pushed her way through the crowd in 
 order to get a better view, but the street had 
 cleared just then and the carriage dashed on. 
 Hilda walked on mechanically, still looking after 
 It. A vague, tormenting fear had seized upon her. 
 The carriage soon disappeared from her sight, 
 and she wandered on, entirely occupied with her 
 thoughts. 
 
 But it could not be he I He had spoken to her 
 yesterday of trials and struggles in which he had 
 been almost overcome, and that man in the carriage 
 did not look like an artist who had had many priva- 
 tions to endure. And Hilda laughed at her own 
 folly. That man in the carriage, with his wife beside 
 him, was no doubt some rich manufacturer. She 
 thought of her roses at home. A man who had a 
 beautiful woman like that beside him did not send 
 flowers to other people in that secret manner. She 
 gradually grew calmer, and made up her mind that 
 in future she would be more reasonable, and would 
 do her best to get on with Aunt Polly, for she was 
 quite dependent on her at present. She asked the 
 
 way to X Strasse, and finally reached home 
 
 after a long walk. 
 
 Aunt Polly was lying on the sofa with her apron 
 over her face, taking her afternoon nap. The room 
 smelt of soup and nudels ; a dish was being kept 
 warm, for Hilda no doubt, as the table-cloth was still 
 on the table and her plate and knife and fork were 
 awaiting her. The old lady did not wake ; Hilda 
 silently ate her dinner, and after she had finished 
 
64 Misjudged. 
 
 cleared the table as silently. She had never dona 
 this at home. She had been petted and spoiled by 
 them all, and had been looked up to by them as the 
 *' talented one." Then she softly opened a window, 
 and sat down to try and dam the stockings. 
 
 She was not very successful, for she was quite 
 inexperienced, and the roses which stood in front of 
 her confused her so that she took blue yarn for black 
 stockings. But the old lady, who had wakened un- 
 observed by Hilda, when she saw the young girl so 
 busily at work by the window, decided to overlook 
 the past. She lay quite still, looking at the picture 
 before her, and thought to herself that after all it 
 was very pleasant to have such afresh young creature 
 in the house. She would try as far as it lay in hei 
 power to make her sensible and to get all those silly 
 ideas out of her head which the Zweidorf training 
 had put there. And if Hilda got on with her — well, 
 then there might be some reason for making a 
 will. 
 
 " Look here, Hilda," she cried, suddenly sitting 
 up, " we will try it again if you like. Come here and 
 give me your hand." 
 
 And Hilda crossed the room and put her hand 
 into her aunt's fat one. 
 
 " But you mustn't talk any more nonsense like that 
 of this morning." 
 
 ** I know very well what I am about, and I know 
 the world, if I am young," remarked Hilda. 
 
 Aunt Polly laughed a little. " You little goose ! " 
 she said. But she was silenced by the fiery glance 
 of this young creature. 
 
 " And," continued Hilda, " I must beg of you not 
 
Misjudged. 65 
 
 to forget that I am a Zweidorf and that our motto 
 js, ' Honor above all ! ' " 
 
 Aunt Polly turned quite red. HJida was standing 
 before her with the majestic air of a young princess. 
 Aunt Polly suddenly discovered that she had found 
 her master. She felt quite crestfallen as she went 
 into her little dafk kitchen, and stood there like a 
 stranger in her own four walls. 
 
 There would be a pretty kettle of fish if this girl 
 was to be forever flourishing her motto and crest ! 
 At length, with a deep sigh, she went down-stairs to 
 the shop and sent the grocery-woman's little girl for 
 the charwoman. It was no use to try and do with- 
 out her. Aunt Polly couldn't get up the courage to 
 set her high-bom niece to washing the dishes. She 
 couldn't even imagine now how she had ever come to 
 think of it. When she came back she found Hilda 
 in the little spare-room, trying to arrange a sort of 
 easel by the window with the help of a big portfolio. 
 
 " It is no use," said the girl ; " it is too dark." 
 
 And Aunt Polly inquired if Hilda wouldn't paint 
 in the best parlor. As soon as she had said it she 
 bit her lip and wondered what had made her. And 
 yet she seemed to be impelled to open the best room 
 and look on in silence as Hilda began eagerly to ar- 
 range her things. She nodded resignedly as Hilda 
 removed half a dozen china flower-pots containing 
 artificial roses and camellias from the window-seat, 
 with the simple inquiry : " May I, aunt ? " 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much, aunt," said the girl, 
 when this was done. " I will take the very best care 
 of your nice room." 
 
 -Jijwardly she shuddered at the furnishing of this 
 
66 Misjudged. 
 
 room, especially at the carpet, which was bright 
 blue with white roses strewed over it. She was also 
 very much disturbed by the horrible portraits of her 
 aunt and her late husband. But this was only for 
 a little while ; some day she would neither have to 
 look at the blue carpet or those wretched portraits. 
 She took out a water-color picture of her father's 
 house, behind which was a rude old stone tower and 
 some tall lindens, and while she was getting her 
 color-tubes and brushes out of her paint-box she 
 told her aunt all manner of things about her home. 
 Then she began to finish her sketch. 
 
 "It looks so washy," said Aunt Polly, "and the 
 paper is so coarse. Must you have it like that ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied her niece, shortly; and Aunt Polly 
 nodded and sat down with a sigh in the opposite 
 window, took out her knitting-work, and looked at 
 the houses across the way. She comforted herself 
 with thinking that it was really very interesting to 
 have a niece who painted. 
 
 But Hilda could not paint forever, and it seemed 
 as if the hours would never pass. How long a day 
 could be — how horribly long ! She did not sleep at 
 night, she was always thinking of the promised visit. 
 " I shall come in three days," he had said. Would 
 he keep his word ? 
 
 The third day came at last. Hilda sat down to 
 her work at an early hour, but her colors dried on 
 her palette, for she was continually gazing out into 
 the street. When it was too late to expect a visit 
 that morning, she fell into her old state of feverish 
 unrest ; she could not eat a morsel, and walked up 
 and down Aunt Polly's best room like a chained 
 
Misjudged. 67 
 
 Jioness. If he should not keep his promise, what 
 would become of her ? She did not remember now 
 that she had come here to make her way alone j she 
 felt as if her bark would suffer shipwreck if he 
 stayed away. 
 
 And he did not come. It grew dark ; Hilda could 
 no longer distinguish anything in the street. She 
 went out to the top of the staircase and listened for 
 the door-bell. Once she thought it must be that 
 some one was coming — her heart beat rapidly and 
 her limbs shook, but it was only the post-man who 
 brought her a letter from home. She put it in her 
 pocket and waited. He did not come. 
 
 By evening she was shivering all over, and then 
 she was burning hot. Aunt Polly saw that the girl 
 could scarcely sit up ; there were dark shadows 
 under her eyes and her face seemed quite changed. 
 
 "For Heaven's sake, go to bed, child. I hope 
 you won't be sick ! " 
 
 And she took the girl herself into her little room. 
 
 *' Go to sleep," she said ; " you want some fresh 
 air. Why haven't you been out all this time ? It 
 can't be good for you to be painting all the time." 
 
 "Yes, I am tired," gasped the girl. And when 
 the little old lady had gone away she hid her 
 head in the pillows and groaned like one wounded 
 unto death. The man had simply been making 
 sport of her, or he had forgotten her long ago, 
 while she had been thinking of nothing but him. 
 She clinched her fists in anger and wondered how 
 she could revenge herself if she should ever meet 
 him again. At this moment she could very well 
 comprehend that there were women who were 
 
68 Misjudged, 
 
 capable of stabbing a man who had been unfaith- 
 ful to them. She did not sleep that night, and the 
 next morning she was hardly strong enough to get 
 up, but the hope that he might still come that day 
 gave her courage. 
 
 She read her letter from home to-day. It was 
 from her mother. The lines were overflowing with 
 motherly tenderness and anxiety, but there was a 
 little touch of wounded feeling, too. 
 
 " When I found your parting note on the kitchen 
 table, Hilda, I could not keep back my tears," she 
 wrote. " I thought if you had only cared for your 
 mother the 'least little bit,' you would not have 
 gone away without saying good-by. May God 
 grant that all your golden dreams may come true, 
 dear child, and may you be spared all disappoint- 
 ments ! " 
 
 Tears rushed to Hilda's eyes, but she brushed 
 them angrily away. If her mother could only know 
 what a disappointment her " dear child " had al- 
 ready encountered ! But she must never know that, 
 neither she nor any one else in the world ! And 
 Hilda sat down again to her painting and looked 
 out into the street. Her aunt insisted upon her 
 going out, but she refused obstinately. She was 
 waiting. And when the twilight came on again, she 
 suddenly started up from her chair, and then sank 
 helplessly back — a man's voice in the hall was 
 asking for Fraulein von Zweidorf. 
 
 She had not heard the bell, she had not seen 
 him coming ; but here he was, Aunt Polly was 
 bringing him in. The old lady hurried off to get 
 the lamp, and when she came back she found him 
 
Misjudged. 69 
 
 standing before Hilda, who was sitting in her chair 
 pale as death. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz was very civil to Aunt Polly. He 
 told her about his former friendly relations with 
 the Zweidorf family ; how glad he was to be able 
 to be of some use to Fraulein Hilda, here, whom 
 he had known when she was a little girl ; how 
 pleased he was to find her here under the protection 
 of so kind an aunt ; and how he had come to make 
 arrangements for giving her lessons. 
 
 Aunt Polly kept her eyes on his right hand, but 
 there was no sign of a wedding-ring to be seen be- 
 neath his faultlessly fitting glove. Hilda did not 
 speak at first, and it was not until he turned to her 
 directly and asked if it would suit her to begin her 
 lessons the next day, and if she could give him 
 her first sitting the day after, that the color began 
 to come back into her face. 
 
 " Yes," she said, shortly ; and she added : " In 
 what dress will you paint me ? " 
 
 " In what could I paint you but a Spanish man- 
 tilla ? " he said, looking at her with undisguised ad- 
 miration. " But you must look as you do to-day, 
 so pale and so angry and — " So beautiful, he was 
 going to say, but he choked back the last words. 
 
 She made no reply. Aunt Polly was also silent 
 and dared not make any remark. 
 
 " Where is your studio .? " inquired Hilda, at length. 
 
 He mentioned the street. 
 
 "Good Heavens," cried Aunt Polly, "that is at 
 the end of the world ! And do you mean to walk 
 there every day ? " 
 
 " To be sure, aunt I And in your company the 
 
70 Misjudged. 
 
 vray will not seem long," replied Hilda, plucking at 
 the crochet lace which was spread over the arm of 
 the chair. 
 
 Jussnitz could not suppress a smile, for Aunt Polly 
 looked anything but pleased at the prospect before 
 her. The good woman did not know whether to 
 laugh or be angry at the claims made upon her. 
 How could she — every day — every day ? Ah, her 
 time, her beautiful leisure time ! 
 
 " But just consider, child," she began, " I btg of 
 you ! " 
 
 " Dear aunt," replied Hilda, with that majestic 
 air that had imposed silence on Frau Berger three 
 days before — " dear aunt, you must consider that 
 you have laid upon yourself the heavy burden of 
 acting as chaperon to your young niece, and that 
 nothing is left for you but to bear this burden as 
 patiently as may be." 
 
 Aunt Polly's face did not brighten at all at this 
 speech ; she only flushed crimson with anger. This 
 was the punishment for her suspicion. Hildegarde 
 knew very well how to revenge herself. 
 
 " Every day ? " she stammered, helplessly. 
 
 " Yes," replied Hilda, shortly. 
 
 " I want to have the picture ready for the Berlin 
 Exhibition," added Jussnitz. 
 
 " You are to be displayed at the Exhibition ? 
 What would your father say to that ? " 
 
 Aunt Polly clutched at the first straw to save 
 herself. 
 
 " Aunt, don't, please ; you do not understand," 
 cried the young girl, excitedly, turning toward the 
 little woman, with her eyes flashing. 
 
Misjudged, 71 
 
 Jussnitz thought it best to go. Aunt Polly trippe«J 
 out to light the hall lamp. 
 
 " Why did you not come yesterday 1 " asked 
 Hilda, in a low tone, but with a good deal of im- 
 petuosity. 
 
 He smiled ; he liked her in her angry excitement. 
 
 " I was detained by important business, just as I 
 was starting." 
 
 " Do you know what waiting means ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, yes. With you it means " 
 
 *' Suffering torture ! " interrupted Hilda, abruptly. 
 
 He knew she was speaking the truth ; her feverish 
 eyes gave evidence of it. 
 
 " Good-by, Herr Jussnitz, and thank you for the 
 flowers," she added. 
 
 He smiled again. " And what if I did not de- 
 serve your thanks ? " he said. 
 
 She was taken aback for a moment ; then she, too, 
 smiled. Her still gloomy face looked indescribably 
 lovely. 
 
 " By Jove, I don't know whether I had not bet- 
 ter paint you with smiling lips, after all ! " he cried. 
 And when she gave him her hand he pressed it to 
 his lips and murmured : " Auf wiedersehen ! " 
 
 Aunt Polly lighted the guest down-stairs. When 
 she came back to remonstrate with her niece, the 
 latter had left the room and fled to her own cham- 
 ber. There she yielded to her overstrained nerves 
 and cried, cried as if her heart would break. 
 
 Aunt Polly stood outside and demanded to be 
 let in, in vain ; at last she went back to the parlor, 
 shaking her head. Good Heavens ! What would 
 come of it ? He was handsome and distinguished. 
 
7a 
 
 Misjudged. 
 
 and — one could never tell — in love affairs the un- 
 likeliest things sometimes happened. Well, she 
 shouldn't grudge it to the Zweidorfs. " Ah, Polly, 
 Polly," she said, half-aloud, "you have got yourself 
 into a pretty mess with your silly good-nature. 
 Well, it is to be hoped the affair will soon come to 
 a good end I " 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 An open carriage coming from Dresden dashed 
 by on the highway at full speed. It was a dull De- 
 cember day, and the snow was coming down in large 
 flakes. The two gentlemen who sat in the carriage 
 wrapped in furs looked like snow-men, so thickly 
 were the white stars scattered over their coats. Herr 
 Jussnitz had just met at the station his friend Wolf 
 Maiberg, who had come direct from Hamburg. Only 
 a few days before he had arrived there on the steamer 
 from Rio de Janeiro, and had come to spend Christ- 
 mas with his friend Jussnitz. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz looked cross. " You will certainly 
 take cold, Wolf," he grumbled. " What an idea, to 
 want to drive in an open carriage ! " 
 
 " If you are afraid of freezing, then have the 
 carriage shut up," was the reply. " As for me, it is 
 a perfect delight to be able to breathe snowy air — 
 German snowy air, once more, Leo." 
 
 And the man's broad breast expanded, he drew 
 in such a long, full breath. A shadow passed over 
 his handsome, strong face, the sunburned color of 
 which contrasted strangely with the light full beard 
 and the clear, gray-blue eyes, as Jussnitz actually 
 gave orders to have the carriage closed. 
 
 " It is a pity," he said ; " this wintry landscape, 
 the white roofs of the villas in their snowy gardens 
 
74 Misjudged. 
 
 make such a pretty picture. You can't imagine, Leo, 
 how delighted I was when I saw the first flakes from 
 the window of the train to-day. Such a feeling of 
 having got home came over me so powerfully that 
 
 " Oh, for Heaven's sake, Wolf, you will see plenty 
 of snow now, and I have no desire to get a cold in 
 my head." 
 
 Dr. Maiberg, struck by the irritated tone, looked 
 penetratingly at his friend, and noticed his sharp- 
 ened features, pale face, and dull eyes. 
 
 " Are you not well, Leo ? " he asked, anxiously. 
 
 " Oh, don't torment me with questions like that, 
 Wolf. I can't possibly look as I did eight years 
 ago. 
 
 ** Of course not, any more than I do — the years 
 will write their lines on our faces. But still you 
 might look well, and that is not the case. You look 
 nervous." 
 
 " My dear Wolf, you are on the lookout for a 
 patient," said Jussnitz, with an angry laugh. 
 
 " Heaven forbid I On the contrary, I am glad for 
 once not to hear any complaints, but I am sorry not 
 to find you as well as I had hoped." 
 
 " I thought my last letter might have — " began 
 Jussnitz. 
 
 *' Yes, to be sure — that letter. I could see from 
 that that you were not quite up to the mark. It was 
 a jumble of complaints and self-congratulations, of 
 good and bad — you were not at your best when you 
 wrote it, Leo. But just look, there is a wagon full 
 of Christmas trees," said Maiberg, suddenly inter- 
 rupting himself and pomting with a smile lo the cart 
 
Misjudged, f j 
 
 which drove by as fast as its heavy burden would 
 allow, filling the air with a resinous odor of fir-trees. 
 
 " They are all going to Santa Claus," said Jussnitz. 
 " But don't get excited, Wolf ; you shall have a 
 Christmas tree ; only, for Heaven's sake, don't let 
 us be sentimental." 
 
 " I ? I haven't the slightest leaning in that direc- 
 tion, Leo. I was only trying to avoid a sentimental 
 conversation that seemed to have been burning on 
 your tongue ever since we met. You are aching to 
 free your mind to me, old fellow, and I will not give 
 you a chance to do it. I would rather see and judge 
 for myself. I am convinced that it is not half so 
 bad as you try to make out. You always used to 
 exaggerate." 
 
 " You are still of the opinion, then, that only that 
 man is happy who believes himself to be so ? * 
 
 " Quite right, that is still my opinion ; for it is not 
 the circumstance itself, but only the way we take it, 
 that makes all our trouble. Who is it that has said 
 the same thing ? Well, no matter, it is true, at all 
 events." 
 
 " My mother-in-law is on a visit to us now," said 
 Jussnitz, laconically. 
 
 The other laughed heartily. " Ah, there are vine- 
 yards, Leo ! Have you anything so delightful on 
 your place ? " 
 
 " Yes, there are vineyards belonging to Sibyllen- 
 burg," replied Jussnitz. 
 
 " Then you will offer me a draught of wine from 
 your own press at the gate of your castle, Leo ? '* 
 
 "Unfortunately, I do not make my own wine. I 
 have let the vineyard — it is too heavy a wine for me 
 
76 Misjudged. 
 
 It is a pity, Wolf, for you would no doubt take the 
 Sibyllenburg wine for genuine Rudesheinier or Jo- 
 hannisberger, thanks to your gift for seeing, tasting, 
 and feeling things as you expect to find them." 
 
 " Now you seem to be recovering, Leo, so tell me 
 about your painting. Have you finished your pict- 
 ure of the beautiful Baroness ? " 
 
 " No, I have had something more important on 
 hand, and she has been away for a long time, too,' 
 
 " More important ? " inquired Wolf Maiberg, 
 stooping to pick up a small packet that Jussnitz 
 had pulled out of his pocket as he took out his 
 handkerchief. The carelessly folded paper dis- 
 played a pale blue plush //«;, which had sprung 
 open and revealed a glittering object, giving out 
 all the colors of the rainbow. The young doctor 
 opened the case to its full extent. 
 
 " You see, Leo, curiosity is still my great weak- 
 ness," he said with a smile, as he examined the 
 ornament. It was a very small brooch in the shape 
 of a clover-leaf, but the three stones which com- 
 posed it were exceedingly costly — a ruby, a dia- 
 mond, and a sapphire. Nevertheless, the little pin 
 had an air of simplicity ; none but a connoisseur 
 would have understood its real value. 
 
 "Very pretty, Leo," said Maiberg. "Is that 
 your wife's taste ? A little brooch like that looks to 
 me more suited to a young girl." 
 
 Jussnitz took the //«/ and put it back in his 
 pocket. "It is the fashion just now, that sort of 
 thing," he said. " Besides, you know this is Christ- 
 naas-time.'* 
 
 " Yes, it is charming, this tiaae, with all its little 
 
Misjudged. 77 
 
 mysteries. You are a lucky fellow to be able to 
 make such presents, and especially when you know 
 you will attain your object of giving pleasure." 
 
 Leo Jussnitz muttered something unintelligible. 
 His friend paid no attention to it ; his face, which 
 had been so cheerful before, had now grown grave. 
 
 " I wanted to make a present of just such shin- 
 ing stones once," continued Maiberg. " It was two 
 years ago. I had been saving up for it for months, 
 and it gave me great pleasure when I pictured to 
 myself how a certain pair of dark eyes would shine 
 as they looked at the sparkling stones. I was just 
 putting the itui in a bouquet of pomegranate blos- 
 soms, to send it to its destination, when the post- 
 man came and brought me a letter — and I did not 
 send off the brooch. The person for whom it was 
 intended wrote to me that she thought it would be 
 better for her not to join her fate to mine, and that 
 in accordance with her parents' wishes she had en- 
 gaged herself to the owner of a hacienda which was 
 one of the largest and richest in all Brazil. I threw 
 the pomegranate blossoms out of the window and 
 locked up the brooch in my writing-desk. How 
 could I ever have imagined that a woman would 
 share my toilsome lot? It is quite another thing 
 when one has a husband who can put carriages, 
 villas, and yachts at one's disposal." 
 
 "You never wrote me that you were engaged. 
 Wolf," said Leo. "Why did you not comfort your> 
 self with some one else ? Good Heavens, there 
 must be plenty of girls, and rich girls too, even in 
 that part of the world." 
 
 " I loved her." 
 
 riri'ii ■mtiiir in" "•^^'•■■■■- -■■- ' 
 
78 Misjudged. 
 
 " And do you love her still ? " 
 
 " I have got over it now, Leo, and I have come 
 here to look for a wife, a good woman, a German 
 woman. Do you know — such a woman as my 
 mother was — can you remember her? Always 
 pleasant, kindly, and with a sound understanding ; 
 for anything more, Leo, is superfluous in a woman 
 who is to be always with us in good days and evil 
 days. I want a cheerful face, a quiet manner, 
 when I come home tired from my work. I do not 
 want a brilliant, intellectual woman, who would 
 insist on my dressing and following her about to 
 operas and balls. I don't like that sort of thing, and 
 I thank Heaven that I have been preserved from 
 that fate. Is that tall gable over there Sibyllen- 
 burg ? " 
 
 " No, that is Baroness Erlach's house. Sibyllen- 
 burg is rococo, purest rococo. You will see it at the 
 next turning." 
 
 " I am very curious about your home, Leo, and 
 your wife and child." 
 
 " You will hardly see Antje unless you go down 
 into the kitchen. We have some guests coming this 
 evening, and so " 
 
 " What ? Guests this evening ? " 
 
 " Will it disturb you. Wolf ? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; not at all. Only I had been looking 
 forward to an evening when we two might talk over 
 old times over a glass of wine, and " 
 
 " Oh, let the old times go ; the very memory of 
 them makes me miserable," said Jussnitz. "'But 
 here we are." 
 
 The carriage had turned in at an iron gateway and 
 
Misjudged. 75 
 
 presently stopped before a low flight of steps roofed 
 over with glass. A young lady was standing in the 
 lofty open doorway, above which two genii in flut- 
 tering garments with flying ribbons were holding up 
 a coat-of-arms. It was already dusk ; the light which 
 was shed over the hall from a lamp hanging from 
 the ceiling fell on the golden hair of a beautifully 
 shaped head. Wolf could not distinguish the feat- 
 ures plainly ; he only saw a pair of large eyes look- 
 ing out of a white face, and he thought the whole 
 figure, as she stood there in her dark dress with 
 a dazzling white apron, and a key-basket on her 
 arm, was full of a homely grace. A low, pleasant 
 voice sounded in his ear. 
 
 " You are welcome, Herr Doctor. I am so glad to 
 see Leo's best friend." 
 
 Wolf felt as if at this moment he had come into 
 the home atmosphere for the first time, the German 
 atmosphere for which he had so longed. He felt 
 greatly moved, and he silently pressed the young 
 wife's hand to his lips. He could not find suitable 
 words in which to reply to her, and without speak- 
 ing he followed his friend's wife into the house. 
 
 So this was the woman who made Leo so unhappy ? 
 She had bent her head for her husband's kiss, and 
 replied to his question as to whether Wolf's room 
 was ready, that she hoped their guest would find 
 everything as he liked it. And with a pleasant nod 
 she said to the latter : '^Auf wiedersehen, Herr Doc- 
 tor ! " Then she disappeared, with the jingling 
 basket on her arm, through the tall folding-doors 
 that opened into the dining-room. 
 
 Wolf stood looking after her. " Her manner is 
 
8a Misjudged. 
 
 perfect ! " he murmured, as the door closed behind 
 the slender figure. He walked slowly toward the 
 carpeted staircase, as Leo, who thought his friend 
 was following him, called back : " Where are you. 
 Wolf ? This way, please ! " 
 
 He went into Leo's sitting-room and passed through 
 the studio. In spite of the early hour, it was all 
 brilliantly lighted, and had a rich look, almost too 
 magnificent, perhaps. The chamber which was 
 assigned to him was exceedingly comfortable and 
 only too elegantly furnished. There were rugs scat- 
 tered about, bear-skins, and costly articles of luxury 
 everywhere. 
 
 " Make yourself comfortable, Wolf ; a cup of tea 
 or a glass of wine is quite at your disposal. You 
 need not make a great toilet. Our guests will be 
 here in an hour and I will come to fetch you." 
 
 Dr. Maiberg was alone. He had dismissed the ser- 
 vant who brought in his trunk and offered his ser- 
 vices in unpacking it. He must be ready in an hour, 
 so he had not very much time. He sat down on the 
 sofa and looked about the room. He must first of 
 all get accustomed to the idea of being Leo's guest. 
 How often that had been the case in those earlier 
 days ! Then he had sat opposite one of the gayest 
 of mortals, in a plain, cane-bottomed chair, before 
 the plainest table imaginable. Colors, papers, pen- 
 cils, and all sorts of painting apparatus were tossed 
 about in the wildest confusion, and in the midst 
 of it all a tin tea-kettle was singing gayly. The 
 little black stove in the corner of the white-washed 
 room was cold, for the fire was only made once a 
 day, and before the curtainless window of the 
 
 %. 
 
Misjudged, 8i 
 
 attic room the neighbor's cat ran across the roof 
 and wondered that the two men within could laugh 
 so heartily in spite of the poverty, the cold, and the 
 sour wine. 
 
 What had happened to J.jo ? Dr. Maiberg drew 
 his hand hastily across his forehead. The beauti- 
 ful, slender figure of his young wife rose before his 
 eyes — was she really such a nonentity as Leo made 
 her out ? Poor fellow — if it really were so ! It 
 must be horrible to live in a constant struggle with 
 pettiness and narrowness, horrible for any man, but 
 most of all for an artist. He pictured to himself the 
 results of this want of character. How horrible to 
 have a wife who did nothing but wash and cook and 
 bake, who simply by her presence drove away the 
 graces and all poetry. Leo's letter had made him 
 more anxious than he had been willing to acknowl- 
 edge to his friend. Thank Heaven, her appearance^ 
 at least, was by no means prosaic ! She had seemed 
 10 him like one of those beautiful womanly figures 
 that Beyschlag paints so charmingly. Could the 
 mind really be so great a contradiction of the ex- 
 terior ? 
 
 Presently he drew a long breath as he went 
 up to the table, and with an expression of emotion 
 looked at a shallow glass dish in which some pine- 
 branches and Christmas roses were gracefully ar- 
 ranged. 
 
 "That could have been no one y^MX. her ; no 
 servant would ever have dreamed of that!" he 
 said under his breath, and he had a vision of her as 
 she stood there arranging the flowers. That cer- 
 tainly did not look like a prosaic nature, to offer 
 
 L-,. 
 
62 Misjudged 
 
 home-flowers as a friendly greeting to the stranger 
 from a foreign land ! 
 
 The comfortable home-feeling he had had on his 
 arrival came over him with renewed force ; but then 
 it suddenly occurred to him that he was in a fair 
 way to commit a gross sin of omission — he certainly 
 ought, before he appeared among the other guests, 
 to pay his respects to the hostess. He finished 
 dressing as quickly as possible, and then requested 
 a servant to announce him to Frau Jussnitz. The 
 man came back in three minutes to say that his 
 mistress regretted extremely not to be able to 
 receive the Herr Doctor, as she was occupied in 
 the nursery at present. 
 
 Leo, who entered a moment after the servant, 
 laughed shortly, as he threw himself down on the 
 sofa, at the queer mixture of disappointment and 
 resignation plainly expressed on the doctor's 
 face. 
 
 " Don't take it to heart, Wolf," he said, as the 
 servant left the room *' The nursery is the barrier 
 which my wife erects to enable her to escape all 
 social duties." 
 
 " Well, a nursery is a better barrier than the cus- 
 tomary headache," said Wolf, carelessly. " There is 
 some reason in that excuse." 
 
 " Not in my opinion. This eternal nursery looks 
 like obstinacy to me." 
 
 " Perhaps you are too severe in your judgment, 
 Leo, As a physician, I know how to prize the fre- 
 quent presence of a mother in her nursery." 
 
 " Her frequent presence and — a settling down 
 there for good and all are two very different things, 
 
Misjudged. 85 
 
 my dear fellow. My wife has trustworthy people 
 in her employ, but — nowadays " 
 
 " Good Heavens, Leo, you seem to consider that 
 a fault for which other men are grateful ! " cried 
 Wolf, in the attempt to soften his friend's judgment. 
 "Count yourself happy in possessing a wife who 
 has a sense of duty which is rare enough in these 
 days. Confound it, Leo, you seem determined to 
 make yourself miserable. Is this gloomy temper 
 all you have gained in exchange for your former 
 condition of care and anxiety ? You live in a 
 palace like a fairy dream, and make yourself un- 
 happy over the merest trifles — or is this an especially 
 bad day with you ? Perhaps your liver is troubling 
 you. I must direct my attention to it ; it may be 
 so. If that is the case, you might be set down in 
 the midst of paradise itself, and you would still 
 grumble." 
 
 " Nonsense, Wolf, nonsense ! " said Jussnitz, put- 
 ting out his hands in self-defence, as the doctor 
 playfully attempted to feel his liver. "Only stay 
 here for a week and then you will think differently. 
 But let us talk of something more agreeable. It is 
 nearly six o'clock now ; we will go to the reception 
 rooms. The guests will soon be there, but Antje 
 will be sure not to appear until the Baroness has 
 already looked round for the hostess with her most 
 malicious smile." 
 
 They descended a small winding staircase which 
 led directly from the studio into the billiard-room, 
 passed through the dining-room, and entered the 
 reception-room, which was furnished with princely 
 magnificence. Wolf opened his eyes in surprise; 
 
%4 Misjudged. 
 
 he glanced from the wonderfully preserved frescos 
 of the ceiling, portraying the triumph of Venus and 
 framed in richly gilded stucco, over the walls hung 
 with yellow silk, over the mirror-like parquet, the 
 rich hangings which covered the doors and win- 
 dows, over the innumerable chairs, stools, and sofas 
 — all gilded in the purest rococo style. Really, it 
 was all quite perfect, like a saloon in the Trianon. 
 But the smile on the doctor's face was no longer free 
 from discomfort. " Strange," he thought to him- 
 self. ** I had looked foward to such a very different 
 evening. As we drove here, I pictured to myself 
 a very comfortable room, in which there was no 
 lack of artistic decorations. I saw a white tea- 
 table, around which sat three persons calling up 
 the memory of old times. Now here I am in this 
 state apartment — and " 
 
 His thoughts were interrupted by the clock on the 
 mantelpiece striking six. At that moment a lady 
 came in through the o^enportihrej her golden head 
 was turned as if she were looking once more at the 
 arrangement of the table in the dining-room. Wolf 
 was struck dumb. This slender, wonderfully lovely 
 figure, in her black moir^ dress with a white fichu 
 over her shoulders, which was crossed on the breast 
 and carried round the waist, ending in a loose knot 
 behind, as Marie Antoinette was fond of wearing it 
 — this figure in its elegant simplicity was absolutely 
 striking against this brilliant background. 
 
 She came up to Wolf with a Hght step, and hold- 
 ing out her hand and looking earnestly at the young 
 physician with a pair of eyes of whose " apparently 
 unfathomable depths " Leo had certainly not said 
 
Misjudged. 85 
 
 too much, she begged him to excuse her for not 
 having received him, as she was "just giving her 
 baby a bath." 
 
 " My poor wife is obliged to do that herself ; she 
 has no servants," said Leo, ironically. 
 
 " Not at all," was her quiet reply. " I like to do 
 it, and — especially since the nurse nearly killed the 
 child once." 
 
 " Pray do not give us any reminiscences of that 
 kind, my dear ! " cried Leo. 
 
 She turned toward him. " Mamma wished me 
 to ask you to excuse her for this evening. She does 
 not feel very well." 
 
 " I did not suppose your mother would dine with 
 us," he replied. 
 
 She looked quietly at her husband. " And where 
 should mamma dine, if not with us ? " she asked. 
 
 Wolf thought he saw the soft, pale face quiver, and 
 it cut him to the heart. 
 
 " Oh, good Heavens," muttered Leo, ** we are all 
 young people. I thought it would be a bore to her, 
 and would tire her besides." 
 
 " My mother — bored 2 She who is so fond of 
 young people ? " 
 
 And with a deep flush she turned to the fire- 
 place to push back a burning log that had fallen 
 too far forward. 
 
 "She never can understand," muttered Leo, an- 
 grily, as he disappeared into the adjoining room, 
 a small boudoir, whose brown gold-stamped leather 
 hangings made a very effective contrast to the glit- 
 tering gold of the reception-room. 
 
 Antje took some time to get the refractory 
 
86 Misjudged. 
 
 beechen log back into its proper place, and to force 
 back the customary two tears which had come into 
 her eyes. Now for the first time she understood her 
 mother's refusal to join the party — Leo had, no 
 doubt, made it very clear to her that he did not 
 desire her presence. Antje felt as much hurt as 
 if it had been a personal slight to herself. What 
 would this stranger think of it ? 
 
 When she turned round the latter was standing 
 with his back to her, before a large picture of two 
 little naked cupids crowned with vine-leaves, play- 
 ing about a very peaceably disposed panther. 
 
 " How exquisitely the rosy flesh of the little 
 cupid is painted," he said. "Just look, Frau Juss- 
 nitz, at the dimples in that little fat hand ; isn't it 
 delightful ? " 
 
 She came up to him, a lovely sad smile on her 
 pale face. 
 
 " Yes, it is," she said ; " the hand is so perfectly 
 drawn, just like that of my little Leonie." As she 
 spoke the sad smile faded. 
 
 " May I come to see the child to-morrow ? " he 
 asked earnestly. 
 
 She assented eagerly. 
 
 "Yes, Herr Doctor, please do ! I will have her 
 brought to my room, for I hope to-morrow you will 
 pay me the visit I missed to-day ? " 
 
 " I hope I may be received in the young lady's 
 own room," he replied, looking in her face with a 
 kindly smile in his blue eyes ; adding : " After I 
 have paid my respects to her mamma in her room, 
 where I shall hope to be presented to your mother." 
 
 His kind words seemed to her like a soothing 
 
Misjudged. 87 
 
 balm poured on an open wound to quiet the pain^ 
 and which yet occasioned more pain than if the 
 wound had been left untouched. 
 
 " My mother will be very glad to see you," she 
 replied, more coldly, and then she turned quickly to 
 meet a lady, who, accompanied by an immensely 
 tall, light-haired man, had just fluttered in. Wolf 
 could not think of any more fitting word to express 
 her movements. There was really something but- 
 terfly-like in the appearance of the slender, almost 
 too slender, brunette. She wore a white gown 
 which was made with a sort of blouse waist with 
 wide, pufifed sleeves, and an impossibly narrow 
 skirt, ending in a long train, and was exceedingly 
 becoming to the wearer. Above the very high 
 collar, which was held together by small diamond 
 pins, rose a pretty head with hair cut short, a 
 youthful style which gave a droll look to the little 
 ears with their diamond drops. Her face was pale, 
 and was lighted up by dark eyes, half gay, half 
 languishing. The nose was very short and straight ; 
 the scarlet lips seemed constantly smiling, for no 
 reason except to display two rows of sharp, white, 
 very irregular teeth, which were really charming. 
 In her hand she held a round fan with a long 
 handle on which was painted a little rococo picture. 
 
 " I entreat you, dear Frau Jussnitz," she cried, 
 "to put my cousin at the very farthest end of the 
 table this evening. He was so excessively naughty 
 on the way here that I would rather forget his 
 presence entirely." As she spoke she gave the 
 blond giant, who smilingly stroked his light beard, 
 ^ S^y glance from her dark eyes. 
 
&S Misjudged. 
 
 Jussnitz introduced his friend. Before Wolf could 
 exchange the customary polite phrases with the 
 Baroness, ten or twelve gentlemen had come in, 
 some of whom were in uniform, others in civilian 
 dress. 
 
 The Baroness and Antje were the only ladies 
 p.-esent. The former, seating herself on a sofa, had 
 instantly the whole crowd of men around her. 
 
 Wolf, who had looked round for Antje, discov- 
 ered the young wife in the adjoining room, where 
 she was giving orders to a servant. In a few min- 
 utes she returned and seated herself on the outer 
 edge of the circle, as if she did not belong to it, her 
 eyes looking absently into the distance. Wolf drew 
 his chair up beside her and tried to enter into con- 
 versation with her by beginning to talk about his 
 travels. She looked at him attentively as he spoke, 
 but she did not utter a word in reply. When he 
 had minutely described a Christmas eve in Rio 
 without eliciting a single remark, he ceased speak- 
 ing ; he was tired from his journey and he was glad 
 to be quiet. 
 
 She did not seem to notice his silence. The 
 laugh of the little Baroness, which was invariably 
 followed by a shout of laughter from the gentlemen, 
 sounded frequently through the room. 
 
 " You are in a gay mood, even before dinner, 
 Baroness," said a youthful cavalry officer. " What 
 will you be afterward ? " 
 
 " I always am, my dear Osten, when I have been 
 really vexed," replied the Baroness, as, still laugh- 
 ing, she put her hand on the arm of the host, to go 
 in to dinner. As she passed out, she turned her 
 
Misjudged. 89 
 
 head and looked across at her cousin, and quick as 
 a flash the tip of her Httle tongue appeared between 
 her red Hps, and the saucy face under the short hair 
 looked surprisingly like that of a naughty boy. 
 
 " Incredible ! " murmured the blond giant, with 
 an expression of infinite amusement. . . . 
 
 Antje sat at the head of the table ; on her right 
 was Maiberg ; on her left an elderly painter with 
 long hair and an interesting but rather peevish-look- 
 ing thin face, who was inwardly wondering why he, 
 who really had accomplished something in the 
 world, must be forced to starve, while this fool of 
 a Jussnitz had been wrapped by fate in silk and 
 velvet. These observations, however, did not pre- 
 vent him from enjoying his oysters very much. 
 
 The Baroness had at once monopolized the con- 
 versation ; her clear, bell-like voice was heard con- 
 tinually above the laughter of the men ; she seemed 
 to be in particularly good humor to-day. 
 
 Antje looked scrutinizingly at the table once or 
 twice, and as she found everything in faultless order, 
 from the richly embroidered table-cloth of the same 
 design as the china to the silver epergne filled with 
 flowers, she seemed to take no more notice of what 
 was going on. She drooped her lashes and broke 
 off small morsels of her bread, which she put me- 
 chanically between her lips. One of her neighbors 
 was entirely absorbed in his dinner ; Maiberg, on 
 the other hand, watched her with discreet curiosity, 
 without addressing her. She had such a lovely, 
 pale face, but her expression was no longer sad, 
 only indifferent. When the Baroness's frequent 
 laugh came to her ears she raised her eyes for p 
 
90 Misjudged. 
 
 moment as if startled, and then sank back into her 
 apathy. 
 
 ** Osten and I want to spend this Christmas at 
 Barrenberg," said Frau von Erlach's cousin. 
 
 " They are like Hans who wanted to learn to 
 ehiver," cried the Baroness ; " they want to see the 
 White Lady of Barrenberg." 
 
 " Barrenberg is an old castle on the other side 
 of the Elbe, which belongs to Frau von Erlach's 
 cousin. The colonel stays there sometimes in sum- 
 mer and autumn, but at Christmas time — in fact, 
 all winter — it is always empty. For many years 
 the occupants have deserted the castle at this time 
 of year because, as people say, the White Lady 
 ' walks ' there then. They say a Barrenberg once 
 stabbed his brother there on Christmas eve for the 
 sake of a beautiful woman." 
 
 This explanation was given to Maiberg, in reply 
 to his request for information, by his next neighbor. 
 
 "My belief is, however," added his informant, 
 smiling, ** that this desertion of the old barrack at 
 this time of year is not occasioned so much by the 
 White Lady as by the charms of Dresden." 
 
 " I would give anything to see the ghost," said 
 Frau von Erlach. 
 
 "You can if you like, cousin," said Barrenberg. 
 " I hereby invite you." 
 
 *' But who else will you ask ? " 
 
 "Well, what if all who are here now were to 
 celebrate Christmas eve in the old banquet-hall ? " 
 cried Barrenberg. 
 
 " It is to be hoped there will be snow, and then 
 it will be more romantic," said a well-known land- 
 
Misjudged. 9* 
 
 scape painter. ** The yellow light of the candles 
 will stream out into the deserted court-yard, and we 
 will stand at the window and see the figure of the 
 White Lady coming across the snow through the 
 arched gateway of the little garden — and the traces 
 of her footsteps will be plainly visible in the 
 snow " 
 
 "And," interrupted the Baroness, "we will put 
 out the lights, and we shall see the figure come into 
 the hall and glide past us with eyes cast down — it 
 makes my heart beat just to think of it. So, is it a 
 bargain, good people ? " 
 
 "But what will become of your two cadets, 
 cousin ? " cried Barrenberg, gayly. " You can't 
 possibly burden their youthful spirits with ghostly 
 adventures like that, and besides " 
 
 " They would be in the way, cousin, I know that. 
 They will stay at home, of course." 
 
 " Alone, on Christmas Day ? " cried Lieutenant 
 Osten. " Do you know, Baroness, if my mother had 
 treated me like that — I " 
 
 " Well ? " inquired the beautiful woman, drinking 
 off a glass of champagne. 
 
 " Well — I should have been very much surprised, 
 to say the least," said Osten, quietly. 
 
 " My boys can be that too, if they like," she 
 replied, ''They can have their presents the next 
 day. To comfort them for my absence I will give 
 them a big box of bonbons and cakes, and 
 then " 
 
 " You will ruin their digestion," remarked Mai- 
 berg, dryly. 
 
 "Dear me, Herr Doctor," sighed the Baroness, 
 
93 Misjudged. 
 
 " that wouldn't be the worst thing that could hap- 
 pen. Then they would be a little subdued, at least, 
 during the vacation, and wouldn't be so horribly 
 loud and overpowering." 
 
 She said this with such a melancholy air that the 
 effect was irresistibly droll, and Baron Barrenberg 
 took up his glass. 
 
 " I dedicate this glass to the most affectionate of 
 mothers ! So here's to a nice little colic for your 
 sons, Irene, for the soothing of your nerves." 
 
 The Baroness clinked her glass with his. "A 
 merry meeting, gentlemen, at Barrenberg on Christ- 
 mas eve," she cried. " I will coax the White Lady 
 to stop and chat with us. I will wager she will tell 
 us some delightful stories." 
 
 The colonel rose and gallantly approached the 
 young hostess with his glass. " May I venture to 
 hope, Frau Jussnitz, that you will not refuse my 
 invitation ? " 
 
 " I hope you will excuse me, Herr von Barren- 
 berg, but I must spend Christmas eve at home 
 with my mother and my child," she replied, very 
 decidedly and very coldly. 
 
 He bowed and returned to his seat. 
 
 Leo looked uneasily from his wife to the colonel. 
 
 " A rejection, Jussnitz, a downright rejection 
 from your wife." 
 
 "Ah, bah ! " replied the host, carelessly. " If I 
 persuade her she will come too — won't you, Antje ? " 
 
 But Antje did not seem to have heard him ; she 
 was again absently looking down at her glass, in 
 which the champagne had long ceased to bubble. 
 
 With a shrug of his shoulders, Jussnitz turned to 
 
Misjudged. 93 
 
 his neighbor. The Baroness was already in the 
 midst of a droll story. 
 
 "But I assure you, these diamonds" — she 
 pointed to the glittering stones of a bracelet that 
 Jussnitz had probably been admiring — " were buried 
 once for eleven years. Would you like to hear 
 about it ? It is quite a pendant for Chamisso's 
 poem about woman's faith." 
 
 "It must be very interesting; so pray go on, tell 
 the story ! " the guests cried in chorus. 
 
 " I suppose you have all heard of my late Uncle 
 Wittelstein ? " 
 
 " To be sure, the man with seven wives." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! It was only four ! Don't exag- 
 gerate, Osten ! " she said, reprovingly. " Well, the 
 aforesaid uncle had lost two wives while he was 
 still quite young, for after he had mourned for the 
 first three years, he got engaged again. The bride 
 or the wife, for the time being, was in his eyes 
 always the loveliest one he had ever had. This 
 third one he considered something quite superhu- 
 man, and when she was snatched from him after a 
 year of marriage, he was so beside himself with grief 
 that he buried with her a very costly diamond neck- 
 lace that she had been very fond of. 
 
 " This time," continued the Baroness, " he re- 
 mained a widower for eleven years ; but then he met 
 a young girl who far surpassed anything he had 
 ever seen before. He got engaged to her, and of 
 course he wished to adorn his idolized bride to the 
 utmost extent of his power. He began to think 
 about the buried necklace — why should he buy new 
 stones ? The dead would not care if he took back 
 
94 Misjudged. 
 
 those. So he secretly despatched his old chasseur 
 and the gardener into the vault, which was built in 
 a gloomy spot in the park, with orders to open the 
 coffin of the last Baroness and bring him the neck- 
 lace. The next morning the chasseur appeared at 
 the bedside of the old man with a crestfallen air. 
 *Herr Baron,* he stammered out, ' there is nothing 
 in the coffin but a heap of dust.' 
 
 " * But the diamonds, the diamonds ! ' demanded 
 my uncle impatiently. 
 
 " * The gracious Baroness has all gone to dust,* said 
 the old man in excuse. * I ' 
 
 " ' Well, confound it, sift the Baronesp then ! * 
 screamed out the affectionate widower. ' And do it 
 on the spot, too ! * " 
 
 The Baroness carefully selected a candied orange, 
 picked out one or two other fruits, and added : " And 
 so my good aunt was sifted ! " 
 
 She said the last words with her peculiarly infec- 
 tious laugh, and the gay company — they had already 
 got to the dessert — ^joined in. 
 
 " And these are the stones ! " 
 
 She held up her beautiful arm, and showeu the 
 sparkling stones. 
 
 " Jussnitz," she remarked, turning to her neigh' 
 bor, " you must positively perpetuate this brace- 
 let in my portrait — if you should ever find time, 
 that is, to put the finishing touches to it. Of course 
 I am modest, and withdraw into the background 
 before such an important and at the same time 
 such a charming work as you are engaged on at 
 present. You know I am always considerate of my 
 friends. " 
 
Misjudged 9S 
 
 " What are you painting now» Jussnitz ? ** cried 
 several gentlemen at once. 
 
 " A portrait," he replied. 
 
 This turn the conversation had taken was evi- 
 dently disagreeable to him. 
 
 " A study, but such a study ! " exclaimed Frau 
 von Erlach. " I assure you, my friends, this young 
 Spanish girl is absolutely bewitching. If I could 
 only find out where the original is to be found, I 
 would invite her to my house, only just to gaze at 
 her beauty for once to my heart's content. By the 
 way, Frau Jussnitz, are you not jealous — ^not the 
 least little bit?" 
 
 Antje rose at this moment, a signal that the dinner 
 was at an end. The gentlemen started up from their 
 chairs, leaving the half-emptied glasses and bottles 
 behind them ; the Baroness cast a mocking glance 
 of surprise at the young hostess, but Antje's face 
 was pale and calm as she returned the bows of the 
 gentlemen with a slight inclination of the head, and 
 begged them to come into the yellow salon to take 
 their coffee. 
 
 Presently they were chatting as gayly as before. 
 The Baroness smoked a cigarette in the circle of 
 her admirers ; Antje talked with the old painter 
 about a copy of a picture by Watteau ; he told her 
 the original was in Pillnitz ; Lieutenant Osten oc- 
 cupied himself, with the aid of his host, in making 
 those mysterious signs on a great sheet of paper 
 which are called " building a temple." Dr. Mai- 
 berg came nearer, with a look of surprise on his 
 face. 
 
 " What, Leo, a game of hazard ? " 
 
00 Misjudged. 
 
 ** It is very harmless, I assure you," declared 
 Lieutenant von Osten. " We only play for nickels." 
 
 Leo looked up and saw that Antje was just disap- 
 pearing between the portiires, 
 
 ** Please, Wolf," he said hastily, " go after her 
 and tell her I beg she will come back as soon as 
 she can." 
 
 Maiberg went out into the hall and found his 
 young hostess just going upstairs. 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz," he said, " one word, if you 
 please." 
 
 She rested both hands on the banister and bent 
 down toward him. The light from the chandelier 
 made her fair hair glisten like gold. 
 
 *' Leo begs you will not leave us to ourselves too 
 long," he said. 
 
 "I am coming back in a moment," she replied 
 softly. " I — " she hesitated — " I was only going 
 to say good-night to my mother and look at the 
 baby a moment," she added quickly. 
 
 He stepped back, and she went on upstairs. 
 What a soft, childish voice she had ! 
 
 And upstairs, by the bed of the sleeping child, 
 she seated herself at the feet of a stately old lady 
 and nestled her head like a tired child against her 
 mother's knee. 
 
 She did not speak even here ; she only stioked 
 her mother's hands — those large white hands, which 
 bore such a character of energy — as if by this caress 
 she would make up to her mother for all that had 
 hurt her. 
 
 "You have no idea," began Frau Klaartjie Frey 
 pleasantly. ** whai a pleasure it has been to me to 
 
Misjudged. 97 
 
 have my little grandchild so all to myself this even- 
 ing, I told her stories and sang songs to her, as I 
 used to do to you ; it was so delightful, Antje ! " 
 
 The daughter pressed a kiss on the fingers she 
 held in hers. She knew very well that her mother 
 only said this to put out of her mind any suspicion 
 that her remaining upstairs was not done of her 
 own free will — as if Antje had not seen the old lady 
 take her gray silk dress out of the wardrobe in tha 
 afternoon and get her diamond pin out of its case 
 to adorn herself for the guests of the house. 
 
 " I don't see how you bear it, child," continued 
 her mother, " I never could endure parties like 
 this, and I was very glad that, when I said I 
 wished it were well over, Leo said I must not put 
 any constraint upon myself." 
 
 How this woman, who was truth itself, could dis- 
 semble to spare her child ! 
 
 Still Antje did not speak. She got up at length. 
 " I must go back," she said, with averted face. 
 
 '* I hope you will sleep well, dear, and enjoy your- 
 self," her mother called after her. " I am going to 
 bed, for I am very tired." 
 
 This, too, was untrue. A light burned in the 
 bedroom of Frau Klara Frey till far into the night ; 
 she herself sat before a table in her fur-lined dress- 
 ing-gown, with a heap of papers before her. At 
 this moment there was no longer that expression of 
 kindliness she had shown her daughter on her full 
 face with its Dutch features. It now wore a look 
 of deep anxiety and disgust, and when she had 
 added up several columns of figures on a bit of 
 paper, she laid aside her pencil, folded her hands* 
 
98 Misjudged. 
 
 and gazed with a startled expression at the very 
 considerable amount. 
 
 " Merciful Heavens ! " she murmured, quite over- 
 come. 
 
 After a while she rose wearily and with difficulty. 
 The hands which lifted the lace cap from the light 
 hair, through which ran an occasional silver thread, 
 shook, and a deep sigh echoed through the quiet 
 room. 
 
 " If she were only happy, at least ! But this must 
 not go on," she said after a while ; " it will never 
 do!" 
 
 She started suddenly. She had heard no step, 
 had not heard the door open — and yet there stood 
 Antje, still in full toilet, but pale and worn, looking 
 in astonishment at her mother. 
 
 " Are you still up, mother ? " she said at length. 
 
 The tall, rather stout woman glanced at the cloc k 
 — it was half-past three. " Yes, child ; the older 
 one grows the less sleep one needs. I was looking 
 through the accounts, as you asked me to do, and I 
 did not notice how the time was going. But what 
 do you want, Antje ? " 
 
 The daughter's face grew a shade paler. " I 
 wanted to ask you — you are used to it, mother, 
 dear — children are always wanting something from 
 their mothers, aren't they?" She tried to speak 
 unconcernedly, but she put her hand to her throat 
 once or twice, as if something were choking her. " I 
 wanted to ask you if you could give me four hun- 
 dred marks. Leo has — Leo wants it at once, and 
 I — you know, mother, dear, it is near the end of 
 the quarter, and I haven't got so much " 
 
Misjudged. 99 
 
 Her arms had fallen to her side and her hea^ 
 was drooping. She looked like a child who was 
 asking for some favor that she knew was too great 
 to be granted. 
 
 " Does Leo want the money this minute ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But, for Heaven's sake, what for ? " inquired 
 her mother. 
 
 " They have been playing a little just for sport, 
 mother — Leo does not care for it, but the Baroness 
 is so fond of it, and now — Leo has lost." 
 
 Frau Bergrath Frey went to the bureau beneath 
 the looking-glass without another word and took out 
 four bank-notes. 
 
 " Here, Antje," she said, huskily. 
 
 " Ah, mother, dear, do not be angry I " 
 
 " Go now, child, and go to bed." 
 
 " Dearest mother " 
 
 " I am tired to death, Antje ! " 
 
 The young wife kissed her mother and went away 
 with the money. 
 
 Her mother stood motionless, with her hands 
 clasped, and looked after her. 
 
 " Merciful God ! " she said at length ; then she 
 sat down in the arm-chair before her bed, and the 
 tall, powerful woman seemed sinking under the 
 weight of a heavy burden. 
 
 " If Frey had lived to see this I How his prophe- 
 cies are all coming true, each one, step by step, in 
 frightful earnest," she murmured. And again she 
 clasped her hands. She saw her daughter smile, 
 that sad, weary smile, that she had never seen in her 
 before. *' Oh, if she had only married Ferdinand, if 
 
1«0 Misjudged. 
 
 she had only listened to us ! But — of what use is 
 it to complain now ? Help me, O God ! Do not 
 crush the child — she is all I have ! " she prayed, 
 and the tears rolled down her cheeks. But as 
 laughter and the sounds of voices exchanging good- 
 nights came up from the court below, mingled 
 with the jingling of sleigh-bells, she loosed her 
 clasped hands and clenched her right hand in- 
 voluntarily. " But / am still to the fore," she mur- 
 mured. " Do not fear, Antje, you have a mother 
 still, a.*id he shall bend or break I " 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The next morning Antje was standing in the 
 nursery with Dr. Maiberg, beside her child's bed. 
 The child was rather feverish, and she had begged 
 her guest to come and see if it was anything serious. 
 
 He reassured her, and, delighted with the pretty, 
 golden-haired little creature, he sat down by the bed 
 and began to play with it ; as he did so he looked 
 at his hostess with some concern. Antje felt very 
 wretched ; she had unnaturally red cheeks, and her 
 eyes were dim and red with crying, 
 
 " Is Leo going to his studio to-day ? " inquired 
 the young doctor. 
 
 " He has not said anything to me about it, but I 
 think he will stay at home to-day — on your account, 
 doctor — you " 
 
 " Oh, he must not do that," said Wolf Maiberg ; 
 " his business must not suffer because I am here, or 
 I should feel obliged to pack my trunk and go away 
 at once." 
 
 "Oh, one day, more or less — " she replied, ab- 
 sently. " It would even do Leo good — he has looked 
 so ill lately ; have you not noticed it ? " 
 
 But she did not look at him as she spoke ; her 
 eyes were turned anxiously toward the door, which 
 was hung with a portilre, embroidered with all 
 manner of droll figures — birds, cats, dolls, dishes, 
 
I02 Misjudged. 
 
 and so forth. Maiberg heard voices in the next 
 room ; he recognized Leo's voice in short sentences, 
 but the prevailing sound was that of a woman's 
 voice, a wonderfully deep voice, speaking slowly 
 and emphatically. He could not hear any words ; 
 Antje need not have been so careful to pull the cur- 
 tain together with her trembling hand. 
 
 ** Did Leo paint this frieze ? " inquired the guest, 
 pointing upward, where below the gilded ceiling a 
 broad light blue strip ran round the room, against 
 which were painted charming groups of playing 
 children. 
 
 " Ah, no," replied Antje ; " he only designed it." 
 And she listened again to the voices in the next 
 room. 
 
 Leo's voice had now grown louder, " Papa — 
 cross ?" asked the child with an anxious look, as 
 Maiberg got up to leave the room. But while he 
 was still stroking the baby's head, the woman's voice 
 spoke so loud and emphatically that every word 
 could be distinguished. 
 
 " Let me say my say, my dear son-in-law, if you 
 please. Good Heavens, do you think it is a pleasure 
 to me to say such things ? It is bad enough that 
 I find it necessary to say them. I tell you you 
 must change your way of living, because you owe 
 it to your wife and child ! I will not have my 
 daughter reduced to starvation. And if you can- 
 not make up your mind to live according to your 
 means, then you can pursue your mad course alone, 
 and I will gladly take my daughter home with me 
 — the sooner the better ! " 
 
 Maiberg heard these last words as he was going 
 
Misjudged, 103 
 
 through the hall. And as he hurried on he heard 
 Antje's despairing cry, "Why, mother— dear 
 mother !" 
 
 He could not stay in the house, so he went down 
 the steps and out into the garden. There he wan- 
 dered about the paths, taking no heed of the clear 
 winter landscape and the white snow which glis- 
 tened and sparkled in the sunshine. That deep 
 woman's voice upstairs had uttered his own con- 
 victions. Last evening he had longed to take his 
 friend by the shoulder and shake him and ask : 
 " Man, have you gone mad ? Do you call this 
 social pleasure, this confused chatter, this drink- 
 ing, smoking, and playing ? How you have deteri- 
 orated ! Stop short, Leo ; you are sinning against 
 your better nature. I know you better than you 
 know yourself — you are plunging into a life which 
 does not suit you in the least ! " But what good 
 would it have done ? When Leo once got an idea 
 into his head he would stick to it through thick 
 and thin, and so his mother-in-law — for who else 
 could it be ? — had gone quite the wrong way to 
 work with him. 
 
 An uncomfortable feeling came over him ; he be- 
 gan to plan to cut short his visit. It is horrible to 
 be a guest in a house where dissension is rife. At 
 this moment he heard his name called, and turning, 
 he saw Leo at the open window. 
 
 " Come up here, Maiberg ! " The tall, fair man 
 went into the house and entered the studio. Leo 
 was walking up and down, whistling softly to him- 
 self. 
 
 " Sit down," he said ; " take a cigar and comfort 
 
I04 Misjudged. 
 
 me in my grief at parting. My mother-in-lai\r is 
 going to leave the house in a few minutes." 
 
 " You have had a quarrel with her, Leo ? " 
 
 " Oh, not at all ! My mother-in-law only is of 
 opinion that, as I do not earn anything at painting, 
 I had better find some other position in the world, 
 as a clerk in her counting-house, for instance, or 
 something of the sort. We could not agree upon 
 this, so the good lady prefers to leave my house. 
 That is all. She is of an energetic nature and is 
 fond of sudden resolves," he added. " You can see 
 that, for within a quarter of an hour she will be 
 quite ready to leave. Yes, she is energetic indeed ; 
 her whole corps of work-people at home shake in 
 their shoes before her, Maiberg. Actually, there 
 comes the carriage, now." 
 
 He went hastily to the window and looked down. 
 
 Wolf stood beside him and saw how Antje kissed 
 the old lady again and again, and how, as the car- 
 riage rolled away, she still stood there, quite regard- 
 less of the cold wind, and looked at the marks of the 
 wheels in the snow. 
 
 " I am sorry for your wife," said Maiberg, at 
 length. 
 
 " Why ? I told her she could go and stay with 
 her mother for a while, but she will not." 
 
 " The gracious Frau begs the gentlemen to come 
 to breakfast," said the servant, who entered just 
 then. 
 
 Antje met them in the dining-room as if nothing 
 at all had happened. Only the traitorous twitching 
 of her pale face gave evidence of her inward agita- 
 tion. Leo spoke of the last exposition in Munich 
 
Misjudged. 105 
 
 and of the last new opera. Sherry sparkled in the 
 glasses, and the servant passed round sauerkraut 
 cooked with oysters in genuine Munich fashion. 
 
 Maiberg could not keep -his eyes off the woman 
 who sat between them. 
 
 " May I look after my little patient again, by and 
 by ? " he inquired. 
 
 She assented pleasantly. 
 
 " Are you going to the opera with Maiberg this 
 evening ? " inquired Leo. " I have something to 
 do in the meantime, but we can drive home to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Yes," she said again, nodding her head like a 
 beautiful automaton. 
 
 "But," interposed Maiberg, "will it suit you, 
 Frau Jussnitz ? You look tired, and I am sure you 
 did not go to bed till daylight. Leo, I must pro- 
 test that I am not so bent on pleasure as you seem 
 to imagine." 
 
 " Then stay at home ! " he replied. 
 
 " If you are willing, Frau Jussnitz, we will spend 
 the evening at home. I have letters to write, be- 
 sides, which I must not put off any longer." 
 
 " Yes," she said for the third time. Then she got 
 up and left the room. 
 
 Immediately after dinner Leo drove into town. 
 Antje heard the carriage roll out of the court-yard. 
 She was in the dining-room, occupied in putting up 
 and locking away the silver which had been taken 
 out for yesterday's dinner. It was after four o'clock, 
 and twilight had already settled down. She me- 
 chanically wiped off every silver spoon, every fork, 
 with a dainty bit of chamois leather, and put them 
 
lo6 Misjudged. 
 
 away, piece by piece, on the blue velvet cushion of 
 the great leather case. 
 
 Her thoughts were with Leo, What would he do 
 in his injured pride ? 5he felt sorry for him in her 
 inmost soul. She had never seen her mother so 
 violent. When Antje, white with terror, rushed into 
 the room that morning where they were talking 
 together, the old lady, flushed with anger, was sitting 
 at the table with the bank-book before her. The 
 hand she had just dashed down on the table was 
 still clenched as it rested on the bright table-cover, 
 beside the inkstand. Leo, white as chalk, but with 
 a supercilious smile curling his lips, was standing 
 in a careless attitude before the stove, as if warming 
 his hands. ' 
 
 " Mother, I beg of you," cried Antje. "What have 
 you been saying ? " 
 
 " That you will be welcome in my home, at any 
 moment," was the bitter reply ; "that I have still a 
 warm corner for you, and that I hope you will 
 come soon, before you have to see how everything 
 here — is going to ruin ! " 
 
 " Now you know ; decide for yourself ! " said Leo, 
 dryly. 
 
 But she paid no attention to him. She went up 
 to her mother with clasped hands, and looked at 
 her with an imploring glance. 
 
 "You need not repeat it, mamma," Leo con- 
 tinued ; " my wife knows that I sel^ Jio pictures, and 
 that I am fond of champagne and fin* horses " 
 
 "Leo, say no more about it!" intent anted his 
 wife. " AH that I have is yours ; I have nev<ei <:om- 
 plained of your expenditures. If my mother does 
 
Misjudged, 107 
 
 so, she means it kindlj and — perhaps she is not 
 wrong. Oh, I beg of you, do not quarrel ; please, 
 please do not ! " 
 
 " You have never yet complained, child ; that is 
 true. You would not say a word even if the very 
 last penny were to be flung out of the window to- 
 day. It is for that that / am here ; it is for that 
 very reason that I have simply explained to him 
 that if you go on living as you do now, your whole 
 fortune will be gone in six or eight years — and that 
 is the end of everything ! Or do you fancy perhaps 
 that after that you can devour the iron- works for 
 your bread and butter ? By Heavens, I will take 
 very good care that that never happens ! " 
 
 The resolute woman wiped the beads of perspira- 
 tion from her forehead. 
 
 Antje was silent. 
 
 "Leave us, Leo," she entreated, at length. 
 
 " Excuse me. It interests me to hear what rules 
 your mother prescribes for our guidance in the 
 future," was Leo's reply. 
 
 " Nothing more," Frau Klaartje slowly replied — 
 "nothing more than that which Antje learned while 
 she lived in my house — simplicity, economy, and 
 labor, labor such as beseems a man who has a wife 
 and child to care for ; not an art that brings in 
 nothing ! And now I must ask you for a time- 
 table." 
 
 Leo looked at the clock. " The express train for 
 Leipzig goes in three-quarters of an hour," he said, 
 very calmly. 
 
 " Leo ! " The young wife's heart almost stood 
 still. 
 
io8 Misjudged. 
 
 " Mother ! " she implored, " stay here — do not 
 let us part like this ! " 
 
 " You will come and make me a visit, Antje ? " 
 
 " Oh, mother, it is impossible for you to go away 
 like this ! " 
 
 " Of course I must go ! No one shall ever say 
 that I set my own child against her husband. I have 
 warned you, and you know now. You must help me 
 to pack my things, Antje." 
 
 And she had gone without looking at the young 
 man again. Antje saw how he bowed down almost 
 to the ground in mockery of her, but she saw it 
 through her tears. . . . 
 
 At length the silver was all put away. She stood 
 there in the faint twilight and felt almost afraid, 
 she was so lonely and so sad at heart. Leo had had 
 no word of comfort for her. He had avoided her 
 eyes, and yet she would have shown him so gladly 
 that she did not approve of the harsh words of her 
 excited mother. She thought and thought how she 
 might give him some encouragement, some sign of 
 acknowledgment of this. Her mother had meant 
 well, but how could she use such words to him as 
 " an art that brings in nothing " ? 
 
 Antje pressed the palms of her hands together 
 in her inward torture. " If I only knew of some- 
 thing," she thought — "something that would give 
 him great pleasure ! " But she could think of 
 nothing, and with a sigh she mounted the stairs to 
 her own room. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Maiberg had asked for a lamp, and he sat down 
 to write, but he did not touch the pen. Lost in 
 thought, he leaned back in a comer of the sofa and 
 smoked a cigar. It had been more than uncom- 
 fortable at dinner, Antje had only answered yes 
 and no ; Leo was excited and abstracted, had looked 
 at his watch oftener than was exactly civil, and had 
 at length driven away half an hour earlier than the 
 time he had first appointed. He had taken leave 
 abruptly of his wife and his guest, saying : " I hope 
 you will not be too much bored." Antje had then 
 made a cup of coffee at a side-table, had conscien- 
 tiously remained sitting beside her guest till he had 
 drained the last drop without uttering a word 
 except " Gesegnete Mahlzeit ! " when they sepa- 
 rated. 
 
 With his head leaning on his hand, he pondered 
 over the matter. Which was to blame ? Whose 
 fault was it that there was no happiness in this 
 household ? Everything about him was so still 
 that it seemed as though the house was deserted. 
 What was the young wife doing now, he wondered. 
 Was she sitting by her child's bed ? Was she 
 weeping because her mother had left her so sud- 
 denly, on account of her quarrel with Leo ? He 
 gave a sudden yawn ; really it was horribly dull in 
 this Sibyllenburg. At last he took up a book, " J?er 
 
no Misjudged. 
 
 Hungerpastor" by Raabe. He knew it well and 
 was very fond of it. Ah, yes, hunger is a bad thing 
 — there are people who have great hunger and 
 some who have little. Leo had a great deal, but 
 Antje, on the other hand, seemed to have none at all. 
 Strange that these two should have come together ! 
 And Maiberg knew for what Leo hungered — for 
 fame, for recognition, for a satisfying activity, for 
 a heart that could sympathize with him, could be 
 ambitious for him, and which he believed he could 
 not find in his wife. To be sure, she hungered, too ; 
 she hungered for his confidence, for his love ; they 
 both liungered according to their different natures. 
 
 ^ Would the Herr Doctor take a cup of tea with 
 tne gracious lady ?" inquired a servant at the door. 
 
 He said he would be glad to do so, and followed 
 the man through Leo's studio and a little ante- 
 room into the "boudoir of the gracious lady," as 
 the servant designated it. Maiberg shook his head 
 It was an exceedingly coquettish room in which he 
 found himself. Walls, chairs, and ottomans were 
 covered with silk damask of a large-flowered pat- 
 tern ; the heavy curtains above a divan were held 
 back by a laughing cupid charmingly modelled in 
 bronze. The pieces of furniture with their brass 
 ornaments were of graceful shapes but florid in style. 
 Costly groups of old Meissen porcelain, chiefly 
 scenes from Greek mythology, stood about on con- 
 soles, ^taglres, and before the mirrors. Here a genu- 
 ine rococo fan was lying negligently on a table, as if 
 a fair hand had but lately used it ; there, a piece of 
 music was spread open on the rack of a magni- 
 ficent old spinet — Maiberg could see that it was 
 
Misjudged. iii 
 
 SI French love-song of the time of the Pompadour ; 
 and in the book-case were spread out whole rows 
 of volumes in faded blue and pink velvet, in which 
 the unappreciated spirits of that time had written 
 down their contributions to the memoirs of the 
 period. 
 
 It was a charming carnival caprice, this whole 
 room, but an utterly impossible habitation for a 
 woman like Antje. 
 
 She came in at this moment. Her gray chev- 
 iot dress, with its trimming of dark braid, looked 
 strangely out of place in this coquettish magnifi- 
 cence. 
 
 "It is very kind of you to give me your com- 
 pany," she said to Maiberg ; " the tea will be here 
 in a minute." 
 
 " Is this your room, your sitting-room ? " he in- 
 quired, recovering from his first surprise. 
 
 " Yes, it is my room. Leo had it fitted up for 
 me." 
 
 " And do you like it .? " 
 
 She was a little embarrassed. 
 
 " I do not find it very cosey for sitting in. I have 
 another one next to the nursery, that is " 
 
 " Oh, then, do let us drink our tea in the other 
 one," he cried, interrupting her. 
 
 She smiled. " I am quite willing, Herr Doctor ; 
 but you must make allowances. Leo says that room 
 is perfectly dreadful." 
 
 " I cannot understand Leo, Frau Jussnitz. How 
 can a man persist in living in state-apartments like 
 this ? The room ought to show the character of its 
 occupant ; it ought to be comfortable and homelike. 
 
112 Misjudged. 
 
 This room is simply a collection of the requisites for 
 a stage decoration of an old French comedy. And 
 you are not in the least like a rococo shepherdess. " 
 
 He spoke quite sharply as he followed her down 
 the corridor. " I really cannot understand how 
 Leo can ever manage to paint a picture in his studio. 
 It is full of color, and it must confuse and distract 
 him. Do you know what Goethe says, Frau Juss- 
 nitz ? He says that simple, tasteful surroundings 
 stimulate his thoughts ; that magnificent rooms 
 with elegant furnishings are for people who have 
 no thoughts, or wish to have none." 
 
 She had just put her hand on the handle of a 
 door, and she turned at this. " It is possible that 
 Goethe may be right," she replied, quietly. " A man 
 can write poetry when he is blind, but a painter 
 makes poetry with his eyes." 
 
 He looked at her in surprise, but she silently 
 crossed the threshold of a small room and said with 
 a graceful gesture of invitation : " Now, find a very 
 comfortable seat, Herr Doctor. If you will allow 
 me, I will take a piece of work." 
 
 Ah, this was just what he had fancied her sur- 
 roundings should be. 
 
 " It is very cosey here," he said, half to himself, 
 looking round the little room, with its simple and 
 yet graceful furniture. There was her work-table 
 by the window under a group of broad-leaved plants. 
 The writing-table, the comfortable sofa, over which 
 hung the portraits of a gentleman and a lady, prob- 
 ably the parents of the hostess ; the water-color 
 sketches beneath them no doubt portrayed the home 
 where Antje had spent her youth. All sorts of girl- 
 
Misjudged. 113 
 
 ish ornaments were hanging and standing about. A 
 piece of half-finished work lay on the table, with 
 a book beside it, Maiberg could see that it was a 
 cook-book. " Nuremberg Gingerbread, after old 
 German receipts," he read on the title-page. But 
 he could not smile, for he was carried back to the 
 old, long-forgotten days, when he was a little fel- 
 low standing beside his stately mamma, opening wide 
 his little mouth for a taste of the sweet dough of the 
 Christmas-cake. And as he went up to the writing- 
 table to read an illuminated text which hung above 
 it, those wonderful words of the New Testament 
 came into his mind : 
 
 " Though I speak with the tongues of men and 
 of angels, and have not charity, I am become as 
 sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal." And : 
 ** Charity suffereth long and is kind, is not easily 
 provoked, seeketh not her own." 
 
 He turned and looked at her as if he saw her 
 now for the first time. She was sitting at the table, 
 busying herself about the tea. How noiselessly, 
 how gracefully she did the honors ! The little red- 
 embroidered apron was so becoming to her, and the 
 lamp-light shed such a pretty glow over her smooth 
 golden hair. The clock ticked and the lilies-of-the- 
 valley sent out such a delicate fragrance through 
 the room. From the adjoining room came the voice 
 of the child, who was playing with her toys. It was 
 a world full of an indescribable homelike charm. 
 
 Maiberg felt as if he had already lived through 
 
 hours like this, ; but where and when ? Or was it 
 
 the ideal of his dream of the future, which he had 
 
 so often pictured to himself ? He sken% took the 
 
 8 
 
114 Misjudged. 
 
 cup from his young hostess's hand and sat down 
 opposite her, but she put out the lamp under the 
 tea-urn and took up her work — it was a child's apron. 
 And then she said : " Tell me something about 
 Leo, Herr Doctor, when he was a (jay and careless 
 youth and wandered about the world with you. He 
 always declares that was the happiest time of his 
 life. He was quite different then, was he not ? " 
 she added. 
 
 He was silent, and stirred his tea with his spoon 
 without looking up. It was not until he saw that 
 she had dropped her work in her lap that he bega. j 
 without answering her last question : 
 
 " Yes, yes ; that was a merry time ; every one has 
 to go through it some time. But that sort of thing 
 always seems much pleasanter on looking back, be- 
 cause one forgets all the disagreeable part of it." 
 
 He could think of nothing better to say than this 
 commonplace, and cast about for another subject of 
 conversation. 
 
 Then he heard her say : 
 
 " Don't you think that Leo suffers horribly from 
 the want of recognition his talent meets with ? " 
 
 " Leo is young still, Frau Jussnitz ; and besides, 
 he is only just beginning to work in earnest." 
 
 She pricked her finger just then. The hand 
 which held the needle shook violently. She looked 
 past the young doctor with a quite changed expres- 
 sion. There it was again, that horrible, sickening 
 feeling that had come over her from time to time 
 since the day before. A woman's dark, beautiful 
 face seemed to float vaguely before her eyes, a Span^ 
 ish mantilla on her head, held up by a tall comb, a 
 
Misjudged. 115 
 
 pomegranate blossom behind her ear ; and she heard 
 again the Baroness's clear voice saying : " Are you 
 not jealous, Frau Jussnitz, not the least little bit ? " 
 
 Then she shook her head as if she were brushing 
 off a noxious insect, and gave a sigh. No, that was 
 impossible. What could she be thinking of ! And 
 she said aloud : " If his new picture would only suc- 
 ceed, if he might only meet with some encourage- 
 ment ! I believe it would have a great influence on 
 his mood. Don't you think so too, Herr Doctor ? " 
 
 " I am sure of it," he replied. 
 
 " I wanted to ask a favor of you," she began, after 
 a pause, and her face lighted up like that of a per- 
 son to whom suddenly an excellent idea has oc- 
 curred. 
 
 " You have only to command me, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 " I want you to help me to cure Leo." 
 
 " With all my heart ! " 
 
 She clasped her hands over her work and looked 
 earnestly at him with shining eyes. " May I count 
 on your silence ? " she asked. 
 
 " Certainly, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 " You are quite at home in Berlin — have you still 
 any connections there p " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " There is a picture of Leo's there for sale in an 
 art gallery. I would like to buy it. You under- 
 stand he must never know of it. It must be given 
 out that an Englishman has bought it. I am sure 
 you can easily manage it ? Please, Doctor, do not 
 say no," she added, anxiously, as he remained silent. 
 " You don't know how my heart is set on carrying 
 out this plan." 
 
Ii6 Misjudged. 
 
 "And what if Leo should find it out?" 
 
 "He must not find it out," she urged ; "and if he 
 should — then no one will be to blame but myself. 
 I entreat you " 
 
 " I will do it if you think it is best." 
 
 " Oh, thank you ! " 
 
 She caught his hand and pressed it gently. " I 
 know this will encourage Leo." 
 
 She got up, went to her writing-table, and took 
 out a little silver money-box. She blushed like a 
 rose as she took out from it, unperceived as she 
 thought, a whole row of gold pieces. 
 
 " Leo's prices are not very low," she said, as she 
 came back with an embarrassed but happy smile. 
 She put the glittering coins into a crocheted purse 
 and gave it to Maiberg, who took it with averted 
 face. He knew she had taken it from the baby's 
 money-box, for he had heard Leo say to his wife 
 the night before when he had lost : " Have you got 
 any money ? " And when she shook her head, 
 Leo had said only one word: "Mother." Then 
 Antje went out and came back with the money. 
 
 Maiberg excused himself on the plea of going at 
 once to write a letter about this matter. 
 
 He went to his room with a sad smile on his lips, 
 and this smile did not fade until he had dipped his 
 pen in the ink to write to an old friend to beg him 
 to manage the purchase of the picture. He wished 
 himself a hundred miles away from this place. She 
 wished to make her husband forget the insult that 
 had been put upon him ; she wanted to save him 
 for herself and the child, and she thought she could 
 do it in this way. How many times she must have 
 
Misjudged. 117 
 
 tried to draw him to her ! He hated Leo at that 
 moment ! 
 
 And over there in the cheerful nursery the young 
 wife was fondling her baby and talking to it : " You 
 shall have something better in place of it, Mousie ; 
 you shall have a nice, merry papa, who will love 
 your mother. We haven't any pleasure in the world 
 without papa, have we, Mousie?" 
 
 And she clasped the little one's hands between 
 her own, and made her pray that papa's new picture 
 might be a success, and that he — she blushed crim- 
 son as she said this, and did not look at the child— 
 that he might get it done very soon. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 It was Christmas eve. A perfect hurricane was 
 raging through the streets of Dresden ; light flurries 
 of snow were blown from the roofs, the statues, and 
 the branches of the trees, and a few heavy rain- 
 drops were driven through the air by the strong 
 wind ; the streets were covered with soft mud, 
 which splashed up to the tops of the carriages and 
 to the hats of the passers-by. It was bad weather 
 for Christmas, every one said. The big rain-drops 
 pattered also against the panes of Herr Jussnitz's 
 studio in the quiet suburban street, but that only 
 made it seem all the more comfortable in the large, 
 well-warmed room which might seem very simple 
 to the ordinary observer. The walls, covered with 
 a cheap pale yellow paper, were adorned here and 
 there with reproductions of some celebrated old 
 Gobelin tapestry ; between these hung antique 
 weapons, and enormous Chinese vases stood about 
 here and there. The floor was covered with an 
 admirable imitation of an old oriental carpet, in 
 which even the spots and holes were not wanting. 
 There was but little furniture ; a divan covered with 
 a Smyrna carpet, a very deep, comfortable arm- 
 chair covered with Persian saddle-bags, a small 
 table in front of the stove — that was all. 
 
 Before this table, which still bore the remains of a. 
 
Misjudged, 119 
 
 luncheon, sat Aunt Polly in a genuine Renaissance 
 chair, slowly consuming a caviar-roll, with her eyes 
 steadfastly fixed on her niece or Herr Jussnitz. 
 
 Hilda was standing on one side of the easel, in a 
 costume of yellow brocade trimmed with black lace ; 
 the mantilla fell from th^ back of her head over her 
 beautiful neck, her right hand held the fan, her left 
 had grasped the heavy folds of her dress, which she 
 was crushing between her fingers ; she stood there 
 as if she were disgusted with the whole thing, and 
 had the greatest mind in the world to run away. 
 
 " Heaven knows," cried Jussnitz, looking at the 
 girl, " that you manage somehow to look different 
 every day of your life ! Now your eyes have such 
 a look in them that a dagger would be more suitable 
 for you than a fan. Drink a glass of sherry, Hilda, 
 you are chilly ; and don't be so horribly impatient ; 
 your trials will soon be over." 
 
 Hildegarde von Zweidorf gave a hard, short laugh. 
 
 " Oh, yes," she said ; " it is quite time, and auntie 
 will be thankful enough to be released ; won't you, 
 Aunt Polly ? " 
 
 She turned her head so hastily that the long gold 
 ear-rings with the movable stones glittered, and 
 looked gloomily at the little woman, at the same 
 time casting a glance at her which said plainly : 
 
 " You will say yes, at once ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Aunt Polly ; " my household affairs 
 will get on better when I can stay at home more." 
 
 " And I," added Hilda, with quivering lips — " I 
 shall probably go home for a while." 
 
 Leo was painting her hair, and was so absorbed 
 that he did not hear this last remark. 
 
1 20 Misjudged. 
 
 " I shall probably go home for a few weeks," she 
 repeated, opening and shutting her fan. 
 
 " Indeed ? " he said. " How happens that ? It 
 will not be very good for your studies." 
 
 She looked at him with a strange expression in 
 her eyes, a look as of unshed tears. But she 
 laughed again. 
 
 " Well, I have not asked you why you are going 
 into the country to spend Christmas." 
 
 Again he made no reply ; he had stepped back 
 and was contemplating his picture. 
 
 " Just come here, Hilda ; look at this face and 
 then look at your own in the glass. Are they at all 
 alike ? " 
 
 " No," she replied shortly, without moving. 
 
 " I should really like to know," he continued, 
 now looking into her pretty, piquant face with an 
 expression of concern, "what is the matter with 
 you ! You ought to see a doctor, Hilda. I fear I 
 must reproach myself for " 
 
 " You I" she interrupted him, in a shrill, con- 
 strained tone of contempt. " No ; you may feel 
 perfectly easy, if you please ; there is nothing the 
 matter with me, nothing at all." 
 
 " You are in a bad temper to-day, Hilda, and you 
 upset me, too," he exclaimed, putting his mahl- 
 stick away in the corner. "I can make the few 
 little changes just as well without you. I will put 
 the dress on the lay-figure. I hope in your next 
 and last sitting you will be more graciously dis- 
 posed." 
 
 " Then I am dismissed for to-day ? " she said, 
 with a smile which did not hide her pain. 
 
Misjudged. 121 
 
 *' What an expression ! I see that it is hard for 
 you, and I will not torment you any longer." 
 
 Hilda turned away and went through the por- 
 Hire into the adjoining room, where she was in the 
 habit of changing her dress. Leo, in the meantime, 
 went up to Aunt Polly, who was just putting away 
 her knitting. 
 
 " Will you lay this packet under the Christmas- 
 tree this evening for Fraulein Hilda ? " he said, 
 giving her a small packet. 
 
 "Yes, I can do that," said Aunt Polly. "We 
 have a tree, though it is only an amusement for 
 children, but one must have a little pleasure once 
 in a while. Hilda will be delighted, for she has 
 no one to give her presents except me. And, 
 of course, I can only give her useful things." 
 
 She put the little packet into her pompadour bag 
 under the gray woollen stocking, and got up to put 
 on her cloak. 
 
 Jussnitz forgot to help her. He had gone back 
 to his easel and was looking at his picture. 
 
 In a few moments the young girl reappeared. 
 She came up to him with a firm step. 
 
 "Good-by," she said, shortly, giving him her 
 hand without looking at him. 
 
 " Good-by, Hilda," he replied, holding the burn- 
 ing little hand firmly in his own. " Good-by, Hilda. 
 Auf Wiedersehen, and a happy Christmas ! " 
 
 He felt how she trembled. She hastily snatched 
 her hand away so that her rather large woollen 
 glove remained between his fingers. 
 
 " Thank you, Hilda ! " he cried with a laugh. It 
 sounded as constrained as her own a moment be» 
 
122 Misjudged. 
 
 fore. He put the glove so strangely won into the 
 pocket of his velvet coat. 
 
 She merely shrugged her shoulders without speak- 
 ing, and preceded her aunt out of the door. Frau 
 Polly ran after her with her bonnet-strings flying. 
 
 " Do wait a minute, for Heaven's sake ' " she 
 cried, almost out of breath. " I am not ready 
 yet." 
 
 Hilda had already reached the hall-door below. 
 The wind whistled past her ; it rattled the closed 
 shutters, and bent the boughs of the tall trees. 
 There was a soft, spring-like odor in the air. And 
 the girl looked up at the clouds that were flying over 
 her head, with longing eyes. Her lips were open as 
 if she were thirsty, and she felt as if she must cry 
 out in the midst of the storm and thus free her soul 
 from an overpowering burden. The rain- drops fell 
 on her pale face as she lifted it up ; the wind blew 
 her hat back and scattered her hair about over her 
 low forehead. The sad young face had a pathetic 
 beauty at this moment. 
 
 " Is Herr Jussnitz at home ? " asked a voice near 
 her at this moment. In front of her, only three 
 steps lower down, stood a gentleman and a lady. 
 The question had come from the latter. It was a 
 soft, childishly clear voice, and a lovely face looked 
 out of the peacock-blue capote that she wore. 
 
 ** Yes," said Hilda, and she stepped aside, grasp- 
 ing her hat with both hands to put it straight as she 
 did so. 
 
 The lady came up the steps. Her eyes looked 
 out under her half veil straight into Hilda's face. 
 Hilda turned slowly away, and as she looked back 
 
Misjudged. 123 
 
 i 4 the young matron, the latter also turned her head 
 a^id their eyes again met. The stately, light-haired 
 man was still standing, with his hat in his hand, out- 
 side the door, from which Aunt Polly was now emerg- 
 ing, courtesying and begging pardon. Then he, too, 
 disappeared in the doorway of the villa. 
 
 " Who are they, I wonder ? " said Aunt Polly. 
 
 " Do come," replied Hilda, impatiently. But she 
 was wondering the same thing, only more passion- 
 ately and with more interest. 
 
 An elegant equipage was driving slowly up and 
 down before the garden gate. 
 
 " That must be their carriage," sighed Aunt 
 Polly, contemplating the muddy street. 
 
 " Very likely," assented Hilda. And they walked 
 on. Aunt Polly said no more ; this was one of 
 Hilda's " cross days," and there was nothing for it 
 but to let her have her sulk out, if one didn't wish 
 to get into a rage, and that Aunt Polly would not 
 do. In the first place it was bad for her, and then 
 — on account of the future ! " If we had only got 
 as far as that ! " she thought. " Christmas is such 
 a capital opportunity for that sort of thing. One 
 never sees so many engagements announced in the 
 newspapers as in the Christmas holidays." 
 
 When they reached the horse-car, Aunt Polly in- 
 dulged herself in a ride, because it was Christmas 
 eve, and because it was such a dismal day. At 
 one of the stopping-places the carriage they had 
 seen drove rapidly past them. Hilda recognized 
 Jussnitz sitting on the back seat. 
 
 " Those were the Sibyllenburgers," said a young 
 girl, whose sealskin collar and the shape of her hat, 
 
124 Misjudgedt 
 
 as well as her long, narrow face, proclaimed her as 
 English, to a very German-looking old lady in a 
 brocaded silk cloak, by whose voluminous folds 
 Hilda's slender figure was almost blotted out. 
 
 " Do you know them, Maud ? " 
 
 ** Yes — no, not exactly ; I know the horses, they 
 are very handsome." 
 
 "So he is going to Sibyllenburg !" thought Hilda. 
 She would have given a great deal to know where 
 this Sibyllenberg was situated. She resolved to ask 
 the grocery-woman, but in any case she could buy 
 a map of Dresden and its vicinity. 
 
 Buy it — oh, buy it, indeed ! Hilda had not a 
 single penny to her name. She had done no work ; 
 the small amount of pocket-money which she used 
 to earn by painting fans and purses had failed her 
 since her removal to Dresden. She had not touched 
 a brush ; she had been painted, and on those after- 
 noons that she might have had for herself she had 
 sat dreaming by the window, with a pretence of work 
 before her, or she had wandered about the streets 
 in torturing restlessness, farther and farther, till at 
 last she came home tired to death. . . . 
 
 Hilda started violently as Aunt Polly pulled at 
 her cloak, and signified that they would get out. 
 She walked like one in a dream behind the stout 
 little woman, through the streets thronged with 
 Christmas shoppers. What had she to do with alj 
 this ? She could not bear to look at thera, these 
 laughing faces of young and old, these crowds of 
 people, the booths, the Christmas-trees ; and she 
 thrust angrily away a little fellow who was pursuing 
 her with some bright paper stars, crying indefatiga 
 
Misjudged. 125 
 
 bly : " Only ten pfennigs. They are the last, gra- 
 cious lady ! " 
 
 The child staggered backward, and the tears 
 gushed out of his eyes. " Oh, now, now," said a 
 stately man, as he picked up the boy and set him on 
 his feet, " the little fellow isn't made of weed ! " 
 But when he saw the girlish face with its dark eyes, 
 pale and rigid in its angry scorn, he said no more, 
 and hurrying on, muttered to himself : " By Jove, 
 she looks desperate, though ! " 
 
 Aunt Polly did not notice, when she stopped in 
 front of a shop-window now and then, that the girl 
 stamped her foot angrily on the pavement ; she did 
 not notice her pallor and the blue, tightly-com- 
 pressed lips, until they came out of the fish-shop 
 where she had been bargaining for the tiniest carp 
 that had ever been caught. 
 
 " Good gracious, what ails you ? " she asKcd then. 
 
 " Homesickness ! " was the curt reply. 
 
 " Homesickness ? You ? " cried Aunt Polly, in- 
 credulously ; and as Hilda was silent, she added ; 
 *' I should sooner have thought of the skies falling 
 than of your being homesick." 
 
 But Aunt Polly was obliged to believe in it at 
 last, for her niece was so pale and still as she sat in 
 the little sitting-room, she paid so little heed to the 
 mysterious allusions to Santa Claus, who had soiae- 
 thing worth while this time, that poor Aunt Polly 
 set up the tiny Christmas-tree in the best room 
 with a sigh and a shake of the head, and thought to 
 herself that it was better to be quite alone on such 
 a day than to be with some one who was as cross and 
 disagreeable as her niece. 
 
126 Misjudged, 
 
 A box had arrived from the Zweidorfs in Altwe- 
 del, and Aunt Polly set it on the table under the 
 tree and added several pairs of stockings she had 
 knitted ; then she went into the kitchen and dressed 
 her tiny carp. When it got dark she would light 
 the lamps. 
 
 Hilda remained motionless in the sitting-room. 
 She had not spoken falsely ; she was homesick, or 
 at least she imagined so. She thought how her 
 mother would be slipping into the Christmas room 
 now, with her few poor little presents hidden in her 
 apron, but with a happy face. They always had 
 presents in her poverty-stricken home, even though 
 they were ever so insignificant ; their father never 
 allowed Christmas to go by without its little pleas- 
 ures. He began to save up again from the New 
 Year for the next Christmas, and each one found 
 something at her place. There is something touch- 
 ing in a love like that, and it does exist in spite of 
 poverty. Oh, if she were only at home now, if only 
 for a quarter of an hour ! 
 
 But, no, she would not go if she could. All at 
 once she sat up straight in her old high-backed chair, 
 which had belonged to the deceased Berger. What 
 should she do at home ? Submit to questions as to 
 what she had been doing ? What she had gained 
 and attained in that strange world where she had 
 hoped to make her fortune ? 
 
 She gave a low, bitter laugh. " Nothing ! " she 
 said half-aloud ; " nothing — nothing ! " she repeated 
 again, clenching her little fist. 
 
 She had gained nothing, she had only lost — her 
 young heart. 
 
Misjudged. \%1 
 
 And he to whom she had given it did not think 
 it was worth the trouble of stooping for, or at least 
 he acted as if he did not. During all this time he 
 had looked at her with longing eyes ; her smiles had 
 made him happy, her frowns had made him de- 
 jected ; she could have twisted him round her little 
 finger, as Aunt Polly said, if she had only wanted 
 to; but Hilda was proud, and she carefully preserved 
 the appearance of caring nothing for this man's 
 favor. They had made merry in the pauses of the 
 painting, and they had had long and earnest con- 
 versations ; she had fastened the flowers he gave 
 her at her breast, and every day she had mounted 
 the steps of the studio with a beating heart and 
 with the sweet secret hope in her heart : ^^ To-day — 
 w-day^ he will tell me that he loves me ! " But he 
 had never spoken. 
 
 And the longer it went on, the more ardent and 
 passionate grew her longing for this moment. 
 
 She was tortured by the most varying feelings. If 
 he was gay, she was sure he was in love with some 
 one else and had hopes of a speedy engagement ; 
 if he was out of humor, he must be suffering from 
 the faithlessness of some one he tenderly loved. 
 Then again, if he gave her a book or a flower, if he 
 paid her some compliment on her beauty, if his 
 shining eyes sought hers, she was in a perfect tumult 
 of happiness. On these days she walked home as 
 though she had invisible wings. She wrote ab- 
 surdly merry letters to her sisters, she hugged and 
 kissed Aunt Polly till she nearly strangled her, and 
 tormented the poor woman with unceasing questions 
 about her picture — whether it was really beautiful, 
 
laS Misjudged. 
 
 whether it was h'ke her, and if she did not think it 
 was admirably painted. And on another day, when 
 he had a certain line between his brows, when he was 
 pale and out of temper, and stopped painting every 
 few minutes to stare out of the window so he need 
 not see her eyes or answer her remarks, then she 
 conceived the picture as beneath criticism, called 
 him a mere dauber in her own mind, broke off the 
 sitting before the time was up, and then cried her 
 heart out in her room at home. Then she resolved 
 to write to him the next day that she was sorry, but 
 she should not be able to sit to him ; and she did 
 write something with a trembling hand, only to tear 
 it up again, and after all she went with a pale face 
 and smiling lips. Then when he asked why she 
 looked so ill, if anything was the matter with her, 
 she replied in a tone of surprise : " What should be 
 the matter ? I never was better, and I am as gay 
 as a lark." 
 
 Then she forced herself to laugh till the tears ran 
 dov/n her cheeks. 
 
 She at length comforted herself with the thought 
 that when the portrait was finished it must be 
 settled. She had hoped he would speak to-day ; 
 she had dreamed of it, that to-day . . . 
 
 And then a deep blush covered her face, and all 
 her pride was up in arms. She heard again his in- 
 different tone of the morning, when to her half-jest- 
 ing words, " I thought it would be finished to-day," 
 he had replied : " You will have to come several 
 times between Christmas and New Year. I will tell 
 you the days by and by — I do not know yet when I 
 shall be back in town." 
 
Misjudged. 129 
 
 " You are going away ? " she inquired. 
 
 " I am going into the country." 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 "To-day." 
 
 A half-sob escaped her, but she put her hand 
 instantly to the string of pearls that was fastened 
 closely about her slender throat. " I have a little 
 cough ; I think the stove smokes," she said in 
 excuse, and looked at him with such proud eyes 
 that he thought he had better put a dagger into her 
 hand instead of a fan. 
 
 Yes, she was proud ; she would never show him 
 that she loved him — never ! But she could not 
 bear it ; that she felt sure of. She was so changed, 
 she cried so easily, she was not so strong as she 
 used to be, she no longer felt such faith in her 
 future, she felt so poor, so small, so disheart- 
 ened. 
 
 Suddenly she started up to get her hat and cloak ; 
 she would go to church. But as she stepped out 
 into the hall Aunt Polly was just throwing open 
 the door of the best room, and the brightness of 
 the Christmas-tree blazed out in the darkness. 
 
 " Come, quick ! " cried the old lady, and there 
 was in her voice the delight that even the oldest 
 people feel at this moment of blessed giving and 
 receiving, " Come, Hilda, you will find all sorts of 
 things from home, too." 
 
 And the next moment Hilda was standing before 
 the tree holding a little package in her hand. 
 
 "That is from Herr Jussnitz," exclaimed Aunt 
 Polly, triumphantly. " Open it ; I am curious to see 
 what is in it. What should you say, Hilda," she 
 
130 Misjudged. 
 
 continued in a lower tone, " if there should be a 
 ring inside, a little plain gold ring " 
 
 The slender fingers had quickly torn off the thin 
 paper and opened the little ^tui — three jewels 
 flashed out their colored rays before her. " A 
 brooch ! " she said in a disappointed tone, while 
 her aunt almost shrieked with delight, 
 
 " The note," cried the old lady ; *' there is a note 
 too." But it was only a card : " Leo Jussnitz, with 
 kindest regards," the girl read with angry eyes. 
 
 Hilda threw the ^tui and the card on the table, 
 caught her hat and cloak off the hook in the hall, 
 and ran out into the street. 
 
 She had forgotten her prayer-book, she no longer 
 remembered the church, she only wanted to get 
 out. Outside, the wind had gone down, the sky 
 was clear overhead and bright with stars, and in the 
 streets the last Christmas shoppers were still linger- 
 ing. With trembling steps Hilda made her way 
 through the crowd, and at length, after wandering 
 a long time, found herself in front of the villa in 
 which Leo's studio was situated. She knew of no 
 other place in the whole great city where she could 
 satisfy her intolerable longing to be alone in some 
 quiet comer in which she need not wear a mask. 
 Only to be for one hour alone, only to be able to 
 cry out once, unheard and unpitied. 
 
 She pulled impatiently at the bell, and when the 
 old woman came hurrying out with her lantern, she 
 said she had forgotten something to-day in the 
 studio that she wanted to get at once. 
 
 "All right," said the old woman, going to get a 
 lamp. 
 
Misjudged. 13 1 
 
 With a lighted candle Hilda mounted the stairs 
 and unlocked the door of the studio. With the 
 light in her hand she went up to the picture and 
 stood looking at it a long time. At this moment it 
 seemed to her very beautiful ; the pale yellow silk 
 gown with the black lace trimming seemed actually 
 to move, so life-like was the figure ; the pale face 
 looked smilingly out from beneath the mantilla. She 
 had looked like that a few weeks ago, and he had 
 caught the look on the canvas ; but she had forgotten 
 how to smile now. 
 
 She turned away, put the candle down on a table, 
 threw herself into the arm-chair by the stove, and 
 stared straight before her. " If he should come 
 now," she said — " if he were to come now, I would 
 ask him if he loved me. Ah, if I could only be 
 sure — only be sure at last ! " . . . 
 
 " You can't find what you have lost ? " said the 
 voice of the old woman, who thought it rather 
 strange that the young girl should stay upstairs so 
 long. 
 
 Hilda started up. 
 
 " No," she stammered. 
 
 " Was it a glove you were looking for ? " 
 
 Hilda drew her hand across her forehead 
 ** Yes," she replied mechanically, " a glove." 
 
 " It is downstairs in my room ; I will go and get 
 it. You see, this is how it was : When the lady and 
 gentlemen came downstairs this afternoon, I was 
 standing by the door, for I wanted to see the gra- 
 cious lady ; and Herr Jussnitz happened to take 
 out his handkerchief just then, and the glove fell 
 out, a little black woollen glove, and fell just at the 
 
132 Misjudged. 
 
 feet of the gracious lady. He stooped down in a 
 great hurry and picked it up, and then he shook his 
 head when the lady looked at him a little surprised. 
 * How did that come in my pocket ? ' he said, and 
 laughed, and then he gave the glove to me. ' It 
 must belong to the young lady ; will you keep it for 
 her, Frau Kirchner ? ' he said, and then he went 
 out with his wife and the gentleman. He called 
 back that I was to be sure and make a little fire 
 every day, and the gracious lady gave me two 
 marks because 1 nad taken such good care of her 
 husband." 
 
 " The lady — I do not understand you — " came 
 brokenly from the white lips of the young girl. 
 
 " It was his wife. Goodness me, you saw her this 
 afternoon. She came to fetch him to Sibyllenburg. 
 She's got a sweet face, hasn't she ? The coachman 
 says she is a perfect angel, and he says, too, it is a 
 lovely place, Sibyllenburg, and they have plenty of 
 money — if only they were — But, good gracious, 
 how you look, Fraulein ! " she cried, breaking off 
 suddenly. 
 
 " I ? How do I look ? I have a headache — please 
 get me a little water — I cannot go away this minute 
 — it is such a long way — only a few minutes." 
 
 Hilda leaned back in her chair with closed eyes. 
 She felt stunned by this blow, but she knew that it 
 was Christmas eve, that she was in the room in 
 which all her hopes had been called into being, in 
 which all her youthful happiness had been awak- 
 ened. She heard the ticking of the little enamelled 
 clock and the hurried steps of the old woman on the 
 stairs ; she saw her own figure on the easel, and she 
 
Misjudged. 133 
 
 felt with a frightful conviction that she had just 
 heard the truth, that he to whom she had given her 
 heart had a wife, a young, beautiful, beloved wife, 
 whom he had never mentioned to her. 
 
 She gave a short laugh. What business was it of 
 hers whether the artist who was painting her was 
 married or not ? What obligation was he under to 
 explain his family connections to her ? She was 
 only his model ! 
 
 The small hands closed convulsively over the 
 carved lion's head on the arm of the chair, and her 
 breast heaved with a deep sob. How strange it 
 seemed all at once ! She heard the door open, and 
 she stood up on her feet. " I am better now," she 
 said, hoarsely, and drank a little of the water, but 
 then she sank back into her chair. " I should like 
 to sit here quite quietly for a minute or two longer," 
 she said. 
 
 The old woman went away and put some fresh 
 coals into her stove downstairs. She shook her 
 head as she did so, and muttered something about 
 the queer ways of these young people, who were all 
 so eccentric nowadays ; then she put out the glove 
 in readiness to give it back to its owner, and finally 
 sat down by the stove and twisted a little branch of 
 evergreen about in her hands, which she had broken 
 off in the garden, so she might have a little Christ- 
 mas feeling, and then she fell asleep. 
 
 She awoke with a shiver just as the hoarse cuckoo 
 in her old clock called out nine. It was some time 
 before she remembered that the pretty young lady 
 had come this evening to get her glove — though, 
 really, the old thing was not worth coming all that 
 
134 Misjudged, 
 
 long way for. Was she still sitting upstairs ? She 
 mounted the stairs, with a yawn, to see if she had 
 gone, and if the candle was still burning. 
 
 Yes, there it was, and the girl was still sitting 
 there, looking at her with wide-open, vacant eyes. 
 
 " My goodness,", cried the old woman, " what ares 
 you doing here at this hour, Fraulein ? You will 
 get cold ; you haven't even a shawl to cover you ! 
 You cannot stay here all night — have you quar 
 relied with your aunt ? That wouldn't be surpris 
 ing, but you see " 
 
 She stopped suddenly, for the gate-bell rang 
 sharply in the quiet night. 
 
 " There, didn't I say so ? That is your aunt, 1 
 am sure, and now there will be a pretty to-do ! " she 
 cried, hurrying away. 
 
 Hilda did not stir. Aunt Polly might come if she 
 liked. She did not even try to think of an excuse 
 to offer her. It was all the same to her. Then she 
 heard Frau Kirchner's shrill voice coming up the 
 stairs : " This way, please ; the steps are so high, 
 and — as I was going to say, she is sitting there as 
 large as life — she forgot her glove and " 
 
 " What ! The lovely Spaniard herself — to- 
 night ? " cried a clear, laughing woman's voice. 
 " Quick, Nelly, if we should bring the original in- 
 stead of the copy, we should make a still greater 
 sensation." 
 
 Hilda started up at the first words, and her eyes 
 wandered about in search of a way of escape. She 
 had taken two steps toward the door of the adjoin- 
 ing room, when the door opened and two ladies 
 wrapped in furs and veils entered the large, dimly- 
 
Misjudged. 135 
 
 lighted room. The smaller of the two rushed 
 straight up to Hilda, who stood gazing helplessly at 
 the intruders, whose appearance here she could by 
 no means understand. 
 
 " My dear Fraulein," laughed the little Baroness, 
 " our meeting here has really a rather adventurous 
 aspect, though it is in reality as harmless as possible. 
 This is my cousin, Nelly Benken ; my name is Irene 
 Erlach, and we have come to get your picture. 
 Jussnitz will not let any one see it till it is exhibited 
 in Berlin. Now, you must know I am one of those 
 persons whom contradiction only makes more de- 
 termined ; so I declared I would have my way, and 
 offered to lay a wager that I and all the others should 
 see his beautiful Spanish girl before to-morrow morn- 
 ing. Then I sent for the carriage and took myself 
 off quietly with Nelly. We were going to carry off 
 the picture, and lo ! we have found the original. My 
 dear Fraulein," she continued, with crimson cheeks, 
 " do be obliging for once and come with us yourself. 
 You will be doing us the greatest favor — it would be 
 the most delightful surprise." 
 
 Hilda measured the speaker, who had grasped her 
 arm, from head to foot with a long, cool look. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Nelly, do help me to persuade 
 her ! " crievl t.he Baroness, in a complaining tone. 
 " Do come my dear Fraulein — may I ask your 
 name ? " 
 
 " Von Zweidorf," said Hilda, proudly. 
 
 " Please, dear Fraulein von Zweidorf " — the viva- 
 cious young woman wore a rather surprised expres- 
 sion for a moment — " come with us ; you will be 
 under my protection. Only think how surprised all 
 
136 Misjudged. 
 
 my friends will be when I win my wager in such a 
 delightful fashion." 
 
 "Please, please, Fraulein von Zweidorf, " joined 
 in the young girl with the fresh, piquant face, in 
 which might be plainly read the desire to carry out 
 the joke which her cousin had proposed. 
 
 " I am not prepared for a large company. I am 
 a stranger to you all. I " 
 
 " Ah, that is nothing ; there are not more than 
 thirty persons in all, all good friends together. 
 You will find Jussnitz with his wife " 
 
 Hilda gave a start. His wife ! A burning de- 
 sire to meet this wife of his in his presence over- 
 came her. 
 
 " But I am not dressed ! " she stammered out. 
 
 " No matter. We will help you out, won't we, 
 Nelly ? Your things will do well enough. It is a 
 pity that you haven't your Spanish costume " 
 
 " It is here in the next room," said Hilda. 
 
 The little Baroness clapped her hands for pleasure. 
 " Oh, that is delightful ; we will have all manner of 
 fun this evening. Go, quick, and put on your cos- 
 tume ! Nelly," she said, turning eagerly to her 
 companion, "it will be a capital joke. Can't we 
 have a little more light ? " And she opened the 
 door and called out through the deserted house for 
 another lamp ; then she pushed Hilda into the next 
 room. " Remember that we have a good long drive 
 before us, and be as quick as you can, I beg of you." 
 
 The sleepy old woman brought her lamp, and 
 Frau von Erlach rushed with it into the room 
 where Hilda was changing her dress with trem- 
 bling hands. 
 
Misjudged. 137 
 
 The young lady in the studio heard from within 
 the rustling of silk, the low crackling of the Span- 
 ish jacket, and the hurried movements of the two 
 women. And when in a few minutes Hilda ap- 
 peared in the doorway her dazzling beauty almost 
 took her breath away. But the Baroness walked 
 straight up to the easel with the lamp. " Look 
 here, Nelly, quick," she cried. 
 
 They were both silent, and Nelly looked disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 " Mediocre, isn't it ? " whispered the Baroness in 
 French. Hilda did not hear it. Then she wrapped 
 the charming Spanish girl up in her cloak, and 
 dragged her out of the house, laughing and jesting. 
 
 Frau Kirchner ran behind them with the lantern, 
 shaking her head. " They can take her with them 
 if they like," she muttered to herself, " but the pict- 
 ure is another thing. I wouldn't have let them 
 have that." And as the carriage rolled away in the 
 darkness, she looked after it discontentedly. 
 
 " It may be all very fine, all their mummery on 
 Christmas eve, but I pity a woman who has to laugh 
 at such mad pranks." 
 
 And she thought as she went back, of a pair of 
 clear, childlike woman's eyes, which looked with an 
 expression of indescribable anxiety at the little black 
 glove that had fallen out of her husband's pocket. 
 
 " It's a nice sort of thing they have in hand, I 
 make no doubt," she muttered again, and with a 
 vigorous jerk she turned the key in the lock. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The celebration which the Baroness Erlach had 
 planned could not take place at her cousin'", 
 haunted castle. The old chimneys and stoves, 
 which had not been used for a half-century or more, 
 refused to do their duty when a trial of them was 
 made, happily in good season, and the foreman who 
 was called in recommended extensive repairs which 
 would take several weeks to complete. So Herr 
 von Barrenberg was obliged to convey to his 
 cousin the dismal tidings that to his infinite regret 
 he could not receive his guests at Barrenberg, but 
 he begged they would spend the evening in his 
 apartments in the city instead. 
 
 After all, it was not a great misfortune. After 
 Irene von Erlach had pouted for half a minute, she 
 rushed headlong into a hundred plans for the cel- 
 ebration, and promised her " little cousin " — he 
 measured about six feet two — to conscientiously 
 fulfil her duties as hostess. She had all manner of 
 fantastic ideas for the decoration of the salon, and 
 began to consider who should be invited ; for the 
 practical cousin, who only opened his rooms to the 
 families of his friends on compulsion, now that he 
 was **in for it," wished to extend invitations to 
 some people to whom he was indebted. Irene 
 
Misjuaged. 139 
 
 chose some charming little presents for him, prom- 
 ised to provide a magnificent Christmas-tree and a 
 " live " Christmas angel, drove with him to the 
 pastry-cook's, and thought of every smallest detail, 
 so that at last Barrenberg himself began to enjoy 
 the fun, and at five o'clock precisely on Christmas 
 eve received his guests at the door of his large and 
 elegant bachelor establishment with the quiet, good- 
 natured smile that made his tall, somewhat clumsy 
 person so attractive. 
 
 Beside him stood Frau von Erlach in a white silk 
 gown, trimmed with marabout feathers, above whose 
 airy down the dark, brilliant face looked more 
 charming than ever. Behind her laughed and 
 whispered two charming blond young girls, Melly 
 and Nelly von Benken, nieces of Barrenberg. whom 
 he had begged of his sister for this evening. They 
 were under the care of the little Baroness, and had 
 permission to enjoy the pleasures of the capital and 
 the hospitality of the Baroness until the first of 
 January. The two girls, who looked absurdly alike, 
 made their most graceful courtesies, which still had a 
 lingering flavor of the dancing-class, graduating them 
 to suit the rank of the guest, and all with the most 
 solemn faces, which did not prevent them from 
 putting their heads together immediately afterward 
 and giggling. Some of these people were really 
 too funny! There were the former comrades of 
 their uncle, the merry Lieutenant von Osten con- 
 spicuous among them ; then an asthmatic old 
 colonel's wife in green velvet, who stared at one 
 through her eye-glass for half an hour at a time ; 
 then there was the wonderfully elegant Frau Siegs.. 
 
140 Misjudged, 
 
 feld, the widow of a hunting friend ; then a young 
 man in an impossible civilian's dress, whose cravat 
 was much too red, and his young wife much too 
 pretty for him. He was a pianist, from whom their 
 uncle took lessons. 
 
 "Just think of our good old uncle playing on the 
 piano with those paws of hi? " whispered Melly to 
 Nelly. 
 
 There was a celebrated actress, who thought it 
 was a "perfe;:tly splendid idea" to invite her to a 
 Christmas-eve party, who, waving her feather fan 
 and giving out a strong odor of the latest perfume, 
 planted herself before her own picture, which in 
 a red velvet frame hung over a small divan, and 
 turning up her eyes with an expression Nelly tried 
 in vain to imitate afterward, considered dear Bar- 
 renberg's devotion quite touching. 
 
 There was a General von So-and-so, with his wife 
 and four daughters, the youngest of whom num- 
 bered thirty summers, and who all had long white 
 faces with pale lips, numberless freckles, and red 
 hair. Their two brothers, at home on their vaca- 
 tion, accompanied them, being always on the look- 
 out for a rich wife, losing no opportunity of finding 
 one, and doubly on the alert this evening, for the 
 two Benkens, in addition to all their charms of per- 
 son, had the great advantage of being Barrenberg's 
 presumptive heiresses — at least such was the re- 
 port. The fact that Barrenberg was only forty 
 years old was not taken into consideration ; he was 
 Bure not to marry, out of pure good-nature. 
 
 The young ladies put on a rather haughty air 
 when the two officers greeted them, and received 
 
Misjudged, 141 
 
 very coldly the striking cordiality of the four sis- 
 ters. 
 
 " A nice match that would be," exclaimed Nelly. 
 As some one else came in just then, Melly nudged 
 Nelly and said : " Oh, look, Nell—" But they both 
 involuntarily made a low courtesy as their uncle 
 said : " My two nieces, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 The two pairs of clear girlish eyes looked at Antje 
 as she entered on her husband's arm, and at the 
 sight of that soft, womanly face, which they found 
 so agreeable among all the others, they forgot their 
 harmless mockery, 
 
 " Did you see, she has been crying?" whispered 
 Nelly to Melly. The latter nodded assent, and 
 they both looked after the young wife, whose long, 
 dark brown velvet train was just disappearing 
 through the door of the adjoining room. 
 
 " It is wonderful," said the Baroness, in a low 
 tone, to her cousin, " what an atmosphere of bore- 
 dom that woman carries about with her. You 
 ought not to have teased Jussnitz so frightfully to 
 bring her — especially as she hates to come herself." 
 
 " Why, Irene ! " 
 
 " Hush, cousin ! She is in the way here if we 
 want to have any fun." 
 
 Nelly thrust her little head between her uncle 
 and aunt. 
 
 " I think she is charming," she said emphatically, 
 " and now I am going to find her and see if she is 
 really such a bore." 
 
 Nelly carried out her resolution, but she soon 
 came back with a disappointed look and joined 
 her sister, who was talking with Lieuteriant Osten. 
 
140 Misjudged. 
 
 feld, the widow of a hunting friend ; then a young 
 man in an impossible civilian's dress, whose cravat 
 was much too red, and his young wife much too 
 pretty for him. He was a pianist, from whom their 
 uncle took lessons. 
 
 "Just think of our good old uncle playing on the 
 piano with those paws of hi? " whispered Melly to 
 Nelly. 
 
 There was a celebrated actress, who thought it 
 was a "perfe;;tly splendid idea" to invite her to a 
 Christmas-eve party, who, waving her feather fan 
 and giving out a strong odor of the latest perfume, 
 planted herself before her own picture, which in 
 a red velvet frame hung over a small divan, and 
 turning up her eyes with an expression Nelly tried 
 in vain to imitate afterward, considered dear Bar- 
 renberg's devotion quite touching. 
 
 There was a General von So-and-so, with his wife 
 and four daughters, the youngest of whom num- 
 bered thirty summers, and who all had long white 
 faces with pale lips, numberless freckles, and red 
 hair. Their two brothers, at home on their vaca- 
 tion, accompanied them, being always on the look- 
 out for a rich wife, losing no opportunity of finding 
 one, and doubly on the alert this evening, for the 
 two Benkens, in addition to all their charms of per- 
 son, had the great advantage of being Barrenberg's 
 
Misjudged, 141 
 
 very coldly the striking cordiality of the four sis- 
 ters. 
 
 " A nice match that would be," exclaimed Nelly. 
 As some one else came in just then, Melly nudged 
 Nelly and said : " Oh, look, Nell—" But they both 
 involuntarily made a low courtesy as their uncle 
 said : " My two nieces, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 The two pairs of clear girlish eyes looked at Antje 
 as she entered on her husband's arm, and at the 
 sight of that soft, womanly face, which they found 
 so agreeable among all the others, they forgot their 
 harmless mockery. 
 
 " Did you see, she has been crying?" whispered 
 Nelly to Melly. The latter nodded assent, and 
 they both looked after the young wife, whose long, 
 dark brown velvet train was just disappearing 
 through the door of the adjoining room. 
 
 " It is wonderful," said the Baroness, in a low 
 tone, to her cousin, " what an atmosphere of bore- 
 dom that woman carries about with her. You 
 ought not to have teased Jussnitz so frightfully to 
 bring her — especially as she hates to come herself." 
 
 " Why, Irene ! " 
 
 " Hush, cousin ! She is in the way here if we 
 want to have any fun." 
 
 Nelly thrust her little head between her uncle 
 and aunt. 
 
142 Misjudged. 
 
 " Oh, dear," she said, with a pretty air of Ivisdom, 
 "all is not gold that glitters," 
 
 While the rest of the company moved gayly about 
 in Barrenberg's elegant rooms, Antje sat quite alone 
 at a little marble table, turning over the leaves of 
 a hunting-album. She would so gladly have re- 
 mained at home, but she had no good reason to 
 give for such a desire Her mother was no longer 
 at Sibyllenburg — she was sitting all alone in the old 
 manor-house at home — and her child was still so 
 small. Antje had had a tree for her in the after- 
 noon when she came back from the city ; and before 
 it was time to come here, the child had grown tired 
 of its play and had gone to sleep, so there was no 
 need of her remaining at home. 
 
 So here she was, even lonelier than her absent 
 mother, with her sad, heavy heart. She did not 
 hear the laughter and talking about her, she did 
 not see the throng of people. She turned over the 
 leaves of her book and still saw nothing but the 
 picture that had presented itself to her eyes this 
 morning — a lovely girlish face, a pair of little hands 
 putting her hat straight on her dark, silky hair, and 
 — one hand gloveless. Then she saw Leo again, 
 and saw a tiny glove which had fallen out of his 
 pocket, and heard his short, embarrassed words : 
 " How did it get there ? " 
 
 Antje was foolish, very foolish ! She scolded 
 herself for it, and yet she could not put these 
 thoughts out of her mind nor keep them from 
 dwelling on that trifling circumstance. She wished 
 she might have one friend she could call her own, to 
 whom she could confide the thoughts that tortured 
 
Misjudged. 143 
 
 her, and who would scold her and say : " Antje, 
 how can you harbor such dreadful suspicions ? " 
 
 If she could only get up courage enough to speak 
 to Leo himself ! But her heart failed her whenever 
 she imagined herself saying : " Leo, don't be angry 
 with me ; I am so anxious — I — laugh at me if you 
 like, but I really believe I am — a little bit jealous 
 of the little Spanish girl — only assure me once that 
 it is all nonsense " 
 
 She blushed crimson at the very thought ; her 
 hands shook and her heart throbbed as if she had 
 been caught committing a crime, 
 
 " I wanted to hear, Frau Antje," said Maiberg's 
 voice close beside her ; " I have never had a chance 
 before to ask you what Leo said about the sale 
 of his picture." 
 
 She looked up at him in surprise. " Has he heard 
 of it yet ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; this morning." 
 
 Antje felt her heart stand still for a moment, and 
 her eyes grew large and fixed. 
 
 " He did not mention it to me," came hoarsely 
 from her lips. 
 
 Maiberg hated himself for having asked the ques- 
 tion. He was the picture of confusion as he stood 
 before the young wife. 
 
 " Oh, he will be sure to tell you," he forced him- 
 self to say in a playful tone ; *' perhaps he wishes to 
 surprise you with the news. But there is the bell ; 
 the tree must be ready. It is such a curious idea to 
 collect a miscellaneous herd of people around you 
 on such a night. I had looked forward to such a 
 very different Christmas." 
 
144 Misjudged. 
 
 She made no reply. She had resumed her air of 
 an automaton as she walked beside him to the great 
 salon, where a brilliant tree sparkled. Maiberg, 
 who was observing her secretly, was almost shocked 
 at the expression of her eyes. She stood there 
 among the others and heard the playful poem 
 which Melly Benken recited, standing on a dais 
 in the character of an angel with great white wings. 
 But Antje only heard the sound of the words, she 
 did not take in their sense. A little later her fingers 
 closed over some small object which the angel had 
 put into her hand ; she murmured her thanks almost 
 unconsciously. These words were going over and 
 over in her mind : " He tells me nothing — nothing ! 
 I do not possess his confidence. I am nothing 
 to him now, nothing — perhaps I never was ! " And 
 then she felt an indescribable longing for her 
 mother, for the past, for the peace of her youth. 
 In the midst of all this laughter and talking and 
 merriment she could see herself entering that cosey 
 room at home to take refuge in her mother's arms, 
 crying : *' Mother, here I am come back to you 
 again ! " 
 
 " Leonie will like this," said a voice in her ear, 
 and Maiberg smilingly held out a droll little rubber 
 doll, which the Christmas angel had just put into 
 his hand. 
 
 Leonie ! Her little child ! The spell was bro- 
 ken ; she looked gratefully at the speaker. 
 
 " That is right," he said, praising her. " What 
 did you get ? " 
 
 They both looked down at a little ivory spinning- 
 wheel and read the inscription on the card : 
 
Misjudged. 145 
 
 " A wife who knows how to cook and to spin 
 Will make her husband the happiest of men." 
 
 Antje smiled ; it was the Baroness's handwrit- 
 ing, and Antje knew her opinion of the "housewife 
 i:\<\" as she called it. 
 
 The gayety of the company had been stimulated 
 0/ the champagne. Maiberg stood and sat beside 
 Antje as if mounting guard over her. Leo Jussnitz 
 i;ad received a doll dressed as a Spaniard, accom- 
 ];anied by a malicious verse which he tor^^ up. 
 Presently he approached his wife. 
 
 " Excuse me, Antje," he said, taking Maiberg by 
 the arm. When he was out of hearing, he said : 
 " Pray, do not keep forever by the side of my wife, 
 cr she will never learn self-reliance. And, besides, 
 the Baroness is malicious." 
 
 " I cannot see how your wife and I can arouse 
 her malice." 
 
 " I just heard her — but no matter ! Besides, the 
 IJaroness is in a frightful temper ; she just now in- 
 sisted that I should exhibit my picture of the Span- 
 ish girl here this evening. Who on earth can have 
 put that into her head ?" 
 
 " Send for it, then," replied the doctor, carelessly. 
 
 Leo's face flushed crimson. " I will not." 
 
 " But why should you be so mysterious about 
 your work ? " inquired Maiberg. " This morning 
 you were almost angry with your wife and me be- 
 cause we came to your studio, and would have been 
 quite angry if we had found the young girl upstairs 
 with you." 
 
 " I never like to be disturbed, least of all by 
 Antie." 
 
146 Misjudged. 
 
 " H'm ! " 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " I only thought — I say, Leo, who is this pretty 
 girl ? " 
 
 "A fellow-countrywoman of mine from Altwe- 
 del, the daughter of one of our neighbors. I knew 
 her when she was four years old. She is pretty, 
 certainly, or I should not be painting her." 
 
 " Your wife and she both looked as if they had 
 never heard of one another." 
 
 " It is not necessary that they should. I am 
 painting the girl, and that is all there is about 
 it." 
 
 " Leo," whispered Maiberg, drawing his reluctant 
 friend into the embrasure of a window, " take this 
 as it is meant, as the warning of a true friend — 
 don't begin another romance like that early one ! " 
 
 *' What do you mean ? " flashed out Jussnitz. 
 
 " Tell me, Leo, does that little girl know that you 
 are married ? " 
 
 " Why should she .? I have not told her all my 
 private affairs. I refrained purposely, for then I 
 could not have avoided introducing her to Antje, 
 and I do not wish to do that ; you know very well 
 why." 
 
 " Why, Leo, you are the most unconscionable 
 fellow in the world ! Has it never occurred to 
 you that in your daily intercourse with a child like 
 that, who has only just put her head out of the 
 home-nest, a " 
 
 " Well, what ? " asked Jussnitz. 
 
 " That she might conceive an unlucky attachment 
 to you, for one thing ? " 
 
 
Misjudged. 147 
 
 " But the announcement of my marriage would 
 not guard her against that." 
 
 " I would not be sure of that, my friend," re- 
 turned Maiberg. 
 
 " Well, then, let her inquire me up before she 
 bestows her heart on me," replied Jussnitz, peev- 
 ishly, turning his back on his friend, and bending 
 down to the Baroness, who held out her hand au- 
 thoritatively, saying ; 
 
 '* Will you lay a wager with me that to-morrow I 
 can tell you exactly how large your picture is that 
 you are painting now, the pose of your Spanish 
 girl, and the color of her lace-trimmed skirt ? Will 
 you bet, Herr Jussnitz ? " 
 
 " I could not possibly make a bet which I am 
 perfectly certain you would lose." 
 
 " I shall not lose." 
 
 " Very well, then. At what hour to-morrow shall 
 I hear this. Baroness ? " 
 
 "Fix the hour yourself." 
 
 " At six, then," he said, with a smile. 
 
 " Done ! Your hand upon it." 
 
 " What is the prize ? " inquired Barrenberg, 
 coming up to them. 
 
 " Oh, some nice little present," replied the Bar- 
 oness with a smile. " What do you say, Jussnitz, to 
 a copy of the picture ? Yes, we will make it that." 
 
 And then the little white figure disappeared 
 among the throng of guests. Some one in the next 
 room began to play a Strauss waltz, and the next 
 moment Nelly Benken danced past with Lieu- 
 tenant Osten, and the others joined in with all the 
 ardor of youth. 
 
148 Misjudged. 
 
 An hour might have passed when the music broke 
 ofif suddenly in the midst of a waltz. Antje, who 
 had sat down beside the loquacious old colonel's 
 wife, who was relating the sad story of the death 
 of three husbands, paid no heed to her neighbor's 
 words, which simply sounded in her ears like the 
 murmur of a fountain. Suddenly the lady in green 
 velvet stopped speaking, and the hurried, agitated 
 tone of the Baroness came to them from the next 
 room. 
 
 " Pray, my friends, all come in here ; the young 
 people are going to give us some tableaux vivants — 
 only a few, and they will be given quickly before 
 supper." 
 
 The old lady put her arm into Antje's. 
 'Come, Frau Jussnitz, let us go together, or — 
 are you going to appear too ? Then of course " 
 
 " No," said Antje, walking on beside her. 
 
 In the next room they had closed the wide fold- 
 ing-door which opened into a third room. The 
 young girls and some of the gentlemen were in there, 
 and sounds of laughing and giggling were heard oc- 
 casionally. A servant was placing chairs opposite 
 the door, for the spectators, among whom were Mai- 
 berg and Jussnitz. In the front row sat Antje be- 
 tween the colonel's wife and the young and elegant 
 widow of Barrenberg's hunting-friend, who declared 
 quite frankly that these improvised tableaux and 
 charades, so far as her experience went, were gen- 
 erally very poor. 
 
 " Don't you think so, too ? " she asked Antje. 
 
 " I have seen very few," Antje replied. 
 
 " I envy you," sighed the beautiful widow. 
 
Misjudged. 149 
 
 "Here in society we are absolutely flooded with 
 them." 
 
 The folding-doors opened and displayed first a 
 Christmas scene, in which Melly again played her 
 part as angel. 
 
 Then came a Lorelei, who sat on the arm of a 
 sofa, whence she looked down at Lieutenant Osten, 
 who was rowing about in a great old German chest. 
 Nelly Benken's golden hair was charmingly effective 
 and procured for the picture a loud " Bravo ! " 
 
 " Spanish Dancer, after Jussnitz ! " now an- 
 nounced the little Baroness. 
 
 Jussnitz shrugged his shoulders with a smile and 
 looked at Maiberg. " It is too — " But what he 
 was going to say can never be known, for there 
 stood 
 
 An universal murmur of admiration passed through 
 the room ; then a pause of admiring attention. Only 
 Antje iamed her eyes from the girlish figure and 
 looked across at her husband. He had his head 
 bent forward and was gazing at the lovely face with 
 a look of surprise and delight. 
 
 Hilda's slim figure was thrown up by a background 
 of dark-leaved plants. She stood on a slight ele- 
 vation, in the same pose as in the picture, her left 
 hand in the folds of her pale yellow gown, the fan 
 in her right. The upper part of her figure was half 
 bent backwards, and she displayed to the spectator 
 her beautiful face, with the dark, veiled, seductive 
 eyes. The little white teeth gleamed out between 
 the rosy, smiling lips. She stood quite motionless ; 
 only her ear-rings shook slightly and showed with 
 how much difficulty she kept herself quiet. 
 
150 Misjudged. 
 
 Slowly the folding-doors closed, and then there 
 came a burst of applause. For the moment compli- 
 ments were showered on the Baroness, who was be- 
 sieged with questions ; but she seemed to have no 
 time to listen to them. She rushed up to Jussnitz. 
 
 " Help me to persuade Fraulein von Zweidorf to 
 stay to supper ; she says she will not ! " 
 
 He followed her mechanically. " Baroness," he 
 said, " why did you do this ? " 
 
 She thrust him, without speaking, into the room 
 where Hilda had sunk exhausted into a chair. 
 
 " Thank you, it will be better for me to go," she 
 replied curtly to the renewed persuasions of the 
 Baroness. " My aunt will be expecting me ; please 
 let me go." 
 
 "You are right, Fraulein von Zweidorf," said 
 Jussnitz, coming up to her. " I will escort you 
 home. How in the world did you happen to come 
 here to — play this rdle in a circle where you know 
 no one ? " 
 
 The young girl looked at him defiantly and was 
 silent. 
 
 " Don't spoil sport, Jussnitz," exclaimed Barren- 
 berg. " I must say it is a queer, sort of thing for 
 you to carry Fraulein von Zweidorf off now." 
 
 And taking him aside he added : " Don't you un- 
 derstand that my cousin will be suspected of smug- 
 gling into the house a beauty who is not present- 
 able, and that would be very unpleasant for me 
 for the sake of my guests ? " And then he turned 
 to Hilda with an air of decision, offered her his 
 arm, and said : " Allow me to present you to my 
 guests, "■ 
 
Misjudged. 15 1 
 
 During this scene Antje had been standing in the 
 midst of a circle of curious spectators. 
 
 " Pray, Frau Jussnitz, why did you not introduce 
 us to this new star ? " inquired Lieutenant von 
 Osten. 
 
 ** Is she a relative of yours ? " inquired the actress. 
 
 " Good Heavens, what surprises the Baroness 
 does get up ! Were you in the plot, Frau Juss- 
 nitz ? " cried another. 
 
 " Oh, it was only a joke such as our good Bar- 
 oness loves," said the beautiful widow, shrugging 
 her shoulders. " Who cares how she brought it 
 about ? Perhaps it is her dressmaker, or some- 
 thing of that sort." 
 
 The general's four daughters nodded at each other 
 significantly, as if to confirm what had just been 
 said. But Melly Benken said quite frankly that 
 probably papa would not like it very well if he 
 knew Nelly had been helping Cousin Erlach to 
 carry out a practical joke. 
 
 " Papa was so opposed to our coming," she con- 
 cluded, ** and now we shall catch it ! I hope uncle 
 will take the Spanish girl back where Irene got her 
 from as fast as possible." 
 
 Antje was perfectly silent. From her silence 
 people naturally concluded that she, too, thought 
 there was something wrong. 
 
 Then the circle opened, and Hilda von Zweidorf 
 appeared on Barrenberg's arm, pale, agitated, hold- 
 ing her head rigidly erect ; and her costume at this 
 moment had a coquettish, theatrical air. 
 
 Antje held her fan tightly clasped in both hands, 
 and again the eyes of these two met, as they had 
 
158 Misjudged. 
 
 done this morning, in a long, searching look, and 
 then Leo whispered in his wife's ear : " I entreat 
 you to befriend this young girl ! " 
 
 " Do not do it ! Do not do it ! " a voice cried 
 within her. " Turn your back on her, and she will 
 be harmless for all time ! " 
 
 For one moment, one short moment, she stood 
 facing Hilda, with her head thrown proudly back ; 
 she could see the peculiar glances which the guests 
 cast at the young girl, saw how Osten fixed his 
 monocle impertinently in his eye, and how the 
 colonel's wife put up her lorgnette — and the next 
 moment Antje went foward a few steps to meet 
 Hilda and grasped her hand. 
 
 " I am delighted to see you again this evening, 
 my dear Fraulein von Zweidorf. You have given 
 us all, and especially my husband and myself, a 
 charming surprise — hasn't she, Leo .'' " 
 
 She turned to her husband as she spoke, blushing 
 at her falsehood. 
 
 He declared that he agreed with her entirely and 
 announced that he had known Fraulein von Zwei- 
 dorf ever since she was so high — measuring with 
 his hand about half a yard from the floor. 
 
 The two ladies were still standing hand in hand, 
 but Hilda's eyes had drooped before the young 
 wife's glance. At length the servant who an- 
 nounced supper created a diversion. 
 
 Jussnitz and Osten presented themselves to 
 Hilda at the same moment, each offering an arm, 
 Jussnitz with an air of nervousness, Osten with that 
 eager chivalry which prompts kind-hearted men to 
 expiate a wrong, even though only in thought 
 
Misjudged. 153 
 
 Hilda did not lift her eyes ; she made a step 
 backwards and caught blindly at an arm that had 
 not been offered. Maiberg looked down in surprise 
 at the little hand which touched his arm. Then he 
 smiled, placed it carefully on his black coat sleeve, 
 and walked beside its owner, who moved timidly on 
 toward the dining-room. Osten followed close be- 
 hind, in order to get a place near her at least. 
 
 Jussnitz sat next to the Baroness ; she looked at 
 him slyly out of her dark eyes. 
 
 " You have done Fraulein von Zweidorf no kind- 
 ness," he said shortly. 
 
 "Bah!" she replied, loudly, turning from him 
 and looking at Antje. "A man must not keep 
 everything for himself, my dear Jussnitz. Tell me, 
 Frau Jussnitz, where did your husband keep Frau • 
 lein von Zweidorf hidden away ? Have you secret 
 chambers at Sibyllenburg ? " 
 
 " You ought to know yourself, my dear Baron- 
 ess," replied Antje, "as you brought the young 
 lady here." 
 
 The Baroness laughed until the tears came into 
 her eyes. 
 
 " Ask her to tell you where I discovered her." 
 
 Antje made no reply. She talked to her next 
 neighbor, but she felt as if the room were whirling 
 round with her, so that she did not know what 
 she said or did. Only one thing was clear to her — 
 that she must on no account let that woman see 
 what was going on in her mind. 
 
 The supper seemed endless, and gay and mirthful 
 as the whole company was, neither Antje nor Hilda 
 could join in the merriment. Hilda was suffering 
 
154 Misjudged. 
 
 as much as Antje. Good Heavens, what a whirl- 
 wind she had brought about her ears ! 
 
 At last, at last, the last ice was eaten, the crackers 
 were all pulled, and people began to push back their 
 chairs. Antje slipped unperceived into the cloak- 
 room and sent a servant to call her husband. 
 
 He came, fretful and cross. 
 
 " You wish to go ? " he inquired. 
 
 '* Yes," she replied. 
 
 " But first I must accompany Fraulein von Zwei- 
 dorf home." 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Who else is there ? " 
 
 "Very well," she said, firmly; "but you must 
 allow me to drive there with you, Leo, and then to 
 go straight home, for it is impossible for me to stay 
 here any longer." 
 
 He gave a short laugh. " If it is any pleasure to 
 you," he said, " I will invite Maiberg too to join 
 us in this excursion." 
 
 She blushed suddenly. She had not been moved 
 by jealousy at that moment ; she had thought of 
 nothing but getting away as soon as possible. 
 
 In a few minutes they were sitting in the landau. 
 Antje could still feel the soft, caressing touch of 
 the Baroness, at parting, on her arm. " It is really 
 wonderfully nice of you, Frau Jussnitz, to act such 
 a motherly part toward that little girl," she had said. 
 
 They drove in silence through the quiet streets, 
 which seemed endless. Then the clocks began to 
 strike twelve, one after another — it was Christmas 
 morning. 
 
 " And peace on earth ! " murmured Antje, and 
 
Misjudged. 155 
 
 she felt for her husband's hand, and laid her hot, 
 slender fingers in it. Only one hearty pressure, and 
 all would have been well. But there was no re- 
 sponse. He passively submitted, and that was all. 
 Slowly she drew her hand away. 
 
 Hilda, on the seat beside her, did not stir till the 
 carriage stopped before Aunt Polly's little dwelling. 
 
 Leo sprang out quickly and helped the young 
 girl to descend. 
 
 Upstairs there was still a light in the sitting-room, 
 and as Leo pulled the bell, a window was thrown 
 up in the best parlor. 
 
 " Is it you ? " called out the voice of Frau Berger, 
 scarcely recognizable for agitation. 
 
 " Yes, aunt." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, then, you can just go straight 
 back to where you came from ! It is all over be- 
 tween us two, and — you may like to know that a 
 letter to your father is already on the way." 
 
 " Aunt ! " shrieked the young girl in horror. 
 
 But the window was closed violently upstairs, and 
 the light put out. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " What is to be done about it ? " he said. " Aunt 
 Polly is very angry. Get in again and come to 
 Sibyllenburg with us." 
 
 Antje had put her head out of the carriage win- 
 dow. " For Heaven's sake, what sort of people are 
 they that she belongs to ? " went through her mind. 
 She could see the young girl now pulling desperately 
 at the bell. 
 
 " Aunt ! Aunt ! " her trembling voice sounded 
 through the silent night. 
 
156 Misjudged, 
 
 " Her people will not let her in, it seems," said 
 Maiberg calmly. 
 
 " Then give it up. My wife will be very glad 
 to have you go home with us," they heard Leo's 
 voice saying outside. " You see we cannot possibly 
 make an uproar here in the middle of the night." 
 
 Antje moved silently over to the other side of the 
 carriage, and the next moment the girl's trembling 
 figure sank down among the cushions beside her, 
 sobbing with anger and mortification. 
 
 " Your aunt, no doubt, was anxious about you, 
 and that was enough, in a person of her tempera- 
 ment, to account for her hardness," said Jussnitz, 
 comfortingly. " I will write to her to-morrow or go 
 and see her myself ; and for the present you will be 
 our guest." 
 
 The coachman drove home at a furious pace. It 
 had grown colder, and light frost-flowers began to 
 appear on the window-panes, made visible as they 
 dashed by a street lamp. Inside the carriage the 
 air presently grew so close that Maiberg without 
 ceremony let down a window half-way. Antje had 
 drawn herself close into a comer and drew her cloak 
 tightly round her. 
 
 Who was this who was to be admitted into the 
 sanctuary of her home, who was to live in the rooms 
 that belonged to her ? What would her child's clear 
 eyes be compelled to witness ? 
 
 Her whole frame shook as she crossed the thresh- 
 old of her child's room. 
 
 " Merciful Heavens ! " cried old Classen, who 
 had been sitting with the child, " how you do 
 look ! " 
 
Misjudged. 157 
 
 Antje had thrown off her furs as she entered the 
 warm, dimly-lighted room of her darling and knelt 
 down beside the sleeping child. 
 
 " You had better go to bed," said the old woman ; 
 " you are feverish, gracious lady." 
 
 " Yes, presently, dear Classen ; only first I will — 
 go and find Minna ; we must get a room ready — we 
 have a visitor," 
 
 " My gracious ! It must be two o'clock ! " 
 
 " Yes, but it happens so — " And Antje got out 
 her key-basket and went downstairs to the clothes- 
 press. She heard Leo's voice in the dining-room ; 
 it sounded loud and angry. 
 
 " I did not <hink you could be so thoughtless, 
 Hildegarde/' he was saying. " What did you mean 
 by it ? Did you wish to make me angry ? What 
 could it be ? And now see what a position you 
 have put yourself in, and me, too ! " 
 
 Antje went to the door and opened it a little. 
 
 " Please do not speak so loud, Leo," she said, 
 quietly. 
 
 Hilda was sitting wMth a pale but smiling face on 
 the edge of a chair, twisting her handkerchief about 
 in her hands, " It was a joke," she said, shrugging 
 her shoulders. 
 
 " You must have a little patience, Fraulein von 
 Zweidorf," said Antje, turning to the young girl. 
 " Your room is not warmed yet, but it will soon be 
 ready." 
 
 And she gave the linen to the housemaid, bidding 
 her make haste, and promised to provide Hilda 
 with some clothes until her own could be sent for. 
 Afterward she herself showed her guest to hcf 
 
":>58 Misjudged. 
 
 tosey room, wishing her a comfortable night in the 
 presence of the maid. 
 
 There was no rest or comfort for her. She lay 
 wide awake the whole long night, listening to the 
 moaning of the wind and the creaking of the 
 branches of the tall trees outside, and to the restless 
 pacing to and fro of her husband in the adjoining 
 room. If he had come to her then and spoken 
 kindly with her about what had happened, how 
 gladly would she have believed all he might have 
 said ; but even now he did not make the slightest 
 attempt at an explanation. 
 
 He had declared that he was not sleepy, but 
 Antje knew that it was only because he wished to 
 evade a discussion. She could hear him at length 
 throw himself on a sofa, and after a while, when he 
 thought she had gone to sleep, he came in. Her 
 hand quivered ; she would so gladly have stretched 
 it out to him and said : " Have confidence in me, 
 Leo ; do not let us go on like this." But she could 
 not get up her courage. 
 
 Neither did Hilda sleep. She felt as if she would 
 iike to cry, but no tears came. She seemed to have 
 grown so poor on this Christmas eve. She felt 
 outraged and humiliated to the last degree, and 
 she hated the woman who occupied the place that 
 ought to be hers. 
 
 The Baroness had told her niece about it in the 
 carriage as they were driving away from the studio. 
 She had spoken French, thinking that Hilda could 
 not understand — she, whose mother was a French- 
 woman. She said this woman was an utter non- 
 entity, ind it was incomprehensible how such a 
 
Misjudged. 159 
 
 charming man as Jussnitz could ever have chosen 
 her. Of course he had expiated his folly, for they 
 were miserable together. Any one could see how 
 her Dutch phlegm, combined with the narrowest 
 and silliest views, made him nervous to his very 
 finger-tips. The only thing which still bound him 
 to his wife was her money — poor fellow ! 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " Hilda said, now half -aloud, 
 wringing her trembling hands. Then, however, 
 she clenched her hand and cried with a sob : " Oh, 
 he is base, he is wicked ! Oh, what a silly, silly girl 
 I have been ! " And she shrank from the sound of 
 her own voice. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 " FrAulein von Zweidorf has a headache," 
 announced the housemaid the next morning, as 
 the family assembled in the dining-room rather 
 later than usual for breakfast. 
 
 Antje sent to inquire what she would have sent 
 to her, coffee or tea. The answer came back that 
 Fraulein von Zweidorf did not care for anything. 
 
 Antje had just made the tea and was filling the 
 cups for Dr. Maiberg and Leo. She was standing 
 by the table on which the silver urn was placed, in 
 a very simple morning-dress of soft white woollen, 
 and the winter sun which came through the win- 
 dows in a broad stream surrounded the white figure 
 with a dazzling radiance. She had had her back 
 turned to the gentlemen, but now she came across 
 the room and took her seat between them. 
 
 " Hadn't you better go and look after Fraulein 
 von Zweidorf ? " said Leo, impatiently. " She seems 
 to be ill." 
 
 " I have already been to see her," replied his 
 wife. " She is not ill, she only seems greatly excited. 
 I could get no answer to all my questions, except 
 that she wished her things sent for from her aunt's, 
 for she wished to go away by the next train." 
 
 ** Go away ? " inquired Leo, cnishing his toast 
 between his fingers. " Where .' " 
 
Misjudged. i6i 
 
 " To her parents, she said." 
 
 ** That is delightful for me and my picture," he 
 exclaimed. " And what did you say, if I may ask ? " 
 
 " I tried to persuade her to make her peace with 
 her aunt first " 
 
 Jussnitz frowned. 
 
 ** But she was exceedingly indignant at the very 
 idea," continued Antje ; " called her aunt a low, 
 vulgar person, who had insulted her shamefully, 
 and asked me for a pen and ink to write to her 
 father." 
 
 " I will go and see the worthy Aunt Polly, by- 
 and-by," exclaimed Leo. " Hilda is right ; she 
 cannot go back to her — she certainly was not mucli 
 above the grade of a washerwoman in her behavior 
 last night. But Fraulein von Zweidorf must not go 
 away for all that, for my picture must not suffer for 
 her childish folly. So, pray, have the goodness, 
 Antje, to go up to her and invite her to remain as 
 our guest until — well, we will see about that. I will 
 drive in town in about an hour. Will you come too, 
 Maiberg? Well, Antje, I should like to have an 
 answer." 
 
 Antje had looked beyond him ; the silver tea- 
 spoon in her hand shook slightly. 
 
 " Yes," she replied at length, when Leo had 
 stopped speaking. 
 
 " Of course you must not mention the picture as 
 the chief reason," he continued, in a warning voice ; 
 "you need only say how glad we shall be to keep 
 her here for a while. Do you understand ? " 
 
 This time Antje made no reply. She rose, toolt 
 her key-basket, and left the room. 
 
i62 Misjudged. 
 
 " Your wife looks very pale," remarked Wolf. 
 
 "She always does when anything does not suit 
 her. I have accustomed myself not to notice it." 
 And Leo took up the newspaper, and taking a com- 
 fortable whiff at his cigar, he added : " It's a queer 
 sort of thing — I can't imagine how women can in- 
 vent so many different ways of making themselves 
 disagreeable. This practical joke of the Baroness 
 was got up for Antje's especial benefit. Well, this 
 time she got herself out of the difficulty tolerably 
 well." 
 
 ** Tolerably well ? She acted like a brave, true 
 woman, as she is," returned Maiberg, giving his cup 
 an angry push as he spoke. 
 
 He recalled Leo's words last evening, begging 
 him not to keep so continually beside Antje, and he 
 flushed involuntarily. Then he got up. " If you 
 don't mind," he said, very quietly, " I will not go to 
 Dresden with you." 
 
 " Why not ? We were going to lunch with Bar- 
 renberg at the English Garden." 
 
 " Thank you ; I really have no desire to plunge 
 into a crowd of strangers so soon again." And 
 with a very grave look in his blue eyes he, too, took 
 up a newspaper, seated himself by the window, and 
 began to read. 
 
 At this moment Antje came in. 
 
 " Well ? " called out Leo. 
 
 " She will stay with us, Leo." 
 
 ** Ah, really ! " he said, carelessly, folding up his 
 napkin, quite contrary to his usual custom, as he re- 
 marked : " Then I will finish the picture here" 
 
 Antje busied herself about the table ; she appar- 
 
Misjudged. 163 
 
 ently had not heard her husband's words. Then 
 she again took up her key-basket to go about her 
 household duties. At the door she turned and 
 said : " Fraulein von Zweidorf wishes to speak with 
 you, Leo, before you go to Dresden. She is wait- 
 ing for you in my sitting-room upstairs. I shall go 
 to church by-and-by. You will be back in time for 
 dinner, I suppose, for I do not like to give the serv- 
 ants their presents without you." 
 
 He muttered something that sounded like assent, 
 and she disappeared. 
 
 " Classen," she said, downstairs in the kitchen, 
 "the young lady will stay here for some time." 
 
 The old woman looked searchingly at her mis- 
 tress, but she could not tell from that calm face 
 whether this visit was a pleasure or a burden to her. 
 
 "Very good," she said, "but I wouldn't keep an 
 actress like yon in my house." 
 
 " She is not an actress, Classen," replied Antje, 
 wearily, looking up from the great Christmas stollen 
 on which she was mechanically affixing the scrap 
 of paper with the name of the recipient. " She is 
 an old friend of my husband's, and he is painting 
 her because she is so pretty." 
 
 "His friend? What does he want of a friend 
 when he has got a wife like you ? " she muttered to 
 herself, beginning to shove her great pots and pans 
 about angrily. " It is all very well to be good and 
 submissive, but to be too good and too submissive 
 is — " The rest was swallowed out of the respect 
 which she felt for her young mistress. " She will 
 suffer for her goodness yet ! " she sighed, looking 
 after Antje. 
 
164 Misjudged. 
 
 Antje began to change her dress in her own room, 
 as she was going to church. She did not observe 
 that the door of her little rococo salon was not quite 
 closed. She felt in a hurry, for it was a long way, 
 and she wished to walk there in the fresh winter air 
 — and, moreover, she did not wish to keep Maiberg 
 waiting, who had begged to be allowed to accom- 
 pany her. i 
 
 Suddenly her husband's voice sounded in her ear : 
 
 "Christmas has brought me something, too, 
 Hilda " 
 
 A long pause ensued, and then he spoke again, 
 so slowly and distinctly that not the slightest 
 nuance escaped his young wife. " I have sold a 
 picture in Berlin — what do you say to that, Hilda ? 
 Hilda, are you not glad for me ? You usually 
 take so much interest in my painting. I wanted 
 to tell you of it yesterday, but you were so indif- 
 ferent, so freezing, that I — you must not be like 
 that again, child ; it hurts me. Tell me, are you 
 not glad ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course I am glad. I congratulate you 
 upon your success," was the icy response. 
 
 " Hilda ! Good Heavens, Hilda ! " These few 
 words sounded unspeakably tender to Antje's ears ; 
 she felt that no one could speak like that unless he 
 felt it in the depths of his soul. " Hilda, do not 
 take that tone ; it is not true, it is not real ! " 
 
 Antje suddenly leaned for support against her 
 toilet-table ; her delicate, pale face looked actually 
 distorted at this moment. Yes, here it was in real- 
 ity, all she had feared — the proof that she, his wife, 
 was nothing more to him. She forcibly kept back 
 
Misjudged, 165 
 
 the sobs that threatened to choke her, then she 
 rushed across to the nursery and threw herself on 
 her knees beside her child. 
 
 " Mousie ! " she gasped out, pressing the little 
 golden head against her breast — " Mousie, it must 
 not be, it cannot be ; we will defend ourselves. 
 Mouse, we will defend ourselves ! " And with quiv- 
 ering lips she repeated once more : " We will de- 
 fend ourselves, we will not give up papa ! " 
 
 And as the little one, frightened by its mother's 
 unusual violence, began to cry, she comforted the 
 child in her softest tones, but she still kept repeating 
 her single phrase : " We will not give up papa ; no, 
 no!" 
 
 " Not give up — papa ! " repeated the little one, the 
 large tears still standing on her cheeks — " not give 
 up dear papa ! " 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 Aunt Polly did not go to bed at all that Christ- 
 mas eve. The little body did not begin to realize 
 the effect of her words until it became quite quiet 
 outside, and the bell was not pulled a third time 
 by the repentant sinner, as she had confidently ex- 
 pected. After waiting in vain for a quarter of an 
 hour, she softly opened the window and listened, 
 but she could hear nothing. She called out in 
 a harsh voice : " Are you still there ?" 
 
 There was no reply. 
 
 " Hilda ! " she cried again, harshly at first, then 
 more gently and excitedly. " Answer ime, I say ; 
 don't be so obstinate in addition to everything else." 
 
 All was still. 
 
 Then the old woman crept downstairs with a 
 beating heart, the door-key in her hand, and care- 
 fully unlocked the door. 
 
 " Hilda ! " The street was lonely and deserted. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " murmured Aunt Polly, as she 
 shut the door again and stood quite dumfounded 
 in the cold, dark entry, reeking with the odor of 
 vegetables. " Good Heavens ! where can she be ? 
 If she should have done anything desperate, out of 
 fear of her father — if she should have jumped into 
 the Elbe " 
 
Misjudged. 167 
 
 Aunt Polly was in a state of nervous terror ; she 
 groped her way to the bedroom of the grocery- 
 woman and knocked. 
 
 "Frau Hemicke, open the door; something has 
 happened." 
 
 The stout grocer-woman appeared with a lamp in 
 her hand, quite startled. 
 
 " Good gracious, my dear Frau Berger, what is 
 the matter ? " 
 
 Aunt Polly was as pale as a ghost. 
 
 " Frau Hemicke," she stammered, " my Hilda is 
 gone — only think of it ! She ran off just after the 
 Christmas-tree, and left me sitting there, half-dead 
 with anxiety, till twelve o'clock, and when at last 
 she rang the bell I was angry, and I called down to. 
 her that she might just go back where she came 
 from. She took it in dudgeon, and now she is 
 gone. If she only hasn't jumped into the Elbe, 
 because I said I had written to her father. Ah, 
 what an unlucky woman I am ! What shall I do 
 now ? " 
 
 "Why, I say, my dear Frau Berger, that really 
 wasn't right of you. Good Heavens, she is sure to 
 have jumped in " 
 
 Aunt Polly shook all over as the woman good- 
 naturedly continued : " Well, I don't know anything 
 else to do now but just to wait till they find her. 
 People who are drowned never come to the surface 
 till three days after. Come, dear Frau Berger, 
 don't take on so. I will make you a cup of tea, and 
 that will quiet you down a bit. Ah, dearie me, 
 what trouble children do make for a body ! '* 
 
 ** But, Frau Berger," now cried a boy's voice from 
 
l68 Misjudged. 
 
 the shop itself, where the huckster- woman's eldest 
 son slept, " don't you be worried about her. The 
 young lady drove away with the gentleman who 
 used to come to you sometimes " 
 
 "Oh, mercy on us!" screamed Aunt Polly. "I 
 would rather she had jumped into the river ! Oh, 
 what a miserable creature I am ! Now her parents 
 will say I drove her to her ruin ! " 
 
 " Was it a droschky ? " the huckster-woman 
 asked her son. 
 
 ** No ; it was a fine private carriage, and I knew 
 the coachman, too. His name is Bormann ; he used 
 to be with Herr Lehrbeck, and now he is at Sibyllen- 
 burg." 
 
 " Sibyllenburg ? " gasped Aunt Polly, "Sibyllen- 
 burg ? Who lives there ? I must go there to-mor- 
 row. Is it very far ? How shall I get there ? " 
 
 Thereupon both mother and son gave a detailed 
 description of the situation of Sibyllenburg and the 
 way to get there, and each contradicted the other. 
 At last Aunt Polly only knew that a train started 
 for that place at eight o'clock, and then she would 
 have a " good piece " to walk. And in a faint voice 
 she begged her good Frau Hernicke not to leave 
 her for to-night, for she saw such horrible figures in 
 all the corners, and she could not imagine what she 
 should do if Hilda had really done something dread- 
 ful, and would not come back to her. 
 
 The good-natured Frau Hernicke actually went 
 upstairs to her neighbor's apartment, and the two 
 worthy dames made up a fire in the stove and made 
 some coffee, and Frau Hernicke related to the shud- 
 dering Frau Berger the most incredible tales of the. 
 
Misjudged. 169 
 
 wickedness of the world at the present day and the 
 folly of young people in a great city. In the mean- 
 time she got together some warm clothing for to- 
 morrow's journey, and Aunt Polly cried and be- 
 wailed her hard fate, and her tears fell into the great 
 coffee-cup, which she kept putting to her lips, though 
 her trouble was so great she could hardly swallow. 
 
 At seven o'clock in the morning they both went 
 to the station. The poor little aunt had her eyes all 
 red with crying, and her nose was red with the cold, 
 and she looked older and more worn than ever ; and 
 as she travelled on in the cold Christmas morning, 
 she folded her hands inside her mufif and prayed that 
 God would not punish her violence and impatience 
 too severely. Ah, in her anger last night she did 
 not remember that it was a day when love and mild- 
 ness ought to rule. God had given salvation to His 
 sinful children, and she herself — such a sinful mortal 
 as she was — had wished to judge and to punish, and 
 perhaps had even thrust a human soul that had been 
 intrusted to her care, into lifelong misery ! 
 
 But who could suppose any one would think she 
 meant to shut her out in earnest ? 
 
 At length Aunt Polly found herself on the small 
 platform of the little station, and asked the station- 
 master where Sibyllenburg was situated. 
 
 " Up there on the hill, madame, where you see the 
 tower peeping through the trees. Just go straight 
 up, and when you get to the top of the hill you must 
 ask somebody, for I can't describe it to you from 
 here." 
 
 " Could you tell me who owns Sibyllenburg ? " 
 she inquired again. 
 
I JO Misjudged. 
 
 " Well, you see, madame, it has changed hands 
 pretty often in the last few years ; it seems sort of 
 unlucky. I am curious to know how long the man 
 who has got it now will keep it, if he goes on as he 
 is doing now." 
 
 *' Who is it ? " inquired Aunt Polly. 
 
 " Jussnitz is his name ; he's a painter." 
 
 The old woman began to feel her head whirling 
 round. And Hildegarde was there ! 
 
 She murmured a few words of thanks and went on 
 her way. All the stories of elopements that she had 
 ever read, and those which Frau Hernicke had re- 
 lated to her the night before, seemed to be going 
 over and over in her head. Ah, Aunt Polly felt as 
 if she should jump into the water herself, for she 
 would be held responsible for this result. She had 
 always said that that Zweidorf girl had passionate 
 blood in her, and — ah, good Heavens, how true it 
 was ! If Berger had lived to see this ! No one 
 could be trusted. How proudly the girl had de- 
 fended herself from suspicion ; and he — God forgive 
 him for betraying that poor, inexperienced child ! 
 
 She was quite out of breath when she reached 
 the wrought-iron gate ; she had been hurrying as 
 if it were a matter of life and death. And there 
 stood the castle behind the bare branches of the 
 linden-trees, looking so stately and so home-like. 
 Lace curtains gleamed out behind the bright panes, 
 and in one of the upper windows a mass of 
 hyacinths and lilies-of-the-valley was in bloom, 
 making a little spring in itself. But Aunt Polly 
 did not see the woman's fair head against which a 
 child's sunny curls were nestling. 
 
Misjudged, 171 
 
 ** What did you wish ? " asked a stately servant 
 in blue velvet small-clothes and a leather-colored 
 coat, who opened the door. 
 
 "Is there a young lady here by the name of 
 Zweidorf?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I am her aunt, and I would like to see her.** 
 
 " Very well ; will you come in ? " 
 
 Aunt Polly went into the houje ; Antje saw her 
 go in from her window upstairs. The young wife 
 had come back from church, had taken refuge iu 
 her little room, and had sat down by the window 
 with her little Mousie, her heart full of care and 
 anxiety, but also full again of courage and deter- 
 mination. 
 
 " That must be her aunt, Mousie," she said. 
 
 Some time passed, and then the servant came to 
 Antje and reported that Fraulein von Zweidorf re- 
 fused to see her aunt, and the old lady was crying 
 bitterly and begging him to take her to the young 
 lady, but she had locked herself into her room. 
 
 Antje gave orders to bring the lady to her. She 
 set the child down on the carpet and went to meet 
 Aunt Polly, who appeared on the threshold with 
 wondering, tear-stained eyes. 
 
 " I have the pleasure of speaking to Frau Ber- 
 ger ?" inquired Antje. 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," stammered the little woman, 
 quite upset. 
 
 "And I am Frau Jussnitz," continued Antje, 
 kindly. " Will you not sit down and throw off your 
 cloak ? You have come for your niece, I suppose, 
 and Fraulein Hilda is offended and will not see 
 
172 Misjudged, 
 
 you — isn't that the case ? But you ought not to 
 have been so severe last night when my husband 
 and I brought her home ; it is not every one who 
 could put up with that." 
 
 Antje smiled as she spoke and untied the old 
 woman's bonnet-strings. Aunt Polly submitted 
 passively ; she could not have managed it herself in 
 her agitation. 
 
 " Fraulein Hildegarde went to a little party undei 
 my protection," continued Antje. " She represented 
 a tableau vivant in her Spanish costume to pleasfl 
 my husband, who is painting her, as you know 
 She ought to have told you of it, of course, but it 
 was a sudden thought ; and I hope you are no 
 longei angry with the poor child, and you will allow 
 her to stay with us a few weeks, will you not ? " 
 
 Aunt Polly sat speechless on the sofa ; she ha<[ 
 not a word to say. She could not yet grasp th^ 
 fact that she was sitting here with the wife of the 
 man who, she had firmly believed, loved Hilda and 
 was loved by her in return. The affair had taken 
 on a new aspect, and a better one, thank God \ 
 But the child, the poor child ! 
 
 " We had no idea, " she stammered out in her 
 confusion, " that Herr Jussnitz was married — f 
 beg your pardon, but I thought, I believed " 
 
 Antje turned pale. Her grieved, wondering look 
 pierced the old lady's heart, and gave her a glim- 
 mering of the truth. 
 
 " I mean — we never thought about it," she went 
 on, awkwardly. " What business was it of ours ? 
 Hilda had nothing to do with Herr Jussnitz except 
 to stand still while he painted her, and I alwayf 
 
Misjudged. 1 73 
 
 went with her. And then you know, gracious lady, 
 we did not talk very much, for Herr Jussnitz always 
 is so occupied with his painting, and we were always 
 in a hurry to get home. Besides, we live so quietly, 
 and the people we know do not know Herr Jussnitz, 
 and that is how it happened that we never knew 
 that Herr Jussnitz was married. If Hilda had 
 known it she would have come out here to call and 
 pay her respects to you, madame, because Herr 
 Jussnitz knows her family, and " 
 
 She stopped, quite out of breath and in great 
 confusion. 
 
 " My husband is so wrapped up in his art that 
 when he is painting he forgets everything else," said 
 Antje, smiling with pale lips. " You must not be 
 offended at that, my dear Frau Berger ; he did not 
 mean the least rudeness to Fraulein Hildegarde, 
 though he did not mention me or ask her to come 
 and see me. He was simply entirely taken up with 
 his work. For the artist who is creating a picture, 
 the outer world does not exist." 
 
 Then she got up and brought her child. 
 
 " Come, give your hand to the lady. Don't you 
 thinks he is very like my husband, Frau Berger ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Aunt Polly, with her eyes full of 
 tears as she stroked the child's head. " But excuse 
 me, Frau Jussnitz. I would like to try again to see 
 Hildegarde. I am not angry with her. I am only 
 sorry for her, and I think it will be better for her to 
 go with me. I want to urge her to it if I may." 
 
 " I will willingly take you to her room, and try to 
 persuade Fraulein Hilda to see you," replied Antje. 
 
 When the young wife presented herself at the 
 
174 Misjudged. 
 
 young girl's door, it was opened, and Frau Polly 
 slipped in. 
 
 It was a very pleasant room which had been as- 
 signed to Hildegarde. Hung entirely with gay cre- 
 tonne, it formed a sort of tent ; the bed, sofa, and 
 chairs were covered with a similar stuff. A soft, 
 flowery carpet covered the floor, and a rocking-chair 
 was still in motion in front of the tall mirror which 
 reached to the floor. In the elegant fireplace a 
 bright fire was burning. 
 
 " Is it really you ? " escaped Aunt Polly's lips, 
 when she had closed the door behind her ; and she 
 looked in amazement at the slender, beautiful girl, 
 who, in a loose, pale pink morning-dress belonging 
 to Antje — the same which the young wife had once 
 ordered to surprise her husband on their wedding- 
 day, and which she had never worn — looked so won- 
 derfully handsome, and as if the tasteful gown had 
 been made expressly for her. 
 
 Hildegarde stood there with an inscrutable face, 
 her lips pressed tightly together. But Aunt Polly 
 had long since forgotten that she had ever been 
 angry. She only remembered that the child's beau- 
 tiful future had suddenly come to naught. 
 
 "You poor thing," she said, compassionately, 
 while the tears streamed from her eyes, " if I had 
 only known before what I know now, you would not 
 have heard a single cross word from me. Forget it 
 all, my Hilda, and come home with me ; you cannot 
 Stay here ! " 
 
 But Hilda was not one of those persons who 
 easily forget an insult, nor did she find it any easier 
 to bear commiseration. 
 
Misjudged. 175 
 
 **I shall stay here, aunt," she said, coldly, " and 
 when my portrait is finished, I shall probably go " 
 
 She stopped, and twisted the pink ribbons of her 
 dress about her finger in some confusion. 
 
 " Hilda, what will you do here ? Let the picture 
 go, let him finish it as best he may. Why should 
 you make such trouble for yourself ? It cuts me to 
 the heart when I look at you ; it is such a horrible 
 shame that he should not have told you that he 
 was married. Come, Hilda, this is no place for 
 you. 
 
 *' I don't know what you mean, aunt I " replied 
 her youthful niece, very slowly. Her pale lips 
 scarcely moved. " I " 
 
 " Hilda, suppose it were your father urging you ! 
 You could not refuse him ? Be frank with me — 
 you love this man ; can you deny it ? Good 
 Heavens, child, don't shake your head ; every 
 feature of your face, every step you took, has be- 
 trayed it all this time ! I beg of you, child, come 
 home with me ; you ought not to stay here." 
 
 ** I have never thought of him," said Hilda, in 
 the same slow manner, and she turned away and 
 walked to the window. 
 
 " Hilda, that is not true ! " said Frau Berger, 
 firmly, and her face wore an air of solemnity ; " it is 
 not true ! You love him, and he loves you ! I am 
 an old woman, and I know how things go in this 
 world. But you will be committing a frightful sin 
 if you stay here, a sin against yourself, against him, 
 and against his wife and her child. Only consider, 
 for Heaven's sake, what will come of it ! " 
 
 " I forbid you to say such things to me ! " cried 
 
176 Misjuifged. 
 
 Hilda, crimson with anger, and stamping her foot on 
 the carpet. '* Must you needs drag everything down 
 into the mire ? Can there be no relations in the 
 world between two persons that are left unstained 
 by vile thoughts ? It is quite true that I am 
 fond of my teacher, and as certain that he thinks a 
 good deal of me ; but is that wicked ? I forbid 
 you to put a vile construction upon it ! " 
 
 The poor little aunt looked quite paralyzed with 
 fright. Could it be possible, then, that she had been 
 so mistaken ? But no, it was only pride, that old 
 Zweidorf pride, which constrained the girl to deny 
 her love and her bitter disappointment ; which con- 
 strained her to stay here so that he might come to 
 believe in her indifference to him, and that it did 
 not make her at all unhappy to see him beside his 
 wife. The poor, foolish child had no idea of the 
 abyss on the brink of which she was standing, and 
 it made Aunt Polly's heart bleed to see the traces 
 of unspeakable anguish in her face, the great, dark 
 semi-circles under her eyes, and the quivering 
 lips. 
 
 " Hilda," she began again, " I am willing to 
 believe that you do not particularly care for him ; 
 but if I were in your place I would net stay here, for 
 you must have seen that he likes you. You do not 
 know the world. You do not mean any harm, but 
 you have no idea how easy it is to come between 
 husband and wife when one is a third person in the 
 house. It is a very delicate situation, Hilda — often 
 it is only some trifling thing on which the happiness 
 or misery of a whole family depends. Hilda, you 
 must remember how he used to look at you. Do 
 
Misjudged. \ii 
 
 not stay here, come with me ; I have never meant 
 anything but good by you, even though I may 
 sometimes have been cross. I have always done 
 my duty as well as I could. If you will only trust 
 to me a little this time ! " 
 
 "You are conjuring up spectres, aunt," declared 
 Hilda, inexorably. " I should be silly and ungrate- 
 ful if I did not stay here." 
 
 Aunt Polly was silent for a while, and followed 
 her niece with her eyes as she walked slowly up 
 ar ' do vn, 
 
 " H.o young wife looked so pale, Hilda, and as if 
 siie had been crying," she said at length. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! is that my fault ? " cried the 
 girl, stopping in her walk and clasping her hands. 
 
 " Perhaps ; one can never be sure, Hilda." 
 
 " But she asked me to stay herself, so the picture 
 might be finished." 
 
 " Ah, child, people sometimes ask things with 
 their lips, and their hearts cry out against it all the 
 time." 
 
 Hilda covered her ears angrily. " I know what 
 I am about, aunt, and I shall send off a letter to 
 papa which will explain yours. Papa knows me 
 better than you do." 
 
 " Why, Hilda, what do you think of me ? I did 
 not writo, and I am not going to. I only said so 
 last night because I was angry. Come, child, come 
 with me ! " 
 
 " I shall stay here ! " cried the young girl, an- 
 grily. " If I were to go with you I should be as 
 good as confessing that I " 
 
 " That you love him and are going away because 
 
 12 
 
178 Misjudged. 
 
 he has deceived you, and because you are far too 
 proud and too good to " 
 
 " He has not deceived me, and I — I do not love 
 him ! " interrupted Hilda, violently. 
 
 "Can a man become indifferent to you in a 
 minute, Hilda ? Is that possible ? Are you not 
 deceiving yourself ? " 
 
 *' There, that is enough, aunt. I shall stay here, 
 and that is all there is about it. Be so kind as 
 to pack up my few things and send them to me 
 here." 
 
 " You will get fearfully spoiled here," said Aunt 
 Polly, nodding gravely, " When a girl has once 
 worn a thing like that" — pointing to the gown 
 Hilda had on — " she doesn't find her own shabby 
 clothes comfortable any more. Well, good-by, 
 then, Hilda. I shall write to your father now and 
 tell him " 
 
 " That you are to blame for my coming here ; 
 only tell him that ! " cried the girl, with angry 
 tears. 
 
 " Yes, but all the rest of it, too, and that you 
 would not take the hand that was stretched out to 
 save you, and that you shut your ears to my words 
 of warning. Good-by, Hilda, and look at his 
 young wife's eyes carefully, and see that they do 
 not shed tears on your account." 
 
 And Aunt Polly hid her sobbing face in her 
 handkerchief and went toward the door. But 
 there her anger and anxiety got the upper hand 
 again, and she turned back. 
 
 " Do what you like, then, in Heaven's name ! 
 You wouldn't listen to me ! " 
 
Misjudged. 179 
 
 The door banged to behind her, and red with 
 anger and grief, she descended the stairs and left 
 the house without taking leave of its mistress. 
 
 Antje saw her go as she had seen her come, and 
 a sigh escaped her. The round little body trotted 
 away so hurriedly, as if she and her niece had 
 parted in anger. Hilda would not be reconciled 
 to her, then ; she was going to stay I 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Yes, she was going to stay ! But for the present 
 nothing was seen of her. She excused herself on 
 the plea of fatigue when she was asked to come 
 to the table, and when Antje reluctantly went to 
 see her in her room, she found the young girl lying 
 on the lounge looking up at the ceiling. Her in- 
 quiries for her health were received with curt 
 thanks. Antje sat beside her in silence for some 
 time, or occasionally addressed a civil question to 
 her — whether she liked her room, or if she had 
 all she wanted — only to receive a short, " Thanks, 
 yes," and then she left her, thankful when she was 
 back in her own lonely room. 
 
 The young girl's belongings were sent to her 
 by Aunt Polly, and when Antje went to pay her 
 duty visit to Hilda on the day after Christmas, the 
 room had taken on a quite different aspect. The 
 young girl had spread out all her modest decorations 
 and had given her new home an artistic air. Her 
 water-colors peeped out of the folds of the wall- 
 draperies ; masses of scarlet poppies, which she knew 
 how to make in wonderful imitation of nature, hung 
 over the picture-frames and filled the vases on the 
 mantel-piece. The easel had found a place by tlie 
 window, and she herself was standing before the 
 mirror in her black cashmere dress, fastening a 
 broad, gayly-striped Roman apron around her waist 
 
Misjudged. i8i 
 
 so that the long ends of the ribbons tied at the back 
 set off the simple frock admirably. 
 
 " How nice you have made it look ! " said Antje, 
 but she got no other answer than a drawling " Oh ! " 
 that was intended to sound modest, but which really 
 was only rude. 
 
 " Will you come to supper with us this evening ? " 
 inquired Antje, with unaltered friendliness. 
 
 " If you will allow me, yes." 
 
 " And this afternoon ? Would you like to go to 
 walk?" 
 
 " I have some letters to write." 
 
 " Then we shall see you at eight o'clock. The 
 gentlemen, who are invited out to dinner, expect 
 to be back between six and seven. Till eight, 
 then." 
 
 Antje also sat down to write a letter. She wished 
 to finish one to her mother which she had begun 
 some time before. But she was interrupted by the 
 entrance of the servant. 
 
 '■ Gracious lady, there is some one here who is 
 very anxious to speak to Herr Jussnitz. He insists 
 upon waiting for him." 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 '* He says his name is Grabe. He asked if he 
 could see the gracious lady." 
 
 Antje assented. 
 
 A few minutes after a meagre, rather well-dressed 
 man appeared, who introduced himself as the head 
 of a Dresden antiquarian shop, and thereupon 
 began to excuse himself for being obliged to in- 
 trude on such a day. But he thought that in this 
 way, after several vain attempts to find Herr Juss- 
 
1 82 Misjudged. 
 
 nitz, he might meet him, and he hoped the gra- 
 cious lady would excuse him for — it was only 
 urgent necessity — the firm was rather embarrassed 
 just now 
 
 " Pray speak plainly," said Antje ; "what is it you 
 want ? " 
 
 "If it were possible, the payment of our bill, 
 gracious lady." 
 
 " Has not my husband paid yet for fitting up his 
 studio in Dresden ? " 
 
 " We have not had the honor of fitting up a studio 
 for Herr Jussnitz in Dresden. It is only — it is for 
 the furniture here, gracious lady." 
 
 " What ! " cried Antje, drawing her handkerchief 
 across her forehead, which flushed suddenly. 
 
 " Yes, madame. Herr Jussnitz bought some rare 
 pieces for his studio here two years ago, and, as I 
 have already said, we are not able to wait any longer 
 for our pay." 
 
 " I will speak to my husband about it," said Antje. 
 " Give me the bill — how high is it ? I do not really 
 know when my husband will be at home." 
 
 The man civilly handed her an open bill. 
 
 '* Herr Jussnitz promised faithfully to pay by the 
 first of October. Unfortunately, he did not keep 
 his promise, and " 
 
 Antje uttered a horrified exclamation, " But, my 
 dear sir ! " — which checked his flow of words. She 
 had glanced at the bill, and now looked, with pale 
 lips, at the man standing before her. 
 
 " Eight thousand marks ? " 
 
 " Eight thousand marks, madame." 
 
 She turned away and laid the bill on the table. 
 
Misjudged. 183 
 
 " Yes, it is all right ; I remember now," she said 
 with difficulty. " My husband will settle it before 
 the New Year — I — he — " She moved several books 
 from one place to another. " Then Herr Jussnitz 
 will — I thank you, sir." 
 
 The stranger had expected to get his money at 
 once. 
 
 " Madame — perhaps a little on account," he be- 
 gan, " so we could at least " 
 
 " Sir, in this matter I can do nothing without 
 my husband," she said, curtly and decidedly. "I 
 will give him the bill this evening, and that is all 
 I can promise for the present." 
 
 ** Very well, madame." 
 
 Antje sat still for a long time after the man had 
 left the room. At length she stretched out her 
 hand for the bill, 
 
 " One fan, Watteau, formerly belonging to Marie 
 Antoinette— rthree thousand marks " 
 
 That must be that fragile thing that lay half 
 open on the carved table in her rococo boudoir, 
 carelessly flung down as if it had been forgotten — 
 three thousand marks ! 
 
 "One Gobelin tapestry, real Flanders, fifteenth 
 century — * Marie of Burgundy riding to the Chase.' " 
 
 Antje recalled the faded greenish-gray hanging 
 that hung between the pictures in the studio, 
 on which one could vaguely see a noble lady on 
 horseback with a falcon on her wrist. This was 
 marked two thousand marks ! 
 
 And then followed some weapons and a rococo 
 clock. This, too, was in Antje's boudoir. It bore 
 as decoration a rose- wreathed shepherdess, with her 
 
184 Misjudged. 
 
 crook and a lamb, and behind a rose-bush crouched 
 a little Cupid. Fifteen hundred marks ! 
 
 The young wife sat still, with her hands clasped. 
 She thought of her old father — of how he had 
 toiled, and how modest he had been in his wants ; 
 with what difficulty he had once made up his mind 
 to buy a somewhat more elegant carriage with his 
 hard-earned money, because it was only a luxury 
 and because they had had such happy drives to- 
 gether in the shabby old coach. Ah, it is so hor- 
 rible to love a man and to be forced to make com- 
 parisons so unfavorable to him ! All the feeling 
 of the solid old burgher family was awakened 
 within her ; it seemed to her as if people must be 
 pointing at her with their fingers wherever she 
 went. Oh, God ! But what were all these cares 
 to the pain she had felt yesterday ! 
 
 Antje went down into the dining-room, and as 
 usual her eyes glanced over the table, but it all 
 seemed quite strange to her. A^ length she heard 
 the carriage roll into the court-yard and the eager 
 voice of her husband inquiring : " Where are the 
 ladies ? " 
 
 He came in immediately after, still in his fur 
 coat, with a package under his arm and looking as 
 men are wont to look after a good dinner — gay 
 and comfortable. 
 
 " Good evening," he said. " Is Fraulein von 
 Zweidorf not coming to supper ? " 
 
 " Yes, she is coming." 
 
 " What have you been doing to-day ? " he asked, 
 with a good-natured air. 
 
 *' I have been writing to my mother." 
 
Misjudged. 185 
 
 "And Hilda?" 
 
 "Fraulein von Zweidorf ? I don't know. She 
 said she was going to write letters too." 
 
 " I thought you would have made friends when 
 you were alone together," he said as he gave his 
 coat and hat to the servant, smoothed his hair be- 
 fore the glass, and twisted his mustache. "That 
 fellow Maiberg must have taken offence some- 
 how," he added. " He says he is going away, and 
 wouldn't speak a word to me the whole way. 
 Well, he can do as he likes ! " 
 
 He stopped speaking as Maiberg made his ap- 
 pearance, holding open the door for Hilda. 
 
 " Ah, Fraulein von Zweidorf," cried Leo as she 
 came in, " how do you do ? You see, the air ot 
 your room does not agree with you. You have 
 grown quite pale in these last two days. Now give 
 me your attention, for I have had such a stroke of 
 luck ! Some people are absolute barbarians ; they 
 possess the greatest treasures without having an 
 idea of it." 
 
 As he spoke he went up to the table on which he 
 had put down his package, and began to open the 
 latter carefully. 
 
 " Only fancy. Colonel Bemdorf had a piece of most 
 precious old Meissen j>orcelain, and he declared he 
 was going to give the ugly thing to his quartermaster 
 for a wedding-present, as he couldn't bear to see the 
 distorted figures and wouldn't put anything into the 
 vase because the three women would spoil his appe- 
 tite. Just look at them, the three Graces ! And a 
 quartermaster was to have one of the most celebrated 
 pieces in the whole factory for a wedding-present ! 
 
1 86 Misjudged. 
 
 I raised a howl, and he wanted to give me the thing, 
 but I bought it of him, for, of course, I couldn't be 
 under obligations to him. Between ourselves, the 
 piece is worth a thousand marks, but we agreed on 
 three hundred. Well, what do you say ? Isn't it 
 a beauty ? " 
 
 Hildegarde stood beside him with a pale face and 
 with eyes that had worn a deeply melancholy look 
 since Christmas. Leo held up the vase and they 
 both looked at it. Antje looked up at them for a 
 moment from her tea-urn, but she did not speak. 
 No one had asked her opinion. 
 
 " Yes, it is very beautiful," replied Hilda. 
 ' It will go well in my wife's boudoir," continued 
 Leo. " Look at it, Antje." 
 
 " Thank you, you would better put it in your 
 own studio ; it is much too expensive for me," she 
 replied, and was startled herself at the harshness 
 with which she had spoken. 
 
 " Do you mean by that that the vase does not 
 meet with your approbation and that you think it a 
 foolish expenditure ? Well, you can set your mind 
 at rest, for the money did not come out of your 
 highness's purse." 
 
 A sad smile flitted across her flushed face. Juss- 
 nitz saw it, and it irritated him so that he forgot the 
 presence of Hildegarde and Maiberg and exclaimed, 
 scornfully : 
 
 *' I bought this vase with money which I earned 
 myself — if you must know, I have sold a picture in 
 Berlin. And now you can write to your mother that 
 I wasted the first money I have earned since our 
 marriage in buying rubbish, as she in her ignorance 
 
Misjudged. 187 
 
 is pleased to call it, instead of giving it to you to 
 pay the butcher and baker. She will be sure to 
 sympathize with you." 
 
 Antje, who was just pouring out the tea, shivered 
 slightly, but made no reply. Maiberg rustled his 
 newspaper as if he were not listening, and Hilda 
 had withdrawn into one of the deep embrasures of 
 the window. There was a peculiar smile on her lips, 
 as if she were glad he should suffer from the narrow- 
 ness of the " nonentity " whom he had chosen. 
 
 They sat down silently at the table ; no one felt 
 in the mood to open the conversation. The dishes 
 were passed round, and no sound was heard but the 
 clattering of plates and forks. It was hot and close 
 in the room. Suddenly there sounded a welcome 
 voice from outside, and the gay, infectious laugh of 
 the Baroness, and a moment later she came in, ac- 
 companied by the two Fraulein von Benken, Col- 
 onel von Barrenberg, and the inevitable Lieutenant 
 von Osten. 
 
 " We should not venture to intrude upon our 
 good friends and neighbors like this if it were not 
 a very special occasion," cried Irene von Erlach. 
 " My dear Herr Jussnitz, do you notice anything 
 unusual about us ? Guess what has happened — - 
 and you, too, Maiberg. Fraulein von Zweidorf, how 
 do I look to you ? " 
 
 When the Baroness appeared in any company 
 she had the effect of champagne, or a Strauss waltz. 
 And to-day more than ever ! 
 
 " I have done a horribly silly thing," she contin- 
 ued, " and I warn you all against following my ex- 
 ample. If I had not got tired of the everlasting teas- 
 
1 88 Misjudged. 
 
 ing, then — well, to cut it short, here stands " — and 
 she stretched up her hand to the smiling Barren- 
 berg and caught him by his unusually well-waxed 
 mustache — " here stands my future husband ! " 
 
 She clapped her hands as if amazed at herself, 
 and laughed so heartily that they all joined in, 
 and Leo the loudest of all. " Bravo ! An engage- 
 ment ! We must celebrate it ! " he cried. " Antje, 
 order in some champagne." 
 
 Antje obediently gave the order, and when the 
 champagne came she clinked her glass with the 
 betrothed pair, gravely but pleasantly. 
 
 '* I wish you great happiness, all happiness ! " 
 she said with moistened eyes. 
 
 " And why shouldn't we be happy ? " laughed the 
 bride. " We do not take life so tragically, do we, 
 Wilhelm ? We will try how it goes together — 
 
 d!) 
 
 
 " Well — and ? " said Maiberg, playfully. 
 
 " And if it doesn't go " 
 
 " I say, Irene, that sounds promising," interrupted 
 her betrothed. 
 
 " Well, if it doesn't go, we will get a divorce," 
 she finished, putting her little hand against his iips, 
 and he kissed it with an embarrassed smile. 
 
 Antje went quietly back to her place. 
 
 '' Bravo, Barrenberg ! " said Leo. " You will 
 never be bored." 
 
 " Bored ? " cried Frau von Erlach. " Boredom 
 is the mother of all vices. In my opinion, a wife 
 cannot do anything more foolish than allow her 
 husband to feel bored." 
 
 " Very comforting for me," said the happy lover. 
 
Misjudged. i 8q 
 
 "There are a great many ways of banishing 
 ennui" remarked Maiberg, carelessly, " but it is a 
 question whether the opposite of ennui always 
 means happiness." 
 
 " A hundred thousand ways," chimed in Irene, 
 ignoring the last remark • " only amiability is not 
 one of them, as is so often erroneously taken for 
 granted. No man can put up with that for long. 
 Instead, a little — but I will not betray the secrets 
 of the prison-house, for Fraulein von Zweidorf is 
 looking frightfully inquisitive already." 
 
 Antje turned like the rest to look at Hilda. The 
 girl's eyes flashed for a moment, then she turned 
 crimson. 
 
 Jussnitz looked at her admiringly. " Look like 
 that to-morrow when I paint you," he cried. But 
 Hilda did not appear to have heard him. 
 
 " She has a talent for what I mean," remarked 
 Irene to Jussnitz. He smiled and nodded. Antje 
 kept silence. 
 
 " Too silly ! " whispered Melly and Nelly to 
 each other. ' 
 
 After this they had a noisy game of cards, fol- 
 lowed by a game of forfeits. The Baroness was 
 gayer even than usual. 
 
 Antje seated herself in one of the deep window 
 emb;"asures. She had a bad headaclie. Maiberg 
 went up to her and begged her to go away. But 
 she smiled and shook her head, Leo would not 
 like it, she said. In truth, she did not wish it her- 
 self ; she kept her eyes fixed on her husband, who 
 was continually appearing at Hildegarde's side, 
 although the girl scarcely deigned to speak to him, 
 
IQO Misjudged. 
 
 and turned to Barrenberg or Maiberg in all the 
 little turnings of the game. Antje bit her lips as 
 she saw the Baroness smile at this, and she 
 clenched her hands. Why had God suffered it 
 that Leo should have married her, who never was 
 suited to him ? And why had He put this un- 
 speakable love and devotion into a woman's heart 
 so that it must break with the grief that had come 
 to it ? And she looked up at Maiberg, and could 
 not keep the two heavy drops from trembling on 
 her eyelashes. 
 
 " Dear Dr. Maiberg," she said, "now I know 
 that Leo has sold a picture in Berlin." 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz," he began, sitting down on a 
 little footstool so that he had to look up to her. 
 
 " Don't speak of it ; please don't speak of it ! " 
 she cried, forcing back her tears. But she had to 
 turn her eyes away from his true, anxious face. 
 
 "What must the person do to whom this pledge 
 belongs ? " asked Melly Benken at this moment. 
 
 "Kiss Fraulein von Zweidorf," cried Nelly, with 
 the most innocent air in the world, nudging her sis- 
 ter secretly, for she knew that the latter had the 
 host's seal-ring shut in her hand. 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz ! " laughed Melly, holding up the 
 ring. 
 
 Antje saw the young girl's beautiful face turn 
 pale, and her eyes look at Leo Jussnitz with an icy 
 expression as the latter approrched her to put her 
 hand gallantly to his lips. 
 
 How well that chivalric air became him, how 
 tenderly deferential his expression was ! Antje 
 flushed as she saw it. " My God, how petty I 
 
Misjudged, 19' 
 
 have grown!" was the thought in her heart, and 
 she twisted her hands in and out in torture such 
 as she had never known before. **If I might only 
 die!" she murmured. 
 
 " Frau Antje ! " These words, spoken in a re- 
 proachful tone, caused her to look at Maiberg with 
 a sudden start. 
 
 Had she been thinking aloud ? She shuddered 
 all over. 
 
 '* What do you think, doctor," she said, after a 
 while, slowly and rather thickly ; " would it not be 
 better if I were to take the baby and go to my 
 mother for a while, on account of her cough ? " 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz, do not go," he said, earnestly. 
 " Pardon me, but it would be cowardly." 
 
 She looked at him with her lovely eyes swimming 
 in tears. " No, I will not go," she said, " I will 
 not go ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you will have the goodness to pay a 
 little more attention to your guests in general," said 
 Leo, who suddenly stood beside her. " No doubt 
 it is very pleasant to sulk here in the comer, but — 
 I must insist, for various reasons, on your cutting 
 short these tearful confidences." 
 
 Maiberg got up. 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz, I am forced to leave your hos- 
 pitable house to-morrow. I shall have to set off 
 early, and therefore I will retire in good season. 
 Good-by, and receive my thanks for all your kind- 
 ness and goodness." 
 
 He held the slender, trembling hand for a mo- 
 ment in his own, but he did not see the yount 
 wife's face, which was as sad as death. 
 
192 Misjudged. 
 
 " Good-by, Leo," he said shortly, turning to his 
 friend. 
 
 "I don't like such jokes," said the latter, quickly 
 and angrily. 
 
 "I was never more in earnest than I am now, I 
 assure you ! Good-by ! I shall take French leave. 
 If you have anything you wish to say to me to* 
 night, you will find me still up, for I have to pack 
 up my things." 
 
 He looked back once more. Antje was standing 
 beside Barrenberg, who was telling her some story. 
 Her iac6 was raised to his, but Maiberg knew that 
 she did not hear a word he was saying. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Several weeks had passed. The March sun 
 was shining on the walls of the Sibyllenburg manor- 
 house, the broad grass-plats in the garden had 
 taken on a deeper green, the reddish-brown buds 
 were swelling on the twigs and branches of the 
 shrubs and trees, and the beets were thrusting their 
 little green points out of the carefully prepared 
 ground, peeping timidly out at the light. The cro- 
 cuses and hyacinths seemed to be asking if they 
 dared venture too, and the old gardener shook his 
 head and carefully laid evergreen boughs over the 
 saucy little things, to protect them from frost and 
 ice, for it could only be a treacherous gleam of 
 spring, and the clouds over there still held an ample 
 store of snow. 
 
 Antje, with her little daughter beside her, was 
 standing thoughtfully before the old man, watching 
 him at his work. 
 
 " With us up in the mountains," she said at length, 
 ** these things do not come out before April ; this 
 is a sunny corner of the world. " 
 
 " Yes, it is a handsome place," nodded the old 
 man, looking about him. " It would be a pity, Frau 
 Jussnitz, if what the people say is true, that the 
 master is thinking of selling this place." 
 13 
 
194 Misjudged. 
 
 "Do people say that ? " 
 
 "They all say so. I should like to contradict it, 
 gracious lady." 
 
 She made no reply. She had turned toward the 
 house and was looking at it. The sun was reflected 
 in all the windows, of which each one was in itself 
 a dazzling little sun. Antje looked at it so long 
 that it brought the water to her eyes. Then she 
 walked on with the little girl ; the old man shook 
 his head as he looked after her. 
 
 At the end of the park she looked over the low 
 wall out into the fields. She lifted the child up 
 on the wall and let it also look out into the 
 world. 
 
 " Papa ! " cried the child, and the little hand in 
 its white mitten pointed to a gentleman who was 
 walking along the road at a little distance beside a 
 woman's figure. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the young wife, as she gazed after 
 the pair till they disappeared behind the first houses 
 of the village. " Come, Mousie ! " 
 
 The child trotted along beside her mother to- 
 ward the house. 
 
 " Mouse not want to go in," she cried as Antje 
 opened the door. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Mouse ; we will go into papa's pretty 
 room. Come." 
 
 And when they had taken off their cloaks and 
 hats upstairs, Antje went with the child into the 
 studio. She sat down in the first chair she came 
 to and gazed straight before her. The child in the 
 mean time played about on the carpet. 
 
 " Here, mamma ! " it said at length, putting a 
 
Misjudged. 195 
 
 little bow of red ribbon which it had picked up into 
 its mother's hand. 
 
 Antje flung the dainty ribbon from her as if some 
 noxious insect had crawled over her hand, and her 
 eyes glanced at the picture on the easel. The beau- 
 tiful figure of the Spanish dancer was now enclosed 
 in a handsome gold frame, but the picture was not 
 yet finished according to Leo's ideas. The sun- 
 beams gradually stole nearer and nearer, and every- 
 thing was as still as death around the woman thus 
 lost in meditation ; the child had laid its head on a 
 soft foot-cushion and gone to sleep. There was no 
 sound throughout the whole house except the delib- 
 erate ticking of the richly gilded clock on the man- 
 tel-piece, and a mysterious rustling and crackling 
 as if ghosts were going about. 
 
 They were not comfortable ghosts ; they whispered 
 evil thoughts to the pale woman sitting there ; they 
 told of broken faith, of a love that was dead, and 
 of an unhappy, lonely future. Antje had not been 
 cowardly ; she had calmed her rebellious heart on 
 that evening by saying to herself that he had not 
 yet done anything to make him unworthy of her 
 love ; it was all to be accounted for by his artistic 
 nature, by his love of beauty, of the magnificent 
 relics of bygone days — even his desire to paint this 
 beautiful girl and the need of paying her homage. 
 Ah, yes, and it was that that had been his attraction 
 for her, that he was so different from all the rest. 
 She had not been able to bring herself to tell him 
 about the antiquarian's bill. She had secretly raised 
 the money to satisfy the man. Nothing would in- 
 duce her to squabble with Leo about money. She 
 
196 Misjudged. 
 
 would not dampen his creative ardor with these 
 petty cares ; that was her duty as his wife. No one 
 but Antje herself and her assistant knew that she 
 had drawn out through old Classen all the savings 
 that had been put into the bank from her childhood 
 up, and added to these a valuable pearl necklace, 
 the gift of her godmother, which the old woman 
 undertook to sell, with many sighs and shakes of 
 the head. And she could depend upon Classen ! 
 The old woman wrung her hands, it is true, and 
 threatened to tell her mother all about it, but she 
 was, nevertheless, as silent as the grave as long as 
 her young mistress insisted upon it. Only Antje 
 had to hear her perpetual exclamations of : " Oh, 
 what have we come to ! What shall we come to, 
 if you never will say anything ! " 
 
 "This is not the time for talking, Classen," Antje 
 would answer ; " it will all come out right yet, you 
 will see." 
 
 " Goodness me : I would give him a talking to," 
 grumbled the old woman. But Antje did not hear 
 her. 
 
 She thought of Maiberg ; she felt that she had 
 lost a faithful friend. Did Leo feel that, too ? Was 
 there any hope of Maiberg's coming back ? She 
 did not know, and she would not ask after that last 
 scene, for it might look as if she had a deeper inter- 
 est in the doctor. 
 
 Leo had no time for thinking of anything — he 
 was painting Hildegarde von Zweidorf. 
 
 It was a strange sort of existence, for everything 
 seemed to revolve around Hildegarde. 
 
 Antje preserved the same tone of friendliness 
 
Misjudged. 197 
 
 toward this stranger, who was as cold and hard 
 toward her as the winter before their doors. The 
 servants, who, scornful of the young lady's shabby 
 dress, and also moved by Classen's dislike of the 
 intruder, allowed themselves to be somewhat neg- 
 lectful of the youthful guest, were sternly reproved 
 therefor by their young mistress. 
 
 Hildegarde von Zweidorf found herself received 
 with that genuine hospitality which is the stamp of 
 a really superior establishment. That Antje grew 
 paler and paler the longer she stayed — well, who 
 noticed that ? A kindly expression was never want- 
 ing in the countenance of the young hostess, and, in 
 fact, Antje had no cause to show unfriendliness to 
 the beautiful young girl. 
 
 Hilda's conduct was blameless. She wrs very 
 modest, very attentive, and — very cold. Ohe had 
 assumed a grave, serious air, which was a wonderful 
 contrast, indeed, to her deep, wistful eyes, but Hilda 
 received all her host's attentions with as much 
 reserve as was to be expected from a well-bred 
 young girl. She would be nothing more than an 
 ordinary acquaintance and guest. 
 
 If Antje could only have forgotten what Leo had 
 said to the young girl on that Christmas morning ; if 
 she had not always had ringing in her ears that pas- 
 sionate softness of his tones ; if she could banish the 
 memory of the young girl's heavy sobs ! 
 
 And Leo stayed at home so much now ; he only 
 went to Dresden occasionally — " on business." Antje 
 knew what he meant by that — to get money from 
 the bank. She watched him drive away with a grave 
 face, and she received him without reproaches when 
 
198 Misjudged. 
 
 he returned, which was always in a very short time. 
 But that might all be because he was in a hurry to 
 get his picture finished. And if he did accompany 
 Hildegarde, who liked to go out with her sketch* 
 book, what could be more natural ? Then they 
 wandered far away among the wintry hills ; some- 
 times they did not come home till dusk, and Antje 
 could see by the eager expression in their faces that 
 they had been discussing something which she, ac- 
 cording to Leo's ideas, could not comprehend. On 
 such days she would stand for hours at the window, 
 looking out into the distance, where they two had 
 disappeared, and a sigh of relief escaped her lips 
 when the couple at length returned. 
 
 It had grown very quiet at Sibyllenburg. Irene 
 von Erlach, after a rather hurried marriage, had 
 left home with her husband, and they were enjoying 
 themselves somewhere on the Nile. The young men 
 who had always been hanging about the gay young 
 widow had made their last appearance in the neigh- 
 borhood on the wedding-day. Jussnitz had not in- 
 vited them to come and see him, because he had " his 
 work to do," and Antje preferred a quiet life. There 
 was in the house now that quietness which the 
 young wife had always longed for, but there was no 
 peace in her heart. That she found only with her 
 little daughter. When the hour came round at 
 which the beautiful Spanish girl was accustomed to 
 appear in the studio in her yellow, lace-trimmed silk, 
 Antje took refuge with her child. She taught it 
 little verses, played with its dolls, sometimes pressed 
 the little one close to her breast, laughed at what- 
 ever the childish lips let fall, and seemed like a 
 
Misjudged. 199 
 
 careless child herself, only that the tears often 
 streamed down her cheeks as she played. 
 
 Once she had gone into the studio, carrying the 
 tray with the daintily ordered lunch, but only once. 
 She had appeared with her caviare and her sal- 
 mon sandwiches in the very midst of a dissertation 
 of her husband's, to which Hilda, sitting on a low 
 stool, slowly waving her fan, was listening intently, 
 with drooping lashes. Leo was talking about the 
 two Madonnas of Holbein in the Darmstadt and the 
 Dresden galleries, with great ardor. They did not 
 even see the young wife, whose step was noiseless 
 on the soft carpet. She set the tray down softly 
 on a table and went away. 
 
 At the time when she had first visited the Dres- 
 den gallery with her husband, she had said to him ; 
 *' Tell me, Leo, which of the Madonnas do you 
 consider the original ? " And he had replied : 
 *'Ah, child, you do not understand enough about 
 it now ; I should have to make a long explanation. 
 I will tell you some time," 
 
 But this " some time " had never come. Now 
 he was giving this explanation, but to another, 
 more worthy of consideration than she ! 
 
 " How long will this torture last ? " she said to 
 herself bitterly, and she knew very well that it 
 would last a long time yet. . . . 
 
 " I must make some compensation to Fraulein 
 von Zweidorf\for sacrificing so much of her time 
 to me," said Leo to Antje one day, " I cannot 
 very well offer her money, although, Heaven knows, 
 that is what she needs most. I think we shall 
 have to keep her here for a while, and as soon as 
 
200 Misjudged. 
 
 my picture is finished I will give her some lessons, 
 or get some one else to do so." 
 
 Antje replied that she could not judge of this 
 matter. " I do not know how far Fraulein von 
 Zweidorf is able to dispose of her own time," she 
 added. 
 
 " Bah 1 " he replied. " They will be glad enough 
 at home to know that she is in good hands for 
 a time." 
 
 Antje was silent ; the matter was settled. 
 
 Hilda did some painting herself now; she had 
 declared that she must earn some money. Leo 
 procured silk, leather, and water-color paper, and 
 an art-dealer in Berlin undertook the sale of the 
 trifles she made. Even Antje once bought several 
 little note-books on which a bird or a flower was 
 painted with wonderful truth to nature. With her 
 earnings Hilda bought for herself a simple but 
 very pretty costume, and gradually she ceased to 
 look shabby. She did not wear Leo's Christmas 
 brooch ; she had returned it to him in Antje's 
 presence with the remark that she never accepted 
 gifts, least of all such costly ones. The pretty 
 glittering thing was now lying in a drawer of Leo's 
 writing-table, with the jeweller's unpaid bill beside 
 it. Ah, how many unpaid bills were there lying 
 in that same drawer ! 
 
 " I will settle them all before April," he had 
 said. "By that time my picture will be sold." 
 
 And so the days had slipped by. It seemed 
 to Antje as if there were a gray veil continually 
 before her eyes ; everything was so indifferent to 
 her, everything — except the child ! 
 
Misjudged. 201 
 
 Ah, the child ! In a moment Antje was back 
 in the present, and she ran to the spot where her 
 darling lay on the carpet and looked down at her. 
 How pretty Leonie was with her golden curls and 
 her little apple-blossom face ! Would she have a 
 happy life ? So far as Antje could make it so — 
 she certainly would. She should learn a great 
 deal ; and she should learn not to hide what she 
 knew, as her poor, silly mother did, who always 
 was afraid when an opportunity offered to join in 
 the conversation. 
 
 How long Leo and Hilda stayed out to-day ! 
 The great room was already getting quite dark, 
 and they had not come yet. 
 
 Antje remembered that Hilda had spoken of 
 a part'cularly picturesque point of view which she 
 had discovered a short time before on the banks 
 of the Elbe, and which they were going to visit 
 to-day. True, they had gone in that direction. 
 The young mother carried her sleeping child to 
 its nurse ; then she perceived that she had left her 
 key-basket in the studio, and she went hastily 
 back to look for it. The hall and staircase were 
 already lighted, and she saw the servant coming 
 up with a package of newspapers and several letters. 
 
 " Something for the gracious lady," he said, and 
 hurrying up, he gave Antje a letter. 
 
 It was a big letter, with the address in a busi« 
 ness hand. She at once recognized the writing 
 of Kortmer, the old foreman of the iron works, 
 and an old friend of the family. 
 
 As he usually sent his greetings to her through 
 her mother, Antje was surprised at getting a letter 
 
202 Misjudged. 
 
 from him. She went quickly up to the lamp, which 
 was upheld by a colossal figure in bronze, opened 
 the letter, read it hastily, and then let fall the hand 
 which held it, with an expression of torturing anxiety 
 on her face. Involuntarily, she turned her steps 
 toward the studio again, thinking that her husband 
 might have come in in the mean time. 
 
 " Leo ! " she called, and then listened. Her eyes, 
 blinded by the light, could distinguish nothing in 
 the darkness. 
 
 No answer. She felt for the chair in which she 
 had been sitting, sat down, then got up again, took 
 a few steps to the window and gazed out into the 
 garden. The grass-plats looked like dark shadows, 
 and the white gravel walks shone out among them 
 like broad, curling ribbons. A few yellow strips of 
 sky still glimmered in the west among the dark 
 clouds, looking solemn and mysterious, as the old 
 painters used to represent the heavens in the pictures 
 of the crucifixion. 
 
 Such a picture hung above her mother's bed at 
 home ; Antje could see it before her distinctly at 
 this moment, and she saw also a feverish face rest- 
 ing on the white cushions, saw eyes looking inquir- 
 ingly up to the Saviour as if begging for relief, and 
 then searching about the room for the only object 
 that bound her to this world — her daughter. 
 
 " Where can he be ? Oh, my God, why does he 
 not come ? " 
 
 At ten o'clock the express train would go, and if 
 ^e meant to take it, she had no time to lose. 
 
 She controlled herself and looked about for her 
 key-basket ; there it was on Leo's great writing- 
 
Misjudged, 203 
 
 table. She would go and pack up something for 
 her journey. The nurse was a trustworthy person, 
 and so was Classen ; everything would go on just 
 as well without her — ah, yes, everything ! 
 
 She walked noiselessly across the carpet and 
 then stopped suddenly. She heard a door open 
 across the hall. 
 
 ^^ Auf wiedersehen, Hildegarde," she heard in soft 
 tones ; " get well rested ; your feet must ache after 
 that long walk. Auf wiedersehen, at supper ! " 
 
 There was no answer ; Leo had shut the door. 
 He had only said these few words as she was gomg 
 to her room. 
 
 Then the door of the dark studio opened- 
 
 " Leo," said the young wife as he came in. 
 
 " Who is it ? What, you here ? " he cried. " Why 
 have you no light ? It is as dark as pitch I Where 
 are the matches? Can't you find the bell, at 
 least?" 
 
 " Leo, only one word," she interrupted, hastily. 
 " I have just heard from Kortmer that my mother 
 is very ill. Of course, I wish to go to her — now — at 
 once. You have no objection, Leo ? I am so very 
 anxious ; she must be very ill." 
 
 Leo, in the mean time, had lighted a match and 
 lighted the candles in the great chandelier. His 
 expression was that of a man who had had a very 
 unpleasant surprise. 
 
 " You cannot get up and go oflF all in a minute 
 like that I " he said, slowly. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Leo, Kortmer writes that my 
 mother has been unconscious since the day before 
 vesterday." 
 
804 Misjudged, 
 
 ** Weil, probably she is much better by this time. 
 The news is at least two days old." 
 
 " Leo, how can you ! I am so horribly anxic JS — 
 she has no one but me " 
 
 " Old Hanna is there," he persisted, obstinately. 
 " You cannot possibly leave the house — now ! You 
 forget that you have a young lady visiting you, who 
 could not possibly stay alone with me." 
 
 Antje stood and looked at him with great, aston- 
 islied eyes. " And I am to leave my sick mother 
 alone for the sake of this stranger ? " she said in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " You do not seem to take in the situation," he 
 replied, beginning to walk up and down the room. 
 '* If you go, Hilda will be forced to go away also 
 this evening, and where is she to go ? Pray, calm 
 yourself, and to-morrow I will telegraph to the doc- 
 tor, and if your mother is no better, well — then 
 there will be time enough to make some arrange- 
 ment." 
 
 She turned her back upon him and walked to the 
 door without a word. 
 
 " Wait a minute I " he cried. Impetuously. ** You 
 misunderstand the matter entirely," he continued, 
 when she had stopped. *'You know that ever 
 since that Christmas eve at Barrenberg's people 
 have been talking about this poor girl. If you go 
 away now, they will say, of course, that you have 
 left me, because — oh, confound it, don't put on a 
 face like that, you know very well what I mean," 
 he concluded, angrily. *' It is too absurd, but — in 
 short, we are living in the world, and must govern 
 ourselves accordingly." 
 
Misjudged. 205 
 
 Antje gave an almost imperceptible shrug of her 
 shoulders, and left the room. 
 
 He looked gloomily after her, and sank down 
 into a chair, the same in which Antje had just been 
 sitting. He felt very uncomfortable at this moment, 
 for he had never before seen his wife look so utterly 
 miserable. 
 
 But, good Heavens, what woman is so situated 
 that she can get up and go off when something 
 happens in her old home ? And Antje could not go, 
 and must not go ; it was impossible just now. 
 
 Leo stooped to pick up the letter she had 
 dropped, 
 
 *' I do not like to make you anxious, Frau Juss- 
 nitz," he read, " but I consider it my duty to write 
 to you, in case anything should happen, which God 
 forbid ! Your mother has been very ill for several 
 days. If it is possible, I hope you will come. That 
 your mother herself fears the worst is proved by 
 the fact that she sent for her lawyer yesterday, A 
 few hours later she lost consciousness. Of course, 
 that does not necessarily imply that the worst is to 
 be feared. But it will be better for you to come, 
 and then you will be here in any case, and I am sure 
 it would do your mother a great deal of good " 
 
 Leo folded up the letter and put it in his desk. 
 
 " Exaggerated, of course," he muttered, and be- 
 gan to open some other letters which were lying 
 there. As he read the first he hastily took out his 
 handkerchief and wiped his forehead, and for a few 
 moments his face looked quite haggard. 
 
 " Another false alarm ! H'm ! Runo and Bas- 
 kert are as solid as the universe. — ^What could the 
 
2o6 Misjudged. 
 
 old lady have wanted with her lawyer, I wonder?-* 
 he thought, half aloud. " In that case, perhaps it 
 would be as well for Antje to go, after all. Bah ! 
 people do not die so easily. But to-morrow I must 
 go to the bank again." 
 
 He stooped again and picked up a little red bow, 
 the same that Antje had flung away from her. He 
 stared at it as if lost in thought ; he remembered 
 that Hilda had worn it in her hair that morning. 
 Then he sighed and laid it carefully down on the 
 writing-table, but immediately took it up again and 
 stroked it gently with his finger, as if he had the 
 liand of a beautiful and beloved woman in his own. 
 Another deep sigh, and then he flung the dainty 
 bow on the table. 
 
 " It is enough to drive me mad ! " he muttered, 
 and got up and went to the window, his clenched 
 fist resting on the sill. Suddenly it was clenched 
 more firmly, for down below, there on the light 
 gravel path, moved a slender dark figure — Antje. 
 
 Was she going, after all ? Then — well, then, she 
 would be responsible for whatever might happen. 
 No, she was coming back again. She was only 
 wandering about in her exaggerated anxiety ; there 
 was something, then, that could shake her out of that 
 intolerable calmness ! 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Hilda was sitting writing in her cosey room — that 
 is, she had been writing, and now was reading her 
 letter over. It was addressed to her eldest sister, 
 of whom she had lately made a confidante. 
 
 The young artist was greatly changed ; her face 
 had grown smaller, and her mouth constantly wore 
 that half-scornful, half-condescending smile peculiar 
 to people who feel themselves immensely superior 
 to all the follies and pettiness of their fellow-men, 
 and are only constrained to keep their opinions to 
 themselves by the force of circumstances. There 
 was an air of watching and waiting for something in 
 her whole manner ; her movements had grown sup- 
 ple and cat-like ; in short, she was scarcely recog- 
 nizable for the same person she had been before. 
 If Antje was quietly patient, she was absolutely 
 apathetic in her manner. If Leo asked her if she 
 would go to walk, she replied curtly : " Oh, cer- 
 tainly," and marched off beside him. Her manner 
 to him fell just short of rudeness. But this reserve, 
 this coolness, suited her admirably, for a fire blazed 
 out of her dark eyes which formed a strange con- 
 trast to her calm manner. She was perfectly well 
 aware that this tortured Leo, and delighted and 
 vexed him at the same time, but she wore an air of 
 such indifference that no one would have thought 
 
2o8 Misjudged. 
 
 she had any idea of the storm she had raised. And 
 she hardly confessed even to herself the delight 
 which this occasioned her. 
 
 When Leo writhed and twisted like a worm trod- 
 den under foot, she felt that even then all his suf- 
 ferings did not outweigh what she had endured on 
 that evening when she learned that he was married. 
 And all this time she had not the slightest thought 
 for Antje. What was this woman to her ? She was 
 quite satisfied if she only had the key to the cup- 
 boards and the linen-press at her girdle, and her 
 baby on her arm. 
 
 She caught up her letter and read it over once 
 more : 
 
 "Dearest Tony: 
 
 " Do not torture me with questions, for I cannot tell you 
 when I shall come home — Jussnitz has not yet 6nished my 
 picture. And you know that I am in good hands here. 
 
 " I am delighted to hear that papa has effectually stopped 
 Aunt Polly's slanderous tongue. Tony, you know me — as if I 
 would remain here if only one atom of all she says were true ! 
 There are some people who cannot look an inch beyond 
 the wall which their own narrow-mindedness and common- 
 place natures have built up around them. I do not love Juss- 
 nitz ; I write it down once more. How should I, Hilda von 
 Zweidorf, come to such a pass as to be interested in a married 
 man ? Good Heavens, it is too utterly absurd ! 
 
 "Perhaps I may come home some day quite unexpectedly — 
 for a short time. I think I shall try Munich by and by. And 
 so I may appear suddenly in your old attic room, between the 
 clattering sewing-machine and the work-basket. Good Heav- 
 ens, how can you stand that horrible monotony, children ? 
 
 " There is little enough variety here, Heaven knows, except 
 the caprices of my host. Now he thinks he will paint ; I 
 fling on my costume and pose myself — though, really, what 
 remains to be done to the picture I do not know myself ; it 
 
Misjudged. 209 
 
 ^ight have been in Berlin long ago, so far as I can see — and 
 in a quarter of an hour he finds himself too 'nervous/ not in 
 the mood for it, and he wishes to talk instead. The next 
 tninute he says he will take a walk. If that ' everlasting night- 
 lamp ' were not in the house with her faint but steady glim- 
 mer, which keeps the balance against all these whims, every- 
 thing would be turned topsy-turvy ; but as it is — good Heav- 
 ens, how can any one be so intolerably stupid as that woman ? 
 "Do you remember that poem of Annette von Droste-Hiils- 
 hoff, ' The Silly Woman ' ? I tell you, Tony, that the Hulshoff 
 woman was a perfect model of sense and intelligence com- 
 pared with Frau Antje. She had sense enough, at least, not 
 CO make her husband's pecuniary situation more difficult. But 
 this one ! And always with the same cool, friendly manner 1 
 If she would only storm and scold once in a while by way of 
 variety, as Diirer's amiable spouse used to do — but no ; that 
 never happens. But what nonsense I am writing ! Good- 
 by. Love to my father and mother and my sisters. 
 
 "Your 
 
 " Hilda." 
 
 When Hilda wrote the words : " How could I, 
 Hilda von Zweidorf, ever come to such a pass as 
 to become interested in a married man ? " she had 
 only spoken the truth. The love that she had felt 
 for him had been destroyed by the great disappoint- 
 ment she had endured, but in the place of that love 
 something else had come to her, of a nature not less 
 passionate — hatred, the longing to prove to him that 
 she had never loved him. This longing made her 
 blind and deaf to all other considerations, the more 
 she became conscious that she had once betrayed 
 to him the real nature of her feelings. 
 
 At such times she clenched her hands and tears of 
 wrath streamed from her eyes. There were days in 
 which her caprices were many and unaccountable^ 
 
2 1 o Misjudged. 
 
 on which she longed to have him speak to her oi 
 his love, on which she tortured him and enraptured 
 him only in the hope that the moment would come 
 at length when she could proudly toss back her 
 head and say : " Sir, what do you mean ? 1 do 
 not understand you." 
 
 This very day had been such an one. Tony's 
 letter had aroused all the evil passions in her ; there 
 had been something in it about a letter from Aunt 
 Polly, who swore by all that was sacred that Hilda 
 had not been indifferent to Herr Jussnitz. She had 
 walked beside him in their excursions with flutter- 
 ing breath, she had played with him as a cat plays 
 with a mouse ; but he had not found the courage to 
 say what Hilda would so gladly have trapped him 
 into saying. Hilda was conscious only that he was 
 having a struggle with himself. But some day he 
 would speak, and she would leave the house that 
 very hour, with the hope in her heart that he might 
 only suffer half so much as she had done. 
 
 Where she went was a matter of indifference to 
 her, but she would go with her pride unbent, with 
 smiling lips, and in the consciousness that he would 
 search for her and not find her ; that he would be 
 sick with longing after her. ' 
 
 While indulging in these reflections she had ad- 
 dressed the letter to her sister and begun to make 
 her toilet. She knew that he was waiting for her 
 downstairs in the yellow drawing-room. She dressed 
 very slowly — this "waiting " was one of her ways of 
 tormenting him. She spent a quarter of an hour in 
 curling the hair on her forehead and ten minutes 
 more in fastening a bunch of snow-drops in her 
 
Misjudged. ait 
 
 dress. She could see him in imagination walking 
 up and down, up and down, and her steps as she 
 turned toward the door grew slower at the thought. 
 
 She found him as she had expected, only looking 
 very pale. Was it because of the question she had 
 put to him in the course of the day : " When will 
 the picture be finished ? " 
 
 He had not answered her. Now she was stand- 
 ing before him in her best dress, a simple but per- 
 fectly fitting costume of garnet cloth, a few white 
 flowers at her breast, and with the beautiful, apa- 
 thetic face, which looked beyond him with an air of 
 such utter indifference. 
 
 " Shall we begin to read ? " she said, wearily. 
 
 He assented, and they took their seats in the chairs 
 which were drawn up so cosily opposite each other 
 beside the open fire which cast its reflections on the 
 carpet. 
 
 " Where did we leave off ? " she inquired, sup- 
 pressing a slight yawn. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I don't know, Hilda, don't ask me. Heaven 
 knows I do not hear what you read — I " 
 
 " What ? You do not hear what I read ? " 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " No," he said in a low tone. " I hear nothing, 
 I only see you. And then I ask myself how long 1 
 shall see you. And you ask me when the picture 
 will be finished ? Good Heavens, Hilda, do you 
 never suspect that I cannot bear the thought that 
 the picture must be finished some day, of some 
 day seeing that place vacant where you have always 
 stood ? " 
 
212 Misjudged. 
 
 And he grasped her hands impulsively and pressed 
 them to his lips and to his eyes. 
 
 Hilda started up, deeply shocked. What she had 
 so ardently longed for now gave her a horrible feel- 
 ing of shame. She could not utter a word, only a 
 slight cry escaped her lips, and her eyes were fixed 
 on Antje, who was standing in the middle of the 
 room, spell-bound, with a pale, haggard face, and 
 with her hair, damp with the night-dews, falling ovei 
 her forehead. Her great eyes were fixed on Hilda 
 for a moment with a piteous, grieved expression, and 
 the young girl drooped her head beneath this look. 
 She could not pass Antje, so she left the room by 
 an opposite door which opened into the tea-room. 
 She felt as if she had been gazing into an abyss of 
 grief and pain, 
 
 Leo, however, went up to his wife. 
 
 " What is it, Antje ? " he said, more gently than 
 he had ever spoken to her before. " Do you wish 
 to go ? If you are so very anxious, then go, go, for 
 Heaven's sake." 
 
 He caught at her hand, but Antje kept it hidden 
 in the folds of her dress ; she did not move, but 
 only looked at him with the same expression with 
 which she had gazed at Hilda. 
 
 " Antje," he said, " calm yourself ; it cannot be 
 so very bad with " 
 
 " With what ? " she gasped out with difficulty. 
 
 " With your mother. Go, child ; we must get on 
 here as best we can without you — go " 
 
 "No," she replied ; "I will not go, I see that 
 I — can — not go — now. — God will surely have 
 pity on me 1" 
 
Misjudged. 213 
 
 She tried to say more, but her voice broke in 
 a sob. 
 
 "Antje, for pity's sake, do not be so horribly 
 tragic, don't fancy the worst ! " 
 
 " No, no ! " she murmured. " I shall get over it ! " 
 
 And she put out her hand to ward him off, as 
 if to say : " Do not speak of it again ; have pity ! " 
 
 She went upstairs to her room and stood before 
 her mother's picture. "You will forgive me," 
 she whispered, pressing her clasped hands against 
 her lips — " you will forgive me if I do not come. 
 I cannot suffer three people's lives to be ruined 
 for the sake of one. You loved your husband, 
 and your child, too, more than anything in the 
 world ; you will understand that I must stay at 
 my post." 
 
 Then she got out her pen and paper and wrote 
 two telegrams, one to old Kortmer and the other 
 to Dr. Maiberg in Berlin, which latter ran thus : 
 
 " My mother very ill ; cannot go to her ; if you could go-- 
 very grateful. Anna Jussnitz." 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Antje did not come to tea that night, and Hilda 
 did not appear again, but stayed in her room. 
 
 So Leo had the table to himself, but the food 
 tasted bitter in his mouth. At length he gave 
 up trying to eat and devoted himself to the wine. 
 His thoughts were in a mad whirl — about his 
 pecuniary affairs, the stock speculations in which 
 he had risked Antje's fortune without her knowl- 
 edge, the mother-in-law who was by no means 
 fond of him and would have been glad to put him 
 on an allowance. He had no luck ! Weeks ago 
 he had sent off a picture to the dealer, and had 
 since sent him a water-color sketch, but neither 
 had been sold, though never had he been in more 
 pressing need of a few thousand marks than now. 
 He could send Hilda's portrait, but the thought 
 of parting with it, of giving it up to some idiot, 
 who would adorn his room with it, and would 
 rub his hands and chuckle at the sight of her 
 beauty, put him into such a jealous rage as nearly 
 robbed him of his reason ; and added to this 
 there was the agreeable prospect of his mother-in- 
 law's dying unreconciled to him. She had already 
 sent for her lawyer, probably to bind the hands 
 of her " extravagant son-in-law," so he could not 
 waste the principal. 
 
Misjudged. 215 
 
 That scene with Antje — if he had only let her 
 go ! Now she would go about like a poor, betrayed 
 wife, would jealously spy upon all his movements, 
 would be cold as ice to that poor girl, and would 
 sit opposite him at the table with that martyr-like 
 air, and — it is enough to drive a man mad I " The 
 best thing I could do would be to drive into Dres- 
 den this very night — if it were only not for that 
 sick mother-in-law ! " 
 
 And now Antje wouldn't go, out of sheer jeal- 
 ousy ! There would be a scene this evening, he 
 knew that very well, and there should be one, too ; 
 he would not go out of the way of it. Better end 
 it all with a crash than have this sort of thing going 
 on forever. 
 
 And Hilda ? She had left him without a word, 
 looking every inch of her like an insulted queen. 
 He gave a bitter laugh, took a cigar, and went up- 
 stairs to make a scene with his wife. He expected 
 to find her with the air of a martyr, with tearful 
 eyes, answering " yes " and " no " to all his ques- 
 tions. That would be excellent for a beginning, 
 for then he could say : " Listen to me, my dear. 
 I have had about enough of this sort of thing ! If 
 I cannot do anything to suit you, if you take 
 offence at everything I do, we had better put an 
 end to it. No man could stand such a life " 
 
 At this moment he reached the door of her 
 room and opened it. She was sitting at her desk, 
 writing so eagerly that she did not look up. She did 
 not see him until he came close up to her, and then 
 taking her pen in her left hand, she put out her 
 right. 
 
2i6 Misjudged. 
 
 " Excuse me for a moment, Leo ; only the signa- 
 ture, and then I can attend to you." 
 
 She had looked up at him. Yes ; her eyes, her 
 unfathomable eyes were still full of tears, but there 
 was such a grieved, questioning look in them, under 
 their dark lashes, that he could not begin his con- 
 templated attack. He threw himself into a chair 
 and began to stroke his beard. 
 
 " Won't you keep on smoking, Leo ? " she in- 
 quired, turning round as she perceived that he had 
 laid down his cigar. " You are always more com- 
 fortable when you have your cigar." 
 
 " No, thanks," he replied, shortly. 
 
 ** You always — you know I like to have you smoke, 
 Leo." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders impatiently. He had 
 ^en prepared for everything but this friendly tone, 
 .*nd it irritated him indescribably. 
 
 " How happens it that the child is still awake ? " 
 he inquired, pointing to the door, through which 
 could be heard the little one's voice ; " and what is 
 the old woman from the kitchen doing up here ? " 
 
 " The Mouse is often awake at this time, Leo," re- 
 plied Antje, pressing the stamp down on her letter, 
 and rising as she spoke. " The nurse has gone down 
 to the village, and old Classen has come to take her 
 place ; that is the whole mystery. Will you go in 
 and see Mousie, Leo ? " 
 
 ** So she will get wide awake and howl the whole 
 night through ? No, thank you ! " he replied. 
 
 " I thought you might like it, Leo. You have no 
 idea what a droll little thing she is." 
 
 " Have you hunted up the old silk dresses that 
 
Misjudged. 217 
 
 belonged to your great-great-grandmother?" in- 
 quired Leo, evasively. " I asked you to do it the 
 day before yesterday. They will have to be tried 
 on, and perhaps they may need some alterations." 
 
 " Yes, Leo, but under the present circumstances 
 we need not think of the costume ball ? " 
 
 " Oh, one never can tell, and you can't get a cos- 
 tume at the last minute. I am sure your mother 
 has only another gastric fever in consequence of her 
 too heavy meals ; she will be quite well again by 
 the time the masked ball comes off." 
 
 " May God grant it ! " said Antje, in a low tone. 
 Her voice sounded so hopeless that he was silent. 
 
 He had not yet found an opportunity for his 
 attack. 
 
 She took up her work and sat down on the sofa. 
 
 " Can you not keep your hands still for the few 
 minutes that I am here, at least ? " 
 
 " Why, of course I can, Leo ! I had forgotten 
 that you do not like crochet." She put her work 
 back into the dainty basket, and then sat still with 
 her hands folded. 
 
 " I should like to know," he began, as he walked 
 up and down the room, " why under heavens your 
 mother should send for a lawyer ? She made her 
 will long ago. Is she going to change it, or what 
 is the matter ? I suppose she has told you of her 
 intentions. Probably she wishes to * tie me up,' as 
 they say." 
 
 '* I do not know what her intentions are," replied 
 Antje. 
 
 " Indeed ? Well, I know very well what her 
 >pinion is of me — a spendthrift, an idle fellow, and 
 
2 1 8 Misjudged. 
 
 so on. Isn't it so ? And that \%your secret opinion, 
 too, eh ? You ought to have been an obedient 
 daughter, and not have insisted on marrying me. 
 You should have taken your good, solid cousin ; it 
 would have been better for you and for " 
 
 " Leo ! " He was stopped by a shriek of anguish, 
 " Do not say it — I implore you — not that ! " 
 
 Antje had started up with a face pale as death, 
 and her trembling hands caught at his arm. " It 
 would not have been better for me," she added 
 hastily, " for I love you ; but — for jou, Leo, I think 
 so too, now — I have thought so for some time." 
 
 " For some time ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Leo, do you think I cannot see how you and 
 Hilda " 
 
 " Leave Hilda out of the question, I beg of you. 
 It is a figment of your brain." 
 
 " No," she said, firmly, " it is not a figment of my 
 brain. I have seen your liking for her grow amid 
 a thousand tortures. Do you think I am different 
 from other women ? I have always thought you 
 would — you must put an end to it ; that you must 
 come to your senses ; but you " 
 
 ** Then you think I am in love with Hilda ? " he 
 inquired, with pretended calmness. 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied quickly, in a tone of hon- 
 est conviction — " no, Leo. I have too high an opin- 
 ion of you both to suppose you capable of an or- 
 dinary intrigue. But you love her, and I am sorry 
 for you — I am frightfully sorry for you both, but," 
 and she put her hands up before her face, " we are 
 here — the Mouse and I — and we cannot vanish off 
 the face of the earth." 
 
Misjudged, 219 
 
 Strong sobs shook her frame which she strove in 
 vain to conquer, and when she at last succeeded, 
 she went up to him. He was standing in front of 
 her bookshelves as if he were examining the little 
 library, though he really saw and felt nothing but 
 the "tactless sentimentality of a jealous woman." 
 
 " Leo," she began, " please, please try and have 
 confidence in me ! I will help you to overcome it. 
 I will be your faithful friend, I will do anything. 
 Think of your child. It must not perceive, as it? 
 mind awakens, that you and I " 
 
 He turned upon her in anger that would not be 
 controlled. 
 
 "Will you make my wretched, existence a perfect 
 hell upon earth ? " he cried, his face as white as 
 chalk. " Is it not enough that you should not have 
 the faintest sympathy or understanding for my 
 career, for my tastes, for my whole character? 
 Will you rob me of all that gives pleasure to my 
 eye as an artist, to my mind as a cultivated man ? 
 Will you, with your horrible prosaic nature, drive 
 me from the last corner in which my much-abused 
 artistic nature has taken refuge ? Merciful Heavens, 
 what might I not become if you were not the fetter 
 to drag me down — yes, a fetter more horrible than 
 any criminal drags about with him ! " 
 
 He stopped suddenly. Antje stood before him 
 strangely tall and erect. She had never looked so 
 imposing to him, and never had he seen her soft 
 face so rigid in its icy coldness, its unapproachable 
 pride. She seemed like another being. 
 
 " I will no longer be a fetter for you," she said, 
 clearly and firmlv. ** You are free, Leo, free from 
 
ito Misjudged, 
 
 this moment. I did not dream that you had suffered 
 so much through me. God knows that I have al- 
 ways had in mind the words you spoke when you 
 begged me to be your wife : * I think, Anna, you 
 could reconcile me to life again.' God knows, I 
 have wished to do so, Leo, honestly wished it. 1 
 must have blundered frightfully, I " 
 
 She leaned suddenly against the back of a chair 
 beside her ; a deep flush had overspread her face. 
 " I only ask — it is so fearful that it should all come 
 at once — remember that my mother may be dying 
 at this moment — let it be kept secret between us 
 till she — is better, or dead. Do not let my poor old 
 mother hear in her severe illness, perhaps in her 
 very last hour, that I have come home so poor, so 
 beggared in happiness." 
 
 He tried to say something about exaggeration, 
 about words that should not be taken so literally, 
 but instead he rushed to the bell — Antje had sud- 
 denly fallen ; she lay with her head on the seat of 
 the chair, speechless, motionless. He lifted her up 
 and carried her to the sofa. Old Classen rushed in 
 and thrust away his trembling hands. 
 
 "You had better go away," she said, harshly, 
 "and send for the doctor. I have seen her like 
 this before." 
 
 And she stroked her mistress's grief-stricken face, 
 and smoothed out her dress. 
 
 He stood as if rooted to the floor. 
 
 "Will you be so kind as to go, Herr Jussnitz," 
 said the old woman, reproachfully. " These fainting- 
 fits last a long time ; I know it from that time when 
 you were brought into the house for dead. She 
 
Misjudged. 221 
 
 had one then for the first time ; and then, again, 
 when Herr Frey wouldn't give his consent to your 
 marrying the child. Do you see ? It all comes 
 from trouble of some kind. Nothing comes from 
 nothing. Sir, go, for pity's sake ! " she repeated 
 impatiently. 
 
 Then at last he left the room. 
 
CHAPTEP XVI. 
 
 Hilda did not sleep a i all that night. She did 
 not even go to bed. Whf n the first gray dawn came 
 in through the curtains and struggled with the dying 
 iamp-light, she was still sitting in the cold room in 
 her rocking-chair, crying and shivering. The things 
 she had taken out of the drawers and wardrobes to 
 pack up were lying about on chairs and tables ; and 
 there lay also a letter which she had written, ad- 
 dressed to Frau Jussnitz. 
 
 She had not got on very well with her prepara- 
 tions for departure. An intolerable heaviness 
 seemed to weigh down her limbs, and so she had 
 finally sunk into a chair, clasped her hands together, 
 and had lived through again in memory each day of 
 her sojourn here in this house. 
 
 And in this survey of the past she found no com- 
 fort in the fact that her pride said to her uneasy 
 conscience : "They forced me to it. I only wished 
 to show that I did not love him. I only wanted to 
 ;rteel myself to the consciousness that he could not 
 be mine." Again and again came the reproachful 
 thought : " I have thrust myself between those two. 
 I have been the means of separating them." 
 
 And what now ? 
 
 Ah, yes, what now ? She thrust her trembling 
 hand into her tangled hair. She felt as if she must 
 see his wife's eyes, those eyes sad as death, as long 
 
Misjudged. 223 
 
 as she lived. They would look reproachfully at her 
 in her last hour. She had never thought of that — 
 that this woman possessed a heart, that she loved 
 her husband. Love to her meant constant demon- 
 stration, caresses, worship, and clinging ; or else — 
 caprices, tears, little quarrels and reconciliations. 
 This woman was so quiet, so patient, so unassuming 
 and unexacting. 
 
 Hilda tried to imagine herself in Antje*s position. 
 With burning blushes she imagined the man she 
 loved at the feet of another, of one upon whom she 
 herself had showered kindnesses, whom she had 
 welcomed to the house and treated like an honored 
 guest — and her blood boiled in anger, and she 
 clenched her hands involuntarily. Oh, she ! She 
 would have sprung upon that other and would have 
 struck her in the face. But Antje did nothing of 
 all this. Only one look — but that was blasting. Oh, 
 how it had scorched her ! The girl sank back and 
 sobbed on her cushions. 
 
 " What now ? What now ? " she asked herself 
 again and again. " Home ! I will go home at 
 once ! " she cried at last. 
 
 As if they could not see there at once that she, 
 Hilda von Zweidorf^ who had always been so severe 
 a judge of all unworthy conduct, was herself guilty 
 of such baseness ! And for what ? To revenge 
 herself for a disappointed hope, such as any one 
 else would have hidden away in her own heart. 
 Ah, no ; that was her only excuse — she had loved 
 him, had loved him so dearly. And what if her 
 father should hear it? What if the injured wife 
 should write to him : " I cannot keep your daughter 
 
234 Misjudged, 
 
 any longer under my roof, because she has an in- 
 trigue with " 
 
 She started up as if she had been stung. " It is 
 not true, father," she cried, aloud. " God knows I 
 have not been wicked ! " 
 
 Something moved in th2 room. Hilda's senses 
 were all in confusion. With a wild scream of terror 
 she fell on her knees and stared with horrified eyes 
 at the figure with the strangely white face which, 
 only dimly visible in the faint gray dawn, stood at 
 the end of the room. 
 
 " I am afraid I startled you, Fraulein von Zwei- 
 dorf. I am very sorry," said Antje's pleasant voice. 
 " I knocked twice, but you did not hear." 
 
 And she bent down, took Hilda's trembling hands 
 in her own, and looked into the girl's face. " Have 
 you not been to bed at all ? You will make your- 
 self ill. Lie down now, and I will get you some tea." 
 
 She rang the bell and tried to lead Hilda to- 
 ward the bed, but the girl resisted, covering her 
 face with her hands with a groan, 
 
 " Poor child ! " thought Antje. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, do not be so kind to me ! 
 Scold me, strike me, trample me under your 
 feet ! " Hilda tried to say, but she produced only 
 unintelligible sounds. Speechless and trembling, 
 she clasped the knees of the young wife. Antje 
 understood her. 
 
 " Do get up, Hilda," she said, mildly. " I know 
 best how fond of him one may get " 
 
 But Hilda only clung the closer. 
 
 *' Get up," repeated Antje. " I want to talk to 
 you." 
 
Misjudged. 225 
 
 Upon this Hilda rose to her feet and remained 
 standing with bent head before Antje, her clasped 
 hands pressed against her lips, her beautiful face as 
 white as death. 
 
 " I have a favor to ask of you," began Antje. 
 " May I go on ? " 
 
 Hilda nodded. 
 
 " I am obliged to go away in a few hours," con- 
 tinued the young wife, in hesitating tones. " I shall 
 have to stay away some time, because — because my 
 mother — is very ill. You cannot very well stay 
 here alom — and so I wish you to go with baby and 
 me to my own home." 
 
 Hilda made no reply. Antje had turned away as 
 II she were looking round the room. 
 
 " No," said Hilda, at length, in a hoarse tone ; " I 
 will — I am going — if it is necessary, I can go back 
 to Aunt Polly." 
 
 " Do not do that ! You will be doing me a favor 
 if you will come with me ; more than that — a kind- 
 ness. I know you will not refuse me this to-day — 
 you cannot do it ! " 
 
 " Does my presence give you any pleasure ? " 
 Hilda forced a laugh and brushed the hair back 
 from her forehead. " It is true that to-day I cannot 
 deny you anything," she continued ; " but " 
 
 " Ask no questions," entreated Antje, " but pack 
 up your things, for we must leave at eleven, as soon 
 as my — as soon as Leo has gone to town." 
 
 She pressed Hilda's hand and left the room. In 
 a moment she came back again. She could not 
 have more than reached the door. She said hastily, 
 while a deep flush overspread her cheeks : " If 
 
226 Misjudge di 
 
 you wish to see Leo again, you will have to let him 
 know very soon, for he is going to drive into Dres- 
 den this morning." 
 
 Hilda drew herself up proudly. " I have nothing 
 to say to your husband," she replied. 
 
 Antje looked at her sadly. She was evidently 
 about to say something, but she controlled herself. 
 *^Auf wiedersehefty then," she said, nodding. 
 
 The first sunbeam which stole through the win- 
 dows of Schloss Sibyllenburg looked on a busy scene. 
 Old Classen was standing before her mistress, hold- 
 ing the key-basket, Antje's inseparable companion, 
 in her hands. 
 
 " I know, Classen, that you will be as careful about 
 the house as if it were your own," said Antje, with a 
 faint smile. " Make your master as comfortable as 
 you can; the time of my return is in God's hands, dear 
 Classen. Who knows how things may be at home ? " 
 
 " You will soon know whether it is to be good or 
 ill, gracious lady," said the old woman. " Please 
 God, you will be back home in four weeks' time. I 
 can't fancy the house without you, though I will do 
 my best. It will be like a room from which the 
 lamp has been carried out, when the carriage drives 
 away with you and the baby. But, gracious lady, 
 will you not go and have your breakfast with the 
 master ? He is in the dining-room now." 
 
 " I have already said good-by to him, Classen." 
 
 " Good gracious, ma'am, how pale you look ! But 
 that is all your own obstinacy — you would sleep on 
 that miserable sofa all night," 
 
 " Classen, I cried all night, after I came to my- 
 self, till this morning ; but why should I disturb 
 
Misjudged. 227 
 
 your master ? It is better to keep one's anxiety and 
 distress to one's self." 
 
 " It certainly would be a dreadful thing if he 
 should lose a night's sleep for once ! " thought Frau 
 Classen, grimly, as she looked at the narrow, uncom- 
 fortable sofa on which her young mistress had spent 
 the night. Then she added aloud, with a deep 
 sigh : " Oh, I will take care of him ; I know all 
 his favorite dishes ; you can be quite easy about 
 him, ma'am, I should like best to be going with 
 you as nurse." 
 
 And she turned sobbing away and went down- 
 stairs into her kitchen with Antje's key-basket. 
 There she put it in the cupboard behind the shin- 
 ing glass doors, and, drying her eyes with the cor- 
 ner of her apron, she declared that she felt just as if 
 some great misfortune were coming to this house. 
 
 Antje, quite broken down, had locked herself into 
 her room ; she had sent the child downstairs with 
 its nurse to say good-by to papa. She was quite 
 crushed and broken, and she felt a sharp phys- 
 ical pain in the region of the heart. The beating of 
 the poor, tortured heart was irregular as the terrified 
 flutterings of some imprisoned bird. She thought 
 he must come, with the child in his arms ; he must 
 say : " It is impossible, Antje, that you should be 
 going away forever ; stay here with me ! " 
 
 But he could not do that ! It would be hypocrisy, 
 it would be a ne ; he did not love her. It would 
 only have been a continuation of the same old 
 miserable existence. No, he could not keep her, 
 and shf - could not stay. It was all over ! 
 
 Ther ..oe suddenly started up ; the child's voice 
 
228 Misjudged. 
 
 sounded in the corridor. Her head swam in her 
 dread of seeing him again ; she shuddered at the tor- 
 ture of this parting, and yet — ah, it was only the 
 nurse. 
 
 *' Can you keep the baby with you for a few 
 minutes, ma'am ? " she inquired. *' I would like to 
 pack up my things." And she put the child down 
 on the floor in front of its mother. 
 
 " Jump me, mamma ! " said the little one. 
 
 Antje's trembling hands caught up the light little 
 creature. " Mouse," she stammered out, " did papa 
 give you a kiss ? What did papa say ? " 
 
 " Papa say nothing," replied the child. 
 
 " The master kissed her little hand," called back 
 the nurse from the doorway. ** I think he was in a 
 ^reat hurry." 
 
 Antje fixed her burning eyes on the child and 
 put the little hand to her lips. 
 
 ** Was it so easy for him, Mousie, so very easy ? " 
 she murmured. 
 
 Then she saw a dark spot on the pale blue bow 
 which adorned the child's dainty sleeve at the wrist. 
 " Perhaps he shed a tear over you, you poor little 
 baby. It must be a tear, he could not be so heart- 
 less. Mamma will keep the bow for you. Who 
 knows that it may not some day be the only proof 
 that your father ever loved you, Mousie ! " And 
 she took off the bow and hid it in her prayer-book, 
 which lay at the top of the open trunk. 
 
 Down in the court the coupe drove up to the 
 door. Antje heard it from the window, but she did 
 not stir. Would he really go away w' i; mt once 
 coming to see her ? 
 
Misjudgea. 229 
 
 At length she got up, took the child in her arms, 
 and went to the window. She saw Leo standing on 
 the steps, she saw him look up at Hilda's window, 
 and then get into che carriage. The carriage drove 
 away through the open gateway, and she followed 
 it with her eyes till it disappeared round the comer 
 of the garden-wall. 
 
 With tottering steps she carried the child back 
 to the nursery and fled into the studio, which she 
 locked behind her. 
 
 She was still there when the carriage drove up to 
 take her to the station. 
 
 Old Classen knocked vigorously at the door. 
 
 " Gracious lady, it is time to go ! The trunks 
 are fastened on the carriage, and the others have 
 got in." 
 
 The door opened, and the young mistress came 
 out and walked past her faithful servant. " Like a 
 ghost," said the footman, who was standing behind 
 the old woman with her fur cloak on his arm. 
 
 She came back almost immediately with her hat 
 and gloves on, and allowed them to put on her cloak. 
 Then, without looking round or saying a word, she 
 descended the stairs and got into the carriage, in 
 which Hilda and the nurse and baby were already 
 seated. 
 
 The housemaid looked inquiringly at the weep- 
 ing Classen, when the footman shut the carriage 
 door and swung himself up on the box. Her 
 mistress had not even said good-by ! 
 
 And the carriage drove out of the court-yard, 
 and the wall snut out the view of the deserted 
 bouse. Antie turned her head away from the 
 
23© Misjudged. 
 
 trees in the garden, whose budding branches were 
 swaying over the wall in the spring breezes, as 
 if they were sending their parting greetings to 
 her and wishing her a happy return. She sat 
 up straight in the carriage and looked out to- 
 ward Dresden. The towers of the city were 
 not visible to-day ; all were swallowed up in mist 
 and clouds. The sun, which had shone in the 
 morning with such a golden light, was now hid- 
 den by clouds. A few rain-drops pattered against 
 the carriage windows, like heavy tear-drops. 
 
 Hilda crushed her handkerchief inside her muff, 
 but not a muscle of the pale, gloomy face moved. 
 She would so gladly have fled far away, and yet she 
 could not, for this pale woman beside her would 
 think she could not go far enough away, not far 
 enough from him. The carriage stopped at the 
 little station. Antje stood up to get out, but she 
 stopped. There at the carriage door stood Leo, 
 offering her his hand. 
 
 She stood calmly beside him, and her heart ceased 
 its wild throbbing. It was only for appearance's 
 sake that he bought her tickets and had her trunks 
 weighed. He was fulfilling her last wish. 
 
 " For what place shall I take your ticket, Frau- 
 lein von Zweidorf ? " he inquired of Hilda, lifting 
 his hat. 
 
 " I am going with Frau Jussnitz," she replied. 
 
 He cast a glance of surprise at Antje. She was 
 pulling the bows straight in the child's hat, but she 
 felt her face flush — he had only come to see Hilda 
 once more ! Perhaps he would think she was tak- 
 ing the girl with her to remove her from him ! 
 
Misjudged, 231 
 
 Out of jealousy ? Oh, no ; he could not know so 
 little of her as that ! 
 
 They had a long time to wait, fully fifteen min- 
 utes. They found some acquaintances in the hot 
 little waiting-room — General Rosen, with his kind- 
 hearted wife, one of those old ladies who, on ac- 
 count of her kindness, had been Antje's refuge at 
 her balls and parties. She came up to Antje with 
 both hands extended. 
 
 " Dear Frau Jussnitz, I have just heard from your 
 husband that you are bound on a sorrowful errand, 
 that your mother is very ill." 
 
 Hilda, who was standing beside Antje, and made 
 a low bow to the old lady, was entirely overlooked 
 by her. Antje flushed. This intentional oversight 
 — for it could be nothing else — showed her that 
 gossip had already been busy with the young girl's 
 name in the circle in which they moved. Therefore, 
 after a few words of thanks, she added : " I am so 
 fortunate, your excellency, in not having to travel 
 alone ; my young friend here is so kind as to ac- 
 company me." 
 
 Leo did not hear, he was talking with the old 
 general ; but Frau Rosen, after a moment's surprise, 
 turned to the young girl and spoke a few friendly 
 words. 
 
 At last the train came in. In the hurry of depart- 
 ure no one noticed that all farewells between them 
 were omitted ; only Antje held out the child to her 
 father, then he put it into the carriage with her. 
 
 Hilda had got in first, and the nurse was the last. 
 Jussnitz stood on the platform with lifted hat, and 
 looked down the rails, which melted into one far 
 
832 Misjudged. 
 
 below by the pine-woods. When the train started, 
 Antje felt as if she must stop it with all the strength 
 of despair. But it kept remorselessly on its way ; 
 the little station disappeared from sight, and she 
 was borne away, away, perhaps — nay, probably — 
 never to return. 
 
 From the opposite hill the summer-house at the 
 end of the vineyard came into view ; then that too 
 disappeared, and she saw nothing more, only mo- 
 notonous pine- woods and deserted fields. 
 
CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 The great iron-works " Gottessegen," and the lit- 
 tle village of Oberrode are situated in the very heart 
 of the green beech-woods of the Harz, far away 
 from the railroad and the populous cities. From 
 the last station on the railroad, which stops at a 
 celebrated watering-place in the Harz, there is a 
 two-hours' carriage drive before the first houses of 
 Oberrode come into view. A constantly ascending, 
 well-kept high-road leads to this remote place, a 
 road which the horses traverse slowly ; but in spite 
 of this it never seems long to the tourists wend- 
 ing their way Brockenwards, there is such a wonder- 
 ful alternation of dark forests and blue misty dis- 
 tances, the air is so pure and sweet, and the gay 
 little mountain streams chatter so mysteriously far 
 down in the ravines among the damp, luxuriant 
 ferns. 
 
 There is something peculiar about the Harz for- 
 ests. The air in them seems to be more invigorat- 
 ing than that of other mountainous regions. At 
 least that is the opinion of those who were born 
 there, and they think also that their home is more 
 beautiful than any to be found among all the Ger- 
 man mountains, for Goethe himself has described it 
 and Heine has sung its praises. It would seem as if 
 the witches and the gnomes had laid every one who 
 
234 Misjudged. 
 
 had ever trodden those green paths, under their 
 spell. 
 
 Light was streaming out of the little heart-shaped 
 openings in the heavy window blinds of the dwell- 
 ing-house, which stood a little aside from the huge 
 black buildings of the iron-works. Every child 
 about the place knew those six shining hearts ; 
 their friendly light was a token of all the pleasure, 
 gayety, and happiness that the youthful Oberroders 
 had ever known; for these hearts shone out from 
 the great sitting-room of Frau Bergrath Frey, in 
 which every Christmas the great tree appeared in 
 all the splendor of its lighted tapers and with the 
 gifts for each one of them laid underneath. 
 
 Yes, the workmen's children loved the stately 
 Frau Bergrath, who was, moreover, godmother to 
 the greater nun^her of them ; and no village child 
 ever ventured to boast of having received any very 
 great favors from their Lady Bountiful, at the risk 
 of hearing from a workman's child : " Oh, you 
 needn't boast ; she don't care iox you I We get all 
 the good things ; she is our Frau Bergrath ! She 
 only gives you a little bit so you needn't feel left 
 out ! " 
 
 But to-day the children were huddling together 
 in their own homes, listening to the wild storm out 
 side and looking sadly across the broad common ?4 
 the flaming hearts in the big house, and saying to 
 their mothers : " Will she really die, our Frau Ber^f' 
 rathin ? " The mothers wiped their eyes and nod- 
 ded. " Yes ; there is no hope ; and what we shall 
 do then God only knows I " 
 
 And the work-people were saying the same thing 
 
Misjudged, 235 
 
 between the blows of the heavy hammers, before 
 the red glow of the forge fires. What would they 
 all do if she died ? 
 
 The old superintendent, Kortmer, asked the same 
 question, in the sick woman's sitting-room, of Dr 
 Maiberg, who walked incessantly up and down the 
 dark oak floor. *' Ah, if Frau Jussnitz were only 
 here, Herr Doctor ! " 
 
 " She may be here at any moment now. Hen 
 Kortmer." 
 
 " Then her mother will get better. You can have 
 no idea of how anxious she has been about the 
 child ever since they brought in her future son-in- 
 law, about five years ago. You know he met with 
 an accident, Herr Doctor, out shooting. He was 
 an artist and came here to paint, and took a fancy 
 to go shooting, and thought a gun was as easy to 
 manage as his mahlstick. Pardautz ! He did get 
 into trouble ! Well, as I was saying, from the mo- 
 ment that he was brought in here, she has never 
 had an easy moment. Love is a curious thing, and 
 a girl's heart is past my understanding. Who would 
 have thought that 'our Antje ' would take up with 
 a man like him ? " 
 
 " My friend, my dear Herr Kortmer, is just tht 
 sort of person to win a girl's heart." 
 
 " Your friend, Herr Doctor ? Oh, in that case — I 
 had better have held my tongue. " 
 
 " Least said, soonest mended," replied Maiberg 
 with a smile, looking at the little old man, who was 
 polishing his spectacles with his red silk handker- 
 chief, and then with a swift movement put them 
 back on his hooked nose, which, in conjunction 
 
236 Misjudged, 
 
 with two big round goggles and the shock of Wiite 
 hair over the forehead, lent to the face some resem- 
 blance to a parrot, though without detracting at all 
 from its amiability. 
 
 The superintendent was a really very nice old 
 man and an absolutely reliable official, who would 
 have laid down his life for any of the Frey family, 
 quite undisturbed by the fact that his wife would 
 thereby become a widow. 
 
 "That is always best, Herr Kortmer. I have 
 known Jussnitz a long time now, ever since I was 
 in the first form. I have seen him play all sorts of 
 mad pranks, but have never known him do any- 
 thing that was bad. He is eccentric, he is extrava- 
 gant, he is not an accountant, but he is a really 
 good fellow, and there is only one thing that makes 
 me anxious about him." 
 
 " You mean that his wife isn't suited to him ? 
 Nay, dear Herr Doctor, that is no news ; we all 
 know that, every child about the place knows that." 
 
 " No, Herr Kortmer, that is not what I was going 
 to say. What I did mean was that he is too prosper- 
 ous." 
 
 The other made no reply, for Hanna, the old 
 housekeeper, came in just then, and reported that 
 the patient had gone to sleep after she had taken 
 her medicine. 
 
 " The rooms for Frau Jussnitz and the child and 
 nurse are ready," she added, "and I only wish they 
 had got here safely. Such an awful storm as it is ! 
 It is raining and snowing all at once, and the roads 
 are one sheet of ice." 
 
 Maiberg stood listening at the window, which he 
 
Misjudged. 237 
 
 had opened. "The carriage is coming now," he 
 said quietly, walking toward the door. 
 
 In the hall, which according to old custom was 
 placed in the middle of the house with great waste 
 of space, and which by the carved beams under the 
 ceiling and the panelling of the walls showed that 
 the original destiny of the house had been that of a 
 ducal hunting-lodge, the housekeeper had thrown 
 the door wide open, so that the wind blew the rain 
 in in streams. The great lamp was lighted, but the 
 wreaths which the maids had hung up in token of 
 welcome, the old Mamselle had had taken down 
 again. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! is the poor young thing com- 
 ing home for pleasure ? " she had cried. " Spare 
 your wreaths ; unhappily, there may soon be another 
 occasion for which we shall need them. " 
 
 In spite of the rain she ran down the steps ; her 
 white apron streamed behind her like a white ban- 
 ner in the darkness, and before Maiberg and Kort- 
 mer could get there she had flung open the door 
 of the carriage and called out : " Good-evening ! 
 Good-evening ! Good Heavens, such a storm as 
 it is, Frau Jussnitz ! and with the little baby, 
 too!" 
 
 But the person addressed did not accept the 
 offered hand ; the figure that slipped out of the 
 carriage and stood on the wet gravel, in which 
 the light of the hall lamp was reflected, was that of 
 a stranger, was — could that really be Hildegarde 
 von Zweidorf, that pale, haggard face with the sad, 
 weary eyes ? Maiberg was quite shocked as he 
 came up. 
 
238 Misjudged. 
 
 " Friiulein von Zweidorf, is it you ? " he stam- 
 mered. " Is Antje — is Frau Jussnitz " 
 
 ** How is my mother ? " now sounded close be- 
 side him. There stood Antje with her child on her 
 arm. 
 
 " Herr Doctor, dear Herr Kortmer, I am not too 
 late ? " 
 
 When this question was answered in the nega- 
 tive, Antje tottered and nearly fell — the fearful 
 strain was removed. Leaning on Maiberg's arm, 
 she crossed the threshold of her old home. With 
 his soothing calmness he scarcely spoke of the sick 
 woman, only saying that she was asleep, her daugh- 
 ter could see her later. At present she must take 
 some food, change her clothes, and put the child 
 to bed. 
 
 And he was obeyed. The ladies mounted the 
 broad old staircase to the next floor. The house- 
 keeper carried the child, who was sleeping soundly 
 and sweetly. 
 
 " We have been expecting you ever since three 
 o'clock this afternoon, Frau Jussnitz. Were the 
 roads so bad that you could not get here earlier ? " 
 
 " No, it was not on account of the roads, but it 
 was the fault of my nurse that we had to take a 
 later train," replied Antje, in a whisper, as she 
 passed down the broad corridor, touching caress- 
 ingly the old presses as they passed. " We stopped 
 for the night in Halle on account of the child, and 
 this morning the old nurse suddenly declared that 
 she would not go any further. All my persuasions 
 were vain. Is there one of the housemaids trust- 
 worthy enough to take her place }" 
 
Misjudged. 239 
 
 She opened a door at the end of the corridor and 
 said : " Is the little one to sleep here, Hanna ? 
 Probably I shall have very little time to attend to 
 her now, I — In case of need we shall have to look 
 round and see if any one is to be found at the works 
 or in the village." 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz," replied the housekeeper, hesitat- 
 ingly, " as for the maids here in the house, good 
 Heavens, they hardly know whether they are on their 
 head or their feet now, for the work there is to do. 
 Just fancy, a sick person in the house, and the 
 doctor, and now you " 
 
 '' May I — would you not trust me to look after 
 the little one ? " inquired Hildegarde, and her eyes 
 looked up imploringly at Antje. 
 
 " You ? Look after a little child ? " replied the 
 latter, smiling in spite of her sadness. " No, Frau- 
 lein Hilda, that would never do." 
 
 Then the young girl began to entreat. " Please 
 let me take care of her, Frau Jussnitz. I will watch 
 every step. I will not sleep at night. I will sit by 
 her bed. Do not refuse me this I " 
 
 The young wife made no reply. 
 
 Hilda drew back with a deep blush, but in her 
 eyes there was such a hurt look that Antje said 
 quickly : 
 
 '* If you will really take so much trouble ! I • 
 know you will take great care of my Mousie, because 
 she is — " She stopped. " His child," she was go- 
 ing to say, but the words remained unspoken. 
 
 Hilda did not understand her. She had taken 
 oif her hat and cloak, and taken the sleeping child 
 from the old woman's arms. 
 
24© Misjudged. 
 
 " Now you can be quite easy, Frau Jussnitz, and 
 thank you ! " she said. And Antje saw the tears 
 streaming from Hilda's eyes as she sat down on a 
 chair near the stove and began to pull off the vari- 
 ous wraps from the child as if she had spent her life 
 doing nothing but wait on children. 
 
 Antje went away. 
 
 The room next her mother's had been made ready 
 for Antje ; the same in which her father had 
 formerly slept and in which he had died. The 
 brown folding-doors which connected the two rooms 
 were open. Antje signed to the housekeeper to 
 stay behind, while she glided across the carpet to 
 this door, and there she stood and listened to the 
 sounds that came from the great canopied bed in 
 which her mother lay ; the features of the sleeping 
 woman were scarcely visible in the faint glimmer of 
 the night-lamp. She was forced to put herself 
 under strong constraint to keep from rushing up to 
 the bed and sinking down on her knees before it 
 and crying out : " Mother, mother, I am here ! 
 Ah, if you knew how unhappy I am, how very un- 
 happy ! " 
 
 She gave a sudden sob. This pleasant old home, 
 the memories that crowded upon her so forcibly, 
 the depth of her grief for all she had lost and for 
 all she was about to lose, coming all together, quite 
 overpowered her. A feeling of utter weakness came 
 over her ; she sank down on the floor and scarcely 
 knew what was happening to her. Half-unconscious, 
 she heard the beating of the storm against the 
 blinds, the pelting of the rain as she had heard it 
 so often as a child in her soft, warm bed, which 
 
Misjudged. 241 
 
 stood close beside her mother's ; as she had heard 
 it in those first sleepless nights of her maiden exist- 
 ence, those spring nights when she thought she 
 could never be glad again, that she could not live 
 without that pale, sick man, who had said to her ; 
 *' I believe you could reconcile me again to exist- 
 ence ; " in those nights when, by her father's de- 
 sire, she had tried to look on her lover as lost to 
 her forever, and then — in that blessed, sleepless 
 night when her happiness had robbed her of slum- 
 ber, the happiness of knowing that he was her own. 
 
 It seemed as if she were living this all over again. 
 She heard the ticking pendulum of the tall clock ; 
 the dull thud of the hammers mingled with her 
 dreams. She heard her mother's heavy breathing, 
 and held her own breath in order not to waken her. 
 It was so sweet, so comfortable, so safe, in this lofty 
 room. 
 
 All at once it seemed to her as if it were again the 
 night before her wedding-day. Was not that her 
 wedding-dress lying there ? The coals are glimmer- 
 ing in the fire-place — it is already cold up here in 
 the mountains — and her mother has come softly into 
 her room again to kiss her ; but she does not stir, 
 she pretends to be asleep, to hide from her 
 mother how happy she is at the thought of going 
 away on the morrow with this strange man, far 
 away from her home forever. And the mother 
 weeps and prays by her bedside ; she can hear it so 
 distinctly, but the voice is faint and mournful, like 
 the groans from a weak chest. 
 
 " Miist I be unhappy then, mother ? " cries Antje. 
 
 And then it seems as if everything were going round 
 16 
 
342 Misjudged. 
 
 in a circle with her, as if a dazzling light were hurt- 
 ing her eyes. She tries to move her limbs, but they 
 are as heavy as lead, and then she feels herself 
 lifted by a strong arm and hears a voice saying : 
 " Bring some wine, Hanna ; she has fainted. God 
 grant that she may soon recover ; all may be over 
 in half an hour ; the Frau Bergrath is dying." 
 
 This brought Antje back to consciousness at once. 
 She stood up on her feet, and her anxious and in- 
 credulous eyes sought Dr. Maiberg's face. " Dying ? 
 My mother — now — dying now ? " And with totter- 
 ing steps she went into the sick-room and sank down 
 by her mother's bed. I 
 
 " Mother ! " she cried, low and tenderly ; *' mother, 
 I am here — your Antje. Don't you know me ? " 
 
 The hand which was already growing cold did 
 not return her pressure, but the eyes turned slowly 
 toward her and an almost unearthly light came into 
 them. Antje sat down on the edge of the bed and 
 threw her arm round the dying woman's neck ; her 
 head bent down over the gray head ; her lips rested 
 on the damp forehead. 
 
 " Go to sleep, dearest mother," she said, softly ; 
 " I will stay with you." 
 
 "Antje," murmured the faint voice, "my last 
 will, Kortmer — my will " 
 
 "Yes, mother ; everything shall be as you wish." 
 
 " Thank you, my child. I mean it well. I would 
 always do my best — Antje — I am tired — your father 
 is calling me — yes — yes — I am coming. . . . Don't 
 cry, Antje — don't break down — be strong, my good 
 child ! " 
 
 "Yes; I will be strong," said Antje, and held 
 
Misjudged. 243 
 
 her mother in her arms till she fell asleep ; it was 
 not long — she slept peacefully away. At length 
 Antje laid the beloved head gently down on the 
 pillow, and kissed the eyes that would never see 
 again. 
 
 Her former faintness came over her again, but 
 she struggled against it with all her might. " I will 
 be strong ! " she said again as she went into the 
 next room. There stood old Kortmer and Maiberg, 
 and there were the servants of the household, the 
 men standing gravely silent, the maids crying softly. 
 " My mother is sleeping," she said. " Go to bed, 
 now, all of you. To-morrow morning early let some 
 one go to the Herr Pastor. I wish to see him." 
 
 " I will watch with you by the Frau Bergrath, 
 Frau Jussnitz," said the old housekeeper, plead- 
 ingly. But Antje shook her head. 
 
 " You will need all your strength, Hanna ; you 
 must go to bed, too. I need no one with me to 
 watch by my mother." 
 
 Then she went back into the chamber of death. 
 
 The storm outside had worn itself out ; all nature 
 had grown still. Only the work in the forge went 
 on, and the flames of the great furnaces cast their 
 reflections on the woods aad the hills and even into 
 the room of the dead woman. Antje had thrown 
 back the blinds. She had lighted no lamp. She 
 felt that the glow from the great forge was the fit- 
 ting death-light for her who l'*y there — the light 
 that had shone over her happy, laborious life ; that 
 had lighted up her labors of love that had bright- 
 ened the path of duty in whiclr she had always 
 walked with rare steadfastness. 
 
244 
 
 Misjudged. 
 
 And Antje sat down by the bed and kept her 
 quiet watch by the most faithful, unselfish heart to 
 be found in all the world ; the heart which, when 
 it has once ceased to beat, nothing can replace — the 
 heart of a loving mother. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " My husband will not be able to come, dear 
 Kortmer," said Antje to the little old gentleman, 
 when he expressed his surprise that the carriage 
 which he had sent to the railroad station had re- 
 turned, bringing the two unmarried sisters of the 
 late Bergrath Frey, but without the son-in-law of 
 the dead woman. 
 
 " But my dear Frau Jussnitz, I beg your par- 
 don," said the polite little man, "it is not a ques- 
 tion of being able to come ; he must come, for by the 
 wish of our dear friend, the will is to be opened 
 and read immediately after the funeral. It says 
 expressly : * In the presence of my daughter, Anna 
 Jussnitz, and her husband, Leo Jussnitz, as well as 
 of all those relatives who shall do me the honor of 
 attending my funeral.' So " 
 
 Antje was standing in the little private study 
 which had been her father's. It looked out on 
 the iron-works, and was very plainly furnished. 
 Against the wall stood a large, much-worn leather- 
 covered sofa, above which a hanging clock swung 
 its pendulum ; a massive writing-table of mahogany 
 stood near the window, on which were placed 
 books and papers, bits of ore, plans for buildings^ 
 and so forth, in perfect order. 
 
246 Misjudged. 
 
 The middle of the tabls was taken up by an 
 enormous inkstand of cast-iron. Antje knew it well ; 
 she could recall perfectly the first time her father 
 ever used it. It represented a locomotive, the 
 boiler of which contained the ink. The Frau Berg- 
 rath had had it made as emblematic of her hus- 
 band's business — railroad iron — and felt very proud 
 of her invention. 
 
 Behind this extraordinary inkstand stood Herr 
 Frey's photograph. 
 
 Antje's sad eyes wandered over these familiar 
 jobjects, and her lips quivered. She recalled the 
 day when she had crept softly into this room, had 
 thrown her arms round her father's neck, had laid 
 her tearful face against his cheek, and had said im- 
 ploringly : " Father, father, give him to me ; do not 
 make me so unhappy ! " 
 
 And he had replied ; 
 
 " Anna, your strong wish has impaired your clear 
 ,bdgment. I cannot imagine that man your com- 
 panion for life. You will be unhappy, my child." 
 
 But she had begged and prayed. When did 
 strong passion ever listen to reason ? She was not 
 differeat from other people. Does one who really 
 loves ever see clearly ? 
 
 She had implored him again and again ; she had 
 gone down on her knees to her devoted father, and 
 had cried : " Say yes, father. I would a thousand 
 times rathii be unhappy with him than live without 
 him ! " 
 
 Then he rtad yielded. " But do not blame me 
 when you find yourself undeceived ; do not blame 
 mer 
 
Misjudged. 247 
 
 And Antje had kept her word. She had never 
 complained when she became conscious that she 
 had deceived herself, and that he was disappointed 
 in her. 
 
 She made up her mind to do her duty, and to 
 force Leo by her example to do his. She would be 
 content with the fact of living beside him, even 
 though she was neglected, for the child's sake, in 
 the hope that some time things would mend — and 
 then — then he had told her that she was the chain 
 that dragged him down, that would not let him 
 mount to the sunny heights of art ; and then all her 
 strength, her hope, and her will had given way. 
 
 " He must come ! " said Kortmer again. " You 
 must send him an urgent telegram, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 " No," she said, raising her head ; " he can not 
 come." 
 
 " But, good Heavens, my dear, g^od Frau Antje, 
 is he ill ? " 
 
 " I think not." 
 
 " Or is he so embittered against youi another that 
 he will not even come to her funeral ? Or — have 
 you had a quarrel with him " 
 
 The young wife started ; her hands dropped help- 
 lessly by her side, and with horrified eyes she gazed 
 into Kortmer's face. Did he suspect, did he already 
 know this terrible thing that had happened ? 
 
 He stood before her with an anxious face. " Don't 
 be angry with me, dear Frau Antje," he said. " It 
 is absurd to say that, of course. But whatever it is 
 that keeps him, it must be put aside, for the will re- 
 quires his presence." 
 
 He felt so sorry for her ; he knew, of course, that 
 
94& Misjudged. 
 
 all was not right between them, knew it from her 
 mother, who had unburdened her anxious heart to 
 him ; but the remark about the quarrel had escaped 
 his lips involuntarily. 
 
 Now he had hurt her, though he had probably not 
 hit very wide of the mark. 
 
 " Do you telegraph, dear Kortmer," said Antje, 
 at length. 
 
 He left the room to write out the despatch. But 
 she sank down into the old arm-chair in front of the 
 writing-table, and hid her face in her hands. It was 
 so frightfully hard — how should she excuse his ab- 
 sence to all these people ? He must not come, he 
 could not ! How soft and peaceful was her grief 
 for the dead, in comparison with this grief which 
 she was forced to hide away from the world ! 
 
 A gentle knock at the door startled her — what 
 if he had come after all ? No, it was only Hanna, 
 the housekeeper ; she had a long paper in her hand 
 on which minute directions for the funeral were 
 marked down in her mother's handwriting. 
 
 Antje now had to go from the attic to the cellar, 
 to unlock chests and cupboards. Everything was 
 arranged for all that would be necessary for the sad 
 ceremony. Even the mourning aprons for the ser- 
 vant-maids, the crape bands which the bookkeepers 
 were to wear on their hats, were all ready ; " for " — 
 so said the paper — " I know how hard it is when 
 one has these things to look after with a sad heart. 
 I found it so when my dear husband died, and I 
 wish to make it easier for my dear Antje." 
 
 How touching is the care and love of a mother, 
 extending even beyond the grave ! 
 
Misjudged. 249 
 
 The young wife's breast heaved with a sob as she 
 read these words. 
 
 "Ah, dear me, Frau Jussnitz," sighed the old 
 housekeeper, " how shall we ever get along in this 
 house without our Frau Bergrath ? Such a woman 
 as your mother is not to be found twice in all the 
 world. If you were only going to stay here, Frau 
 Jussnitz ! " 
 
 Antje was silent ; she did not even know whether 
 she might stay here in the great, lonely house. She 
 had no idea of what was to become of her ; she was 
 only sure of one thing, that she would be alone in 
 the world wherever she was, she and her child. 
 
 Antje went at length into the great hall on tne 
 ground floor, in which her mother was lying in state. 
 This room had folding-doors which opened on the 
 garden terrace, and adjoined the so-called visitors' 
 room, which opened into the Frau Bergrath 's sit- 
 ting-room, whose windows looked out on the great, 
 smoke-blackened buildings of the iron-works, and 
 the houses of the workmen. A row of fine old lin- 
 dens stood before these windows, the embodiment 
 of poetry in the midst of the prose of this world 
 of labor, of iron industry. 
 
 Hanna was busy in this room, arranging masses 
 of wreaths at the foot of the coffin. There was not 
 a house in the whole neighborhood which had not 
 sent at least a simple wreath of evergreen, and they 
 still kept coming. The coffin was surrounded by 
 the orange-trees which had been the dead woman's 
 pride, and numberless white candles shone out of 
 the dark green of their leaves. 
 
 Occasionally one of the workmen's wives would 
 
250 Misjudged. 
 
 come in with soft and reverent tread, leading a child 
 with terrified eyes by the hand, to gaze once more 
 at the dead, to sob in her handkerchief, and to press 
 Antje's hand. She, in her dull grief, went through 
 it all mechanically. 
 
 " Cry a little, gracious lady," said one withered 
 old woman to her. " It will ease your heart ; a death 
 without tears, that isn't good." 
 
 She nodded to the old woman, but she did not in 
 the least understand what she had said to her. Then 
 she went quickly into the visitors' room. 
 
 " What is this ? " she inquired, pointing to a table 
 covered with a black cloth, on which were an ink- 
 stand and two silver candlesticks, while a double 
 row of chairs stood in front of it. 
 
 " The Frau Bergrath wished it to be so," replied 
 Hanna, who had just been fastening black crape 
 bows over the pictures of Antje's parents. " Did 
 you not read it, Frau Jussnitz ? The will is to 
 be opened here after the funeral, and on those 
 two front chairs you and Herr Jussnitz are to sit." 
 
 Antje turned quickly away and went back into 
 the great hall. With clasped hands she went up 
 to the coffin. 
 
 " Thank God," she murmured, ^^ you will not see 
 me sitting there, so alone — so utterly alone ! " 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 In the mean time, Hilda von Zweidorf was pre- 
 siding in the nursery. The child had taken a little 
 cold on the journey, and she cried constantly and 
 kept calling for her mother. Hilda knew that A.ntje 
 had as much as she could do in making all the prep- 
 arations which are necessary for such a sad cere- 
 mony as a funeral. Therefore she did her best to 
 pacify the child, to put it to sleep, and to amuse it 
 when awake. But in vain. 
 
 Antje had come in several times in her sombre 
 mourning garments, with her pale, haggard face, and 
 the child had cried aloud in terror ; it was afraid of 
 the black dress. 
 
 At length, toward evening of the second day, 
 Hilda, quite exhausted by her unaccustomed efforts, 
 begged Dr. Maiberg to come and see the child. 
 
 He came into the light, comfortable, old-fash- 
 ioned room. Hilda was sitting before the table, 
 with the child on her lap, with unwearied patience 
 building up the blocks which the perverse little 
 creature insisted on knocking down again. " Mamma 
 come," was its constant cry ; " but not the black 
 mamma ! " 
 
 " Probably there may be some childish disease 
 coming on," said the doctor, laying his hand on the 
 hot little head. " For the present there is nothing 
 
252 Misjudged. 
 
 to do but to wait patiently, Fraulein von Zweidorf. 
 Shall I send some one to help you ? " 
 
 " No, thank you," she replied, curtly. 
 
 " You seem to be suffering yourself." 
 
 " Not at all. But please tell me, Herr Doctor — " 
 She stopped and blushed. " Tell me," she began 
 again, " why does not Herr Jussnitz come ? " 
 
 " I should think you ought to know that," was 
 the sharp answer. But the next moment he re- 
 pented it. She looked at him so helplessly, so pite- 
 ously, and her proud head drooped lower and 
 lower ; she looked utterly crushed and broken. He 
 suddenly felt a horrible certainty that something 
 decisive must have occurred at Sibyllenburg. He 
 caught at her hand and was about to speak. 
 
 " Don't," she said, harshly, getting up. Taking 
 the baby in her arms, which burst into loud crying 
 when it saw itself deprived of its playthings, she be- 
 gan to walk up and down the room, quite incapable 
 of pacifying the child, unable to choke back her 
 own sobs. 
 
 He went up to her and relieved her of her ob- 
 streperous little burden. And she fled from the 
 room, down the stairs, through the hall. 
 
 She did not see Antje standing there in front of 
 the great linen-press with the housekeeper. She 
 had but one thought — away, where she could hide 
 her burning shame — ^away, never to come back, 
 never ! 
 
 The wind tore the heavy door out of her hand. 
 She left it open and rushed down the steps, and 
 then came to a sudden stop and caught at the iron 
 railing in her horror and amazement, for a carriage 
 
Misjudged. 253 
 
 had just driven up, out of which sprang a tall, slen- 
 der man. 
 
 She felt as if she would like the earth to swallow 
 her up. It was Jussnitz. 
 
 She saw Antje come forward to meet him ; saw 
 by the light of the lamp the young wife's eyes fixed 
 reproachfully on her, as if to say : " Could you not 
 wait a little while ? Could not even tlie presence 
 of the dead under this roof restrain you from rush- 
 ing out to greet him .? " 
 
 Of course she could not help thinking thus when 
 she saw Hilda dashing down the steps to meet him 
 in all the joy of seeing him again whom she loved ! 
 
 She had on neither cloak nor hat ; she could 
 not say : " I wanted the fresh air ; I felt as if I 
 should choke in that room upstairs ! " 
 
 She only stood there, trembling like a guilty thing. 
 
 " Will you not come in, Hilda ? You will take 
 cold in that sharp wind," said Antje's voice, ivith 
 perfect calmness. 
 
 And she obeyed. 
 
 Jussnitz was standing in the hall with Kortner, 
 Hilda went past him toward the staircase with her 
 head thrown proudly back. 
 
 Leo bowed civilly and formally to the young 
 girl, but she did not return his greeting : she weni 
 upstairs step by step, and walked slowly along 
 the corridor. When she reached the nursery, she 
 said to Dr. Maiberg, whom she found sitting pa- 
 tiently by the baby's bed : " Go, I beg of you ; 
 I wish to be alone." 
 
 " And what if I will not go and leave you ill 
 this excited state ? ** 
 
254 Misjudged. 
 
 "You will — Jussr.itz is just arrived." 
 
 He looked at her almost with compassion. 
 
 " You should not excite yourself so, Fraulein 
 Hilda," he said, as he went gloomily out. 
 
 The door was locked behind him. Then he 
 heard weeping, bitter weeping, which was evidently 
 suppressed as much as possible, and yet passed 
 all bounds. And amidst these sobs, in which the 
 terrified child joined, came an ardent prayer from 
 her lips : " Oh, grant that they may be reconciled 
 in the presence of the dead ! Let the print of 
 my footsteps be washed away from the life-path 
 of these two, I pray thee, O God ! Hear my 
 prayer, or let me die I " 
 
 Maiberg, standing outside, caught only a few 
 words here and there. Shaking his head, he went 
 down the stairs. He found Jussnitz alone in the 
 sitting-room ; the housekeeper, with one of the 
 maids, was setting the table for tea in the adjoin- 
 ing dining-room. 
 
 " How do you do, Leo ? " said Maiberg, 
 
 Jussnitz started up out of his chair ; his eyes 
 opened wide, but he could not utter a word. His 
 friend stood before him without speaking. 
 
 " How came you here ? " asked Jussnitz, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " By your wife's wish." 
 
 He gave a short laugh. " To be sure, I might 
 have known that." 
 
 " Of course you might, Leo.** 
 
 " Yes, to be sure ; but sometimes one — does not 
 see what is before one's very eyes," remarked Leo^ 
 with peculiar emphasis. 
 
Misjudged. 255 
 
 A fleeting smile passed over Maiberg's counte- 
 nance, and his face suddenly brightened. 
 
 Then the two old ladies came in, the sisters of 
 the Bergrath ; the housekeeper followed, and invited 
 the two gentlemen into the dining-room. Frau 
 Jussnitz begged to be excused for not appearing 
 at the table ; she had still a great deal to do. 
 
 Her excuse was readily accepted, and only old 
 Kortmer knew that she was sitting idle in her old, 
 girlish room. But even the old gentleman had no 
 idea how great her trouble was. She walked up 
 and down incessantly, like a person who is a prey 
 to the most utter despair. 
 
 A single light was buniing in the room, just re- 
 vealing the furniture, the old-fashioned hangings, 
 and the low panelled ceiling. The airy white bed 
 in which she had dreamed her youthful dreams 
 rose half-ghostlike from the dusky comer. 
 
 Antje had once heard of the "second sight," 
 and it seemed to her as if a fair head were lying 
 on the pillow there, as if two hands were clasped 
 in bitter grief. What have you come to, Anna Frey ? 
 
 She ran to the door ; she would go and get her 
 child, the only thing she possessed in the whole 
 wide world. How could she have allowed that 
 other to care for it only for a minute even ? But 
 her hand dropped from the knob — she would not 
 meet him there ; she could not have borne the sight 
 of those two together — by Leonie's bed. 
 
 Good God, he had only come because Hilda wag 
 here ! Again she saw in spirit that light figure go- 
 ing down the stairs, flying through the hall — to mee* 
 him ; and she forced herself to stay away from th* 
 
3s6 Misjudged, 
 
 little one ; for the first time she went to bed without 
 kissing her good-night ! She took refuge on the sota 
 and hid her head in the cushion, so she need not 
 hear his step pass on his way to the nursery. At 
 this moment she was only the passionately loving 
 wife, who fears to receive the last decisive proof 
 that her husband is lost to her. 
 
 At length she started up and listened with gasp- 
 ing breath and her hands on her throbbing temples. 
 There were voices outside, Leo's and Maiberg's. 
 Antje could hear them saying good-night. Hanna's 
 voice, too, came to her ears : 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz," she said, *' I have given you 
 your old room, if you have no objection. The 
 gracious Frau thought " 
 
 She could not hear his reply ; he had walked rap- 
 idly away. 
 
 Antje drew a long breath and then burst into a 
 flood of tears. Good Heavens, what would she have ? 
 She had been on the point of forgetting that he had 
 called her a drag on him, that she must give him 
 his freedom. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The funeral was over. 
 
 From the house itself, across the great square 
 covered with black sand, bordered on one side by 
 the houses of the work-people, on the other by the 
 buildings of the iron-works, the path the procession 
 had to take had been thickly strewn with white sand 
 and evergreen boughs. This path wound along the 
 rushing stream which usually drove the great ham- 
 mers now resting in solemn stillness, down through 
 the village to the little church-yard. 
 
 In front of the " Pine-tree Inn " in Oberrode 
 stood a crowd of carriages ; in the great inn parlor 
 sat all the people who had come to pay their last hom- 
 age to the greatly honored woman, but who were not 
 sufficiently familiar friends to count on the hospital- 
 ity of the great house to-day. There were foresters, 
 manufacturers and mine-owners, landed proprietors 
 and business friends. The hospitable parsonage 
 was also thrown open to the funeral guests. Every 
 one knew that after the funeral the will was to be 
 read, and every one was curious to hear its con- 
 tents, and who was to be the owner of this great 
 property. 
 
 At the " Pine-tree Inn " the conversation was very 
 animated. One man declar«d that ** Gottessegen " 
 would now be given over to a stock company, and 
 
258 Misjudged. 
 
 the son-in-law would probably be one of the chief 
 stockholders. 
 
 A second declared that the Frau Bergrath had 
 never approved of stock companies. 
 
 A third asserted most emphatically that the 
 daughter would receive a considerable sum, and 
 that Ferdinand Frey would have the iron-works, of 
 course to be held in trust for the Jussnitzes. 
 
 " Who is Ferdinand Frey ? " 
 
 "Why, the Frey who is in the mining office in 
 N . You know Frey ? " 
 
 *' Oh, yes ; of course." 
 
 " But that would be unjust to the daughter.'* 
 
 " Good Heavens ! she will have enough." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! The Herr Son-in-law will soon have 
 to sing small, and the old Frau Bergrath knew that 
 very well — she could hear the grass grow. Upon 
 my word, she was a resolute woman. Take my 
 word for it, she has thought out something quite 
 out of the common." 
 
 In the house of mourning there were only the few 
 people who were to be present at the reading of the 
 will of the " resolute woman." Through the windows 
 of the room they could look out on a dull, rainy 
 afternoon ; there was a stupefying odor of cypress, 
 juniper, and tuberoses. People stood about, talking 
 in whispers, — the cousin, Ferdinand Frey, a young 
 man with a dark, attractive face ; the old sisters, 
 who held each other's hands, anxiously waiting to 
 hear whether their future fate was to be endurable 
 or not ; the pastor, the notary, Herr Kortmer, and 
 — Jussnitz. 
 
 Antie had not come yet ; they were all waiting 
 
Misjudged. 259 
 
 for her. At last she appeared, pale, with her hair 
 brushed plainly back, her gloomy mourning robes, 
 and her eyes almost extinguished in her grief. 
 
 The old lawyer went up to her and led her to her 
 seat, into which she sank at once. With her eyes 
 cast down, her hands folded in her lap, she sat 
 there, with Leo beside her, and behind her chair 
 Ferdinand Frey, whom her parents had once des- 
 tined for her husband. 
 
 The old lawyer of the Frey family prefaced the 
 reading of the will with a few agitated words, ad- 
 dressed chiefly to Antje. He said how sad it was 
 for him to be obliged to fulfil so soon his hard 
 duty, the duty of speaking to the orphan in the 
 name of the deceased. Then he opened the im- 
 portant document, after he had called those pres- 
 ent to bear witness to the fact that the legal seal 
 was intact, and began : 
 
 "In the name of God. 
 
 " Since I have become convinced myself, and my phy- 
 sician has assured me, that I have not much longer to live, I 
 have determined to draw up my last will and testament. I 
 have settled upon my disposition of my property after grave 
 consideration, and in full agreement with the views of my 
 late husband, often expressed to me, as to what would be for 
 the best good of our daughter. By the will of my dear hus- 
 band I have been made his sole heir, with power from him to 
 dispose of the entire property according to my good will and 
 pleasure. He knew that he could trust me entirely, and this 
 confidence has given me more happiness than all the worldlj^ 
 goods which he bequeathed to me. 
 
 *' Therefore, I designate our only child, Anna Clara Juss- 
 nitz, born Frey, as the heiress of all our worldly goods, but 
 especially of the iron-works ' Gottessegen,' established by my 
 late father-in-law, Christopher Gottlob Frey ; with the ex- 
 
?6o Misjudged. 
 
 ception of a capital of sixty thousand marks, which is to go to 
 
 our nephew, Ferdinand Frey, of N , whom we have always 
 
 loved as a son. 
 
 " My daughter, Anna Clara Jussnitz, will enter upon this 
 inheritance on the following conditions : 
 
 "(i) She will be obliged to take up her residence at the 
 iron- works 'Gottessegen.' 
 
 "(2) She is to undertake the conduct of the business. 
 Without her consent and signature, no changes shall be made 
 in the management of affairs, no important contract shall be 
 undertaken, nor any officials be engaged or discharged. She 
 is to be at the head of the business, as her father and I have 
 been ; but I charge Herr Friedrich Kortmer, who has for 
 years been the superintendent of the works, to stand at her 
 side as counsellor and adviser. 
 
 " It may seem strange to many that I should make this 
 disposition of my property. I have done it for two reasons — 
 one of these is known to my daughter and to my son-in-law, 
 and I will spare them further comments in this place. For 
 the second reason, I would say to those who doubt a woman's 
 capability for conducting a business like this, that I, who am 
 not a blindly impartial mother, am convinced that my 
 daughter, Anna Jussnitz, possesses the qualities requisite for 
 >•*♦» head of this great establishment. 
 
 (3) My daughter, Anna Clara Jussnitz, is required to invest 
 annually one-fourth of the income from the business in lands, 
 woodlands, or houses, as a capital for her heirs, and also to de- 
 vote annually a certain sum to the improvement and enlarge- 
 ment of the business so that it may never decrease or diminish. 
 Furthermore, I enjoin upon my daughter, within the next 
 four years, to build a hospital, to enlarge the schools, and to 
 appoint a physician for the workmen of the iron-works. I 
 charge her also to provide for him a suitable dwelling. More- 
 over, I desire that she should complete the Home for Aged 
 Work-people, and see that it is provided with all proper 
 sanitary arrangements. I have the fullest confidence that 
 my daughter will carry out this, my last will, which is also 
 that of her father, and will not be turned from her duty by 
 any wishes to the contrary from any quarter whatever. 
 
Misjudged. 361 
 
 " (4) But in case my daughter will not or cannot comply 
 with these conditions, in accordance with my husband's ex* 
 pressed wishes, I appoint in her place her daughter, Leonie 
 Jussnitz, now aged three years ; or in case my daughter, 
 Anna Clara Jussnitz, should have more children, I make 
 these children my heirs, on condition that, should they be all 
 girls, my eldest grandchild, Leonie Jussnitz, should be the 
 sole possessor of the iron-works ; but in case there should be 
 sons, the eldest son is to take the business. The heir, who- 
 ever he may be, is to pay to his brothers and sisters their 
 share of the value of the business, according to official ap- 
 praisal, but these shares are to remain in the business at four 
 per cent, interest. 
 
 " As head of the business until the majority of the eventual 
 owner, in case my daughter does not accept the conditions 
 I to 3, 1 appoint my nephew, Herr Ferdinand Frey, engineer. 
 I charge him to pay to my daughter eighteen thousand marks 
 annually, for the necessary expenses of her household, to be 
 paid quarterly. He himself, Herr Ferdinand Frey, will receive 
 a salary of nine thousand marks. He will be bound to under- 
 take and fulfil all the conditions I have imposed upon my 
 daughter in case she had become my heir. He will invest all 
 the surplus income for the benefit of my grandchild, Leonie 
 Jussnitz, or of any other grandchildren that may hereafter be 
 bom, in good bonds or real estate ; he is enjoined to refuse 
 most decidedly any further demands of my daughter, or her 
 husband, beyond the said sum of eighteen thousand marks 
 annually. 
 
 " When the one of my grandchildren to whom the business 
 may eventually come attains his majority, the business shall 
 be made over to him entirely, and this will shall become null 
 and void. In case it is his desire to conduct the business 
 himself, he shall pay to the former administrator, Herr Fer- 
 dinand Frey, a life pension of forty- five hundred marks 
 annually. 
 
 " (5) I appoint my lawyer, Herr Councillor Klein, my ex- 
 ecutor, and charge him to see that all these conditions are 
 faithfully carried out, and to advise and counsel my daughter 
 not to shrink from the hard duties which I have laid upon heri 
 
262 Misjudged. 
 
 and not to be deterred from obeying the last will of her par- 
 ents by any obstacles laid in her way by any person what- 
 soever. 
 
 '' I especially charge my executor to see that my daughter 
 alone shall have the disposal of her inheritance and her income, 
 as I absolutely refuse to give to her husband any right whatso- 
 ever over the principal or interest of my property. 
 
 " This is to take effect also in case my daughter's children 
 and not herself should be my heirs. 
 
 "(6) I furthermore charge my heirs and my executor to 
 see that all those legacies which I have left for the benefit of 
 private persons, and for churches, schools, and charitable in- 
 stitutions, and which I have written out on a separate paper 
 over my signature, shall be punctually paid. 
 
 ' • (7) The foregoing is my last will and testament, which I 
 have written down with my own hand, and signed and sealed 
 with my own seal. 
 
 " I pray God that all may have been done for the best. 
 
 May He grant that I have chosen the right. 
 
 " Clara Frey, bom Hansen. 
 
 " Iron Works, ' Gottbssegen,' 
 "March a8, 18-." 
 
 There was a death-like silence in the great room 
 when the reading was finished. Jussnitz had sat 
 during the whole time with his arms folded, gazing 
 out of the window as if he were counting the rain- 
 drops which were running down the panes. By his 
 appearance it might have been supposed that he 
 had not heard a word of what had been just uttered 
 so loudly and distinctly. 
 
 Antje sat looking at her hands lying clasped in 
 her lap, a prey to the deepest inward torture. Fer- 
 dinand Frey did not remove his eyes from her face. 
 His countenance had gradually taken on an expres- 
 sion of anger and compassion, such as men wear 
 who see an animal tortured without being able to 
 
Misjudged. *63 
 
 succor it. He had formerly been greatly attached 
 to his cousin, and was even now devoted to her ser- 
 vice, and what did he care for all the rest ? He 
 was poor enough, but what good would all this con- 
 fidence do him, and the good income, and the new 
 position ? He knew that he would never be happy 
 within these walls, for old memories would cry out 
 at him from every corner. 
 
 " Of course you are allowed several weeks for 
 consideration, Frau Jussnitz," began Councillor 
 Klein, after a short pause. " In the meantime every- 
 thing is in the best hands." 
 
 Antje rose and went over to the table on which 
 the will was lying. 
 
 " I require no time for consideration, Herr Coun- 
 cillor," she said in a clear, distinct voice, laying both 
 her slender hands on the black table-cover. " I 
 hereby declare that I will accept the inheritance 
 with all the conditions my mother has imposed. I 
 will from henceforth take up my abode here, and 
 will endeavor to do my duty as manager of this 
 business as faithfully as possible. I think in this I 
 am acting in accordance with Hen* Jussnitz' wishes 
 also." 
 
 Again there was a pause. 
 
 *' Six weeks," said the old family lawyer — " six 
 weeks for consideration, Frau Jussnitz ! " 
 
 *' I am fully determined to conscientiously fulfil 
 the conditions which my mother has imposed," she 
 repeated calmly, but very decidedly, " and 1 wish 
 to be the owner of * Gottessegen.' Please draw up 
 the necessary papers at once." 
 
 And turning to those present, she added in a 
 
264 Misjudged. 
 
 voice choked by tears : " I am sure you will all have 
 patience with me at first, as I am utterly inexperi- 
 enced, and I take my mother's place with only an 
 honest desire to do all I can to fill it." 
 
 And she went up to her cousin and held out her 
 hand. " Ferdinand, I know you understand me ! " 
 Then she pressed Herr Kortmer's hand. " You 
 will help me, will you not ? " 
 
 She offered her forehead to the pastor to kiss. 
 " And you, too, will help me, Herr Pastor, will you 
 not ? " 
 
 Then, as if overpowered by her emotions, she 
 walked past her husband and left the room. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 For the moment she could think of no bettel 
 refuge than her parents' little study ; there she 
 would be sure of being undisturbed. With regard 
 to all that had to be done in the near future, she 
 only felt that one thing was clear — Leo must not 
 stay here ! To treat with him face to face was more 
 than she felt able to do, and yet she felt that it would 
 be indelicate to request him through the lawyer to 
 spare her the pain of seeing him. She tried to write 
 to him, but she could not find suitable words. How 
 ought one to write to a husband from whom one is 
 on the point of separating ? She laid down her pen 
 again and looked out over the open common that 
 lay there in its Sabbath repose. Ah, if there were 
 only one human heart that she could confide in, 
 that would do her the friendly service of being the 
 messenger between herself and him, of telling him 
 that she was determined, irrevocably determined to 
 free him from the fetters that had so weighed him 
 down — only one, only one human heart ! 
 
 She suddenly started up and opened the window. 
 
 Dr. Maiberg was just coming out of one of the 
 workmen's houses. She did not call him. She 
 only looked at him, but he read the entreaty in her 
 sad eyes, and came up to the window. 
 
 " Do you want anything, Frau Jussnitz ? " 
 
a66 Misjudged. 
 
 " If you can spare me a few moments, Hert 
 Doctor." 
 
 " I am quite at your service." 
 
 In a few moments he entered the room. It was 
 always rather dark there ; the only window was in 
 a deep niche formed by the thick walls, and there 
 was an iron grating outside it. In the corner there 
 was a small American stove. Antje stood at the 
 writing-table in her sombre mourning dress, with a 
 pale, determined face. 
 
 " May I ask you to do me a favor ? " she in- 
 quired. 
 
 He bowed assent. 
 
 "You have heard perhaps already from Leo 
 that " 
 
 She turned away her face ; it was so horribly hard 
 to say the words. She could not bring herself to 
 do it. " Has he not said anything to you, Herr 
 Doctor ? " 
 
 " I haven't the slightest idea what you mean," he 
 replied, looking wonderingly at her trembling figure. 
 
 " Leo and I have decided to separate," she hur- 
 riedly gasped out. 
 
 " That is impossible, Frau Jussnitz," he said, very 
 quietly. 
 
 " No. It is true. I see now that the wife of an 
 artist should be quite a different person from such 
 as I am ; not so prosaic, so horribly insignificant. 
 Maiberg, I know that Leo suffers from these qualities 
 of mine. I know it from his own lips — he does not 
 love me. It is frightful, this certainty, but easier to 
 bear than my life has been for some time past. 
 Maiberg, do not say anything, I entreat you ; do 
 
Misjudged. 267 
 
 not try to persuade me that there is a misunder- 
 standing," she continued. " Do not drag me back 
 into the struggle, from which I have barely come off 
 conqueror. All I ask of you — you are Leo's friend 
 ' — is to beg him in my name to go away this very 
 evening. I cannot bear to have him here any 
 longer ; it is impossible under the circumstances. 
 Tell him that his * fetters ' have fallen off ; tell him 
 that he shall be legally free as soon as the first 
 months of deep mourning for mamma have passed. 
 I owe it to her — and he does, too — not to desecrate 
 that sacred period with a divorce suit." 
 
 " I was not prepared for this," replied Maiberg, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " But I can not do otherwise. I can not ! " she 
 cried. 
 
 " And what will become of Leo when you forsake 
 him ? " 
 
 " He will be a happier man than he has been 
 hitherto ; he will be a great artist, Herr Doctor." 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz," he said, " you are over-excited, 
 your nerves are overstrained. Calm yourself, and I 
 w^ill send Leo away. Do you stay here till you 
 recover yourself. Take courage, and one day you 
 will be able to banish these gloomy thoughts and 
 take up again with renewed courage the by no means 
 easy duty of being Leo's wife. But " 
 
 An indescribably sad smile parted her lips. 
 
 " Never ! " she said in aloud, clear voice. " I shall 
 stay here. I must stay here — his path and mine are 
 separated forever. But I wish you would say to 
 him, Herr Doctor, that ever since I have known him 
 i have thought only of his happiness. But no — " 
 
268 Misjudged. 
 
 she interrupted herself — " do not tell him that 
 Why should you ? " 
 
 " God knows whether you are doing right ! " 
 returned Maiberg. 
 
 " Go," she entreated, " go ! If he wishes to take 
 the evening train, he must start soon." i 
 
 She sank down, as if her strength had suddenly 
 failed her, into the chair in front of the writing- 
 table. 
 
 The young doctor left the room with a long, ear- 
 nest look at her. He had an inward conviction that 
 all was over between these two ; that this usually 
 patient, long-suffering woman could not act other- 
 wise. But, for Heaven's sake, what had happened ? 
 Hilda's image rose before him for a moment, but he 
 indignantly rejected the idea that she was in any 
 way connected with this breach. She was a foolish, 
 coquettish, passionate, spoiled child, but 
 
 "Where is Herr Jussnitz ?" he inquired of a 
 housemaid who was crossing the hall with a tray 
 of wine-glasses. 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz went to his room after the will 
 was read, and I have not seen him since." 
 
 Maiberg looked for him there, but without suc- 
 cess. Leo's elegant toilet articles were scattered 
 about, as usual, in artistic disorder. Among them 
 was a sketch-book, and in the corner by the stove 
 was a camp-chair and an artist's umbrella. His 
 trunk, whicK stood there with its lid thrown back, 
 was quite large, as if its owner had intended to make 
 a prolonged stay. Maiberg knew, however, that Leo, 
 since his marriage, would have considered it impos- 
 sible to make a journey in search of artistic studies 
 
Misjudged. 269 
 
 with a knapsack on his back. He had grown far too 
 aristocratic and self-indulgent for that. But in spite 
 of this the presence of these objects gave Maiberg 
 a feeling of comfort. He^ at least, did not seem to 
 be inexorable. Or had he no suspicion that this 
 " utter nonentity " of a wife did, after all, possess a 
 heart, and with this heart — force of character and a 
 strong will, and true womanly pride ? 
 
 Maiberg looked for his friend through all the 
 rooms, then in the garden, and at length he came 
 back to the house. In the sitting-room the com- 
 pany of mourners were partaking of a simple evening 
 meal. The two old aunts had red eyes in spite of 
 their joy over the nice little legacy which would 
 make it possible for them to pay the dog-tax for 
 their beloved Moppel without anxious calculations 
 and without feeling guilty of too great an extrava- 
 gance. They were holding each other's hands and 
 praising the dead woman in every possible way. But 
 no one here had seen Jussnitz. 
 
 Maiberg even looked into the counting-room, but 
 there stood Herr Kortmer at his desk, writing, still 
 in his suit of solemn black. When he heard a sound 
 behind him, he turned round, and, perceiving the 
 young doctor, he said, in some confusion : " I was 
 only writing out the advertisement of the change 
 of firm, Herr Doctor. It must be printed at 
 once." 
 
 " What ? " said Maiberg. " Have the iron-works 
 changed hands ? " 
 
 A smile like sunshine amidst dark clouds passed 
 over the old man's face. 
 
 " Henceforth we shall sigm : * Christonher finttlnh 
 
270 Misjudged, 
 
 Frey's Successor.' Well, and who do you think is 
 the successor, Herr Doctor ? It is our child ! If 
 you had only seen her as she stood up before the 
 lawyer and said, quite simply and decidedly : * I shall 
 remain here ! ' Ah, she has a mind of her own, and 
 independence. She is a real Frey, and I can assure 
 you that is a good thing for the business." 
 
 " Indeed ? Then Frau Antje is to be the chief ? " 
 
 " Frau Antje is chief." 
 
 " Can you not tell me where I can find Jussnitz ? " 
 inquired Maiberg. 
 
 ** Herr Jussnitz ? H'm ! He didn't hear much 
 in the will that was satisfactory to him. Well, he 
 couldn't expect anything better, Herr Doctor, for 
 my late mistress couldn't bear to die, she was so 
 anxious on his account. But you want to know 
 where he is ? Dear me, where should a man like 
 him be ? He has gone to walk, probably, studying 
 lights and moods and what not in the woods along 
 the river. I don't know, but I suppose that is where 
 he is." And he went back to his advertisement. 
 * In future we shall sign : * Christopher Gottlob 
 'Frey's Successor.' " 
 
 Maiberg nodded to the old man. It had suddenly 
 occurred to him that Jussnitz might be in the nur- 
 sery. Running up two steps at a time, he mounted 
 the stairs and was presently knocking at the door of 
 the room he knew was assigned to Hilda and the 
 child. 1 
 
 " Come in ! " was called out in a low tone, and lie 
 opened the door. It was almost dark in the room, 
 or at least it seemed so to him as he came in from 
 the light halL 
 
Misjudged. 27 1 
 
 " Are you here, Fraulein von Zweidorf ? " 
 
 " Yes," came the reply from a comer of the sofa ; 
 " please walk softly, the baby is asleep." 
 
 " And what are you doing here in the dark ? ** 
 
 ** I am worrying myself. I want to go away.** 
 
 *' Where ? " 
 
 " Anywhere, to get away from here." 
 
 ** But no one keeps you here," he said. 
 
 " No, but I cannot do what I like. Please ask 
 Frau Jussnitz to let me go." 
 
 " Anywhere ? " he repeated gently. It had such 
 a sad sound. " Do you know," he continued, obey- 
 ing a sudden impulse, " that Frau Jussnitz is going 
 to stay here forever ? " 
 
 " Forever ? " she repeated incredulously. " And 
 what does he say to that ? " 
 
 "He?" . 
 
 "Yes— he!" 
 
 " He is not going to stay here.** 
 
 Maiberg heard suddenly a gasping, deep-drawn 
 breath. 
 
 " And where is he going to stay ? " she asked in 
 a hoarse tone. 
 
 " Anywhere ! " he replied. 
 
 She started up from the sofa, and as she bent to- 
 ward him, in spite of the darkness, he could see the 
 young girl's unnaturally large, anxious eyes. " What 
 do you mean by that ? " she gasped out, clutching 
 at his arm with her trembling hand. 
 
 " It means that two persons are about to separate 
 for all eternity." 
 
 She sank back with a low, wailing cry. 
 
 "And on my account, on my account ! '* 
 
?72 Misjudged. 
 
 Maiberg stood gazing at her without moving. So 
 it was really so ! Convulsive sobs shook the girl's 
 whole frame ; she cried as only a child can cry, in 
 a heart-breaking, piteous fashion, — a child who has 
 been too severely punished, and whose self-respect 
 has been deeply injured. And, all at once, the 
 slender young figure sank on her knees before the 
 young man, two hot feverish hands clasped his, and 
 in the midst of her sobs she gasped out the words : 
 *' Oh, I did not realize what I was doing. I only 
 meant — oh, don't think so badly of me — I — O God, 
 I cannot say it — oh, do beg Frau Jussnitz to 
 listen to me — I swear to you I " 
 
 The rest was choked by her sobs. 
 
 He held the trembling little hands firmly in his 
 own ; her wet cheek rested on his right hand, and 
 he had not the heart to thrust it away. 
 
 " Hilda, you love him, do you not ? " 
 
 " Yes — I did love him at that time when he was 
 painting me in his city studio, before I knew he was 
 married. It was so sweet — ah, and I was so un- 
 happy when I found out " 
 
 "And now?" 
 
 She made no reply ; she only shook her head 
 violently. 
 
 " You were playing with him, Fraulein Hilda ; I 
 saw it with my own eyes." 
 
 There was silence for a while. " Yes," she said 
 then. 
 
 " You wished to make it plain that — but you did 
 not realize what you were doing, did you ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did ! " was the answer, scarcely above her 
 breath. 
 
Misjudged. 273 
 
 " For Heaven's sake ! But were you not sorry for 
 his wife ? " 
 
 "No," she replied. "I thought it was true 
 what they all said, that she had no ideas beyond her 
 housekeeping. She was always so different from 
 the others. Oh, I would give my life if I had 
 never seen him. " And she began to sob again. 
 
 Maiberg felt strangely moved. He could not 
 help recalling the wistful look with which she had 
 caught at his arm that evening at Barrenberg's, as if 
 entreating his aid. 
 
 " Poor, foolish little child ! " he murmured. 
 
 "What do you think? For Heaven's sake, Herr 
 Doctor, tell me what I shall do. People will ask 
 why they have separated — my God ! if my name 
 should be mentioned ! Dear Herr Doctor, my 
 father would shoot me dead, my father is so fright- 
 fully strict about such matters, and — he is quite 
 right, too." 
 
 " Your father is very fond of you ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes," she replied, impulsively ; "he loves 
 me, and he is so good, and I would rather die than 
 stand up before him and see his eyes fixed on me 
 so full of grief and reproach ; and it would be the 
 best thing for me." 
 
 Her head sank down upon his hand again, and 
 once more he felt the streaming tears. 
 
 " Can they say anything against me ? I did 
 wrong, but I have not been wicked, dear Herr 
 Doctor," she sobbed. 
 
 "I am afraid you can hardly escape," he re- 
 marked, quietly. 
 
 She ceased sobbing in shieer terror.. "Bttt whv 
 
274 Misjudged. 
 
 did she bring me here with her ? Why did she not 
 turn me out of the house ?" she said at length. 
 
 He put his hand on her shoulder. "Because 
 Frau Antje has a noble nature," he said, slowly ; 
 "because she would not expose her to reproach 
 who would one day fill her place. Did you not 
 understand that ? " 
 
 Hilda uttered a low cry, and started up from the 
 floor. " I — in her place ? Oh, never, never ! From 
 the very moment I heard that he had a wife, I " — 
 she hesitated for a fitting word — "hated him ! No 
 — not exactly that — at first — I don't know how 
 it was, it was all so dreadful — but afterward I 
 hated him, hated him with all my might — and 
 now " 
 
 " Hilda ! " he said, reprovingly. 
 
 She was quiet for a while ; nothing was audible 
 but her hurried breathing. 
 
 " I will speak to her," she said at length in a de- 
 termined tone, " and then I will go away, far away 
 — to England — or, farther still, to America ! " And 
 as if an idea had suddenly occurred to her, she 
 added : " Give me a recommendation iot Brazil — 
 you were there a long time." 
 
 " And what will you do in Brazil ? " he asked in 
 a tone of fatherly mildness. 
 
 " Earn my living ! So many girls go to foreign 
 lands." 
 
 He smiled and said : " For the present you will 
 stay here. It is the only thing you can do now. I 
 have no other advice to give you. / will speak to 
 Frau Antje, not you ; but this is not the proper time 
 to choose. And now good-night, Fraulein Hilda " 
 
Misjudged. 2^$ 
 
 — he had suddenly grown very formal — " try to 
 calm yourself." 
 
 When he had opened the door to leave the room, 
 he turned round again, and saw Hilda standing in 
 the stream of light that came in from the hall. Her 
 wonderful eyes were fixed on him with a helpless, 
 despairing expression, and her loosened oair hung 
 heavily about her tearful face. 
 
 He was shocked at the sight. " Keep up a good 
 heart, Fraulein Hilda ! " he said, earnestly, but his 
 heart began to beat more rapidly, and he suddenly 
 felt as if he would like to draw the foolish little 
 thing, who had done so much harm in her pas- 
 sionate resentment, close to his breast and tell her 
 how sorry he felt for her. Then he became con- 
 scious that he had stood there too long, and he 
 bowed to her and shut the door, much more 
 violently than one usually shuts the door of a room 
 where a baby is asleep. 
 
 When he was outside his face took on an expres- 
 sion of vexation. "Old fellow," he said to him- 
 self, " don't be a fool I She is not — not at all what 
 you want, do you understand ? Be sensible ; give 
 your message to Leo, and then think about packing 
 your trunk, for this is no place for you." 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Maiberg knocked at Leo's chamber door. 
 
 '* Come in," was the reply, and he entered. He 
 received a somewhat ironical bow in return for his 
 "Good evening." Leo was in his dressing-gown, 
 and a large glass half-filled with hot punch stood 
 on the table in front of the lamp. In the comer 
 lay a heap of wet clothes, from which a little stream 
 of water was running down over the well-scoured 
 floor. 
 
 " What is this ? " inquired Maiberg. 
 
 'Water, pure water, from the little stream out 
 there." 
 
 "Have you had an accident? Did you slip on 
 the boards, or ? " 
 
 " I did not do that, but I had an accident in con- 
 nection with those boards. I hope you will utilize 
 your new position as adviser to the mistress of 
 * Gottessegen ' by doing a good deed, and will insist 
 upon it that those confounded boards shall be taken 
 away. Drunken men, or those who are subject to 
 giddiness, cannot possibly cross them without dan- 
 ger. As future iEsculapius to the mines, it is your 
 bounden duty to look out for the bodily welfare of 
 those confided to your care. I suppose I am not 
 mistaken in taking it for granted that your endless 
 interview with the chief of the works this afternoon 
 
Misjudged. ill 
 
 was for the purpose of settling this matter ? I am 
 sure I cannot imagine what else of importance you 
 could have to discuss with her. The Frau Bergrath 
 is now already resting from her labors, and no 
 longer requires your assistance." 
 
 During this speech Maiberg had gazed silently at 
 his friend — who was walking up and down like a 
 caged lion — with eyes that grew more and more 
 anxious the more violent Leo grew. 
 
 "Leo," he said, at length, "will you not sit 
 down ? " 
 
 " It is very kind of you to offer me a chair in this 
 house ; it is quite in accordance with your new po- 
 sition, which I was just talking about." 
 
 Maiberg paid no attention to this remark, but 
 drew forward a chair in front of Leo, who had 
 thrown himself down on the sofa, and seating him- 
 self, he said : " I have something to say to you, Leo. 
 I wish you would imagine we were as we used to be, 
 when you did not dislike me but trusted in me." 
 
 " Perhaps you bring me a message from my 
 wife?" 
 
 " Yes, Leo ; and now be once more the mild, rea- 
 sonable, and just person you used to be." 
 
 " You seem to consider me rather weak in intel- 
 lect at present ? " 
 
 Maiberg made no reply to this. He only said, 
 quietly : " Your wife begs that you will leave Ober- 
 rode, as at present she does not feel able to attend 
 to the settlement of all these details which your 
 strained relations unfortunately require. She begs 
 that you will have patience until the first days of 
 mourning for her mother have passed." 
 
278 Misjudged. 
 
 Leo Jussnitz looked fixedly at the speaker for a 
 moment, and then he burst into a loud, convulsive 
 laugh, 
 
 " I would advise you, Leo," continued Maiberg, 
 quite unmoved, " to let her have her way. In the 
 condition in which you both are at present — you in 
 a state of extreme irritation ; she, in one of iron 
 determination — it will be better for you to avoid 
 each other. Let some little time pass, and then, 
 perhaps — who knows ? — there may be found some 
 way out of it." 
 
 Leo had grown perfectly calm. " So that is why 
 I got such a curt refusal to my humble request 
 for an audience," he said at length. " She will not 
 see me ! She is right ; it is better that I should go." 
 
 " No ; she certainly will not, Leo." 
 
 Leo got up and began to resume his walk up 
 and down the room. Maiberg remained seated, 
 playing with the fringe of the table-cloth. He did 
 not like to look at the pale face of the man who 
 had been the dearest friend of his youth. He knew 
 there would be a violent scene, he was so well ac- 
 quainted with his character. 
 
 ** Perhaps you will now undertake your long- 
 planned journey to Italy, Leo ? " he began again. 
 
 ** How beautifully you have arranged it all ! " 
 was the sarcastic reply. " Why don't you put me, 
 without more ado, on board an out-going ship, as 
 people are in the habit of doing with those whom 
 they find in their way ? I suppose you two have 
 also settled the precise amount that will enable me 
 to set myself up in business when I get there, eh ? " 
 
 " The proposal to go to Italy c?m2 from me alone. 
 
Misjudged. 279 
 
 Leo, " said Maiberg. " Your wife has not made the 
 slightest attempt to advise you." 
 
 The agitated man suddenly stopped in front of 
 his friend ; a small blue vein in his forehead stood 
 out prominently, and he breathed with difficulty. 
 
 " Wolf," he began slowly, his voice growing more 
 loud and excited as he went on, "Wolf, what did 
 I write to you a while ago ? Did I say too much 
 about my wife ? She is petty, she is foolish, she 
 is revengeful, revengeful to the last degree, and^ 
 she is the wife of an artist, she " 
 
 And he struck his forehead with the palm of his 
 hand and laughed. 
 
 " Leo ! " exclaimed his friend, reproachfully. 
 
 " Be silent," cried the irritated man. " I know 
 her better than you do ! Do you know what in- 
 duces her to bury herself alive here ? In the first 
 place it is jealousy, the meanest, the most pitiful 
 jealousy. She wishes to force me to live in this 
 solitude because here she is hardly likely to find 
 any woman who would throw her into the shade ; 
 and then — it is that wretched mercenary spirit of 
 hers — she thinks she can save up her pennies here 
 as her mother did before her. Here with the best 
 will in the world you can't spend money. You do 
 not need to tell me what sort of spirit rules under 
 this roof. And it is here that I sought the com- 
 panion of my life, and thought if she were willing 
 to give herself to me, what could she care for the 
 miserable money ! I believed in a warm, hearty, 
 mutual interchange, Wolf — ah, it is too pitiful ! 
 Why did I prove such a wretched shot ? Let her 
 stay here in the devil's name, and watch over her 
 
28o Misjudged. 
 
 money-bags like a dragon. Do what you like — 
 but let me get away from here as soon as possible." 
 
 Maiberg suffered him to go on without inter- 
 ruption ; and when he had finished he made no at- 
 tempt at soothing him. Any defence of his wife 
 now would only have been pouring oil on the flames. 
 
 " If you will allow it, Leo, I will go with you." 
 
 " Much obliged ! Don't disturb j-^ourself. Your 
 presence here probably cannot be dispensed with." 
 
 " I have no more to do here, Leo. I should go 
 to-morrow morning, at any rate." 
 
 " Go — whenever you like ! " 
 
 " Certainly ! May I ask you one question, Leo ? " 
 
 " You may ask. I cannot say that I will answer 
 it." 
 
 "What was your idea about Hildegarde von 
 Zweidorf ? " 
 
 The painter stopped and drew a deep breath. 
 " Hilda ? " he gasped out. " Yes, another victim to 
 a petty nature ! Dragged into this wilderness and 
 shut up in the nursery ! To clip the wings of a 
 creature bom to fly among the clouds like an eagle, 
 that is the good work of the so-called reasonable, 
 upright, virtuous housewife ! Perhaps she has a 
 situation all ready for her in the counting-house, or 
 in the kitchen, very likely. The poor thing is quite 
 powerless in her clutches, for she spied upon us as 
 I, in my emotion at the thought of parting with the 
 only creature in the world who cast a little sunlight 
 on my path, kissed the girl's hand a little more 
 warmly than fashion permits. That — oh, bah ! It 
 is not worth speaking about. I can do nothing for 
 her now — nothing ! " 
 
Misjudged. 281 
 
 And again that blue vein swelled on his forehead. 
 
 " Why do you look at me like that ? " he cried to 
 his friend. " Do me the only favor in your power, 
 and leave me. I will not see any of you again ; 
 not one of you. Do you understand ? But tell my 
 wife that I am glad to go ; that I aw delighted to 
 consent to a separation. That from this moment I 
 consider myself z.free man, and I only regret that 
 I cannot give her back every penny that her folly 
 in marrying me has cost her ! Perhaps she may 
 get some Gradgrind for her second husband, who 
 will help her to get back what she lost through the 
 first. I hope so with all my heart." 
 
 He threw off his dressing-gown, snatched a coat 
 from the hook, took up an overcoat off the chair, and 
 his hat. It was a soft felt hat, dripping with water. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Leo, where are you going ? 
 Man, don't lose your head entirely ! " 
 
 But Jussnitz only shrugged his shoulders and 
 marched out of the door. 
 
 Maiberg hurried into his own room to get his fur 
 coat and hat. He dared not let him go like this. 
 
 Leo rushed along the corridor. He had already 
 reached the staircase, when he turned round, after a 
 moment's hesitation, and walked quickly back to the 
 nursery. A short knock at the door, a turn of the 
 knob, and, without waiting For an answer, he was 
 inside. 
 
 " Who is it ? " called out Hilda. 
 
 " I, Leo Jussnitz ! " replied a voice which she 
 would hardly have recognized, so hoarse was it. 
 
 The young girl started up and uttered a low cry 
 
 *^YouV' 
 
aSa Misjudged. 
 
 '* To be sure ! I might say I had come to say 
 good-by to my child, but why should I tell a false- 
 hood? I wish to say good-by Xoyou. I wish to leii 
 you how much I regret — I wish to ask your pardon, 
 Hilda." 
 
 She had lighted a lamp with her trembling hands. 
 He could now see her tear-stained face and her eyes 
 flashing with anger. 
 
 " I do not recall anything that I have to forgive, 
 Herr Jussnitz," she replied, coldly. "You have 
 probably made a mistake and wish to ofifer your 
 apologies to your wife." 
 
 He looked at her in surprise, " You have been 
 schooled admirably," he said, ** but you must not 
 imagine that I shall take this lofty reproof in 
 earnest." 
 
 " Why not ? •* 
 
 " Because your eyes told me a very diflferent story 
 only a few days ago." 
 
 A deep flush overspread her face, and the small 
 hands were clenched ; her pride and mortification 
 almost robbed her of her senses. 
 
 '* My eyes ? My eyes have now and never had 
 anything to say to you ! " she cried, vehemently. 
 
 " Nothing — nothing at all ? " he said, mockingly. 
 
 Her breath came quickly, the tears rolled down 
 her cheeks. She determined that, cost what it 
 might, she would now and forever disabuse him of 
 the idea that she had ever felt the slightest interest 
 in him. 
 
 " You were always perfectly indifferent to me ! " 
 she gasped out. 
 
 He gave a short laugh and made her a low bow. 
 
Misjudged. 483 
 
 ** Why, then, this passionate denial ? Do not agi- 
 tate yourself ! " he said. " I believe you, Hilda, 
 since you wish it to be so, I give you my word, 
 I believe you, until you " 
 
 " But it is so, it is really so ! " she interposed. 
 
 " I am convinced of it," he said, sarcastically. 
 " Nearly a week has passed since that evening in 
 Sibyllenburg — of course jj'^a have forgotten all about 
 it. I have been described to you as a monster of 
 iniquity, to whom nothing in the world is sacred ; 
 they have been preaching to you about morals and 
 decency and Mrs. Grundy, and — you are a good, 
 obedient child. It is quite right of you ; I wish 
 you all sorts of happiness as a reward for your docil- 
 ity. Farewell ! " 
 
 " No one has said a word about you, and no one 
 has given me advice ! " cried the girl, quite beside 
 herself. " And if you wish to hear the exact truth, I 
 made my eyes lie to you on purpose to revenge my- 
 self on you. It was only a whim, a madness, if you 
 like, of mine, for what can you possibly be to me ? 
 I have loved another man for a long, long time. 
 There, now, you know the truth ! " 
 
 He took up his hat, which he had let fall. The 
 candle cast its flickering light on his pale, quivering 
 features, and on the girl who, covering her face 
 with both hands, had turned her back on him and 
 stood there trembling all over. 
 
 " Another, Hilda ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 She gave a sob as she bent her head. 
 
 " Maiberg ? " he asked, and as she made no reply, 
 he said : "Of course it is Maiberg." 
 
 He suddenly laughed aloud. 
 
584 Misjudged. 
 
 " Well, then — good luck to you, Hilda ! Fare- 
 well! I — surprises come to us all now and then. 
 My heartiest congratulations." 
 
 All this was uttered between outbursts of the 
 same loud laughter, which sounded strangely out of 
 place within these walls from which the dead had 
 just been carried out. Still laughing, he left the 
 room, where the terrified cries of the child mingled 
 with the sobs of the young girl, and still laughing, 
 he walked along the corridor and reached the stair- 
 case. 
 
 There he met Maiberg coming hurriedly up the 
 stairs. 
 
 '* I have been looking for you everywhere, Leo." 
 
 The laughter ceased ; the painter measured his 
 friend from head to foot. 
 
 *' You are a devilish fellow, Maiberg," he cried, 
 ** but I don't grudge you your good fortune ; I was 
 never a dog in the manger. I only pity you for 
 having the misery of such a choice. Well, good- 
 by ; don't trouble yourself about me. You might 
 be missed here where there are so many tears in 
 beautiful eyes to be wiped away." 
 
 He was about to pass his friend, but his steps were 
 arrested by a confused murmur of voices coming up 
 from the hall below ; a shrill woman's voice rose 
 above all the rest. In the large, dimly-lighted hall 
 several people had collected round a poor woman, 
 who shrieked all the louder the more they tried to 
 soothe her. 
 
 " Let the man who pulled him out of the water," 
 she cried, " give him the money to buy his gin, too^ 
 for he can't live without it ! " 
 
Misjudged. 285 
 
 Leo stopped short half-way downstairs. 
 
 " There, you see, Wolf, that is just my luck ! I 
 make a mess of it, even when I risk my life for 
 another." 
 
 " Sir," screamed the woman, when she perceived 
 Leo, " I would have thanked you on my knees if 
 you had only let him drown ! It would have been 
 the best thing that could happen to him, and — I — I 
 might have had a few years of comfort still. Oh, 
 don't laugh," she continued, as Leo gave a short 
 Hugh. " You don't any of you here know what it 
 is do be chained to a drunken sot from the time you 
 were eighteen ! You don't know what a misery it 
 is to see a person you are fond of going down into 
 shame and degradation ; you don't know what it is 
 to have to give up all your hard-earned money and 
 see it squandered in bad company ; nor what it is to 
 give kindness and get blows in return — always a 
 blow and abuse — and to be told that you are the 
 curse of a man, when you would have been ready 
 to lie down and let him walk over you ! You don't 
 know how awful it is, if you have known better 
 days, and yet you go sinking deeper and deeper in 
 vileness and misery, and you have children, too, 
 that you can't save ! " And she covered her face 
 with her clenched fists. 
 
 " And why," said Leo's voice, with a sneer, " do 
 you treat us to a scene like this, you most amiable 
 of wives ? Take yourself off ! — ah ! yes," he broke 
 off, suddenly ; " I forgot " 
 
 The woman threw her torn shawl over her head, 
 with a dull groan. 
 
 " Ah, sir," she sobbed, " I ought to thank you 
 
286 Misjudged. 
 
 fr>r risking your life for the miserable wretch, but I 
 can't. Don't think me a wicked woman ; I was 
 too good to him — I was too fond of him. It is no 
 use to pardon everything out of pure love, even 
 wrong things. If I had only scolded him in the 
 first place — if I had threatened to leave him — it 
 would have been much better. But I thought it 
 would vex him, and he was the master, and so I 
 only cried by myself, though it was my duty to keep 
 him in the straight path." 
 
 The poor woman's self -accusation sounded so true 
 and so sad that no one present felt like turning her 
 out forcibly. 
 
 Maiberg hastened to put a few silver pieces into 
 her trembling hand. ; 
 
 " There, now go," he said, leading her toward 
 the door ; "by and by I will come and talk to you." 
 
 " God reward you ! God reward you ! " cried the 
 poor creature, and when she reached the outer 
 door she turned round and nodded gratefully with 
 her haggard, yellow face to the young physician. 
 Then she was suddenly swallowed up in the dark- 
 ness outside, as if she feared her treasure would be 
 taken from her. She vanished to go and procure 
 for the miserable wretch whom she loved, the cordial 
 for which he longed. 
 
 Antje stood, forgotten by every one, on the 
 threshold of the little study, the door of which was 
 hidden by the staircase. Her eyes were fixed on 
 the man who, at this moment, was about to leave 
 her forever. She had heard the woman's words, 
 and understood that Leo had saved a man from 
 drowning ; her heart beat violently at the thought 
 
Misjudged. 287 
 
 that he himself might so easily have been drowned, 
 and she felt that this act of her husband's was like 
 balm to the wound which he had inflicted upon her. 
 
 He moved forward into the hall ; the funeral 
 guests, who had risen from the supper-table when 
 they heard the noise, the servant-maids, the porter, 
 and coachman had gone away, and only Maiberg, 
 Jussnitz, and a man from the counting-house were 
 now talking together. Antje saw the latter hand a 
 letter and a telegram to Leo ; she saw him put them 
 both into his pocket with an effort at carelessness, 
 and heard him say: 
 
 " I will send you my address in a few days." 
 
 Then he and Maiberg moved toward the door. 
 
 The young wife leaned against the door-post; 
 her eyes were strangely wide and fixed. When two 
 people separate like this they do not say farewell ; it 
 could not be borne. She saw the door open ; she 
 felt the cold, damp air blowing in, saw the door 
 shut behind him — and he was gone. 
 
 Suddenly her limbs failed her ; she staggered 
 back into the little room, and shutting the door 
 with all the strength she could summon, she sank 
 upon her knees. 
 
 It was all over now — all over I 
 
 She felt nothing but a dull ache at her heart and 
 in her head. She never knew how long she lay 
 there. At length she sat up and dragged herself 
 over to the writing-table and laid her head down 
 on the baize-covered surface. 
 
 She kept thinking, thinking all manner of con- 
 fused thoughts — that she envied the woman who 
 could give a poisonous cordial to the man she loved ; 
 
•88' Misjudged. 
 
 that Leo might have been drowned in his work of 
 mercy, and she could not have borne it to stand 
 beside his dead body without ever having spoken 
 a word of reconciliation. And she thought that 
 that poor woman was better than she, for she had 
 clung to the man to whom she had pledged her 
 faith, in spite of misery and abuse. 
 
 And then she started up. No ! A thousand 
 times no ! She could not do otherwise ; she ought 
 not to keep him beside her ; she was only a chain 
 to drag him down — his chain — and she could not 
 pass a moment beside him without being forced to 
 feel how unhappy she made him, how her presence 
 weighed upon him ! No, no ! It was all over, it 
 must be all over ! 
 
 Outside she heard a light step at her door. 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz I " said a clear voice. 
 
 She did not stir. 
 
 " Only one word, Frau Jussnitz I Please, 
 please ! " 
 
 Antje held her breath and looked gloomily at the 
 door. The handle moved slightly. In vain ; the 
 door was locked, and the steps reluctantly retreated. 
 
 Antje leaned her weary head on her hand again. 
 At last she roused herself and rang for the house- 
 maid. The latter came in inquiring if Fraulein 
 von Zweidorf was here. 
 
 *' No." 
 
 '* Good Heavens, we have been looking all over 
 the house for her, and we cannot find her any- 
 where. And the master has gone away, and the 
 Herr Doctor, too." 
 
 The young wife made no reply. She calmly or- 
 
Misjudged. 289 
 
 dered the girl to look after the child, and then 
 went downstairs. In the hall she met Maiberg. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " she asked. 
 
 " I have been to see that unlucky drunkard," he 
 replied, with a slight touch of irony. " He just 
 died before my eyes, and so his wife has her wish. 
 But I never witnessed a more heart-breaking burst 
 of grief than hers when I told her it was all over." 
 
 Antje nodded with a strange look. " And where 
 is he ? " she asked at length. 
 
 Maiberg sighed. 
 
 " Leo was to wait for me before the house in 
 which the dead man lay, but when I came back 
 he was gone. One of the miners saw him on the 
 high-road. I am going to have a horse saddled 
 and ride after him ; I promised him I would." 
 
 She did not look at him. "And where is she ! " 
 she asked. - 
 
 "Who?" ^ 
 
 " Hildegarde ; we have been looking for her 
 everywhere." 
 
 Then she turned to shake hands with her cousin, 
 who had just come up to say good-by. 
 
 " Cousin, command me if you ever need my ser- 
 vices," he said. 
 
 '•' Thank you ! Are you going to J ? " 
 
 *' No ; through Oberrode, past the cliffs." 
 
 She nodded wearily. "A safe home-coming, 
 Ferdinand!" 
 
 Maiberg hurried past her up the staircase, but 
 Hildegarde's room was vacant — and the night out- 
 side was so dark and stormy, and she was so young, 
 so alone, so unprotected ! Of course she had goae, 
 
290 Misjudged. 
 
 with her usual impulsiveness. But where had she 
 gone? 
 
 He lighted a candle and looked about for a note 
 or something which might give him a clue, but in 
 vain. He rushed into his own room — it was a cor- 
 ner-room. The spring storm beat against the shut- 
 ters, and the columns of fire from the works shed a 
 peculiar red, flickering light over it. He stopped in 
 the middle of the room and listened to the howling of 
 the wind. Good Heavens, where was that thought- 
 less child in this dreadful night ? He pulled up 
 the overcoat, which he had half thrown off, with a 
 sudden jerk over his shoulders. The horse must be 
 saddled by this time ; perhaps he might overtake her 
 on the high-road, with — him ? In the deepest agita- 
 tion he caught up his hat, but something moved in 
 the dark corner by the window, and a slender figure 
 glided toward him. 
 
 " Hilda ! " he cried out. By the flickering light 
 from outside, he could see the same pale, despair- 
 ing face she had worn before. 
 
 " Good God, Hilda, to what misconstructions 
 you expose yourself ! " he said, reprovingly, as she 
 hung down her head. 
 
 " I was afraid," she said in a low tone ; " where 
 could I go ? " 
 
 " And so you came to me ? " 
 
 He threw off his overcoat and flung his hat down 
 on the table. 
 
 " To whom could I go ? " she asked, as if it were 
 quite a matter of course that she should take ref- 
 uge with him. " When I knocked at Frau Antje's 
 door, she would not let me in." 
 
Misjudged. 201 
 
 He took her trembling hands in his. They were 
 cold as ice. 
 
 " To whom could you go ? " he repeated, softly. 
 But as he heard steps outside in the corridor, he 
 started and looked at the door. " You must go 
 straight to your own room," he whispered, dropping 
 her hands. 
 
 She drew away from him, and turning her back, 
 she covered her glowing face with her hands. 
 
 " Hilda," he continued in a suppressed voice, 
 " even you can understand that no one must find 
 you here. What did you want of me ? Speak 
 quickly, for one of the servants may come in at any 
 moment." 
 
 " Good Heavens, what have I done now ? " she 
 cried. " Oh, if you only knew all ! Have I then 
 no refuge .? I want nothing but to be allowed to go 
 away, only to go away from here ! " 
 
 " Yes, you shall go if you like. But you cannot 
 go this evening, you silly child." 
 
 " But to-morrow — to-morrow ! Please, please ! " 
 
 " To-morrow, or the next day. Now I must go 
 and look for Jussnitz ; then I shall come back once 
 more in any case — and then — will you be reason- 
 able?" 
 
 She nodded. She was standing before him again, 
 crying softly. 
 
 " What will become of you, Hilda, without a firm, 
 faithful hand to guide you ? " he said, gently. 
 
 " Oh, if I could only be different ! " she sobbed 
 And, as if to prove that this " being different " was 
 not to be hoped for very soon, she rushed thought- 
 lessly out of the room. Outside, she looked about 
 
292 Misjudged. 
 
 on all sides like a frightened deer. Thank God, the 
 corridor was empty ! She slipped across into her 
 own room, shut the door noiselessly behind her, and 
 stood still, breathing quickly. Then she groped her 
 way to the sofa, crouched down in a comer of it, 
 and burst into a passion of tears ; but she was no 
 longer afraid. 
 
 When a few minutes later she heard, between the 
 howling of the wind and the strokes of the hammers, 
 the clattering hoofs of a galloping horse, she raised 
 her head and clasped her hands. Maiberg came 
 back toward morning. He had not found Leo, 
 either at the station or at any of the inns in the little 
 watering-place near by. He must have gone through 
 the woods to another station on the south side of 
 the mountains. 
 
 Maiberg went to bed tired to death. "Poor, 
 foolish fellow ! " he murmured. " How can a man 
 throw away his happiness like that ? " 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 The storm was raging in the leafless beech- 
 woods ; it shook the tops of the old trees till they 
 bent and creaked, occasionally flung a dead bough 
 to the ground, where it fell with a crash among the 
 underbrush, and howled and whistled through the 
 air in every imaginable key. 
 
 It was the sort of weather when the people of the 
 Harz say the Wild Huntsman traverses his domain 
 with his uncanny crew, weather in which one would 
 not turn a dog from the door, much less a man. 
 
 But the wild night seemed to have no terrors for 
 the man who, avoiding the travelled carriage road, 
 was climbing the steep woodland path, still covered 
 with snow, which led up from the valley where the 
 iron-works were situated ; and he seemed to be 
 perfectly acquainted with this region. Up here the 
 snow still covered the ground, and the pale moon 
 shed a faint light over the landscape, though now 
 and then, when the storm -driven clouds passed ovei 
 the moon, the woods were all blended together in 
 one dark mass. But this did not last long, and 
 then the black trunks of the huge trees stood out 
 all the more distinctly from the snowy background. 
 
 It is not one of those spring nights when the 
 hunter creeps out after the shy mountain cock ; it 
 is still winter up here, and more like the nights 
 when poachers lurk behind the great tree-trunks 
 
294 Misjudged. 
 
 and spread out their snares for their prey. And 
 there is plenty of game here. When the forester in 
 his little house on the high plateau hears a shot, he 
 mutters an oath in his pillows, and fancies himself 
 sending a bullet after the vile poachers, which will 
 put an end to their midnight forays forever. For 
 who else would be shooting at this time of night ? 
 
 The man who had been walking on so rapidly 
 stopped for a moment and lifted his hat from his 
 burning forehead, 
 
 " It would be the best thing I could do ! " he 
 muttered under his breath. His life was an utter 
 failure in any case ; he had been disappointed in 
 everything ! He had failed in everything. Even 
 the slightest faithfulness and devotion, such as the 
 most miserable woman feels for the companion of 
 her life, had been denied him. 
 
 She had sent him away ! Where he went was a 
 matter of indifference to her, so long as he went out 
 of her sight ! 
 
 From the iron- works, "Gottessegen," to the forest- 
 house, was a walk of an hour and a half, but the 
 person accomplishing the distance in that time must 
 be a good walker. The Frau Forsterin, with the 
 reddish-gold hair, always took much longer to reach 
 Oberrode ; she had such little feet and wore such 
 dainty shoes. She had been down there to-day, 
 ostensibly to attend the funeral, but in reality to 
 see Herr Jussnitz, who had painted her once so 
 beautifully that she had appeared in all the news- 
 papers. Then he had been such a bright, merry 
 young fellow. She had come home in the twilight, 
 
Misjudged. 295 
 
 and now she was sitting after supper in the hot 
 little parlor, telling her husband, who sat smoking 
 on the bench by the stove, how very much changed 
 Herr Jussnitz was, that he did not look in the least 
 like himself, he looked so proud and so indifferent. 
 As she talked she went on caressing "Lola," a little 
 dachshund with intelligent eyes and lively ways, 
 like her mistress, and a reddish-brown coat, just the 
 color of her mistress's hair. 
 
 The forester shook his head. *'Ah, I am sorry 
 for that ; his riches haven't done him much good," 
 
 " I only wish / had some of them," she laughed. 
 " Eh, Lola, we would soon learn how to ride in a 
 coach ! And I would buy you a sky-blue neck rib- 
 bon, Lola ; that is our color." 
 
 *' You shouldn't always be chattering such non- 
 sense," said the grave-looking man with the weath- 
 er-beaten face. 
 
 " Oh, good gracious," she continued, notwith- 
 standing, " how lucky Frau Jussnitz is ! " 
 
 " You ought to have married a rich man, then " 
 
 " Yes, so I ought — if it hadn't been for that stupid 
 Oberrode shooting-match ! " 
 
 At this her husband began to smile. 
 
 ** And if you hadn't been made king of the festi- 
 val," she continued. "But I fell in love with you, 
 and when I danced with you I felt as if I were a 
 real queen. So silly ! And the next day all th€ 
 splendor was over." 
 
 "But not the love," he said. 
 
 "Oh, well, I suppose you know," she pouted. 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said ; " we got engaged much too 
 quickly. If I had only known then what a little 
 
296 Misjudged. 
 
 wild-cat it was I had caught, I would have let you 
 
 go- 
 
 " Oh, would you, though ! " 
 
 " Well, there is the door ; you can go now — and 
 be quick about it ! " he laughed, and standing up 
 he clapped his hands as if he were frightening off a 
 chicken. 
 
 " Good-by, then ! " she cried, and with one bound 
 she was at the door. " Come, Lola ! " 
 
 All the other dogs, which were lying asleep in 
 front of the oven, were wakened by Lola's barking, 
 and added their noise to the laughter of the for- 
 ester and the merry scolding of his wife. He caught 
 her round the waist and kissed her, and between 
 the kisses he kept saying : " Go, then ! Why don't 
 you go ? " 
 
 " Good Heavens, do quiet those dogs ! " she cried, 
 " It is enough to drive one mad." 
 
 But the dogs forced their way past the couple 
 and rushed to the door. 
 
 " There is some one there," said the forester, re- 
 leasing his wife. 
 
 She seized the lamp and stood in the doorway 
 of the room. Her husband in the mean time had 
 opened the outer door, but he started back in amaze- 
 ment, and his wife nearly dropped her lamp in her 
 surprise. 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz ! " they both exclaimed in a 
 breath. " Good Heavens, in this weather and so 
 late ! What is the matter ? Have you lost your 
 way ? " 
 
 " Can you put me up for the night "i " he inquired 
 
 " Why, to be sure, Herr Jussnitz ! " 
 
Misjudged. 297 
 
 "Well, then, give me my old room till morning, 
 and some schnapps, if you can, for my teeth are 
 chattering with the cold." 
 
 They led the way into the parlor, and he sat down 
 on a bench in front of the stove ; the dogs sniffed 
 at his clothes ; the beech logs crackled as they 
 burned, and " Frau Dorchen " brought out the bot- 
 tle of Nordhauser, and the stout little glasses from 
 the wall-cupboard. 
 
 He caught at it eagerly and drank it down. 
 
 " You know how to make yourselves comfortable 
 up here," he said. 
 
 " I should just like to know what sent you up 
 here to-night," said the curious woman. " It isn't 
 nearly time yet for the mountain cocks with all this 
 snow." 
 
 " Ask no questions, but get the room ready for 
 Herr Jussnitz, and make a fire there," said the for- 
 ester. • 
 
 And when she had left the room, he sat still in 
 his chair ; he could see that something had gone 
 wrong with his belated guest. It was no secret in 
 the neighborhood that he and his mother-in-law had 
 not been on the best of terms, and Heaven only 
 knew what there might have been in the will. Dor- 
 chen had told him that it was to be read immedi- 
 ately after the funeral. 
 
 "You do not look very well, Herr Jussnitz." 
 
 " And my looks do not belie me, my dear Wend. 
 I am not very well," replied the other. 
 
 " Dora will soon have your room ready." 
 
 And, in fact, the young wife's slippers were even 
 then heard clattering on the stairs. 
 
298 Misjudged. 
 
 " It is all ready, Herr Jussnitz," she called from 
 the door. 
 
 He rose and shook hands with the forester. 
 " Good-night, Wend ! " 
 
 Frau Dora lighted him upstairs. " It's a good 
 while since you slept a night here, Herr Jussnitz," 
 she laughed. " You must stoop a little ; you have 
 not been used to such low doors lately. I am sure 
 in your castle at home they are as high and as 
 wide as our whole house. Aren't they, now ,? " 
 
 He was already in the tiny room. As he turned 
 round to say " Good-night " he saw her face blanch 
 suddenly, and she put her hand to her heart. He 
 understood. She was thinking that he had gone 
 out of this room that last time to meet with that ac- 
 cident in the woods. 
 
 " Good-night," she stammered. " And, Herr Juss- 
 nitz, if you should be ill, you will wake us — you 
 know we sleep just under you — you look so miser- 
 able." 
 
 " Oh, do not distress yourself," he replied ; " I 
 shall not need anything." 
 
 She went away reluctantly. He heard her de- 
 scend the stairs, and it seemed to him as if some- 
 thing slipped past her, forced itself through the 
 crack of the door, and filled the little room with 
 strange wailings and laments. Was it memory ? 
 
 He seated himself on the edge of the bed when 
 he had put out the light. Even then he could see 
 everything so distinctly in the moonlight. He saw 
 the whitewashed walls and the little mirror over the 
 commode, behind which were a few peacock's feath- 
 ers. He knew every one of the little twisted deer's 
 
Misjudged. 299 
 
 horns beside it, and he saw the charcoal sketches 
 on the wall, the work of various master hands, rep- 
 resenting all manner of whimsical hunting adven- 
 tures. The forester guarded them as he would the 
 costliest paintings. Leo himself had sketched the 
 young Forsterin, riding toward the Brocken on her 
 broomstick, with Lola in her lap, who was howling at 
 the moon. How the merry little woman had laughed 
 when she saw it ! And haw he had painted her 
 afterward, and how successful the picture had been ! 
 And how good the little cheeses tasted in the pauses 
 for luncheon, and the brown, foaming beer ! Ah, 
 that was life ! 
 
 He seems to see gleaming, golden rays stretching 
 out before his eyes. He raises his hand to catch 
 the shimmer — but it is gone. And he is sitting here 
 again, in the twilight of an autumn evening two 
 years later — his heart empty, his brain empty, and 
 his pockets, too. He can succeed in nothing. The 
 spring of his life seems broken. He has lost his 
 ideal — lost it in the dissipations of the great city, in 
 idle lounging. He has spent his money, a great 
 deal of money, and he has debts and no prospect 
 of ever paying them. He is bankrupt, body and 
 soul ! And downstairs stands the gun-rack of the 
 forester, and there is not a soul to be seen in the 
 forest, far and wide. 
 
 His memory brings back vividly the bouquet that 
 Frau Dorchen had placed on the commode that day 
 — red mountain-ash berries, yellow leaves, and green 
 pine-branches. But he is no longer here, and far 
 away outside a shot is heard. . . . 
 
 The man sitting on the edge of the bed shakes 
 
300 Misjudged. 
 
 with a feverish chill. " Now the misery is only just 
 beginning ! " he says to himself. He sees himself 
 waking in a strange room, he hears a wonderfully 
 regular knocking and hammering, the bed and the 
 curtains are snowy white, and the sunlight is shining 
 in through the windows. He smells the odor of 
 violets. On his coverlid lies a little bunch of the 
 blue blossoms, and beside the couch in the deep arm- 
 chair reposes in deep slumber a blond, girlish head. 
 
 What a soft, childish face ! He puts out his hand 
 for the flowers, awkwardly, clumsily, for his chest 
 pains him. A low groan wakens the girl ; a pair of 
 clear, greenish eyes, unfathomable as the sea itself, 
 gaze at him, and suddenly the face is overspread 
 with a deep blush. She starts up and says she will 
 call her mother. 
 
 \11 the comfortable sensations of convalescence 
 come over him once more ; the first attempt at walk- 
 ing, the enchanting green of the trees, the spring air 
 in the mountains — all this comes back to him. And 
 then he sees himself walking in the garden leaning 
 on the arm of the young girl. The sky above him 
 is deep blue, and the sun shines warmly on the 
 gravel of the garden walks ; the water foams and 
 rages over the dam, and in the beds bloom the 
 yellow and purple crocuses. He does not know 
 himself how it all came about, but all at once he 
 has asked her if she will be his. And then he heard 
 a " Yes," a timid but firm " Yes." 
 
 And now he feels again that strange sensation 
 that never left him from that moment, the feeling 
 that comes over a man when he feels under obliga- 
 tions to another and cannot show himself sufficiently 
 
Misjudged. ^i 
 
 appreciative. It is a stupid feeling, and it makes 
 him irritable and nervous and unjust. It is too hard 
 to endure magnanimity, too frightfully hard ; one is 
 almost ready to hate the person to whom one is so 
 much indebted, especially when one believes the 
 giver to be so far beneath one in intellect, so far 
 beneath 
 
 Strange, the more he received, the more irritable 
 he grew ! Absurd ! She was his wife^ and she had 
 said to him a thousand times, **What is mine is 
 yours.** And yet, and yet ! In Heaven's name, 
 had he put nothing at all into the scale, then ? His 
 name, his honorable name, and — nothing more. 
 Actually, there was nothing more — ^nothing! He 
 had not even been successful in his pictures, because 
 — because she had dragged him down into the prose 
 of life. It was all her fault. 
 
 He was only glad that he had told her, told her 
 brutally, that she had been only a chain to weigh 
 him down — in spite of her wealth. That wretched 
 drunkard's wife was a heroine beside her ; she had 
 had the strength to keep her faith to the end in 
 spite of everything. But he had been turned out. 
 
 He gave a short laugh. 
 
 " Really, it was poetical justice for her to dis- 
 miss me, that I must admit. I should hardly have 
 given her credit for so much spirit. Thank God I ** 
 
 He began to yawn and stretch like a person re- 
 leased from a heavy chain, but he had no pleasant 
 feeling of freedom. There is no freedom without 
 money, and he would rather starve than take a penny 
 of the alms that she would be sure to offer him. 
 
 But where should he go ? What should he do ? 
 
302 Misjudged. 
 
 He began to undress, and as usual he took his 
 sketch-book and pocket-book out of his jacket 
 pocket. There were the letter, and the telegram, 
 too, which he had received just as he was leaving 
 the iron-works ; moreover, there was the elegant 
 pocket revolver, and here at last was the little red 
 bow which he had been carrying about with him 
 for the past week. The dark head in whose hair 
 this bow had nestled rose before him with charming 
 distinctness. Why had she displayed such anger^ 
 such scorn, at last ? 
 
 * Yes, I made my eyes lie to you, on purpose, 
 because I wished to be revenged on you." 
 
 Revenged ? For what ? Because he had laid his 
 homage at her feet ? Ah, bah ! She had been set 
 on by Antje ; they had frightened her among them. 
 
 That woman whose horizon was no wider than a 
 tea-cup, what could she understand of intellectual 
 relationships, of the force which attracts one soul to 
 another? Everything about her was coarse and 
 clumsy, her whole manner of thought and feeling. 
 Pots and pans, baby's pap, her money-boxes — a 
 delightful conglomeration ! Oh, to get away — away 
 from this narrowness ! 
 
 He went to the window and looked out into the 
 night. The wind had died down ; a light, silvery 
 mist floated about the beeches beyond the clearing 
 where the forest-house stood. He took up the letter 
 and held it close before his eyes, but he could not 
 read the writing ; and after all there was no hurry. 
 "But the telegram— probably the announcement 
 that the shares in the F Bank are sold." 
 
 He had given the order to sell because he had 
 
Misjudged. 303 
 
 happened to hear that something was wrong with 
 this bank. It was no longer any affair of his, but, 
 after all, it was his duty to see that his wife's for- 
 tune was safely invested ; it had dwindled a good 
 deal as it was. If he had not sometimes been 
 lucky in his stock speculations, things might have 
 been even worse. Barrenberg had advised him to 
 buy these confounded shares. His friend, who was 
 usually well up in such matters, had felt sure they 
 would rise in value. 
 
 Leo held the telegram still unopened in his hand, 
 and looked at it. He had bought shares at a far 
 higher value nominally than the capital which was 
 at his disposal. Confound it, it would be disgust- 
 ing if he should have to sell at a much lower rate. 
 If he had only thought to cast a glance at the price* 
 of stocks in the counting-room at the iron-works ! 
 
 Suddenly a cold shiver passed over him. Then 
 he groped for the match-box and lighted the thin 
 little candle in the shining brass candlestick, put 
 down the telegram, and opened the letter first. It 
 contained a few courteous lines of regret that the 
 Committee of the Exposition in Berlin were unfor- 
 tunately unable to accept his picture, " The Spanish 
 Dancer," on account of want of room and its too 
 tardy arrival. 
 
 A scornful smile passed over the painter's face ; 
 he knew very well what phrases the gentlemen of 
 the jury had at hand when it was a question of re- 
 jecting a picture. They called it among themselves, 
 ** putting it into its coffin." 
 
 ** Ha, ha, ha ! " Leo was still laughing as he 
 took up the telegram. " What now ? " he said 
 
304 Misjudged. 
 
 aloud, as he tore open the envelope, and his eyes 
 were fixed on the few words in blue pencil. They 
 were as follows : 
 
 " Your order received too late. F Bank stopped pay- 
 ment. Deficit large. Letter follows. 
 
 " Kreisler." 
 
 The trembling hand dropped the paper ; the 
 flickering flame lighted up a distorted face. Leo 
 took up the glass of water and drank it off to the 
 last drop in long, eager draughts, for his tongue 
 seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. As he 
 set it down again, he knocked over the candle, 
 which went out, and the glass went crashing on the 
 floor. Then the bedstead creaked, and a dull 
 groan echoed through the little room. It pene- 
 trated to the room below. Lola, who slept beside 
 the Frau Forsterin's bed, lifted up her head and 
 emitted a low howl, followed by a prolonged growl. 
 
 The woman's head rose from the pillow. " Will 
 you be quiet ? " scolded the mistress under her 
 breath. Then she^ too, heard the groans, and she 
 started up in bed. 
 
 " Husband, go see what is the matter upstairs ! " 
 
 " I heard the noise ; I will go up," was the reply. 
 
 A minute later the Forster was stumbling up the 
 stairs with his big stick, and knocked at the cham- 
 ber door. 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz, what's the matter ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 Wend tried to turn the handle, but the door was 
 locked. 
 
 " This isn't a robber's cave," he grumbled. 
 ^* Herr Jussnitz I " he shouted louder. 
 
Misjudged, 305 
 
 Steps approached the door, and a voice so hoarse 
 and strange that he felt as if he had never heard it 
 before said from within : 
 
 " It is nothing, Wend ; I was only having a bad 
 dream." 
 
 " Open the window," advised the forester ; " the 
 air is too close in that little room, Dorchen made 
 up too hot a fire. Good-night." 
 
 Then he went downstairs again. 
 
 " You are always fancying things," he grumbled ; 
 "it was nothing but a nightmare. Probably the 
 funeral feast was rather heavy." 
 
 *' And you scold me for that, do you, you cross 
 old bear } " she said, mockingly ; adding gravely : 
 " You remember his accident when he was here be- 
 fore ? Well, he looked just the same to-night." 
 
 "You ought to be a prophetess, or a fortune- 
 teller," he said, with a yawn, " You are too clever 
 by half, Dora," And thereupon he pulled up the 
 coverlet over his head and began to snore. 
 
 But his young wife could not sleep. It seemed 
 to her as though something mysterious were going 
 on upstairs ; her heart beat violently, and she lay 
 and stared up at the ceiling as if she could pierce it 
 with her eyes, and she listened to the sounds over- 
 head ; now a chair was being pulled out ; it must 
 have stood in front of the table between the win- 
 dows ; she could hear it distinctly. 
 
 Lola had crept out of her basket and was sniffing 
 up at her mistress. The young wife felt that the 
 dog was listening too, for a nervous shudder passed 
 over her body now and then, and she occasionally 
 uttered a low growL 
 
3o6 Misjudged. 
 
 " Lola, what is going on up there ? ' she whispered, 
 and she began to feel frightened, she did not her- 
 self know why. Had the nightmare clung to her 
 husband's clothes, and had he brought it down with 
 him ? Her limbs seemed weighted with lead, and 
 she was overpowered by a horrible dread. 
 
 The cuckoo-clock in the sitting-room struck two. 
 She thought of the day when the man upstairs had 
 met with his " accident ; " she and her husband 
 had both had a very shrewd suspicion what sort 
 of an accident it was. The night before, he had 
 crept about in the room upstairs in precisely the 
 same way, and she had lain awake then just as she 
 was doing now, with a strong presentiment that 
 something dreadful was going to happen ; and she 
 had not been mistaken. 
 
 Lola kept on growling at short intervals. Now 
 the man upstairs would walk up and down, and 
 now he would stand still ; she thought she could 
 hear a deep sigh. She tried to clasp her hands in 
 prayer, but she could not. At her head, in the oil 
 bedstead in which the forester's mother used to 
 sleep, she could hear a ticking, loud and hurried, 
 like a watch. 
 
 "' Such nonsense ! " she said, scolding herself. " It 
 is a wood-moth ; but it must have gone crazy to- 
 night, for I do not hear it usually. It is the death- 
 watch," she thought, with a shudder. 
 
 Then the cuckoo sang out again in the next room 
 — half-past two. If the time would only go faster ; 
 if morning would only come ! 
 
 " My God ! " she shrieked, suddenly. " God have 
 mercy upon us ! " 
 
Misjudged. 307 
 
 Upstairs a shot had been fired. 
 
 They both sprang out of bed and hurriedly threw 
 on some clothes. Dora was first to reach the stairs 
 and the locked door. She shook the handle ia 
 terror, and the dog scratched at the threshold and 
 whined. The forester came up with the axe and 
 broke the thin boards in two. 
 
 " Oh, Herr Jussnitz ! " wailed Dorchen, as she 
 rushed in and fell on her knees beside the man who 
 lay there on the floor, his body half-supported on 
 one arm, the revolver still in his hand. 
 
 " This time I took better aim," he gurgled in his 
 throat and fell back insensible. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 It was nearly four o'clock in the morning when 
 Antje was wakened by a loud ringing at the door. 
 Sleep had come at last to her weary eyes, and now 
 she started up out of a bad dream, in which she 
 was standing beside the water, where Leo was 
 struggling in vain to reach the shore ; she stood 
 there with bound hands, and feet chained, power- 
 less to help him. He bound her thus himself ; he 
 would not be saved by her. 
 
 She sat up, with her heart beating violently. Had 
 she been mistaken ? Did the bell really ring ? 
 
 The bell rang again, hurriedly, anxiously, as if 
 there had been an accident. She was dressed in a 
 moment. 
 
 Was it fire ? 
 
 Shuffling feet ran past along the corridor, down 
 the stairs ; the porter was hurrying to open the door. 
 
 Antje, with trembling hands, fastened the belt of 
 her blouse ; there was a knock already. She un- 
 bolted the door, and the porter stood before her 
 with a pale, terrified face. 
 
 " Madame Jussnitz — ah, my God, dear madame, 
 don't be frightened, there has been another accident 
 — the forester is downstairs — the master, oh, my 
 God— he " 
 
Misjudged. 309 
 
 Antje stared at the old man as if she did not under- 
 stand a word. Then she heard the forester's voice. 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz," he said, coming into the circle 
 of light that streamed out of Antje's room, ** Hen 
 Jussnitz has had an accident like that he had be- 
 fore, and he must have help at once. My wife said 
 you had a doctor in the house — Frau Jussnitz, you 
 must not faint ! '* 
 
 He sprang forward and supported the tottering 
 figure. But Antje had already recovered, " Wake 
 the Herr Doctor," she ordered, shortly, " and have 
 the horses put to the carriage. How long a drive 
 is it, Herr Forster .? " 
 
 She had thrown the door of her room wide open 
 and was looking for shawls and wraps. The porter 
 hurried away. 
 
 " Three-quarters of an hour, if you do not spare 
 the horses, Frau Jussnitz." 
 
 " Take additional horses ! " she called out to the 
 porter, and then hurried to the room where her child 
 was sleeping. At that moment the door opened, and 
 Hilda stood before her. Antje took the trembling 
 girl by the hand and drew her into the room. 
 
 " There sleeps the child," she said in great agita- 
 tion ; " guard it, for I must go to him." 
 
 " What has happened ? For Heaven's sake, dear 
 Frau Jussnitz, tell me what it is ! " entreated the 
 terrified girl. 
 
 Antje stopped a moment in her hurried move- 
 ments. 
 
 " He has tried to take his life," she said, hoarsely. 
 
 Maiberg entered the room just as Hilda with a 
 low cry sank down fainting. 
 
3IO Misjudged. 
 
 " Hanna," cried the young wife to the house- 
 keeper, who, wakened out of her slumbers by the 
 unusual noise, had just come in, "take care of the 
 young lady ; we have no time, we must go — Mai- 
 berg, come ! " 
 
 And she hurried downstairs. Maiberg called 
 back some instructions and then followed her. The 
 carriage had just come round. 
 
 " Do not spare the horses," said Antje to the 
 coachman. Then she got in, followed by Maiberg 
 and the forester, and the carriage dashed off. Mai- 
 berg, who sat beside the young wife, felt the trem- 
 bling and shuddering that shook her frame from 
 time to time. But no word of complaint or of self- 
 reproach, as he had feared, crossed her lips. She 
 put a few questions to the forester, but she spoke 
 with difficulty. 
 
 " It is only that he has lost so much blood, Frau 
 Jussnitz ; my poor Dorchen did not know what to 
 do — and this time, you see, this time we couldn't 
 bring him down to your house ; this time it is worse," 
 said the man. 
 
 She was silent. They began to climb the steep 
 hill, but they still went rapidly. She leaned out of 
 the carriage window. " We have only reached the 
 toll-house," she murmured. 
 
 " So soon ? " exclaimed the forester ; " then we 
 shall not be much longer." 
 
 Still a little while, and then the panting horses 
 stopped before the low house, from whose windows 
 the red lamp-light shone out into the gray dawn of 
 the April morning. Antje got out and hurried up 
 the steps to the door, followed by the forester. 
 
Misjudged. 311 
 
 " Upstairs, Frau Jussnitz, upstairs! " he whispered. 
 
 And she climbed up the steep stairs. At every 
 step she leaned heavily on the banisters, as if the 
 boards were swaying beneath her feet, and as if the 
 house were tottering over her head. She had only 
 one wish, one prayer, that he might still live, if only 
 for a few minutes. " Oh, just God, only long 
 enough for me to ask him why, why he has done 
 this thing to me — only long enough to let me press 
 his hand, only that ! Oh, have mercy ! " 
 
 The forester's wife was standing on the threshold ; 
 she moved aside for the pale young wife. " He 
 is unconscious," she whispered, stooping to pick up 
 the fur cloak which had slipped from Antje's shoul- 
 ders ; then she shut the door behind her. She only 
 saw how the wife went up to the bed on which the 
 wounded man was laid, with her hands clasped. 
 Then she stood outside in the little entry, which 
 had for a ceiling the open roof with its rafters. The 
 house was still as death ; they were waiting for the 
 doctor, who was making his preparations below. 
 This waiting seemed like an eternity to her, and 
 yet it was scarcely a minute before Maiberg and the 
 forester came up the stairs, bringing with them all 
 that was necessary to bind up the severe wound. 
 
 Antje gave her aid during the examination, like 
 an experienced nurse. From time to time she 
 looked at Maiberg as if to read in his face the an- 
 swer to her mute questionings — death or life ? 
 
 " Tell me frankly, is it very bad ? " she whispered 
 at length, staring at the blood-soaked pillow. 
 
 " He came near bleeding to death, and that is 
 the most serious part of it," he replied. " The ball 
 
312 Misjudged. 
 
 went through the breast, but it came out at the back, 
 and that is not unfavorable, and, besides, he has an 
 excellent constitution. It is all in God's hand, Frau 
 Antje." 
 
 And Antje silently assented. She knew very well 
 that he was nearer death than life. And she helped 
 to place the unconscious man back in the bed after 
 the wound had been bound -up. 
 
 " Can he be moved ? " she inquired. 
 
 " If is not to be thought of," was the reply. 
 
 Antje seated herself quietly in the old arm-chair 
 covered with blue and red checked linen at the foot 
 of the bed. 
 
 "Order everything you need, Herr Doctor," she 
 said. " There are ice-bags and all that sort of 
 thing at the house, and the carriage can bring them 
 all up." 
 
 He offered to watch, but she declined. " That 
 is my office." 
 
 She hardly knew when he went away. She looked 
 dreamily about the tiny room ; then her eyes fell 
 on a letter which lay on the commode under the 
 flower-vase. She could reach it without leaving her 
 chair. 
 
 " To my wife," she read. This bit of paper was 
 folded round a letter and a telegram. 
 
 She read by the light of the dying lamp the an- 
 nouncement of the banker, the refusal of the pic- 
 ture, and she dropped the letters and turned toward 
 the unconscious man. " That was why you did it," 
 she said. " Was it for that ? " 
 
 But he lay there, breathing with difficulty, and 
 could not answer, could not even hear. 
 
Misjudged. 
 
 313 
 
 " Oh, if you had only had confidence in me, if 
 you only had ! " she wailed, and caught at his hand, 
 which lay on the coverlid tightly closed. And then 
 she started back, for between the waxen-white fin- 
 gers peeped out the end of a red ribbon, and when 
 she had carefully disengaged it, it proved to be a 
 little red bow, a bow that she knew, ah, so well ! 
 
 " That was why ! " she said, aloud. " Ah, yes : 
 I had forgotten that. That was why ! " 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Many anxious days followed, during which tht 
 red-haired Frau Dorchen sat watching on the 
 stairs, hushing the dogs into silence and bidding the 
 maids walk softly, for the gentleman upstairs was 
 dying. 
 
 " Husband, he will certamly die this evening ; he 
 cannot more than live through this day. No one 
 could go through so much," she would whisper to 
 the forester, and the tear-dimmed eyes, which were 
 of the color of reddish-brown velvet, looked shyly 
 up at the window of the sick-room. ** You will see^ 
 Wilhelm, when you come back from your snipe- 
 shooting, it will be all over. I heard a screech-owl 
 hoot last night, and that has never happened up 
 here before in all my life." 
 
 '* Dora, you have always sicpt so soundly." 
 
 " Oh, Wilhelm, it is not that. I am sure he is 
 going to die." 
 
 " I am almost sure of it, too, Dora." 
 
 " His poor wife, Wilhelm ! She looks perfectly 
 wretched, and she hasn't slept an hour for a whole 
 fortnight. She will hardly let me take her place by 
 his bedside for a few minutes, even by day." 
 
 " Ah, yes — h'm. God gives extra strength to you 
 women, so you do not feel any weariness from that 
 sort of thing. You would have had to put me un- 
 
Misjudged. 3^5 
 
 derground long ago, Dora, if J had gone a fortnight 
 without sleep, and yet she is a delicate woman. But 
 she never utters a complaint or makes any use- 
 less moans. You might learn something from her, 
 Dora." 
 
 And her husband walked out into the dim spring 
 woods, his dog following at his heels, and his young 
 wife stood on the stone steps before the door and 
 looked after him. "Ah, I only begin to realize how 
 I love you when I think of that poor man upstairs," 
 she murmured, and vowed to herself by all she held 
 sacred never to vex Wilhelm again ; and then she 
 blushed, for. he never was vexed except when she 
 chattered too much and coquetted with the artists 
 who haunted the little forest-house. She cast a 
 glance up at the gable windows, which stood wide 
 open to let in the air, which was soft and moist and 
 spring-like, as one seldom finds it in the mountains 
 at that season of the year. 
 
 It was the nineteenth of April ; the beeches were 
 growing feathery, and the buds might burst open any 
 day now. It was already green in the valleys, the 
 manor-house of " Gottessegen " was already sur- 
 rounded by the light emerald green of spring, and 
 the violets were blooming along the garden wall in 
 great masses. The doctor had said so yesterday. 
 He had been down at the house and had brought 
 up a great bunch of them for Frau Antje, and the 
 whole room smelt like a bank of violets. 
 
 The Frau Forsterin glanced up again. There 
 stood Antje by the window, pale and exhausted, 
 looking out into the fragrant world outside with 
 sad eyes. 
 
3i6 Misjudged. 
 
 " Frau Jussnitz, Frau Jussnitz, it is si^ch a lovely 
 evening. Do go and take a little walk, and I will take 
 your place upstairs," cried Dorchen, in a whisper. 
 
 But Antje shook her head and turned back into 
 the room. 
 
 " She will kill herself, I am sure," said Frau Dor* 
 chen. " But, good Heavens, what will you have ? 
 He is her husband." 
 
 And then she seated herself on the threshold and 
 began to knit on a huge greenish-gray stocking for 
 Wilhelm. 
 
 Upstairs, Antje was sitting in her arm-chair 
 again. The sick man was sleeping for the first 
 time a quiet sleep, without the constant moans and 
 the panting breath that had hitherto disturbed him. 
 Antje had wiped his damp forehead, and her hands 
 now lay lightly clasped in her lap ; her eyes were shut, 
 an intolerable weariness had overpowered her. She 
 started up once or twice, and then her weary eyes 
 closed again and her head fell over against the back 
 of the chair, and she slept. Everything was silent 
 as death ; only the cry of a starling flying to her nest 
 broke the profound stillness. The twilight was just 
 tinged with a faint rosy gleam, which had a wonder- 
 ful effect in beautifying the poor little room. 
 
 The sick man stirred ; he opened hi.s eyes and 
 closed them again, till at length he opened them 
 wide, looking about him with the first gleam of recov- 
 ered consciousness. He gazed around the room in 
 surprise, but presently the slightly raised head sank 
 back upon the pillows with a low moan. Still his 
 eyes remained fixed upon the figure in the arm-chair. 
 She was still sound asleep. He gazed at her as if 
 
Misjudged. 317 
 
 to impress upon his mind that it was really this 
 slender, dark figure that had been watching him. 
 nursing him, and caring for him during these lasi 
 miserable days. 
 
 Antje ? Was it really she ? No ; the Antje whom 
 he knew was a beautiful, blooming woman, and this 
 face leaning against the cushion had grown years 
 older through grief and anxiety, and the firmly com- 
 pressed lips wore an expression of pain, and the red- 
 dened eyes looked as if they had shed an abundance 
 of tears. 
 
 The remembrance of everything suddenly re- 
 turned, and with it anger and anguish inexpressi- 
 ble — that he should be alive. Why did people rush 
 in to rob death of his prey, to bring him back to a 
 hated existence by all the appliances of science ? 
 Good God ! who gives them the right to force an 
 unhappy man to prolong his existence ? He could 
 not, he must not live ! 
 
 He made a movement with his left hand, and a 
 slight cry of pain escaped him. 
 
 She started up out of her slumber, and the next 
 moment she was bending over him. He could feel 
 her anxious look through his closed lids ; he could 
 feel her soft, cool fingers laid gently on his fore- 
 head, to discover whether the horrible fever was 
 still torturing him. 
 
 He lay quiet again, as if sleeping ; he had not 
 the courage to open his eyes. 
 
 She left him and went to the window. " Frau 
 Dora," he heard her say, softly, " do you know 
 when the doctor is coming back ? I quite forgot 
 to ask to-day." 
 
31 S Misjudged. 
 
 ** He will be sure to be punctual ; it would be 
 the first time that he failed if he does not, Frau 
 jussnitz. It still wants eight minutes to seven — 
 and there he is now ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Thank God ! " murmured Antje. 
 
 This exclamation seemed to the sick man like a 
 sharp iron turned suddenly in his wound. He felt 
 the blood mounting to his head ; the old angry 
 feeling seized upon him, as it had always done 
 when Maiberg hovered about Antje. He groaned 
 again, and as he heard the greeting between the Frau 
 Forsterin and his friend, and saw Antje creep out 
 of the room on tip-toe to meet him, he gazed at her 
 with black looks on her return. 
 
 But the doctor perceived at once that his con- 
 sciousness had returned ; he came up to the bed 
 and said, in a loud, hearty tone : " Well, thank 
 God, Leo, we have got you back again. It is high 
 time, I must say, old fellow ! " 
 
 Antje was standing at the foot of the bed. She 
 stood there as if carved out of stone, her head 
 slightly thrown back, with a sad, weary expression 
 in her face. 
 
 " Do you want anything just now, Leo ? " she in- 
 quired, in a low tone. 
 
 " No," he replied. 
 
 " I shall be downstairs, in the sitting-room, in 
 case you want me," she said, and left the room. 
 
 " Maiberg, is that all your science can do, to pro- 
 long for a little the life that a man would gladly 
 iting away ? " cried Leo, with a great efifort. 
 
 " A little ? I hope for a long time — if you will 
 be reasonable, my friend." 
 
Misjudged. 2±g 
 
 " I can not live under these circumstances. " 
 
 " What circumstances ? " 
 
 " Good Heavens ! you know very well " 
 
 "That is to say, Leo, you cannot live without 
 your wife" 
 
 The sick man's face flushed crimson. " Don't 
 treat me as if I were a silly boy. She has com- 
 plained to you, no doubt, why I — took to the re- 
 volver " 
 
 " Upon my honor, Leo, I do not understand one 
 word you are saying." 
 
 " Antje has *old you nothing ? " 
 ; "No." 
 
 Leo shut his eyes and lay still. "Then you 
 must have found out some other way that I " 
 
 " I know literally nothing. I have only had my 
 suspicions. But — you must not agitate yourself." 
 
 " What did you suspect ? " inquired Leo, faintly. 
 " Tell me, I beg of you." % 
 
 " Your foolish passion for Hilda " 
 
 He was interrupted by a low, scornful laugh. 
 
 " Was it not so, Leo ? Tell me the truth — or, 
 rather, say nothing about it, for it is no longer of 
 importance." 
 
 " A man does not put an end to his life for the 
 sake of a woman's whim — at least, not a man like 
 me" replied the sick man. "There must be worse 
 things than that to bear ; one must first see all 
 one's hopes utterly destroyed before — but you can 
 get Antje to tell you." 
 
 " If she wished to confide in me, she would have 
 done it long ago. I will give you a piece of good 
 advice — go to sleep." 
 
320 Misjudged. 
 
 " Rather give me your promise to set me on my 
 feet again ; to make me tolerably strong, so I can 
 chop wood or do something of that sort. Every 
 one does not make a good beggar, and there is no 
 hope of anything better." 
 
 "You will be quite well again, if you are only 
 reasonable." 
 
 " Please tell my wife that she need not trouble 
 herself about me any more ; she must be neglecting 
 more important duties." 
 
 "You foolish fellow, are you still as blind as 
 ever with regard to your wife ? " Maiberg wanted 
 to say, but he restrained himself, for Leo was still 
 very ill. He only shrugged his shoulders and went 
 to the window ; he was vexed already with himself 
 for having spoken more vehemently than was pru- 
 dent. 
 
 Below, the superintendent of the works was walk- 
 ing up and down with Antje, in earnest conversa- 
 tion. The old man came up conscientiously every 
 other day, to make his report with regard to th& 
 business. They usually sat, on such occasions, at 
 the oilcloth-covered table in the parlor, with the 
 forester's leaden ink-stand between them, and 
 ** managed the business," as the old man called 
 it. 
 
 To-day they were settling their affairs as they 
 walked up and down. The superintendent seemed 
 very eager ; he would stop short every little while, 
 and accompanied his words with lively gestures. 
 Antje listened with bent head, and when she spoke 
 It was only to utter a few words. 
 
 Maiberg turned round. " Go to sleep," he said 
 
Misjudged. 321 
 
 to Leo again, " and don't worry. I have something 
 to do downstairs." 
 
 His patient said nothing, but he smiled bitterly. 
 Then he could hear his friend's voice outside, and 
 a loud cry uttered by Dora — it sounded like a cry 
 of joy. A moment later she tripped into the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, I only wanted to say how glad I am that 
 you have recovered your consciousness," she whis- 
 pered. " Good gracious, it would have been horrid 
 if you had died now, just now, when everything is so 
 green and life is so pleasant. Herr Jussnitz, how 
 could you ? Good Heavens, if you could have seen 
 your wife's misery, your heart would have ached for 
 her ! She did not weep or wail, to be sure, but she 
 clasped her hands when she came up to your bed 
 and saw you lying there looking so dreadful, and 
 she looked like the Virgin in the Oberrode church, 
 before the cross — exactly like that, and she has 
 been on her feet day and night. But you see, peo- 
 ple can only do that sort of thing out of real, true 
 love, Herr Jussnitz ! " 
 
 " Be silent ! " he cried harshly, interrupting the 
 poor woman's chatter. 
 
 She stared at him in startled amazement, re- 
 mained standing for a few moments, and then crept 
 softly out of the room. " He is very far from well 
 yet," she thought to herself, as she descended the 
 stairs. 
 
 And the sick man was left alone. The darkness 
 came on gradually, and the cool breeze from the 
 forest fanned his burning forehead. A dog's bark 
 pccasionally broke the stillness, or the rattling of a 
 
322 Misjudged. 
 
 chain which fastened the cow in the stall, but other- 
 wise the house seemed deserted. 
 
 They were probably sitting in the parlor talking 
 together, or Antje had walked a little way with 
 Maiberg in the pleasant spring evening. He could 
 see them in his mind's eye ; they were walking close 
 together, the two figures, without speaking — for 
 what need had they for words ? There was nothing 
 to say now — nor would thei"e be for long — for he 
 still lived. And suddenly he was seized with a fierce 
 desire to see what his wife was doing now, his wife 
 who could suffer like our Lady of Sorrows, and — 
 yet carried herself as proudly as a queen. 
 
 What did she want of him now ? Why did she 
 not leave the wretch where he had fallen ? He 
 would not have her compassion, he would not endure 
 her generosity ; he hated her at this moment as he 
 had formerly done, when he had called her his 
 chain. 
 
 Hark ! did not the stairs creak ? Some one came 
 softly in at the door. It was she. In one hand she 
 carried a night-lamp, carefully shading it with the 
 other so the light would not shine in his eyes. She 
 went up to the bureau, placed the lamp so that he 
 could not see the light ; then she crossed the room 
 and bent down over him, believing him to be asleep. 
 She stood so for a moment, then she shut the win- 
 dow, all but one little pane, and finally seated her- 
 self by the dim light on the bureau, took out a 
 note-book, and began to write. 
 
 He could observe her closely, and he did so with 
 a longing he had never felt before, to discover 
 something in her manner at which he could take 
 
M'yudged. 323 
 
 offence, that would give him the right to get rid of 
 her. Now and then she looked up and passed her 
 hand across her forehead, and her eyes had an 
 anxious, frightened look, and then she went on 
 with her accounts. Once or twice she gave a deep 
 sigh ; at length she laid aside her pencil, and care- 
 fully and noiselessly drew out the straw mattress 
 from behind the little stove, spread it out beside his 
 bed, took some blankets and pillows from a chair, 
 and prepared to hold her night-watch. 
 
 After a while he drew himself up and looked down 
 at her ; her weariness had overpowered her, and she 
 was apparently sleeping soundly and quietly. He 
 could not sleep, but kept looking at her again and 
 again till the gray dawn. At last he, too, was over- 
 come by weariness and slept. 
 
 When he awoke the sun was shining into the 
 room, and the dancing shadows of budding branches 
 were playing on the ceiling and the floor of the 
 room, and also on the vacant space where Antje 
 had slept. 
 
 He caught at the strong rope, with a hare's foot 
 for a handle, which served as a bell-rope, and pulled 
 it violently. 
 
 " Halloo ! " cried the doctor in the door-way, 
 ** that sounds energetic ! What will you have ? Your 
 breakfast ? Frau Dora will bring it immediately." 
 
 He wanted to ask for Antje, but he could not 
 bring himself to do so. He only looked about the 
 room as if he missed something. 
 
 "She was up and away early this morning," said 
 the young forester's wife, who had just come in and 
 quickly divined what he '*««5ted. ** It is high time 
 
324 Misjudged. 
 
 she was looking after her child and her house. 
 Heaven knows she doesn't have a very easy time of 
 it if she is rich." 
 
 He bit his lip ; had she gone because she knew 
 that he no longer needed her ? 
 
 They were strange days which followed, days 
 divided between anger with her for leaving him, 
 and self-reproach, and longing to see her. He lis- 
 tened with all his ears for the rolling of wheels, for 
 the snapping of a whip, in the direction of the 
 woodland road ; he started when the old stairs 
 creaked under a light footstep, and turned pale 
 when he saw that it was only Frau Dorchen. He 
 derided himself for it, and when in the evening the 
 twilight came on, and Maiberg put down the book 
 which he had been reading aloud, and left him to 
 get a little fresh air, when it was so still all about him 
 that he could hear the gnawing of the wood-moths 
 in the old beams, and the clatter of a mouse under 
 the boards, then he put his hand over his eyes and 
 set his teeth hard, and something that he had not 
 felt since he was a boy trickled down from his 
 burning eyes over his cheeks. But then he angrily 
 brushed away the tears and called himself a sick, 
 sentimental fool ; and when the doctor came back 
 and began to chat pleasantly, he returned only 
 rough and biting answers. He never inquired for 
 Antje. 
 
 And she did not come back. 
 
 The days wore away ; Leo's youthful vigor slowly 
 gained the mastery. He was soon able to sit out-of- 
 doors, or to walk a little way into the forest, leaning 
 on Maiberg's arm. 
 
Misjudged. 325 
 
 " This air seems just made for you, Leo," said his 
 friend ; '* and these are delightful days that we are 
 idling away like this. Heaven knows whether we 
 shall have such pleasant ones again — quiet, peace, 
 the freshness of the woods. I am enjoying mysel- 
 as I have not done for a long time." 
 
 The doctor snatched off his hat as he spoke, and 
 looked through the bower of beeches in their spring 
 green, and his usually rather grave face wore an ex- 
 pression of quiet happiness. 
 
 "I think you are going to have some visitors, 
 Leo," he exclaimed, as he turned round. " Look, 
 look, there are the brown horses from the iron- 
 works, and that little white cloud sitting in the 
 carriage is your little daughter, accompanied by the 
 very worthy Frau Classen." 
 
 And so it proved. A dainty little girl came trip- 
 ping toward the two gentlemen, holding the hand 
 of the old woman, who had decked herself in holi- 
 day attire, in her native Dutch cap, with the great 
 earrings. 
 
 The child carried a great bunch of flowers in her 
 tiny hand. She held it out to her father, saying ; 
 " Here, papa ! " and the rosy, childish face, like a 
 fresh little rosebud itself, peeped out from under 
 the little hat. 
 
 Maiberg set up the camp-chair for Leo under a 
 great beech-tree, and strolled on. He could see Leo 
 still thoughtfully holding the child's hand in his, 
 while Classen seated herself on the grass and brought 
 out her knitting-work. 
 
 "It is very fine weather," said the old woman at 
 length, breaking the silence, " and it is so splendid 
 
3z6 Misju.'ged. 
 
 up hfc/e in the woods, and I am glad enough to be 
 home again among the mountains." 
 
 He nodded absently. 
 
 " The air wasn't healthy in that old Sibyllenburg, 
 sir ; it didn't agree with any of us," she continued, 
 beginning a new needle. " Leonie, there is a pine- 
 cone ; run and get it ! We have to play with her a 
 little, sir," she reminded him ; " she is used to it 
 with Fraulein Hilda." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! Is the Fraulein still there ? " 
 
 ** Yes, she is still staying with us, sir, and it doesn't 
 look now as though she was likely to go." 
 
 " When did you come from Sibyllenburg ? " he 
 inquired, looking after the child, who was dancing 
 about on the grass-grown path. 
 
 " Oh, a few days ago, just after it was sold." 
 
 He started up. " Sold ? " But what business 
 was it of his ? 
 
 " The gracious lady was there herself with the 
 judge, and picked out all the things which were to 
 be kept. Oh, my senses ! She looked just like a 
 ghost when she signed the papers, though I couldn't 
 help feeling glad, for it was an unlucky sort of a 
 place, that old house." 
 
 " Who bought it ? " was on the tip of his tongue, 
 but he could not bring himself to say it. It was 
 all the same to him ; he no longer owned a single 
 stone of it. 
 
 At this moment Classen spied the Frau Forsterin^ 
 who was beckoning to her from the house, and she 
 charged the little one to be good. At any rate 
 th'«re was a good cup of coffee in store for her. 
 
 ''iMi pale man and ttte rosy child were left alone 
 
Misjudged. 327 
 
 together ; the child had come back to him and sat 
 playing quietly at his feet, smiling up at him now 
 and then with a pair of clear, wonderfully deep 
 greenish eyes. He watched her as he would a 
 flower which had blossomed in a night, with amaze- 
 ment and admiration. He hardly knew his child, 
 and perceived now for the first time how wonder- 
 fully pretty she was. 
 
 At length she stood up. "Come with me to 
 mamma," she said, taking him eoaxingly by the 
 hand. 
 
 He flushed beneath the eyes of this little creature. 
 
 ** To mamma ! " she repeated, and puckered up 
 her mouth to cry. And as he still remained seated 
 without moving, she began to cry in good earnest, 
 and this note of alarm brought Classen and the for- 
 ester's wife running up at the same moment. 
 
 " Oh, you naughty child ! " scolded the Frau 
 Forsterin, carrying the sobbing little one away to 
 show her the " mooly cow," but Classen stayed 
 behind. 
 
 "Little impetuous thing!" she said; "but she 
 gets that from you, sir." 
 
 And then she began to enumerate some of her 
 characteristics in which she resembled her father, 
 and wound up by saying : " But we don't give in to 
 Jier ; she has to mind." 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 When the little one drove away with the old 
 woman, quite comforted again, Leo went back into 
 the house and seated himself, as he used often to do, 
 by the window of Frau Dora's exquisitely neat par- 
 lor. But here he was even less able to concentrate 
 his thoughts, for the young Forsterin thought it her 
 duty to entertain the gloomy man, and she had a 
 whole budget of news from the iron-works. Frau 
 Jussnitz had laid the corner-stone for the new 
 schoolhouse yesterday, and the little one had to 
 give the first stroke with the hammer. And then 
 she and Herr Ferdinand Frey together had bought 
 the " Gunderode " iron-works, and they were 
 building a furnace in common. Who would ever 
 have thought it of the quiet, pale woman ! Herr 
 Kortmer said the old lady had been capable enough, 
 but this one went far ahead of her, for the late 
 Frau Bergrath was a little afraid of new enterprises. 
 
 '' I am sure you will be surprised," she concluded, 
 "when you go down again. And when are you go- 
 ing back ? Heaven forbid that I should wish you 
 to go, but I am sure you must find it frightfully dull 
 here. To-morrow morning the Herr Doctor is go- 
 ing foK-hunting with Wilhelm. Then you will be 
 left alone here again. But what do you say ? Up- 
 
Misjudged. 329 
 
 stairs in the attic are all your old painting-things 
 — even the umbrella is there. You ought to paint, 
 Herr Jussnitz, you ought to paint ! " 
 
 And the agile little woman hurried away to look 
 for the things, to the great relief of the man she 
 left behind. He stood up, and walked up and down 
 the room till, lost in thought, he stopped at length 
 before the Frau Forsterin's glass cupboard, in which 
 stood out against a bright blue background bril- 
 liant cups, cake-plates, her bridal wreath, wax an- 
 gels, flower-vases, and a variety of things of a sim- 
 ilar nature. His eyes rested absently on these 
 splendors, until they were caught by a little object 
 at which he looked long and thoughtfully. It was 
 a woman's head modelled in clay, representing in 
 a life-like manner the saucy nose, the full lips, and 
 the wavy masses of hair of the young Forsterin — 
 a portrait bust which could not have been better. 
 
 He was still looking at it when Frau Dorchen 
 came back, 
 
 " It is all arranged in your room upstairs, Herr 
 Jussnitz, as if you had only just left it," she cried 
 gayly. But he did not even say, " Thank you." 
 He pointed to the little bust and said : ** It has 
 kept pretty well, that little thing." 
 
 She had come nearer, and she laughed. " Yes ; 
 did you think I was going to throw that beautiful 
 piece of work out of the window, as you want«d me 
 to do, Herr Jussnitz ? Heaven forbid ! Lots of 
 people have admired it and said it looked exactly 
 like me. I shall save this up for my old age, to 
 let people see that I was once young and pretty. 
 And " — she stopped suddenly and looked at the 
 
S3° Misjudged, 
 
 painter, who could not take his eyes off the little 
 clay head. 
 
 " Herr Jussnitz," she burst out at length, as if 
 a bright idea had just struck her — " Herr Jussnitz, 
 there is plenty of clay out there still. Wouldn't you 
 like — ah, don't be angry ; I know it is very imper- 
 tinent of me — but if you would make me my old 
 man as a companion-piece ! " And as he did not 
 answer, she entreated : " Dear Herr Jussnitz, do, 
 and make it as fine and as like as you have made 
 mine. Please, Herr Jussnitz ! " 
 
 He shook his head and looked at her ; but when 
 he saw the entreaty in the eyes of the handsome 
 little woman, a fleeting smile passed over his face. 
 
 " Oh, well, if you like," he said in a low voice. 
 
 And Frau Dora ran off to prepare the clay, as if 
 he were going to begin that very instant. 
 
 He went upstairs to his room, sat down by the 
 window, and watched the moon rise over the trees. 
 Maiberg did not come in until late, and found him 
 still sitting there. 
 
 " Have you been to the iron-works ? " inquired 
 Leo. 
 
 " Yes," replied Maiberg, drawing up a chair. 
 
 " I believe I can't stand it here any longer," 
 continued Jussnitz. "Tell me, when shall I be 
 well enough to — to " 
 
 " Soon," was the laconic reply. 
 
 Jussnitz got up suddenly ; he felt as if he should 
 stifle in this close little room. 
 
 " Maiberg ! " He stopped in front of the doc- 
 tor, who was looking out into the moonlight with 
 deep, thoughtful eyes. 
 
Misjudged. ' 331 
 
 " What is it, Leo ? " 
 
 The painter's arras hung down loosely by his 
 side ; he leaned against the table and dropped his 
 eyes. " Even if I wished it, I cannot undertake 
 anything now — without any money," he said. 
 
 " You have a claim on part of Antje's property ; 
 the judge was explaining it to me the other day," 
 said Maiberg. 
 
 Leo stood before his friend with clenched fists. 
 
 " Wolf, do you suppose I would take a penny of 
 it?" 
 
 " I would not," was the reply. " I should rather 
 borrow something." 
 
 Leo laughed aloud. " I don't know a soul in 
 the world who would be willing to risk lending it 
 to me." 
 
 "Not one?" 
 
 " Not one ! " 
 
 " H'm ! I know of one, Leo. It is not very 
 much, to be sure, but if a few thousand marks 
 would be enough for you to begin on " 
 
 " You ? " His voice was full of scorn. " Does 
 your happiness make you so extravagant ? " 
 
 " Perhaps so, Leo. I beg of you to take the few 
 poor notes ; I do not need them at present, and they 
 will be useful to you. I have so much even that I 
 could manage very comfortably to make a little 
 pleasure tour with you." 
 
 " You would go away with me — away from 
 here?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " But I am not going on a pleasure trip." 
 
 " All right ! But take the money ! '* 
 
332 Misjudged, 
 
 " I thank you, Wolf. Yes, there is nothing else 
 J can do — hard as it is for me." 
 
 " Why should it be hard ? " 
 
 Leo made no reply. He was standing in the 
 shadow, looking at the smiling face of his friend, 
 which was lighted up by a curious, soft radiance 
 as his clear, shrewd eyes gazed out with an unusual 
 expression of longing across at the road which lost 
 itself among the dark pine-trees, by which he drove 
 down the valley every day to the iron-works. And 
 Leo felt his blood boil in his veins ; he could not 
 look any longer at his friend in his happy security 
 with this expression of longing on his radiant face. 
 
 "Please leave me now, Wolf," he said, rather 
 hoarsely. " I am tired to death." 
 
 The doctor rose at once. 
 
 " Good-night, Leo. And do not trouble yourself 
 about paying me back. I can wait." 
 
 Jussnitz made no reply. He shut the window 
 v*'lth a crash, pulled down the curtain, and threw 
 himself, dressed as he was, on the bed. But he 
 could see nothing before him but that moonlit path 
 which led down to the Paradise he had lost. And 
 he had to cling tight to the bedstead to enable him 
 to withstand the force which seemed to be dragging 
 him toward that path. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Down in the valley, in the great house, the young 
 wife was busy from morning till night. She gave 
 her whole attention to the thing she had to do, as if 
 t'he had no thought for anything else till that was 
 accomplished. She never countermanded an order, 
 nor was the slightest vacillation to be observed in 
 her resolution. She gave her decision in business 
 matters clearly and decidedly, and she was equally 
 clear and decided in her housekeeping and in regard 
 to the training of her child. She never spoke of her 
 husband. It might have been supposed that she 
 had long since forgotten the man whose name she 
 bore, or — had never loved him. The kind friends 
 and neighbors who had heard of the tragedy in the 
 little forest-house, and who came to the manor-house 
 on the pretext of inquiring for Frau Antje, went 
 home again with their curiosity still unsatisfied. 
 Frau Antje received them with perfect friendliness, 
 offered them excellent coffee and cakes, brought 
 her little one in to see the ladies, talked with the 
 gentlemen about the new machinery and the fur- 
 nace she was having built, and to all their inquiries 
 for Herr Jussnitz's health replied pleasantly : *' Oh, 
 thank you, he is very well," in a way that cut short 
 any further researches into the matter. No one 
 
334 Misjudged. 
 
 knew of the loss of her fortune except Herr Kort- 
 mer, and he took it as much to heart as if it con- 
 cerned his own property. 
 
 Antje kept an impenetrable face as she divulged 
 this disaster to him. 
 
 " If painters and that sort of people would only 
 let business alone ! " bewailed the old gentleman. 
 " Frau Antje, how shall we ever make it up ? " 
 
 " Oh, we will be economical, we will be economi- 
 cal ! " she said, comfortingly, smiling with pale lips. 
 " And we will sell Sibyllenburg — a great part of the 
 money is in Sibyllenburg, Herr Kortmer. " 
 
 " Ah, who will eve/ give a penny for such rubbish 
 as china and oli brocade, Frau Jussnitz ? " burst out 
 the old man. " It is all imitation, no doubt. Who 
 knows how often he was cheated when he bought 
 the things ? " 
 
 "Kortmer," sh"» said, gravely, "I have no doubt 
 that you are ?«ttev informed in business matters 
 than Herr Jussnitz, but in artistic matters he knows 
 more than you." 
 
 This stopped the little man's complaints. He 
 said no more, but did all he could to arrange their 
 affairs. Sibyllenburg was sold, and after all the 
 debts were paid, there was a small amount left. 
 Antje silently set this aside, in case she should yet 
 receive the hardest blow of all — Leo's request for 
 money. She blushed with shame at the thought. 
 She suffered tortures as she brooded over his possi- 
 ble future. She could not offer him aid in the form 
 of money under the present circumstances ; it would 
 be a blow to his sense of honor, it would be alms- 
 giving, like charity to a beggar. But did he still 
 
Misjudged. 335 
 
 possess strength enough to rouse himself bodily and 
 mentally, and make his own way ? But if he were 
 still capable of saving himself, of retrieving the past, 
 she must not venture to show herself otherwise than 
 hard, hard as a rock. 
 
 She must let things take their course, and stand 
 quietly by to see if he were capable of extricating 
 himself from the difficulties into which he had 
 plunged. No one knew what a tumult raged within 
 her. Nothing seemed to allay it but the remem- 
 brance of that little bow which his hand had 
 clutched in what he thought was his dying moment ; 
 but then she was even more wretched than before. 
 
 Maiberg never talked to her about Leo, when he 
 came down from the forest-house to drink his coffee 
 with Frau Antje in the garden hall. He only said 
 at such times : " He progresses every day," and that 
 was enough for her. 
 
 These were curious afternoons that they spent in 
 the large, comfortable room that Antje had fitted 
 up according to her own taste. There was not a 
 trace of aestheticism, and yet how really comfort- 
 able and elegant it was in spite of the mixture of 
 styles ! From the dark panelled ceiling hung an 
 antique brass chandelier, which had probably lighted 
 up the banquets of the former owner many and 
 many a time. Before the little leaded window- 
 panes hung gayly embroidered curtains drawn widely 
 apart to let in the bright sunshine. The shining 
 waxed floor was partly covered by a bright-colored 
 carpet, and Antje's spinning-wheel stood by the fire- 
 place before a pretty peasant chair. Beautiful old 
 cabinets were placed against the wainscoted walls 
 
33^ Misjudged. 
 
 — one genuine rococo, inlaid with ivory ; another 
 Renaissance in style, on which was the Marriage at 
 Cana in wood-mosaic, an artistic piece of work. 
 The work-table, by the southern window, had come 
 from the Dutch grandmother. The great, comfort- 
 able sofa, the round table in front of it, and the 
 army of chairs and stools of different centuries, 
 looked cosey and attractive. For the decoration of 
 the walls and cornices, Antje had plundered the 
 attics, had filled old Delft jars with fresh flowers, 
 had brought out old family pictures in black frames, 
 which made an admirable decoration for the old 
 brown leather hangings adorned with arabesques 
 stamped in gold, such as would put modern imita- 
 tions to shame for color and effectiveness. And 
 here, before the door opening on the veranda, 
 through which streamed the golden-green light from 
 the garden, they sat in the afternoons when the 
 young doctor came — Antje alone or with Hilda. 
 
 Hilda was still there. While Antje had been 
 nursing Leo she had devoted herself to the care of 
 the child. And now, when old Classen had taken 
 charge of her, Antje could not say to the young 
 girl, without a want of courtesy of which she was 
 not capable : " Leave my house ! " And Hilda did 
 not seem to think for a moment that such a thing 
 was possible. 
 
 Antje endured the girl's presence with a hauteur 
 which could not have failed to be painful to Hilda 
 if she had ever wakened out of a certain dreamy 
 meditation into which she seemed to have plunged. 
 Antje looked at her sometimes with a feeling of 
 amazement. She would smile so happiiy to herself, 
 
Misjudged. 337 
 
 and then again an expression of pain would draw 
 down the little mouth and a frown would ap- 
 pear between the dark brows. At such moments 
 Antje supposed she was thinking of her future hap- 
 piness, or she was anxious about his future and her 
 own. 
 
 Sometimes Hilda would wander about the woods 
 for the whole afternoon, and would not come 
 back till evening, when she would appear with glow- 
 ing cheeks, a half -withered bunch of flowers at her 
 breast, and both hands full of blossoms, which she 
 would lay silently on Antje's work-table. The 
 young wife would put the flowers in fresh water, 
 but she carried them into another room where she 
 could not see them. She always felt as if she must 
 ask the flowers : "Was she a/i?«^ when she gathered 
 you, or did he help to pluck you ? " 
 
 The doctor, apparently, did not observe this rather 
 strained intercourse between the two, and he had 
 adopted a fatherly tone toward Hilda, half-tender, 
 half- reproving, but more inclined to reproof than to 
 praise. 
 
 The two ladies were sitting together thus in the 
 garden hall on the last of May, Hilda with a book 
 in her hand from which she was reading aloud. 
 Antje had requested it, in order to escape the tor- 
 ture of a conversation with her, for she felt that 
 Hilda was seeking for an opportunity to talk with 
 her to-day, and she would not give it to her. What 
 good could it do ? The little one was playing on 
 the sunny gravel walk in front of the veranda, under 
 Classen's care. Antje was holding her work idly in 
 her lap, and did not hear a word of what Hilda was 
 
 23 
 
33^ Misjudged. 
 
 reading. It was " L' Arrabbiata," by Paul Heyse. 
 The young girl stopped for a moment. Antje, thus 
 startled out of her meditations, looked inquiringly 
 at her, and Hilda went on reading : 
 
 "As for my father, no one ever knew how he treated my 
 mother, for she would have died a thousand deaths before 
 she would have uttered a word of complaint \ And just be- 
 cause she loved him. Now, if that is the effect of love, that 
 it closes one's mouth when one ought to shriek for help, and 
 makes a person utterly helpless against tortures worse than 
 the bitterest enemy would inflict, then I will never give my 
 heart into the power of a man.** 
 
 She dropped the book, and looked at Antje 
 timidly, and with a shy, imploring glance. The 
 young wife hastily took up her work, and then she 
 put it aside, got up, and, opening her parasol of 
 unbleached linen, she went out through the sunny 
 garden along the path by the river. There she 
 opened a little door in the wall which led into the 
 ■Wood, and began to walk slowly up the steep path 
 which wound along the mountain, with its magnifi- 
 cent beeches. Such a woodland path is delicious 
 in the spring-time. She walked on under a light 
 green, transparent canopy, through which fell bright 
 golden rays, and on either side soft moss, young 
 ferns, and blue flowers. And everywhere the tiny 
 brooks, clear as crystal, plashed and tinkled and 
 babbled across the path in their hurry to get down 
 into the valley. Now and then a deer would with- 
 draw into the thicket slowly, as if it knew that 
 in this blissful spring-time no hunter was lying in 
 wait for it. Its little fawn looked wonderingly at 
 the human figure, and then ran off after its mother. 
 
Misjudged. ' 33^ 
 
 The songs of birds sounded from the tree-tops ; it 
 was so quiet, and yet so sweet here in the forest, so- 
 peaceful and yet so full of longing ; it was like a 
 sermon on the joys of eternal youth and bliss, like 
 a song of love and happiness. 
 
 Antje felt all this ; she took it all in, but it hurt 
 her. She was possessed by but one thought — what 
 will he do ? How will it end ? How could she 
 help him without humiliating him ? She felt weary 
 in body to-day, and discouraged, in addition. She 
 wondered how she could ever bear to lire on like 
 this, and the worst was yet to come. But nothing 
 but her pale cheeks and her sad eyes betrayed how 
 much she was suffering. 
 
 What was it Hilda had just read ? " Love closes 
 the mouth when one ought to cry out for help ! " 
 But, ah, who was there to help her ? She knew no 
 one in the whole wide world ; the only friend she 
 had was dead now. 
 
 She had slowly mounted higher and higher. Now 
 she turned aside from the road and walked along a 
 narrow path through the young undergrowth ; the 
 bushes swung together behind her, and like a green 
 transparent curtain separated her from the road 
 which she had just left. She knew well and loved 
 the little open space in which she now stood. A 
 couple of tree-stumps had been made into a rude 
 seat, by the aid of a couple of boards, beneath a 
 huge overhanging beech-tree. Through an open- 
 ing in the trees one could look down from here on 
 the manor-house and the garden. Although she 
 was far above them, Antje could plainly distinguish 
 the white figure of her little daughter, who was 
 
34© Misjudged. 
 
 playing with her tiny garden-tools beside the nurse, 
 who was busily knitting. 
 
 How delightful it would have been if husband 
 and wife could have been sitting here, looking down 
 on their happy home ! 
 
 She leaned her head against the trunk of the 
 tree. She would gladly have wept, have wept all 
 this wretched weight from her heart, but she 
 seemed to have no more tears. She sat thus for a 
 long time, till a light step sounded on the path ; 
 through the bushes she caught the gleam of a light 
 dress, and the next moment Antje saw, a little 
 above her, Hilda walking along, swinging her gar- 
 den hat in her hand. Then she stopped, and 
 Antje heard a familiar voice saying, in a tone of 
 good-humored reproof : 
 
 Worn unpunctual you are, Hilda ! You will 
 have to break yourself of that ! " 
 
 Then followed a kiss, and Maiberg — yes, it was 
 Maiberg — added : " I am always the instructor, my 
 poor little girl, and never the tender lover ! How 
 will you bear that, Hilda ? " 
 
 The girl was silent for a while, and then she said 
 clearly and heartily : " I am so thankful that I have 
 you ! I could not imagine myself engaged to any 
 one else but you. Wolf." 
 
 Antje's eyes had opened wider and wider, and 
 every trace of color had fled from her face. She 
 walked on with tottering steps, on and on into the 
 green wilderness, and when she had at length got 
 beyond the sound of those two voices, she stopped, 
 flung her arms round a birch-tree as if for support, 
 and gazed absently along the high-road, which she 
 
Misjudged. 341 
 
 had come upon without being aware of it. How 
 was it possible, how could it be possible ! 
 
 A couple of wood-choppers who were coming 
 along the road took off their hats to her — but she 
 did not see them. After a while she roused herself ; 
 she stepped out into the road, and then walked hur- 
 riedly along in the direction of the forest-house. 
 She must keep Leo from hearing this news ; he 
 must not have this last and most bitter cup to drink 
 while he was still so ill, before he had begun to re- 
 cover his strength. It would crush him to the earth, 
 it would be his ruin. Good God ! 
 
 She would await Maiberg's return in Frau Dora's 
 parlor, would entreat him to be silent until Leo was 
 quite well again. 
 
 By walking quickly she was able to reach the 
 forest-house in three-quarters of an hour. The 
 gnarled oaks in front of it had unfolded all their 
 leaves beneath the rays of the hot sun, and the 
 Forsterin had hung her washing out to dry. Leo's 
 gable window stood wide open, and his gay cover- 
 lids and the carpets that Antje had sent up for him 
 were hanging out of the window to air. The dogs 
 were stretched out on the stone steps before the 
 door in the warm sunshine, and on the threshold of 
 the house sat Frau Dorchen, with her red-haired 
 Lola in her lap, talking to the animal in tender, com- 
 passionate tones. 
 
 Antje bade her " Good afternoon." The little 
 woman looked up ; her eyes were red with crying. 
 " Good Lord ! " she cried, without getting up, " you 
 look like a ghost, Frau Jussnitz ! If you had only 
 come a little earlier ! Herr Jussnitz went down into 
 
342 Misjudged. 
 
 the valley only half an hour ago. Good Heavens, 
 I felt as if one of my own relations was going away, 
 we have had him here so long." 
 
 " He is gone ? " inquired the young wife, her face 
 turning a shade paler. 
 
 Dorchen nodded. But Antje walked past the 
 pretty woman, who was washing Lola's wounds, re- 
 ceived in the last fox-hunt, with tea, and mounted 
 the stairs to the sick-room ; she could not conceal 
 her anxiety from the eyes of this woman. 
 
 The room bore traces of the recent departure of 
 its occupant ; it looked bare, empty, and forlorn, 
 the bureau drawers left open, a sheet of paper ly- 
 ing on the floor, withered flowers in the vases, and 
 a half-empty wine-glass. 
 
 She sat down, quite exhausted,- by the bed, and 
 looked about at the disorder, as if she could discover 
 in this miserable rubbish what had driven him away. 
 But she knew already — it was Hilda's infidelity, 
 Hilda's falsehood ! 
 
 " O God ! grant that he may not be driven to 
 despair ; support him for his child's sake I " she 
 prayed. She was overpowered by a perfect agony 
 of dread. She started up and hurried to the door, 
 but she stopped, for some one was coming up the 
 stairs, and then toward the room where she was. 
 It was Maiberg, who started back in amazement 
 when he saw Antje. 
 
 " You here ? And where is Leo ? " i 
 
 " He is gone ! I wanted to ask you why he 
 decided so suddenly — " she stammered. 
 
 The doctor looked "as dismayed as if some one 
 had told him the Brocken had suddenly been re- 
 
Misjudged. 343 
 
 moved to China, " He has kept his own counsel,'* 
 he said at length. 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 " Why, Frau Antje, what do you suppose ? " began 
 Maiberg. " He has gone out into the world I You 
 couldn't expect that he would go on living here like 
 a bird in a cage, having his little dishes filled with 
 food for him every day ? He has gone to carve 
 out a career for himself. But I did not know he 
 was in such a hurry about it ; I believe he went 
 secretly because he didn't want to take me with 
 him." 
 
 " Then you knew that he had a plan ? " she in- 
 quired. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure I I meant even to accompany 
 him a little way on his road — at least, that was my 
 intention yesterday noon ; but since then, to be 
 sure, my life has undergone a change." 
 
 He leaned against the bureau, and a quiet smile 
 played about his bearded lips. 
 
 " Did Leo know of this change ? " she inquired, 
 still unable to control her agitation. 
 
 The young doctor laughed lightly. " How could 
 he know it ? I only knew myself last evening — 
 that I — " He caught the trembling woman's hand? 
 and pressed them warmly. " I may say to you, 
 as I was just going to say to Leo, that I am en- 
 gaged to Hilda," and still continuing to shake her 
 hands, he went on : " Frau Antje, I know you will 
 be surprised ; I wonder at it myself. She does not 
 possess one quality of all those I had hoped for and 
 dreamed of in my future wife. I had only one 
 ideal in my mind — a woman like yourself, Frau 
 
344 Misjudged. 
 
 Antje, gentle and good as an angel, wise and 
 reasonable — " He laughed, and there was a glim- 
 mer of tears in his frank blue eyes. " And now 
 Fate has put in my way a child with all sorts of 
 wrong and silly ideas in her head ; a creature that I 
 must watch over as if I were her father ; a girl who 
 can, perhaps, never give me, of all that a man ex- 
 pects from his future wife, more than a feeling of 
 deep gratitude and a childlike trust and faith ; and 
 yet whom I have loved ever since she first looked 
 at me with her great, splendid eyes, helplessly and 
 imploringly, better, perhaps, than I should have 
 loved a better woman. And now do not say, Frau 
 Antje, that I am on the point of committing a folly ; 
 do not say it ! I know what I am doing, and you, 
 Antje, you, have shown me what true, faithful love 
 veally is ! It struggles, it suffers, it is tortured, it 
 can be stern and hard, but it is unalterable in its 
 fidelity." 
 
 He released her, and moved away. 
 
 She stood where he left her, with bent head. 
 "And Leo? When he hears it ?" she whispered. 
 
 " Frau Antje," he said, putting his hand on her 
 shoulder, " Leo has forgotten that dream of his. I 
 know it ; I am not unskilled in reading character. 
 And you will not visit it upon him because he has 
 erred once. And if he had not forgotten, if he had 
 still to learn to forget, you must not make it harder 
 for him by a false pity." 
 
 She made no reply ; she walked suddenly up to 
 the table, stooped and picked up a little red bow 
 from the floor, which lay dusty and crushed among 
 the rubbish and torn papers. She looked at it for 
 
Misjudged, 345 
 
 a little while. " Has he the lesson still to learn ? " 
 she asked of the tiny thing. " No ! " replied the 
 mute little messenger ; " No ! " 
 
 In the evening of that same day Antje sat at the 
 table at home with the newly engaged couple, wish- 
 ing them all happiness with a grave but friendly 
 face. And when they separated at length, Hilda 
 caressingly accompanied the young wife to her 
 room, and there she knelt down before her and 
 sobbed out an entreaty for forgiveness. 
 
 Antje stroked the young girl's head. " See that 
 you make him happy," was her only reply. 
 
 " I will ; I will with all my heart," asseverated 
 Hilda. 
 
 " Hilda," asked Antje suddenly, in a trembling 
 voice, " do you love him ? " 
 
 The girl lifted up her tear-stained face ; a rog- 
 uish smile displayed all her little pearly teeth, " I 
 think I do I " she replied in a whisper ; " and if I 
 do not love him yet as passionately and as de- 
 votedly as I have always fancied I could love, I am 
 sure I shall learn to do so some day." 
 
 Antje bent her head sadly. " I trust you may 
 not find yourself mistaken in this belief, dear Hilda. 
 But now, good-night, good-night." And Hilda 
 slipped out of the room. 
 
 But Antje did not go to sleep. She walked up 
 and down on this last night in May, in her comfort- 
 able, cosey room. And her thoughts strayed away 
 into the wide world — somewhere, somewhere out 
 there, a little boat was tossing on the waves of life ; 
 would the weak hand that steered it be strong 
 enough to guide it past the breakers ? Had it bal- 
 
346 Misjudged. 
 
 last enough of force and character ? Would it ever 
 return to her ? 
 
 A nightingale began to sing outside, in front of 
 the window ; the night was so soft, so sweet, so 
 odorous ! She went to the window, and looked out 
 into the twilight garden ; she stood there as she 
 had done when she was a betrothed maiden, and 
 wished that she might look out to that distant 
 spot whither he had betaken himself. 
 
 She thought that a mother who is sending out 
 a beloved son into all the dangers of the world 
 would feel, perhaps, as she did now ; that she 
 could not sleep during the night for anxiety ; that 
 no morning would dawn in which she would not 
 think of him with fear and dread. 
 
 " Thank God ! " she said, " that I have work to 
 do— a great deal of work." i 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Summer passed away, and autumn came round 
 again. The Wild Huntsman dashed through the 
 air in the frightfully stormy nights, the rusty 
 weathercock creaked on its hinges, and the sparks 
 from the forge were scattered in all directions. But 
 the old walls of the manor-house guarded well the 
 lonely woman and her child, who had taken refuge 
 there. The fire blazed in the huge green porcelain 
 stove through all the fury of the tempest. The 
 night-lamp hummed slightly, and the child, in its 
 little bed, breathed softly. 
 
 But the larger bed remained untouched ; Frau 
 Antje could not sleep. She thought of her wedding- 
 day the year before, when he made her feel, for the 
 first time, that she was an unloved wife, of no value 
 in his life ; and she recalled all the sad, weary days 
 that had followed. But these late months had 
 seemed the hardest of all. At first, when she found 
 Leo had gone away, she had hoped for a few lines 
 of farewell ; but no news had come, then or later — 
 she had never once heard from him. Maiberg went 
 away, but he, too, knew nothing of Leo. 
 
 Hilda had already left "Gottessegen," and re- 
 turned to her parents. Her lover had followed her, 
 and the wedding had just taken place, only a few 
 days before. The steamer which was carrying them 
 
348 Misjudged. 
 
 to Rio de Janeiro was already tossing about on the 
 ocean. Aunt Polly had been present at the wed- 
 ding, which was made the occasion of a complete 
 reconciliation. A postal-card, which Hilda had 
 scribbled just before the ceremony, to thank Antje 
 for a costly wedding-gift, spoke of another present, 
 a — Antje could scarcely decipher the words — a 
 charming statuette of bronze, representing a little 
 Cupid with bandaged eyes. But the happy, thought- 
 less Hilda had not said a word of whence this pres- 
 ent came — from what city or what country. Nor 
 did the bridegroom mention his friend in the few 
 earnest words that he sent ; there was only a heart- 
 felt desire for her future happiness, an entreaty to 
 be kept in remembrance, the hope of a future meet- 
 ing. He, too, knew nothing definite, or, if he did, 
 he would not speak of it, 
 
 Antje was brave and steadfast ; she tried to soothe 
 her pain by work, and of this she had more than 
 enough ; it was a marvel how she managed to 
 attend to it all. The workmen made claims upon 
 the new mistress, which they would not have 
 thought of making upon the Frau Bergrath, The 
 times were changed, and Antje understood this. 
 She was always ready to consider just demands, 
 but she had courage enough to put down all inso- 
 lence, and this even in personal intercourse with 
 the people. For when a gigantic workman called 
 out to her an insolent threat — she was standing, 
 raised a little above the people, on one of the steps 
 in the hall — she turned him away with a few words, 
 and his dismissal followed instantly. 
 
 Old Herr Kortmer and the young clerks in the 
 
Alisjudged. 349 
 
 counting-house could not believe their ears ; and the 
 former urgently entreated Frau Antje to cease her 
 lonely walks, for the discharged workman was a 
 revengeful fellow, and quite capable of anything. 
 But Antje shook her head, with a smile, and that very 
 same evening she went to the big, impudent fellow's 
 house to tell his wife, who had a child three days 
 old, that she could stay quietly in her house till she 
 had quite recovered, and till her husband had 
 found another situation. To be sure, she received 
 no thanks for this ; the man, who was sitting at the 
 table with clinched fists, said not a word, but his 
 gloomy eyes spoke for him, and what they said was 
 not reassuring. But Antje, apparently, did not 
 observe this. Three days after, however, the great, 
 tall fellow came to her and begged to be taken 
 back again ; he said he had found that she was 
 just and merciful, and he would never offend again. 
 And Antje put him on probation, on the result of 
 which depended his reinstatement. 
 
 The building of the new furnace was in progress, 
 and the yield of the mine was excellent ; the busi- 
 ness was greatly enlarged, and the number of work- 
 men increased. Antje had the plans for the houses 
 for the men and for the hospital lying on her work- 
 table ; the contract for the new physician's dwelling- 
 house had already been signed by her, and she was 
 choosing the situation for it — it was to be a Swiss 
 chalet. For the rest she lived a perfectly secluded 
 life, for which her deep mourning afforded suffi- 
 cient excuse. She did not know what explanation 
 was given with regard to ^r husband's absence, and 
 she did not wish to know. Herr Kortmer took care 
 
35© Misjudged. 
 
 to spread the report that Herr Jussnitz was travel- 
 ling and studying in Italy. i 
 
 The pastor's family was the only one Antje ever 
 visited, and sometimes old Frau Kortmer came to 
 have a chat with hjr, carrying her huge pompadour, 
 which always held some little dainty for the child ; 
 and then they talked about the time when Antje's 
 parents were still alive. Occasionally, also, the 
 Frau Forsterin made her appearance. She always 
 liked to come, for on a little bracket in Antje's room 
 stood a photograph of the " Witch of the Brocken," 
 and the vain young woman took great pleasure in 
 looking at the picture. 
 
 Antje employed her leisure hours in reading, and 
 never in her life had she found so much time for 
 this occupation. She discovered many treasures in 
 her bookcase ; she did not choose light literature, but 
 selected instructive works, and history — above all, 
 the history of art. She had read all these books 
 before when she took lessons of the Herr Pastor, but 
 now she read them again with eagerness and with 
 newly-awakened intelligence. She had thoughts 
 which would come when she had closed her book ; 
 the question concerning the future, to which there 
 was only one answer, — " Patience ! " — she tried to 
 forget in the society of her child. 
 
 But a secret voice kept whispering in her ear, 
 which spoke of hope and approaching happiness ; 
 she had a presentiment as if, somehow, the clouds 
 which hung over her so heavily must part a little, a 
 very little, to let one — only one — single gleam of hope 
 shine through. 
 
 She went down stairs in the early morning into 
 
Misjudged. 351 
 
 the dining-room to take her breakfast. The cold 
 gray light of an October morning shone through the 
 window ; her cup looked so lonely on the great 
 table, the tiny tea-pot which the maid brought in 
 held tea enough for (?«<? person alone — the young wife 
 could not touch it. 
 
 "Five years ago to-da>," was the thought that 
 kept passing through her mind. Five years ago to- 
 day the sun had shone brightly into the room, and 
 garlands and evergreen hung about everywhere ; 
 five years ago to-day a fair young girl was sitting 
 at breakfast with her parents for the last time. She 
 could not drink her tea, because each one of the two 
 old people had caught one of her hands and was 
 kissing and stroking it. How rapidly the hours had 
 passed, how quickly the moment came when a fig- 
 ure clad in white silk walked through the hall on 
 Ms arm to drive to the church, with such pride and 
 happiness I And how soon the moment came 
 when she got into the carriage to go away with 
 him ! 
 
 The young wife pushed away her cup, and said to 
 herself, half aloud, " I must not keep thinking of 
 this, I must not ! '* But who can banish thought ? 
 
 She rose with an air of determination, pressed her 
 hands for a moment over her eyes, and went through 
 the counting-house into her study. The post-bag 
 seemed to have been full that day, for as many as 
 twenty letters lay on her writing-table. 
 
 A box also stood beside it on the floor, with the 
 cover already taken off. * 
 
 She read the letters, went to speak to Kortmer at 
 his desk, and after a long conversation with him 
 
35 a Misjudged. 
 
 came back to the study. As she was about to sit 
 down to write, her foot struck against the box, and 
 she laid down her pen, knelt down on the floor, and 
 began to unpack it. What could it be "i An end- 
 less amount of excelsior, hay, and paper — and at 
 last a hard substance. She tried to lift it out, but 
 it was impossible, it was too heavy. She touched 
 the bell and sent for the porter. The sturdy Harz 
 peasant had some difficulty in lifting out an object 
 wrapped carefully in oiled silk. 
 
 " It must be njade of stone or iron, Frau Juss- 
 nitz," he said, as he placed the mysterious object 
 on the writing-table, wiped the perspiration from his 
 forehead with his apron, and went out. ''■ 
 
 But Antje cut the string which tied the wrap- 
 pings, and tore off the paper ; then she stood with 
 clasped hands before a group in bronze, gazing at 
 it in silence, and gradually a deep flush overspread 
 her pale face, and a few glittering drops trembled 
 on her long lashes. Wonderful alike in composition 
 and modelling was this ideal figure of a man bending 
 forward : he was standing on the summit of a great 
 rock which he seemed to have just reached ; his foot 
 was already hanging over the precipice, and the 
 next moment he would plunge over into the abyss, 
 which his eyes, looking upward, did not perceive. 
 There was a chain about his waist, and the other 
 end of the chain was wound round a beautiful 
 woman's figure ; she, in chaste garments of antique 
 fashion, was leaning against the rock, her hand hold- 
 ing a spindle, the symbol of womanliness and do- 
 mesticity, the slender foot firmly placed against a 
 Stone on the ground, but her eyes were fixed on the 
 
Misjudged. jJSJ 
 
 man. There was a wonderful expression of love 
 and anxiety in the features of this young woman. 
 Below on the pedestal were engraved these words : 
 
 •* Well for the husband bound by such a chain f 
 From misery and death it draws him home again.* 
 
 And Antje understood — she understood the full 
 meaning. She threw herself on her knees before 
 the writing-table, and embraced the work of art in 
 mute rejoicing. 
 
 Then she searched with trembling hands for a 
 letter— a word ; but she found nothing. There 
 was nothing but the bill of lading, which bore the 
 name of a celebrated bronze-foundery in a West- 
 phalian city. 
 
 And then she looked at the group, and at last 
 she found on the rock at the woman's feet two 
 little letters, " L. J.," the signature which Leo always 
 put on his pictures. She leaned her head against 
 the cold bronze and cried. 
 
 On that morning Antje was not accessible for 
 business purposes ; Herr Kortmer attended to every- 
 thing with a wondering shake of the head. But 
 Frau Antje sat in her great sitting-room, writing 
 private letters. 
 
 The old man said to his wife at dinner : ** Women 
 are queer creatures, that I must say ; for six months 
 she has been perfectly reasonable, and even devoted 
 to the business, but to-day she happens to take it 
 into her head to write private letters just at the time 
 when she ought to have been attending to her af- 
 tairs. And she has sent off a telegram to Hen 
 Ferdinand Frey. to come here to coffee this aftei^ 
 
5*4 Misjuajfea. 
 
 noon. I say, Frau Antje, there must be 80irii>l hing 
 behind all this ! " 
 
 There was a very long conversation with Cousin 
 Ferdinand. Finally Herr Kortmer himself waa 
 called in. He found two young people with eyes 
 sparkling and cheeks flushed with eagemes» and 
 the ardor of enterprise. i 
 
 Ah, and how Herr Kortmer opposed the mon- 
 strous plan ! Set up a bronze-toundery ? It was 
 impossible, absolutely impossible ! How could they 
 compete with the celebrated founderies in France, 
 for instance ? Ah, there they have first-rate artists — 
 for the mere casting, my friends, is not everything. 
 You can find the metal in more places than one, 
 and we could manage the composition ; uut the 
 model for the object to be cast, the idea^ the art, my 
 dear Frau Jussnitz, the genius — ah, yes — you will 
 have to search far for that, it is not to be found by 
 the wayside. No, it is impossible, quite impossible ! 
 Or do you suppose an artist by divine right will 
 come to you if you only whistle for him ? Good 
 Heavens ! you might look forever and you couldn't 
 find what you want — a man like that does n^t grow 
 on every bush. No, you had better drop that idea, 
 Frau Jussnitz ; I must advise you not to attempt 
 it" 
 
 The old gentleman excitedly helped himself to 
 a pinch of snuff, and waved his red silk handker- 
 chief ; and when he had gone through w'th this 
 rather lengthened ceremony he looked up at Frau 
 Antje and gazed into her laughing face. Herr Kort- 
 mer forgot to put away his snuff-box, for he had 
 col set:ii his voi:n<; mistress lauyh for a«cs. Aiid 
 
Misjudged iSf 
 
 when he IcMsked across at Herr Frey hs iiraa laud- 
 ing too. 
 
 The faithful official felt for a moment as thou^ 
 his confidence had been betrayed. 
 
 " Well," said the young wife, " we will manage 
 the matter in this way. my dear Kortmer : I will 
 first find the artist, the genius, and then we will 
 set up the foundery with his help. And I hope I 
 may be able to introduce you to this artist within 
 a fortnight. I hope so," she added, in a lower 
 tone, " for I do not know yet whether he — " Then 
 she raised her head — " yes, I do know it too ! In 
 a fortnight, then. And pray, my dear Kortmer. look 
 at this group and tell me how you like it." 
 
 Sh« drew the old man toward the mantelpiece 
 pn which the work of art stood. The lamps which 
 burned on either side of it lighted up the charm- 
 ing figures, which looked wonderfully beautiful in 
 this light. 
 
 " Ah, a genius like that — you may look for a 
 long time, a long time ! " he said at length. 
 
 *' Then you grant that the group is beautiful, my 
 dear Kortmer ? " 
 
 " Yes, so far as I am a judge, it is very beautiful I 
 But I am very much mistaken if I have not already 
 seen a picture of that thing. Good gracious ! yes. 
 just you wait a minute, Frau Jussnitz " 
 
 And the old gentleman ran to the counting-room 
 as fast as he could, and came back with a leaf of an 
 illustrated journal. 
 
 " There, you see, Frau Jussnitz, that must be it, 
 and here is something about it : * Munich, August 
 30, 18—. In the department of bronzes and artis» 
 
350 Misjudged. 
 
 tic casts, the first work of a young artist has at- 
 tracted much attention : * Chains ! ' — original in con- 
 ception, perfectly finished in the modelling, it is one 
 of the most charming works in the whole Exposi- 
 tion. The expression of the woman's face, as well 
 as the attitude of her whole body, has touched and 
 charmed every spectator, Herr Leo Jussnitz, the 
 creator of this work of art, has, as it is said " 
 
 Antje had all at once caught the paper from the 
 old man's hands, and read on : " has, as it is said, 
 already in former years given evidence of great 
 talent for sculpture. He worked for a whiel in the 
 
 studio of Prof, L in Berlin, but, in spite of the 
 
 encouragement of his celebrated master, turned his 
 attention to painting until, after various disappoint- 
 ments, he again took up this other branch of his art." 
 
 Antje let the paper drop. She looked at Herr 
 Kortmer, but the old man shook his head and 
 turned quickly toward the door. There he stopped 
 for a moment, took off his spectacles and wiped 
 them, for they had been dimmed by a few unex- 
 pected tears. 
 
 " Well, then I suppose it will be so," he said, as 
 he left the room. 
 
 Herr Frey, too, soon went away ; he would not 
 intrude upon this happy agitated moment in the 
 life of the young wife. 
 
 Soon after Antje finished a letter, and put it into 
 the post-bag herself. It bore the address of the 
 bronze-foundery in Westphalia. Enclosed was a 
 smaller one to Herr Leo Jussnitz, which contained 
 only the few words : " Come to us, to Antje and " 
 — she had guided the little one's hand — " Leonie." 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Nearly two years have passed. A deep blue 
 summer sky spans the Harz Mountains, and the ail 
 here is fresh and clear. 
 
 The iron-works, "Gottessegen," have changed 
 somewhat ; new buildings have started up every- 
 where from among the green trees, and the work- 
 men's houses have grown into quite a respectable 
 village. The traveller must still penetrate to this 
 remote region by carriage or on foot, for the rail- 
 road runs down below through the valley. But 
 many strangers come up, nevertheless, through 
 these splendid woods, for " Gottessegen " has grown 
 to be quite a celebrated spot in the world. 
 
 To-day a stately man has descended at the Ober- 
 rode inn, " The Green Pine-tree," which boasts such 
 delicious trout as are not to be found far and wide ; 
 has ordered some of these same celebrated fish, and 
 now takes occasion to inquire of the landlady, a 
 stately woman in her fifties, about all manner of 
 things up here. He has a rather weary expression 
 in his face, and the fair hair and beard are already 
 mingled with threads of silver. 
 
 " Do you mean that great house ? That is the 
 bronze-foundery ; you can see the manor-house as 
 soon as you get to that open space ; the room for 
 copies is under the studio, which looks out on the 
 
35S Misjudged, 
 
 garden. What did you say, sir? Ah, yes, that 
 
 villa up there on the mountain ? That belongs to a 
 partner in the firm, Herr Ferdinand Frey, and in 
 the Swiss chalet on the other side of the stream the 
 doctor's family lives." 
 
 " Indeed — the doctor ? What is his name ? " 
 
 " Maiberg, sir ; they have been here for about six 
 months. You ought to have been here yesterday, 
 and then you would have seen everybody ; old 
 Kortmer celebrated his fortieth anniversary at the 
 works. It was a great festival, and every one 
 danced at it, and no one more gayly than our mis- 
 tress, and at last Herr Kortmer proposed three 
 cheers for her. It was splendid, I assure you. You 
 know Frau Jussnitz, sir — or don't you ? Then you 
 can't understand, even if I tell you, how fond she 
 is of young and old ! Ah, she is a mistress worth 
 having, our Frau Jussnitz ! " 
 
 The stranger remained seated for a while, ordered 
 a room to be got ready for him, and then went up 
 to the great house and asked for Herr Leo Jussnitz, 
 He was in his studio, and the stranger was taken 
 there at once. 
 
 The study was a handsome room, fitted up artis- 
 tically, though not luxuriously ; everything pointed 
 to a distinct aim — it was a work-room. The young 
 artist was standing before the clay model of a 
 woman's figure, destined for a monumental foun- 
 tain. He no longer has a flippant, soldierly air ; his 
 figure is rather bent, his color a little paler — the 
 relic of his illness ; but what the countenance has 
 lest in freshness it has gained in depth of expres- 
 sion. 
 
Misjudged. 555 
 
 He gazed wonderingly at the stranger for a ma 
 ment, then he called out joyfully : " Upon my word, 
 Barrenberg, is it you ? Where — where in the wide 
 world do you come from ? " 
 
 " I am stationed at Fort H , down in the val- 
 ley, and I would not miss the opportunity of seeing 
 dn old friend, and — well, I will say it, for it is no 
 flattery — a celebrated and greatly admired artist. 
 I congratulate you, Jussnitz; you have made a 
 splendid hit ! " 
 
 The two men shook hands. "How are you, 
 Barrenberg?" 
 
 " Oh, I manage to drag along," was the laughing 
 reply. But Jussnitz perceived the twitching of bis 
 face as he spoke. " Did your wife come with 
 you ? " he inquired. 
 
 Barrenberg sank heavily into a chair and looked 
 down at his dusty boots. 
 
 " If you mean Irene von Erlach, you had better 
 ask Signor Colani where his wife is. He is living 
 with her in Florence." 
 
 Jussnitz did not know what reply to make to 
 this. 
 
 Suddenly the door flew open, and a little girl 
 rushed in, her hat hanging on the back of her neck, 
 and her soft, gold, shimmering hair floating round 
 her head. She threw her arms round Jussnitz's 
 neck and kissed him. 
 
 ** Papa, papa ! Aunt Maiberg with Fred and 
 Aunt Frey have come, and Fred keeps trying to 
 walk, and he can't, and he always falls down. It is 
 such fun ! " 
 
 jussnitz smiled, told his little daughter to shak« 
 
360 Misjudged, 
 
 hands with the gentleman, and then begged him to 
 come out with him. 
 
 Joyous voices float toward them from the ver- 
 anda ; on the gravel walk in front of it a colored 
 nurse is playing with a dark-haired child. 
 
 The mistress of the house has recognized the 
 new-comer at once ; she approaches him with her 
 calm, sympathetic manner. He looks at her in 
 amazement. How she has developed in the warm 
 rays of the sun of happiness which now shines upon 
 her ! "What a good and beautiful woman ! " thinks 
 Barrenberg, as he looks into her deep, shining eyes, 
 and he sits down beside her after he has been in- 
 troduced to the others. 
 
 His eyes wander about the room. That little 
 blonde over there he does not recognize ; it is Frau 
 Frey. But that beautiful, slender woman in a white 
 gown, with the dreamy dark eyes, is the little 
 Spanish dancer of former days. Hilda is winding 
 yarn which an old woman is holding for her. The 
 latter is introduced to him as Frau Polly Berger, 
 who is making her niece a visit. 
 
 Presently a lively conversation is in progress. 
 Antje gives an account of yesterday's festival ; 
 Hilda tells them of her life in Brazil. " I cannot 
 tell you," she says in conclusion, " how happy I was 
 when I felt my feet once more on German soil. It- 
 was such a good idea of yours, Antje, to appoint 
 Wolf to be your doctor here.** 
 
 Thereupon she starts up and runs down the steps, 
 catches up her stout little Fred, and kisses him so 
 violently that the boy screams. She has to indulge 
 in these little outbreaks now and then, or she could 
 
Misjudged. j6l 
 
 ;At endure the quiet. Then she comes back 
 breathless, and sits down again with sparkling eyes. 
 ''Such a good idea, Antje," she repeats once more, 
 looking up at the Swiss chalet which is her home. 
 
 " All my wife's ideas are good ones," says Leo 
 pressing Antje's hand. She flushes deeply for joy, 
 and plunges into a conversation with Barrenberg. 
 And his anxious face grows calmer. Yes, Antje 
 could venture to offer Hilda a home here, for it is 
 evident that Leo's heart belongs entirely to his 
 wife. 
 
 " I read a long article in the paper about your 
 improvements a few weeks ago," says Barrenberg to 
 the young wife. " May I see them ? " 
 
 " To be sure," cries Jussnitz ; " and the chief 
 herself will do you the honor of being your guide." 
 
 She laughs and promises. 
 
 "I call it absolutely ideal, where art and tech* 
 nical construction go hand in hand," says Barren- 
 berg. 
 
 That evening, Leo accompanies his friend back 
 to the little inn. Barrenberg has declined Antje's 
 proffered hospitality. " Not out of shyness, Juss- 
 nitz," he explains, rather hesitatingly, " but — I am 
 not exactly envious — I am sure you understand me. 
 Good-by, Jussnitz ; you have won a great prize. 
 Your wife is a beautiful woman and a clever 
 woman, but her great merit is not in being capa- 
 ble of filling such a position — her great charm is 
 her goodness, her true womanliness. But goodness, 
 Jussnitz, that is the main thing ! Signora Colani 
 was not a nonentity by any means, but — for all the 
 goodness of heart she possessed — ! Ah *' 
 
3oa Misjudged. 
 
 He presses Leo's hand once more, and then tht> 
 latter goes back to his home. 
 
 In the dark garden a light figure comes slowly 
 toward him. He puts his arm round her, and they 
 walk up and down. 
 
 All at once he stops. ** Barrenberg is right," he 
 says, stroking her cheek ; " goodness is the main 
 thins^ Where should I be now but for your good- 
 ness ? " 
 
 " But for your chain I " she says in a slightly 
 mocking tone, throwing her arms round his neck. 
 
 " Thank God I " he says, kissing her cheek— 
 ** thank God that there are such chains ! " 
 
The New 
 ti^ Alpine Editioneiy& 
 
 160 Titles 
 Library Style Gilt Top 
 
 This series comprises 160 of the most popular and standard works by the 
 world's best authors, such as: Barrie, Bunyan, Hall Caine, Cooper, Corelli, 
 Curtis, Dickens, Doyle, Dumas, Eliot, Hawthorne, Henty, Holmes, Hugo, 
 Irving, Kipling, Longfellow, Poe, Scott, Sienkiewicz, Thackeray, Jules Verne, 
 Whittier, and embraces every department of science, art, literature, philosophy, 
 history and fiction. They are printed from large, new clear type on a superior 
 ciuality of laid paper, and substantially bound in Bedford ribbed silk cloth. 
 Title stamped on back in genuine gold and original designs stamped on the sid« 
 and back in inks, with hand-burnished gilt top — Ubrary style: Size 5 x 7H. 
 
 
 Price 75 Cents Per Volume. 
 
 
 T. S. ARTHUR 
 
 
 ROSA N. CAREY 
 
 125 
 
 T«n Nights in a Bar Room 
 
 81 
 
 Mary St. John 
 
 
 BALZAC 
 
 90 
 
 Not Like Other Girls 
 
 152 
 
 Wild Ass's Skin 
 
 147 
 158 
 
 Wee Wifie 
 
 Wooed and Married 
 
 
 J. M. BARRIE 
 
 
 RALPH CONNOR 
 
 149 
 
 When a Man's Single 
 
 15 
 
 Black Rock 
 
 153 
 
 Window in Thrums 
 
 
 J. FENIMORE COOPER 
 
 
 R. D. BLACKMORE 
 
 28 
 
 Deerslayer, The 
 
 75 
 
 Lorna Doone 
 
 72 
 
 Last of the Mohicans 
 
 
 CHARLOTTE BRONTE 
 
 95 
 
 Pathfinder, The 
 
 C5 
 
 Jane Eyre 
 
 99 
 101 
 
 Pilot, The 
 Pioneers, The 
 
 
 BULWER-LYTTON 
 
 105 
 
 Prairie, The 
 
 4 
 
 Alice 
 
 120 
 
 Spy, The 
 
 44 
 
 Ernest Maltravers 
 
 138 
 
 Two Admirals 
 
 71 
 
 Last Days of Pompeii 
 
 146 
 154 
 
 Water Witch 
 Wing and Wing 
 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN 
 
 
 MARIE CORELLI 
 
 57 
 100 
 
 Holy War 
 Pilgrim's Progress 
 
 7 
 111 
 
 Ardath 
 
 Romance of Two Worlds 
 
 
 HALL CAINK 
 
 128 
 
 Thelma 
 
 17 
 
 Bondman, The 
 
 142 
 
 Vendetta 
 
 27 
 
 Deemster, The 
 
 160 
 
 Wormwood 
 
 
 MARIE CALM 
 
 
 MARIA CUMMINS 
 
 12 
 
 Bella's Blue Book 
 
 70 
 
 Lampligiiter, The 
 
 — 1— 
 
THE NEW ALPINE EDITION -Continued. 
 
 GEO. W. CURTIS 
 
 107 Prue and I 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 16 Bleak House 
 
 22 Child's History of England 
 
 23 Christmas Stories 
 26 David Copperfield 
 29 Dombey and Son 
 51 Great Expectations 
 80 Martin Chuzzlewit 
 89 Nicholas Nickleby 
 91 Old Curiosity Shop 
 
 93 Oliver Twist 
 
 94 Our Mutual Friend 
 97 Pickwick Papers 
 
 122 Tale of Two Cities 
 
 150 
 
 A. CONAH DOYLE 
 
 White Comijany, A 
 
 J. H. DRUMMOND 
 
 34 Addresses 
 
 88 Natural Law in the Spiritual 
 
 World 
 
 ALEXANDER DUMAS 
 
 24 Count of Monte Cristo, The 
 37 Edmund Dantes 
 
 76 Louise de la Valliere 
 79 Man in the Iron Mask, The 
 119 Son of Porthos 
 129 Three Guardsmen, The 
 137 Twenty Years After 
 145 Viscount De Bragelonne 
 
 GEORGE EBERS 
 39 Egyptian Princess, An 
 139 Uarda 
 
 GEORGE ELIOT 
 1 Adam Bede 
 
 25 Daniel Deronda 
 
 45 Felix Holt 
 
 84 Middlemarch 
 
 85 Mill on the Floss 
 112 Romola 
 
 117 Silas Marner 
 
 JESSIE FOTHERGILL 
 
 46 First Violin, The 
 GOLDSMITH AND JOHNSON 
 
 143 Vicar of Wakefield, and Rasselas 
 
 P. G. HAMERTON 
 63 Intellectual Life 
 
 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 
 114 Scarlet Letter 
 
 W. HEIMBURG 
 
 48 Gertrude's Marriage 
 
 86 Misjudged 
 
 G. A. HENTY 
 
 155 With Lee in Virginia 
 
 156 With Wolfe in Canada 
 
 113 
 
 MARIETTA HOLLY 
 
 Samautha at Saratoga 
 
 MARY J. HOLMES 
 
 32 Dora Deane 
 
 41 English Orphans 
 
 59 Homestead on the Hillside 
 
 73 Lena Rivers 
 78 Mageie Miller 
 
 82 Meadowbrook Farm 
 123 Tempest and Sunshine 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 
 
 8 Autocrat of the Breakfast Table 
 
 THOMAS HUGHES 
 
 132 Tom Brown's School Days 
 
 133 Tom Brown at Oxford 
 
 VICTOR HUGO 
 18 By Order of the King 
 
 REV. J, H. INGRAHAM 
 98 Pillar of Fire 
 106 Prince of the House of David 
 131 Throne of David 
 
 WASHINGTON IRVING 
 3 Alhambra, The 
 
 68 Knickerbocker's History of N.Y. 
 118 Sketch Book 
 
 JEROME K. JEROME 
 
 127 Three Men in a Boat 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 60 Hypatia 
 
 RUDYARD KIPLING 
 11 Barrack Room Ballads 
 H. W. LONGFELLOW 
 
 74 Longfellow's Poems 
 
 SIR JOHN LUBBOCK 
 102 Pleasures of Life 
 
 EDNA LYALL 
 
 30 Donovan 
 
 64 Hardy Norseman, A 
 
 62 In the Golden Days 
 
 69 Knight Errant 
 148 We Two 
 
 167 Won by Waiting 
 
 E. MARLITT 
 10 Bailiff's Maid 
 49 Gold Elsie 
 92 Old Mam'selle's Secret 
 
 IK MARVEL (D. G. ICtchall) 
 
 33 Dream Life 
 
 109 Reveries of a Bachelor 
 
 OWEN MEREDITH 
 77 Lucile 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 2 Aesop's Fables 
 
 5 Andersen's Fairy Tales 
 
 6 Arabian Knight's Entertain- 
 
 ments 
 
 9 Bacon's Essays 
 
 31 Don Quixote — Cervantes 
 
 40 Elizabeth and Her German 
 Gardener 
 
 —2— 
 
THE NEW ALPINE EDITION-Contlnxied. 
 
 42 
 
 Knglish Woman's Love Letters 
 
 
 HERBERT SPENCER 
 
 43 
 60 
 
 Epictetus, Discourses of 
 Golden Butterfly, Besant and 
 
 38 
 
 Education 
 
 
 Rice 
 
 
 ST. PIERRE 
 
 52 
 
 53 
 
 103 
 
 Grimm's Fairy Tales 
 Gulliver's Travels 
 Plutarch's Lives 
 
 96 Paul and Virginia 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 110 
 
 Robinson Crusoe — De Foe 
 
 135 
 
 Treasure Island 
 
 121 
 
 Swiss Family Robinson — Wyss 
 
 ] 
 
 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 
 
 159 
 
 Wood's Natural History 
 
 140 
 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin 
 
 
 mSS MULOCK 
 
 
 BAYARD TAYLOR 
 
 66 
 
 John Halifax 
 
 144 
 
 Views Afoot 
 
 19 
 
 FRANCIS PARKMA5 
 California and the Oregon Trail 
 
 58 
 
 JEREMY TAYLOR 
 Holy Living 
 
 
 EDGAR ALLAN POE 
 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON 
 
 104 
 
 Poe's Tales 
 
 124 . 
 
 Tennvson's Poems 
 
 115 
 
 JANE PORTER 
 Scottish Chiefs 
 
 WM. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
 
 126 
 
 Thaddeus of Warsaw 
 
 56 
 
 Henry Esmond 
 
 
 R. M. ROCHE 
 
 141 
 
 Vanity Fair 
 
 21 
 
 Children of the Abbey 
 
 
 JULES VERNE 
 
 
 SIR WALTER SCOTT 
 
 47 
 
 Floating Island 
 
 55 
 
 Heart of Midlothian 
 
 83 
 
 Michael Strogoflf 
 
 64 
 
 Ivanhoe 
 
 87 
 
 Mysterious Island, The 
 
 67 
 
 Kenilworth , 
 
 134 
 
 Tour of the World in 80 Days 
 
 
 ANNA SEWALL 
 
 136 
 
 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea 
 
 14 
 
 Black Beauty 
 
 
 JOHN G. WmiTIER 
 
 
 HENRYK SIENTf TEWICZ 
 
 151 
 
 Whittier's Poems 
 
 108 
 
 Quo Vadis. 
 
 
 AUGUSTA EVANS- WILSON 
 
 
 SAMUEL SMILES 
 
 13 
 
 Beulnh 
 
 20 
 
 Character 
 
 61 
 
 Inez 
 
 35 
 113 
 
 Duty 
 Self Help 
 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD 
 
 130 
 
 Thrift 
 
 36 
 
 East Lynn 
 
 ••HARKAWAY" SERIES 
 
 OF BOOKS FOR. BOYS 
 'By "Bracebrid^e Hemyn^ 
 
 No more Readable Books for the Young have ever been printed than these 
 
 Fifteen Volumes 
 Bound in Linen Cloth, Back and Side Stamped in Ink 
 
 1*rice 75 Cent^ per copy 
 
 10 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in 
 China 
 
 11 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in 
 Greece, Part I 
 
 Jack Harkaway's School Days 
 Jack Harkaway After School Days 
 Jack Harkaway Afloat and Ashore 
 Jack Harkaway at Oxford, Part I 
 Jack Harkaway at Oxford, Part II 
 Jack Harkaway Among the 
 Brigands, Part I 
 
 7 Jack Harkaway Among the 
 
 Brieands, Part II 
 
 8 Jack Harkaway's Adventures 
 
 Around the World 
 
 9 Jack HarkawayinAmericaand Cuba 
 
 12 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in 
 
 Greece, Part II 
 
 13 Jack Harkaway's Adventures in 
 
 Australfa 
 
 14 Jack Harkaway and His Boy 
 
 Tinker, Part I 
 
 15 Jack Harkaway and His Boy 
 
 Tinker, Part II 
 
 All books sent, postpaid, to any address in the United States, Canada or Mexico, 
 upon receipt of price, in currency, postal or express money orders. 
 
 M. A. Donohue & Co., 
 
 407-429 Dearborn 
 Street 
 
 — 3— 
 
 Chicago 
 
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO 
 
 Slacksniithio^, Horseshoeing, 
 
 CARRIAGE AND WAGON BUILDINC 
 ==== AND PAINTING ^^== 
 
 For all general mechanical work, this is the 
 mast valuable book for the farmer, blacksmith, 
 carpenter, carriage and wagon building, painting 
 and varnishing trades published. The department 
 on Blacksmithing is based on the various text books 
 by Prof. A. Lungwitz, Director of the Shoeing 
 School of the Royal Veterinary College at Dresden, 
 while the chapters on Carriage and Wagon Build- 
 ing, Painting, Varnishing are by Charles F. Adams, 
 one of the most successful builders in Wisconsin. 
 The language employed is so simple that any young 
 man of average ability can, in a short time b«come 
 proficient in all of these useful and profitable oc- 
 cupatioBS. Each chapter is fulljkillastrated, there 
 being mora than so drawings throughout the book. 
 
 Full Cloth Binding, Price. $1.00 
 
 THE COMPLETE 
 
 HOUSB BUILDBR 
 
 With Practicatl Hints on Construction 
 
 The subject of house building is of interest to all, 
 even though financially they are at present unable to 
 realize their cherished hopes. A few months or a year 
 may so change the aspect of one's affairs as to render 
 it possible to build. It is therefore well for all to antic- 
 ipate the realization of a home and become familiar 
 with the requisites of a good house, barn, warehouse 
 or other necessary building. This valuable work con- 
 tains not only Plans and Specifications for Dwellings, 
 but Clubs, Churches, Public Buildings, Barns, and all 
 necessary outbuildings for Farms, Country Seats, Sub- 
 urban Homes, etc.; accurate estimates of materials 
 with cost, and all Tables and Rules necessary in Plastering, Plumbing, 
 Painting, Roofing, Masonry, Cornice, Windows, Doors and Porch Mate- 
 rials, with 50 plans and Specifications on buildings from $476 up are given. 
 176 pages, xsmo. _ _ 
 
 Paper, 25 Cents; ClotK, 50 Cents. 
 
 rPer «ale by all Book aad News Dealers, or wtU be sent to any 
 address in the U. S., Canada er Mexico, postage paid, on receipt uf 
 price, in currency, money order er stamps. 
 M, A. T>onohue tSl Co. 
 
 
 407-429 DEARBORN ST. 
 
 OHXOAOU 
 
Cook Books 
 
 Home Queen 
 Cook Book 
 
 Cool^ry, Do- 
 
 '. Table Ed- 
 the Home, 
 
 two tfaonsasd 
 
 Priateden 
 
 paper and 
 
 in white 
 
 OcUvo. Size 
 
 $too 
 
 Vi y 
 
 White Ho\ise 
 Cook Book 
 
 '^he Every Day 
 Cook Book 
 
 Arid FaLinlly Componclluin 
 of PrCLOtloeJ Recipes 
 
 Containing 325 pages, ismo, and 
 complete classified index. Con- 
 tains receipts and recipes for all 
 styles of cooking. Printed from 
 clear type on good paper, and sub« 
 stantially bomid. 
 
 Green Oii^Cloth. m..75c> 
 
 BouNBiN BiKDXRs* Cloth. .7Se« 
 Bound in Paper... .........26e> 
 
 We cansupplytiilabo^ fat either 
 German er En^Qib So 1am akove 
 styles. 
 
 ;fld editiao* CampOad \j Keep Tvmagi (stevatd of 
 
 _l«ad Mrs.F. L.Gniotte Sbdpfla InngirBd roeipes 
 
 Ikjonh^d and flM toilet. kMlMihs a aes» varie^frf 
 
 go velneble to house-keepers. Larc e Oetarou Wbto 
 
 ceataining many illustratioas. Sise T 
 
 Pbicb $1.60 
 
 a. A. DONOHVB «. CO. CHKUOIK 
 
I Lives <2f Famous Men | 
 
 t i 
 
 iu. In this series of historical and biographical works the pnb- jj[ 
 
 ^ lishers have included only such books as will interest and instmct J 
 
 ^ the youth of both sexes. A copy should be in every public, school ^ 
 
 :j(. and private library. Special aiscount made when entire set is j^ 
 
 ^ ordered. They are printed from large, clear type on an excellent j£ 
 
 ^ quality of paper and substantially and attractively bound in jt 
 
 ^ «Hoth, stamped in inks and gold from original designs. Each ^ 
 
 ^ book is fully illustrated. Price, 81.00 per copy, postpaid. ^ 
 
 * * 
 
 LIFE OF OEORQE WASHINQTON. * 
 
 ^ By Qeorge Wasbing^ton Parke Custis, the adopted son ^ 
 
 4^ of our first president. Clotb, 664 pages, large, 12mo' ^ 
 
 ^ Price, $1.00. jf: 
 
 I LIFE OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN. ^ 
 
 3 By Hon. Joseph H. Barrett, ex-member of Congress. ^ 
 
 ^ Clotb, 842 pages, large, IZmo. Price, $1.00. 7| 
 
 $ LIFE OF U. S. GRANT. $ 
 
 # By Hon. B. P. Poore and Rev. O. H. Tiffany, D. D. Cloth, ^ 
 
 # 594 pages, large, 12mo. Price, $1.00. ik 
 
 J LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY. # 
 
 ^ By Murat Halstead, Chauncey M. Depew and John Sher- j^ 
 
 ^ man. Clotb, 450 pages, large, 12mo. Price, $1.00. ^ 
 
 g LIFE OF THEODORE ROOSEVELT. * 
 
 ^ By Thomas W. Handford. Cloth, 255 p^es, larp-* 16m*. # 
 
 # Price, $1.00. # 
 
 $ LIFE OP HENRY M. STANLEY. % 
 
 # By Prof. A. M. Qodbey, A. M. Cloth, 7") pages, large, ^ 
 
 # 12mo. Price, $1.00. ^ 
 
 J LIFE OF JOHN PAUL JONES. # 
 
 ^ By Cbcrles Walter Brown. Cloth, nearly 300 pages, 12mo. 2. 
 
 ^ Price. $1.00. jS 
 
 ^ LIFE OF ETHAN ALLEN. * 
 
 ^ By Charles Walter Brown. Cloth, nearly 300 pages, I2mo. 7^ 
 
 # Price, $1.00. 2 
 ^ LIFE OP W. T. SHERMAN. % 
 ^ By Hon. W. Fletcher Johnson and Qen. O. O. Howard. ^ 
 ^ Ooth, 607 pages, large, 12mo. Price, $1.00. ^ 
 
 % LIFE OF P. T. BARNUM. * 
 
 iif. By Hon. Joel Benton. Cloth. 621 pages, large, 12mo. S- 
 
 ^ Price, $1.00. $, 
 
 ^ LIFE OF T. DEWITT TALMAQE. * 
 
 ^ By Cbaries Prands Adams. Cloth, nearly 600 pages. ^ 
 
 # Price, $1.00. * 
 
 ^ LIFE OF D. L. MOODY. $ 
 
 ?f By Charles Francis Adams. Cloth, 318 pages, laige, ^ 
 
 ^ f2mj. Price, $1.00. ^ 
 
 # ^ 
 
 ^ 4Ji books sent postpaid to any address in the United States, ^ 
 
 ^ Canada or Mexico, upon receipt of price in currency, s*"»ups, ^ 
 
 ^ postal or express money order. ^ 
 
 I M. A. 'Donahue iTSl Co. | 
 
 $ 404'42B 'Dearborn Si. ^ CHICAGO % 
 
Biographies of Prominent 
 
 ^ ^ Border Bandits 
 
 Profxisely IIl\istr8>.ted 
 
 Containing an account of their adventures, 
 exploits and deeds of daring, with numerous 
 illustrations of instances in their deadly career — 
 many of them being pictures from the scenes of 
 their depredations. Cloth editions are embel- 
 lished with stamps from appropriate designs; 
 titles in gold. Paper editions printed in two col- 
 ors from unique drawings. 
 
 Frank and Jesse Janves 
 
 By J. W. BuEL 
 
 The life and daring deeds of noted criminals 
 have a wonderful fascination for most people the 
 world over. The highway robber, road agent or 
 bank plunderer who boldly takes his life in his 
 hands and makes a desperate dash after other 
 people's money at once finds himself a hero. 
 290 pages. Price : cloth, 75 cents ; paper, 25 cents. 
 
 The Younger Brothers 
 
 By J. W. BuEL 
 
 The lives of these men need no romantic or exaggerated shading to 
 make the narrative remarkable. Their deeds are as prominent in the 
 archives of guerrilla warfare as their names are familiar on the border. 
 268 pages. Price : cloth, 75 cents : paper, 25 cents. 
 
 The Dalton Brothers 
 
 By Llew Williams. 
 
 This is a remarkable tale of the adventures of these noted bandits in 
 
 their plunderings on the border. The work is fully illustrated from 
 
 life and graphically depicts the desperate and startling criminal careers 
 
 of all the men who composed the notorious Dalton gang. 234 pages. 
 
 Price : cloth, 76 cents ; paper, 25 cents. 
 
 Twin Hells 
 
 By John N. Reynolds 
 
 This is a thrilling narrative of life in Kansas and Missouri peniten- 
 tiaries. Endorsed by over 1000 clergymen, wardens and state officials as 
 a book that should be read by every youth and citizen for its moral influ- 
 ences, information and excitement. It is absolutely unsurpassed for in- 
 terest and reflection. 331 pages. Price: cloth, $1.00: paper, 25 cents. 
 
 Cow Boy Life in Texats 
 
 By W. S. James 
 
 This is the only realistic andyet withal true recital of wild life on the 
 boundless plains of Texas, it being the actual experience of 27 years in 
 the exciting life of a genuine Cow Boy, The author was born in Texas at 
 a time when no man's life was safe and the whole southwest from the 
 Missouri to the Rio Grande was infested with cruel and blood-thirsty out- 
 laws. This book is a record of the actual experiences and observations 
 of the author and contains more than 50 illustrations from life, 213 
 pages. Price : cloth, 75 cents ; paper, 25 cents, 
 
 N. A. DONOHVE <& CO., CHICAGO. 
 
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO 
 
 Blacksniithiog, Horseshoeing, 
 
 CARRIAGE AND WAGON BUILDING 
 === AND PAINTING =^== 
 
 For all general mechanical work, this is the 
 most valuable book for the farmer, blacksmith, 
 carpenter, carriage and wagon building, painting 
 and varnishing trades published. The department 
 on Blacksmithing is based on the various text books 
 by Prof. A. Lungwitz, Director of the Shoeing 
 School of the Royal Veterinary College at Dresden, 
 while the chapters on Carriage and Wagon Build- 
 ing, Painting, Varnishing are by Charles F. Adams, 
 one of the most successful builders in Wisconsin. 
 The language employed is so simple that any young 
 man of average ability can, in a short time become 
 proficient in all of these useful and profitable oc- 
 cui>ations. Each chapter is fully illustrated, there 
 being more than so drawings throughout the book. 
 
 Full Cloth Binding. Price, $1.00 
 
 THE COMPLETE 
 
 HOUSB BUILDBR. 
 
 With Practic8Ll Hints on Construction 
 
 The subject of house building is of interest to all, 
 even though financially they are at present unable to 
 realize their cherished hopes. A few months or a year 
 may so change the aspect of one's affairs as to render 
 it possible to build. It is therefore well for all to antic- 
 ipate the realization of a home and become familiar 
 with the requisites of a good house, barn, warehouse 
 or other necessary building. This valuab'e work con- 
 tains not only Plans and Specifications for Dwellings, 
 but Clubs, Churches, Public Buildings, Barns, and all 
 necessary outbuildings for Farms, Country Seats, Sub- 
 urban Homes, etc.; accurate estimates of materials 
 with cost, and all Tables and Rules necessary in Plastering, Plumbing, 
 Painting. Roofing, Masonry. Cornice, Windows, Doors and Porch Mate- 
 rials, with 50 plans and Specifications on buildings from $476 up are given. 
 176 pages, i2mo. 
 
 Paper, 25 Cents; ClotK. 50 Cents 
 
 For 5ale by all Book and News Dealers, or will be sent to any 
 address in the V. S., Canada or Mexico, postage paid, on recaipt of 
 price, in currency, money order or stamps, 
 iwr ^ T»^^^A-.- ><?* ^^ 407-429 nSARBORN ST 
 
Her Benny 
 
 By Silas K. Hockinq 
 
 This is one of the most intensely in- 
 teresting books ever written, and is 
 jnstljr entitled to the wide popularity 
 aad satisfaction that has atte^ded the 
 k««k from the day of its publication. 
 It is replete with pathos, sentiment 
 and elevating thoughts. Printed froi.~ 
 Urge, clear type on a fine grade of 
 paper, with many fine illustrations. 
 BsHiid in red polished buckran' <'old 
 top and ornamental stampi"v in gold 
 on side and back. 
 
 Prick $1.25 
 
 WKoct 
 Tommy Did 
 
 Br Emily Huntimgto* Mil] 
 
 A story of a four year old. Full of 
 the wit, hnmor, pathos and joy of child- 
 life ; containing numerous full page and 
 other ilhistrations. A book interesting 
 alike to eld and youne. 
 
 Price SOc. 
 
 r^ Tomboy 
 
 By Felix L. Oswald. M. D. 
 
 A boarding school story for girls, from the 
 German of Emily Von Rhoden. This work is 
 from the cStb Gorman edition and is one of the 
 brightest aad twiet girls' stories published in 
 recent years. Will just suit American girls. 
 Beautifully bound in cloth with new cover de- 
 sign, izmo. Illustrated. 
 
 Price. 
 
 .$1.00 
 
 M. A. DONG HUE & CO.. CHICAGO. 
 
Donohue's Padded 
 Leather TOETS 
 
 M 
 
 I L 
 
 U 
 
 a T B A T E 9 
 
 AN ASSORTMENT of 52 
 titles of the works of 
 the world's greatest 
 poets. Printed from entirely 
 new plates, on a superior 
 grade of book paper. Bound 
 in genuine leather, stamped 
 from unique embossing dies 
 on both the front and back 
 covers; title stamped on the 
 front and back in gold; full 
 gilt edges, with red under the 
 gold edge ; round corners ; 
 fancy paper linings; silk head- 
 bands ; illuminated title page 
 in two colors from original 
 design; each book wrapped 
 and packed in a neat box. 
 
 PRICE. $1.50 
 
 Browning:, Robert. 
 
 Browning, Elizabeth B. 
 
 Bryant. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Campbell. 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 Chiide Harold's PUsrimase. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Cowper. 
 
 Dante. 
 
 Evangeline. 
 
 Familiar Quotations. 
 
 Favorite Poems. 
 
 Qoethe. 
 
 Goldsmith. 
 
 Hood. 
 
 Hemans, Mrs. 
 
 Homer's Odyssey. 
 
 Homer's Iliad. 
 
 Hiawatha. 
 
 Holmes. 
 
 Idylls of the King. 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 ICipling. 
 
 Keble's Christian Year. 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 Lady of the Lake. 
 
 Lalia Rookh. 
 
 Light of Asia. 
 
 Lowell. 
 
 Lucile. 
 
 Marmion. 
 
 Miles Standlsh, Courtship of 
 
 Milton. 
 
 Moore. 
 
 Poe. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Paradise Lost. 
 
 Proctor. 
 
 Poetical Selections. 
 
 Princess, The; Maud, etc. 
 
 Rubiayat of Omar Khayyam. 
 
 Sacred Qems. 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Tennvson. 
 
 Thackeray. 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 For sale by all Book and Newsdealers, or sent to any address In the United States, Canada, 
 or Mexico, postage prepaid, on receipt of price, in currency, money order or stamps. 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & COMPANY 
 
 4-07-4-29 l>earborn J^reef, 4^ ^ CHICAGO 
 
A Final Reckoning, A Tale of 
 
 Bush Life in Australia 
 Boy Knight, The, A Tale of 
 
 the Crusades 
 Bonnie Prince Charlie, A Tale 
 
 of Fontenoy and Culloden _ 
 Bravest of the Brave, or with 
 
 Peterborough in Spain 
 By England's Aid, or The 
 
 Freeing of the Netherlands 
 By Pike and Dyke, A Tale of 
 
 the Rise of the Dutch Rs- 
 
 public 
 By Right of Conquest, or! With 
 
 Cortez in Mexico 
 
 8 By Sheer Pluck, A Tale of the 
 Ashantee War 
 
 9 Cat of Bubastes, A Story of 
 Ancient Egypt 
 
 10 Cornet of Horse, A Tale of 
 Marlborough's Wars 
 
 11 Captain Bayley's Heir, A Tale 
 of the Gold Fields of Cali- 
 fornia 
 
 13 Dragon and The Raven, or 
 
 Tne Days of King Alfred 
 13 Facing Death. A Tale of the 
 
 Coal Mines 
 I* Friends, Though Divided, A 
 
 Tale of the Civil War in Eng- 
 land 
 IS For Name and Fame, or 
 
 Through Afghan Passes 
 i6 For the Temple, A Tale of the 
 
 Fall of Jerusalem 
 17 In Freedom's Cause, A Story 
 
 of Wallace and Bruce 
 i8 In Times of Peril, A Tale of 
 
 India 
 ig In the Reign of Terror, The 
 
 Adventures of a Westminster 
 
 Boy 
 
 The Henty 
 Series r^ 
 
 illustrated fot oovs 
 By G. a. Henty 
 
 This is a new and superior edi- 
 tion of this famous author's books 
 for boys. They are printed from 
 new plates on an excellent quality 
 of paper and are profusely illus- 
 trated. Olivine edges, bound in 
 substantial cloth, with handsome 
 designs by Blanche McManus. 
 izmo, cloth. 
 
 Price per Volume.... 75c. 
 
 20 Jack Archer. A Tale of The 
 
 Crimea 
 
 21 Lion of the North, A Tale of 
 
 Gustavus Adolphus and the 
 Wars of Religion 
 
 22 Lion of St. Mark, A Tale of 
 
 Venice in the I4th Century 
 
 23 Maori and Settler, A Tale of 
 
 the New Zealand War 
 
 24 Orange and Green, A Tale of 
 
 the Boyne and the Limerick 
 
 25 One of the 28th, A Tale of 
 
 Waterloo 
 
 26 Out on the Pampas. A Tale of 
 
 South America 
 
 27 St. George for England, A 
 
 Tale of Croissy and Poitiers 
 
 28 Through the Fray. A Story of 
 
 the Luddite Riots 
 
 29 True to the Old Flag, A Tale 
 
 of the American War of In- 
 dependence 
 
 30 Under Drake's Flag, A Tale 
 
 of the Spanish Main 
 
 31 With Clive in India, or the 
 
 Beginning of an Empire 
 
 32 With Lee in Virginia, a Story 
 of the American Civil War 
 
 33 With Wolfe in Canada, or the 
 
 Winning of a Continent 
 
 34 Young Carthaginians, a Story 
 
 of the Times of Hannibal 
 
 35 Young Buglers, A Tale of the 
 
 Peninsular War 
 
 36 Young Franc-Tireurs, a Tale 
 
 of the Franco-Prussian War 
 
 37 Young Colonists 
 
 38 Among the Malays 
 
 39 Sturdy and Strong 
 
 40 Young Midshipman, A Tale of 
 
 the Siege of Alexandria 
 
 41 Golden Canon 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE <& CO., CHICAGO. 
 
■ 
 
 THE COMPLETE 
 
 HOUSB BUILDBR. 
 
 With Practical Hints on Construction 
 
 The subject sf houM building is of interest to all, even though 
 financially they are at present unable to realize their cherished hepes. 
 A few months or a year may so change the aspect of one's affairs as to 
 render It possible to build. It is therefore well for all to anticipate 
 the realization of a hone and become familiar with the reqaisites 
 of a eood bouse, barn, warehouse, or other necessary buildine. 
 This valuable work contains not only Plaas and Specifications for 
 Dwellings, but Clubs, Churches, Public Buildings, Bams, and all nec- 
 essary outbuildings for Farms, Country Seats, Suburban Homes, etc.; 
 accurate •stimates of materials with cost, and all Tables and Rules 
 necessary in Plastering, Plumbing, Painting, Rosfing, Masonry, Cor- 
 nice, Windows, Doors and Porch Materials, with so Plans and Specifi- 
 cations ea buildings from $476 up, are given. 
 
 176 pages, i2iao. paper. 
 
 PXICB 26 CSKTS. 
 
 THE COMPLETE 
 
 LETTER. WRITER 
 
 Bdns tbe only Conprehenslve and Practical Qulde aii4 
 AMistant to LaMer Writing PubUstaed 
 
 Edited by CHARLES WALTER BROWIT 
 
 There are few books that contain such a fund of Talnable infoi> 
 mation on the everyday affairs ef life. In addition to every conceiv- 
 able form of business and social correspondence, there are Leters <^ 
 Condolence, Introduction, Congratulation, Felicitation, Advice and 
 Favor; Letters accompansdng presents: Notes on Love, Courtship and 
 Marriage: Forms or Wedding Anniversaries, Socials, Parties, Notes, 
 Wills, Deeds, Mortgages: Tables, Abbreviations, Classical Terms, 
 Common Errors, Selections for Autograph Albums: Information con- 
 cerning Rates OB Foreign and Domestic Postage, together with a Die- 
 tionary of nearly 10,000 Synonyms and other raluable information 
 which space will not admit of mention. 
 
 The book is printed from new plates, en a superior qtudlty of 
 ppper and bound In substantial and durable cloth. 
 
 320 pages, izmo. 
 
 PRICB. ....$f.00 
 
 by all Book and News Dealers, or will send to any addresa 
 >., Canada or Mexico, postage prepaid on receipt of prke 
 
 A. DONOHUE & CO.. CHICAGO. 
 
Famous Books 
 
 FOR BOYS 
 
 These are new and superior editions of these famous authors' 
 books for boys. They are printed from new plates on an excellent 
 ctuality of paper while many are profusely illustrated. Each book 
 is sewed, thus making a flexible back, so that it opens easily, 
 making its reading a pleasure and a comfort. The covers are 
 printed in two colors from appropriate designs on a heavy coated 
 enameled paper in assorted colors. 
 
 From the Modern Authors' Library 
 
 By a. A. Henty 
 
 260 Boy Knight, A 
 
 271 Cornet of Horse 
 280 Facing Death 
 285 Final Beckoning 
 
 295 In Freedom's Cause 
 
 296 In Times of Peril 
 ^ - 297 In The Reign of Terror 
 (^299 Jack Archer 
 
 "^317 One Of The 28th 
 
 318 Orange and Green 
 
 319 Out On The Pampas 
 337 True To The Old Flag 
 840 Under Drake's Flag 
 848 With Lee In Virginia 
 
 By J. Feoimore Cooper 
 
 170 Last Of The Mohicans.The 
 
 178 Pathfinder, The 
 
 179 Pioneers, The 
 
 180 Prairie, The 
 187 Spy, The 
 254 Deerslayer 
 
 By Victor Hugo 
 
 38 By Order Of The King 
 
 272 Cosette 
 283 Fantine 
 106 Hans Of Iceland 
 
 37 Histonr Of a Crime 
 800 Jean Valjean 
 
 By Victor Hugo-Cont'd 
 808 Marius 
 88 Ninety-Three 
 
 39 Notre Dame de Paris 
 831 St. Denis 
 
 40 Toilers Of The Sea 
 
 By Emlie Qaborlau 
 
 284 File No. 113— 
 
 287 Gilded Clique 
 
 108 Lecoq, The Detective ^ 
 
 109 Lerouge Case, The • 
 812 Mystery Of Orcival 
 
 By Jules Verne 
 
 245 Michael Strogoff 
 
 219 Mysterious Island 
 
 189 Tour Of The World In 80 
 
 Days 
 121 Twenty Thousand Leagues 
 
 Under The Sea 
 
 By H. Rider Haggard 
 
 153 Allan Quartermain 
 
 223 Allan's Wife 
 
 160 Cleopatra 
 
 100 Jess 
 
 167 King Solomon's Mines 
 
 112 Miawa's Revenge 
 
 244 Mr. Meeson's Will 
 
 186 She 
 
 PRICE. POSTPAID 25c BACH OR ANY FIVE FOR $1.00 
 
 All books sent postpaid to any address in the United States, 
 Canada or Mexico upon receiptof price in currency, stamps, postal 
 or express money order. 
 
 H. A. DONOHUE & CO., 
 
 407-429 DEARBORN ST. 
 
 OHIO A GO 
 
BR.IGHT AND BOLD 
 
 SER,IES By ARTHUR. M. WINFIELD 
 
 New Edition, Handsomely Illuitrated 
 
 and Bound 
 
 Price per volume. $ .75 
 Set of 4 irk box. . 3.00 
 
 1 POOR BUT PLUCKY, or The 
 Mystery of a Flood. 
 
 S SCHOOLDAYS OF FRED 
 H ARLE Y. or Rivals for all Honors 
 
 3 BY PLUCK. NOT LUCK, or 
 Dan Granbur/s Struggle to Rise 
 
 4 THE MISSING TIN BOX, or 
 Hal Carson's Remarkable City 
 Adventure. 
 
 PrcM Opinions of Mr. Wln- 
 flcld'sBoolu: 
 
 "a capital book by Arthur M. 
 Winfield. who knows how to tell a 
 story that will take possession of 
 the reader from the first page. — 
 Rochester (N- Y.) Post Express. 
 "The hero is a natural boy, and the tale is told in a way that is per- 
 fectly true to life." — Sorthivest Echo. 
 
 "Arthur M. Winfield's school story is one of the very best American 
 tales of the sort ever penned." — Good News. 
 
 WORKING UPWARD 
 
 By EDWARD STRATEMEYER. 
 
 Author of "Under Dewey at Manila." etc. 
 
 $e:rie:s 
 
 Kew Edition, Elegantly Illustrated 
 
 and Bound. 
 
 Price per volume, $1.00 
 
 Set of 4 In box, ■ 4.00 
 
 1 THE YOUNG AUCTIONEER, 
 or the Polishing of a Rolling Stone 
 
 3 BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRI- 
 CIAN, or Franklin Bell's Success 
 
 3 SHORTHAND TOM. THE RE- 
 PORTER, or the Exploits of a 
 Wide Awake Boy. 
 
 4 FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN, or 
 the Fortunes of a Young Artist. 
 
 Press Opinions of Mr. Stratcmey- 
 •r's Books for Young People: 
 
 "Mr.Stratemeyer's boys are clean 
 manly fellows and deserve the 
 popularity which doubtless awaits 
 them." — Christian Register. 
 
 'Takes the place of the late Oli- 
 ver 0\>\:\G."—The Bee. Sacramento. 
 
 As a writer of books for boys Edward Stratemeyer must prove one 
 of the most popular of living authors." — The Times, Boston. 
 
 M. A. DONOHVE «& CO.. CHICAGO. 
 
SPEAKERS. DIALOGUES AND PLAYS 
 
 Price, 10c. eaLch 
 
 Ideatl atud 
 Model Series of 
 
 Embracing the Best Select Readings and Recitations 
 
 Including the heroic, pathetic, dramatic, oratorical, patriotic, etc. 
 Each book contains 96 pages, printed from new plates on a superior 
 quality of paper and bound in chaste and appropriate covers. The 
 series is the largest and best ever published to retail at the price. 
 The selections embrace a great many copyrighted pieces not found 
 in any other work, as well as declamations and dialogues adapted for 
 all ages. 
 
 IDBAI. SPEAKERS 
 
 1 Selected Readings and Recita- 
 tions 
 
 2 Select Readings and Recitations 
 for Young People 
 
 3 Select Readings and Recitations 
 for Litle Children 
 
 4 Select Readings and Recitations 
 for Christmas 
 
 5 Select Readings and Recitations 
 Humorous and Dialect 
 
 6 Select Readings and Recitations 
 Comic 
 
 7 Select Dialogues for Little Chil- 
 dren 
 
 8 Selected Readings and Recita- 
 tions 
 
 9 Select Readings and Recitations 
 for Young People 
 
 10 Select Readings and Recitations 
 for all the year around 
 
 11 Select Dialogues for Young 
 People 
 
 12 Select Readings and Recitations 
 
 13 Select Readings and Recitations 
 
 14 Children's Select Readings and 
 Recitations 
 
 15 Children's Select Dialogues 
 
 16 Select Recitations 
 
 MODEL SPEAKERS 
 
 ^1 ^.^*f 
 
 I Lr^.s'5>' I 
 
 It -^1 
 
 ^1 .'■^ 
 
 1 Select Readings and Recita- 
 
 tions 
 
 2 Select Readings for Young 
 
 People 
 
 3 Select Recitations for Young 
 
 People 
 
 4 Select Recitations for Little 
 
 Children 
 
 5 Select Readings and Recita- 
 
 tions for Young People 
 
 6 Select Readings and Recita- 
 
 tions 
 
 7 Comic Recitations 
 
 8 Select Dialogues 
 
 9 Select Readings for all the 
 
 year around 
 
 10 Select Recitations and Read- 
 
 ings for all the year around 
 
 11 Select Recitations for Young 
 
 People 
 
 12 Select Dialogues for Young 
 
 People 
 
 13 Select Readings for Young 
 
 People 
 
 14 Select Recitations for Young 
 
 People 
 
 M. A. DONOHVE & CO., CHICAGO. 
 
BR.IGHT AND BOLD 
 SEFL.IES »y arthvr. m. winfielu- 
 
 New Edition, Handsomely Illustrated 
 and Bound 
 
 Price per volume, $ .75 
 Set of 4 In box. . 3.00 
 
 X POOR BUT PLUCKY, or The 
 Mystery of a Flood. 
 
 « SCHOOLDAYS OF FRED 
 H ARLE Y, or Rivals for all Honors 
 
 S BY PLUCK, NOT LUCK, or 
 Dan Granbury's Struggle to Rise 
 
 4 THE MISSING TIN BOX, or 
 Hal Carson's Remarkable City 
 Adventure. 
 
 PraMOplaloiM of Mr. Win- 
 field's Books: 
 
 "A capital book by Arthur M. 
 Winfield, who knows how to telJ a 
 story that will take possession of 
 the reader from the first page. — 
 Rochester (,N- K) Post Exfress. 
 "The hero is a natural boy, and the tale is told in a way that is f>vt- 
 teC(\.yi.\MeX.o\\l&."— Northwest Echo. ... 
 
 "Arthur M. Winfield's school story is one of the very best American 
 tales o£ .lie sort ever penned." — Good News. 
 
 WORKING UPWAR.D 
 
 By EDWARD STRATSFVETER. 
 
 Author of "Under Dewey -7 Manila." etc 
 
 se:r.ie:s 
 
 New Edition, Elegantly Illustrated 
 
 and Bound. 
 
 Price per volume, $1.00 
 
 Set of 4 In box. . 4.00 
 
 I THE YOUNG AUCTIONEER, 
 or the Polishing of a Rolling Stone 
 
 3 BOUND TO BE AN ELECTRI- 
 CIAN, or Franklin Bell's Success 
 
 3 SHORTHAND TOM, THE RE- 
 PORTER, or the Exploits of a 
 Wide Awake Boy. 
 
 4 FIGHTING FOR HIS OWN. or 
 the Fortunes of a Young Artist. 
 
 Press Opinions of Mr. Stratemey- { 
 er's Booics for Young People: 
 
 "Mr.Stratemeyer's boys are clean j 
 manly fellows and deserve the 
 popularity which doubtless awaits 
 them." — Christian Register, 
 
 "Takes the place of the late Oli- 
 ver Ovi^c.."—The Bee, Sacramento. 
 
 "As a writer of books for boys Edward Stratemeyer must prove ce 
 of the most popular of living authors." — The Times, Boston. 
 
 M. A. 0ONOHVE «. CO.. CHICAGO. 
 
ILLVSTRATED 
 
 — ^-^^— — AND - 
 
 HOLIDAY 
 
 PRESENTATION EDITIONS 
 
 Q\io VoLdis 
 
 By Henryk Sienkiewicz. 
 530 pages and illustrated with 32 pho- 
 tographs and scenes in half-tones> ta- 
 ken from F. C. Whitney's great dra- 
 matic production. A new and com- 
 plete translation, printed from large 
 clear type on a superior quality of pa- 
 per, and bound in ornamental cloth 
 with title stamped on front and back 
 from unique dies. A sumptious edition 
 of this masterpiece- Price. . - - .$1.00 
 
 By Charles M. Sheldon. 
 
 In His 
 
 Steps 
 
 275 pages, illustrated with 8 beautiful half-tone en- 
 gravings. Printed from new clear type on superior 
 paper, bound in ornamental cloth, stamped from 
 I'nique dies, title on side and back in gold. Over three 
 n.»llion copies of this book have been sold, and it has 
 bten the aim of the publishers to make this edition 
 thu mist attractive illustrated edition at a popular 
 pri^e- Price $1.00 
 
 SaLppKo 
 
 By Alphonse Daudet. 
 424 pages, illustrated with 8 half- 
 tone reproductions of the striking 
 climaxes of the play. New type, 
 superior paper and bound in orna- 
 mental cloth, em- 
 bellished with 
 unique stamping on 
 side and back in 
 «old. Price. $1.00 
 
 Uncle 
 Tom's 
 Catbin 
 
 Bt Harriet 
 
 Beecher Stowb 
 
 With two portraits of the author and 
 25 full-page illustrations by George 
 Cruikshank, the famous illustraitpr of 
 Dickens. 467 pages of text, printed 
 from large tjTJe on toned paper, bound 
 in ornamental cloth and stamped from 
 unique dies on front and back in gold. 
 Gold top Price S1.25 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO.. CHICAGO. 
 
For Soj^^f 
 
 BY 
 
 BRACEBRIDGE HEMING 
 
 Fifteen Titles ! 
 
 UNIFORMLY BOUNC IN LoMUN 
 CXjOTH. STAMPED WITH ORIC 
 INAL DESIGNS, IN INKS. ON 
 BACK AND SIDES ^ ^I <>< 
 
 Price, 75 Cents 
 
 " No more readable books for the young 
 have ever been printed than these fifteen 
 volumes." — Book and Newsdealer 
 
 Jack Harkaway's School 
 
 Days 
 Jack Harkaway After Scbool 
 
 Days 
 Jack Harkaway Afk>at And 
 
 Ashore 
 Jack Harkaway At Oxford* 
 
 Part t 
 Jack Harkaway At Oxforo, 
 
 Part 2 
 Jack Harkaway Among; The 
 
 Brigands, Part % 
 Jack Harkaway Among The 
 
 Brigands, Part 2 
 Jack Harkaway's Adventures 
 
 Around The World 
 
 s^ 
 
 A 
 
 9 Jack Haakaway fn America 
 And Cuba 
 
 fO Jack Harkaway's Advcn« 
 tures in China 
 
 tt Jack Harkaway's Adven> 
 tures in Greece, Part \ 
 
 12 Jack Harkaway's Adven- 
 tures in Greece, Part 2 
 
 J 3 Jack Harkaway's Adven- 
 tures in Australia 
 
 }4 Jack Harkaway And His 
 Boy Tinker, Part \ 
 
 15 Jack Harkaway And Hi* 
 Boy Tinker, Part 2 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO., CHICAGO 
 
r 
 
 VASSAR. SERIES 
 
 FOR. GIRLS. 
 
 ILLVSTILATBD 
 
 V ^• V 
 
 This Is the maast attractive aad 
 carefmlly selected series of stories for 
 girls published. Each book is a 
 masterpiece by a master hand and 
 was selected not merely because of 
 tbe established reputation of its au- 
 thor but because it had earned a 
 place iH eT«3-y heme where there are 
 eirls. UajUCoFm cloth binding, tide 
 fa reld, ddes and back stamped ia 
 ix^s. 
 
 PMOB PxR VoLUMB....76lCt 
 
 I Adventures of a Brewaie as 
 Told toMyChild. MissMuIeek 
 S Aunt Diana. Rosa N. Carey 
 
 3 Averil. Rosa N. Carey 
 
 4 Book of Golden Deeds. C. M. 
 
 Venge 
 
 5 Cuckoo Clock. Mn. Males- 
 
 worth 
 
 Esther. Resa N. Carey 
 / Flat Iron for a Farthiag. Mrs. 
 Bwing 
 
 8 Four Little Mischiefs. Rosa 
 
 Mulnellaad 
 
 9 Girls and I and Girls in Black. 
 
 Mrs. Molesworth 
 le Girl Neighbors. Sarah Tytler 
 II Grandmother Dear. Mrs. 
 
 Molesworth 
 13 Jackanapes, Mrs. Ewing 
 tS Lamplighter, The. Cummings 
 f4 Margery Mertoa's Girlheed 
 
 Alice Corkran 
 15 Meg's Friend. Alice Cerkraa 
 iS Merle 'sCnisade. ResaN. Carey 
 
 17 fVaughty Miss Boany. Clara 
 
 Mulhelland 
 
 18 Our Bessie. Resa N. Carey 
 
 19 Palace Beautiful L.T. Meade 
 30 Polly, A New Fashieaed Girl 
 
 L. T. Meade 
 
 21 Kdbin Redbreast. Mrs. Moles- 
 worth 
 
 S2 ScJiMiherg-Cotta Family. Mrs, 
 Gfcarles 
 
 93 Six M <>ixteea. Mrs, Ewing 
 
 S4 Six Little Princassea, aadl 
 What They Turned iato. By 
 the Author of Steppiag 
 Heavenward. 
 
 «S Sweet Girl Graduate* A. L.T. 
 Meade 
 
 s6 Three Bright Girls. Aanis E. 
 Armstrong 
 
 27 Two Little Maids. Verdier 
 
 2S "Us." An Old-fashioasd 
 Story- Mrs. Molesworth 
 
 29 Very Odd Girl, A. Aanie E. 
 
 Armstrong 
 
 30 World of GirU, A. L. T. 
 
 Meade 
 
 31 Deb and the Duchess. L.T. 
 
 Meade 
 
 32 Wild Kitty. L. T. Meade 
 
 33 Little Susy Stories, seataln- 
 
 ing : Little Susy's ^x birth- 
 days. Little Susy'* S?x' tach- 
 ers. Little Susy^s Little Ser- 
 vants. Mrs. Preatess, Author 
 of Stepping Heaveaward. 
 
 34 Alice's Adventures in Won- 
 
 derland and Through the 
 Looking Glass. Lewis Carroll 
 
 35 Good Luck. L. T. Meade 
 
 36 Merry Girls. L. T. Meade 
 
 37 Taming a Tomboy. Eauly 
 
 voB Rhoden 
 
 38 Youag Mutineer. L.T. Meade 
 
 39 Water Babies. Chas. Kiaolsy 
 
 40 Wide, Wide World. BlMibsth 
 
 Wetherell 
 
 M. A. DONOHVB S, CO^ CfHCAOO 
 
College 
 Library 
 
 FOR. BOYS 
 
 FIVE TITLES 
 
 CLOTH, BEAUTIFULLY STAMPED 
 IN INK AND GOLD. 
 
 Illustrated. Price Per Volume, $i.oo 
 
 *By Archdeacon Farrar. 
 
 ERIC, OR Little by Litt' 
 A Tale of Roslyn School 
 
 JULIAN HOME. 
 
 A Tale of College Life. 
 
 ST. WINIFRED'S: 
 
 OR, The World or School. 
 
 By TKomas HugKes. 
 
 TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL 
 DAYS AT OXFORD. 
 
 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD. 
 
 •These stories of school life by the famous author of the "Life of 
 Christ" are not surpassed in interest and high moral tone by any boys' 
 stories written. They picture in an eloquent and exceedingly fascinating 
 manner life at school, its temptations, struggles and rewards. 
 
 Aurordc 
 
 Price, per 
 
 Volume, $1.50 
 
 Black Beauty Anna Sewall 8 
 
 Courtship of Miles Standish 
 
 H.W.Longfellow 9 
 
 Evangeline... H. W. Longfellow 
 
 Hiawatha H. W. Longfellow 10 
 
 Lady of the Lake. .Walter Scott 
 Longfellow's Poems 11 
 
 H. W. Longfellow 
 
 Lucile Owen Meredith i2 
 
 Elcffantly 
 
 llluatrated 
 
 Mastorpiecei 
 
 TWELVE TITLES 
 
 I2ino. Each book In a Special Box. 
 
 Printed from new plates on coated paper 
 of the highest grade; bound in best quality 
 of cloth ; stamped from unique and original 
 dies on the front and back_ in three colors 
 of ink and genuine gold; title stamped on 
 the side and back in gold, in the upper 
 panel an appropriate design, illus. 
 trative of eacK title, is stamped ii\ 
 colors, thus producing a pleasing effect ; 
 gilt top. Each book contains from 30 to 
 90 half-tone and line Illustrations. 
 
 Princeof the House of David 
 Rev. J. H. Ingraham 
 
 Rime of the Ancient Mariner 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge 
 
 Tales from Shakespeare . . . 
 Charles and Mary Lamb 
 
 Uncle Tom's Cabin 
 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 
 Whittier John G. Whittier 
 
 M. A. DONOHUE & CO.. CHICAGO.