sciousness that he was bound to her, had operated as a wholesome alterative, and restored him to a sounder, saner condition of mind. This was a source of the purest satisfaction. Nevertheless the heaviness did not pass away, and whenever she ceased to exercise her thoughts by a positive effort of will, the dim pain shaped itself into the words, "He is not coming." It was a bright afternoon, about a week after the receipt of Balfour's letter. Grace had coaxed Lady Elton to try the (to her) unusual experiment of a long walk. She was uneasy at the dull apathy which seemed to settle down over her friend, now that the newness of Zittau and its people began to wear off, and she was eager to counteract it. They had been out for nearly two hours; rambling through a wood which approached the town on the north-east, gathering violets and anemones, and resting occasionally on the trunk of a prosfor Lady Elton was not equal to much fatigue-sleeplessness and unspoken regret had exhausted her force; and she had no will to resist her depres sion. trate tree "I hope I have not made you do too much?" said Grace anxiously, as they approached the Hof. "Do you feel very tired? I "No, child; no more than if I had stayed at home; and nothing does me so much good as air and the repose of nature. Your wood is very lovely, Grace; and your company is pleasant to me. like to hear you talk and ramble from one subject to another, though I do not always know what you are talking about. Still you interest me sometimes. Do you know, dear, I wish you would come back and live in London. You are buried alive here." "But I am very happy: so is my mother, so is Mab. Why should we change?" "Because youth slips away so soon; and you waste it here.' Forgive me if I cannot see that I do. I enjoy, I learn not as much as I ought, but still I learn. And, Lady Elton, I bave a little secret to tell you. I have been trying to say it all the time we have been out, but I could not. I have written a little sketch of Burchardswald and the Robber's Tower,' and I want you to look at it. You are such a critic. It is only just lately I have ventured to write. have had poor Randal's example before my eyes, and I have always feared to let myself believe I could do anything. Yet you would look at it, perhaps if "Yes; I will look at it, were it only to prevent your wasting your time, child. There is no more fatal will-o'-the-wisp than an unfounded belief in one's own literary power." "I dare say I seem very conceited, dear Lady Elton. Perhaps ought not to trouble you, but put my lucubrations behind the fire at once." "No; do not do that. As the stuff is in existence, let me look at it. You ought to be sensible, with that head of yours. But youth is so incomprehensible in the originality of its ignorance, that it is impossible to form an idea what you have set down. Bring the MS. to-morrow, and I will give you my true opinion." "Thanks! many many thanks! And now I must leave you, for I promised my mother to go with her to call on Frau Ahlefeld when I returned." "It is too late, Grace. It is nearly five. Still I will let you go. I shall lie down till dinner-time, and perhaps I may sleep. Come over in the evening. Ask Mrs. Frere to come." Grace walked slowly on home, pondering, with a mixture of shy hope and more vivid fear, on the ordeal she had dared. Lady Elton was no ordinary critic, and it was a trial to subject her cherished MS., which was dear and sacred to her as a first love, to such discerning eyes. Still, it was worth the trial, for the chance of encouragement. The hope of earning something, by an occupation so charming, was not to be given up without an effort, even if Lady Elton pronounced her lucubrations rubbish. True, her experience with Randal had long discouraged and held her back; but since she was away from him, and amid fresh scenes, the longing to see how her thoughts and observations would look on paper was too strong for any deterrent recollections. "And it would be so delightful to feel I was not wasting my time in writing, even if I only made enough to buy boots for Mab; she wears out such a quantity of boots." These reflections carried her to the door of the salon, and were only checked by a slight feeling of surprise to hear her mother speaking to some one, as it was rather late in the day for visitors. The evening sun sent its rays slantwise into the farthest window on the left, tingIing with living gold a pretty water-colored sketch of the bay and outlying islands at Dungar - a household treasure, the work of some artist visitor in the bygone days of De Burgh glory. The fresh muslin curtains, the vases and baskets full of violets and other spring flowers, the photographs, the open piano, Mrs. Frere's bright-colored wool-work, made a pleasant home picture of the room, while the warm, scented atmosphere struck the senses as an invisible refinement. Grace, as she opened the door, thought how she loved her home. How nice the mother looked, too: her figure was still quite pretty in her well-fitting black silk dress, lace cap, and pale blue ribbons! But who was the gentleman sitting well back in a deep armchair whom she perceived as she passed the threshold? She caught a glimpse of very dark brown hair and the end of a long moustache. Her mother exclaimed, "But here she is herself!" And then the gentleman started up, and coming quickly towards her, she found her hand in Maurice Balfour's before she rightly recognized him Maurice, with more color than usual in his embrowned cheeks, and irrepressible joy rioting in his large brown eyes. "Oh, Maurice! I am so glad to see you!" cried Grace. "You have changed your mind after all. It is quite delightful! I had planned all sorts of things, and we were terribly disappointed when your last letter came. When did you arrive?" Thus Grace, her own eyes sparkling, her color transparently brilliant after her long walk, her whole look expressive of startled pleasure. " that About two hours ago," he returned. "I found, a day or two after I wrote, that matters were arranging themselves I might venture to leave and be happy. So I need not tell you how soon I packed up and started." "Of course," said Grace, drawing a chair beside her mother. "I hope you are going to stay some time." "Till I am called away," he replied; 'probably three weeks or a month." He then returned to his seat, and let his eyes dwell upon Grace - while she rapidly told her mother where she had been with an absorbed intensity, that had she seen it would have rather startled her. Then came inquiries for Jimmy, and for Randal, and a little talk about Dungar, and Mr. De Burgh, and Mrs. Frere shed a few tears; while Balfour, in his quiet, soft tones, said some warm words about the kindly hospitality of the dear old house, a passing judicious compliment to the unchanged aspect of Mrs. Frere; and then Grace, still bright and glowing, poured forth her plans for excursions here, and picnics thereof introducing Maurice to the count and at Dalbersdorf of an expedition to Königstein to see Wolff von Falkenberg; "And then, Maurice, we must have a ride. I suppose you have not forgotten how to ride?" "Not quite," said Balfour. "You know in Spain and South America we nearly lived on horseback." "Then, mother dear, don't you think we might have a ride sometimes? It is not nearly so costly to hire horses here as in England, Maurice! Perhaps Uncle Costello would lend me Novara; and we will make Frieda come. It will do her so much good.” "Yes; we must have some expeditions on horseback. Why, it would be our Dungar days come back again-eh, Grace?-something worth living for, to ride together once more?" These last words were uttered in a low tone, as if to himself, and Mrs. Frere looked at him for a moment; but Grace, who was untying and taking off her hat, simply replied, with the heartiest agreement, "Yes; is it not?" At this point of the conversation, Mab arrived from her music-lesson. A waterproof, which she had considerably outgrown, hung over her shoulders; a small and rather conical cap surmounted her small, pale face and disordered hair, out of which her big blue eyes stared at Maurice Balfour with all their might. "Come here, Mab," cried her mother; "do you know who this is?" No," returned Mab decidedly, after some consideration. "She could not recollect me," said Maurice, holding out his hand while Mab slowly drew near and put hers into it. "This is Mr. Balfour, Mab," continued Mrs. Frere. "Oh, so you have come after all! You don't know how angry every one was with you for not coming at once; and Wolff von Falkenberg said he supposed you had found some greater attraction in London." "Did he?" said Balfour, looking with a smile into the little face uplifted to his. "I did not hear him say so, Mab," said Grace. "But I did," insisted Mab. "He said it to Lady Elton when you went to look for the railway book." Her words gave Grace a sensation of vague annoyance, and Balfour went on, 3 "You remember Dungar of course, | brilliant talent; but that is not to be exMabel? Do you not remember any one pected. You saw a good deal of Randal, like me there?" did you not?" "I think," said Mab very deliberately, and gazing fixedly in his face "I think you are the boy, the gentleman I mean, that pulled me out of the brook down by the three black rocks the day I tried to wade across in my best shoes." "For which service you pulled my hair and slapped my face," replied Balfour, laughing. "I am glad I have still a corner in your memory. We must be good friends, Mab." "It is brown," interrupted Mab "brown straw, with long ends of brown ribbon and a little bouquet of wild roses." “ "That must be charming," said Balfour gravely. "Mab, run away and wash your hands," said Mrs. Frere. "Maurice, you will stay and share our evening meal or tea; it is a sort of mixture here in Germany." "Thanks, Mrs. Frere. I have dined so lately that I can only look on; but if you will let me stay I shall be very happy. Though it is so long since we met, I feel curiously at home with you." "I hope so," said Mrs. Frere kindly. "But, Maurice," cried Grace, turning to leave the room, "you must go and see Lady Elton; she was so disappointed about you. And I am anxious to know what think of her she is looking, I you think, so ill." "Yes; he is a nice fellow, and very bright-though he was rather out of health. This Egyptian journey will set him up." "Heaven grant it!" said the mother with a sigh; and went on to enlarge upon his many excellences, till Grace and Mab rejoined them. Then came more pleasant easy talk, of both past and future, thickly strewn with "Do you remember?" a phrase so expressive of common associations - broken by the usual tea-supper, of which Balfour was persuaded to partake; and where he seemed to be so completely one of themselves, that Grace wondered to herself how she could have thought so little of him during their long separation. 66 "I think," she said, as they went into the salon when the evening meal was over, "Maurice ought to go and see Lady Elton. She wanted us all to go over this evening; but perhaps it would be too much for her. She might like to see Maurice alone;" she addressed her mother. 'Oh, come with me!" returned Balfour. "My stay is, after all, somewhat uncertain, and I don't want to lose a couple of hours away from you." "I don't like going to Lady Elton," cried Mab. "I am afraid to stir or to look at the things. Her great eyes follow me about so; and I am sure she doesn't like to have me." "You are an ungrateful little monkey," said Grace. "Lady Elton has been so kind; what beautiful books she gave you!" "Well, I do not care for books; I am always afraid she will ask me if I have read any of them. I would rather have a new skipping-rope than all the books in Christendom." 66 Really, Mab, you are a most disappointing child," cried Mrs. Frere indig nantly. "Must I go?" asked Maurice, with an imploring look in his soft, brown eyes. ("How expressive they are!" thought Grace.) "Yes; I will go over when I think she "Not at all, at first; but gradually her "Yes, you must," she said firmly. Lady Elton will be sure to hear you have arrived, and will look for your visit; do go, like a good boy." "I think," said Balfour, laughing, "you might speak more respectfully to your senior. Do you know that I am nearly seven years older than you are?" "No; and I don't believe it. I feel so old and experienced myself since I left | tion to be bestowed on his old friends, "I am afraid so," returned Mrs. Frere reluctantly. "We are obliged to be very early, on account of Mab's school." "So I suppose I may present myself in good time to-morrow?" "Oh, whenever you like!" said Mrs. Frere and Grace together. and he became thoroughly incorporated in the quiet little circle which had welcomed him so warmly. “Will you dine at home to-day, Maurice?" was Mab's usual question. "What hour would you like tea this evening?" Mrs. Frere would ask. "Maurice, don't stay at the barracks later than four; Lady Elton wants us to drive with her to Luckendorf or Gabel," would be the injunction from Grace. Then what rambles to sketch, to collect ferns or wild-flowers, now that the lengthGrace," said her mother, as soon as ening evenings permitted Mab to join in the door had closed on their retreating the various researches; what animated guest, he is very nice and likable; but arguments and discussions arose, in which he has evidently lived out of society. He Maurice held his own and maintained his is, in a sense, gentlemanlike; his voice is views, which were very often in opposinaturally sweet and refined nothing tion to his companions', with good-hucould spoil it and he does things quiet-mored ease and yet honest conviction ly. There is a kindliness, too, in his little that almost nettled Grace! attentions; but he is not conventionally well bred "I know what you mean," said Grace, taking up her needlework, "but I think he is all the nicer for it. He does not put his heels together and bow every time you come near him, nor hand you your pocket-handkerchief if you drop it, with a flourish, and an air as if it were a condescension, like Wolff, but just does heartily whatever he can to help you." My dear, Herr von Falkenberg is a very high-bred man of the world-quite a different person; it is unjust to Maurice Balfour to compare them. You do not know life as I do." 66 Certainly not; nor do we see it through the same colored glasses." "Gracie dear, will you hear me say my poetry for to-morrow?" "Yes, Mab; let me see how soon you can learn it." The first month of summer dawned with true vernal freshness and sunshine, within and without, for the little English party in Bergstrasse. The mornings went swiftly by in many Occupations. Oh, happy, healthy days of sunny youth, when all the nobler, brighter facets of the soul grew larger and more brilliant in the genial light of sincerity and hearty sympathy! Can all the wealth and all the far-sought luxury of a pampered age equal the freshness of such restful joy? It was a favorite excursion to drive out to Dalbersdorf in the evening, in time to lounge about the garden or wood before supper, and walk into Zittau by moonlight afterwards. Of course this could only be done under a gentleman's escort; but Mrs. Frere, with the help of her young friend Balfour's arm, had grown quite a pedestrian, and accomplished longer distances than the German mile which intervened between Dalbersdorf and Zittau. One evening, about a fortnight after Balfour's arrival, the family gathering at the old house had been increased by the addition of Von Heldenreich and Ulrich, who had had a couple of days' leave. The supper was consequently very lively, not to say noisy. The count and his grandson were discussing, with loud voices, the best method of receiving cavalry, while Von Heldenreich, the Verwalter, and Balfour were talking sport, when Gertrud suddenly interrupted them by addressing the latter with, Maurice Balfour was no mean draughtsman, and gave Grace much valuable help. Then he took up German again, in which he was formerly fluent, and rapidly recalled it. He was soon in high favor with the count, and often rode out with the veteran. He was also a frequent visitor at Dalbersdorf, and on friendly thoughing, meine liebe Grace." not intimate terms with several officers of Falkenberg's regiment. Still these varied demands upon his time left a large por "Herr von Falkenberg sends you his best greeting, Mr. Balfour. He comes to see us next week, and will be delighted to meet you again. You knew he was com "No; how could I? He does not write to us," said Grace bluntly. "I thought he might have I thought he sometimes did," said Gertrud politely, | simple, unhesitating exultation in the sucand looking down. cess of a near relative, at once touching and ludicrous, which is so often seen in Germany. "Oh, he wrote to me once when I was in England; but here, he knows we can bear all about him from you." "He has but two months longer to pass at Königstein," said Frieda cheerfully. "And then," added Frau Alvsleben, "there will yet be a long, and I hope fine, autumn for the Hochzeitsreise" (wedding tour); "a soldier's Dienst must come before everything-even his Braut." "He is a fine fellow, faith!" said the count in English, aside, to Balfour. "And a wonderfully agreeable man for so learned a one," concluded Mrs. Frere. "Come, Grace, we must be going. We have a long walk before us." "And a lovely young May moon to light your steps," said the count, rising to "Never mind, my child," cried the look from the window into the Hof, where count, catching the drift of the conversa- the lovely light, silvering the trees beyond tion; "the weary days of waiting will the gateway, and falling upon roof and soon be over, and then the joyous wed-gable, turned even the central dung-heap ding time will make us all alert. Dear into a thing of beauty. "I will walk as friends, I drink to the gallant soldier, far as the cross with you." Wolff von Falkenberg!" Many Hochs and much clinking of glasses followed, while Gertrud looked at once important and conscious. "I trust the dear friends here assembled," said Frau Alvsleben, rather in the tone of making a speech, “will favor us with their company this day week, when my nephew Falkenberg will be with us." Every one replied in the affirmative except Ulrich. "And so will I," said Frieda; "and I and I," added the Verwalter and Ul rich. They were soon equipped. Frieda slipped her arm through that of Grace, and the two girls held back a little. "Well, dearest Frieda," whispered Grace, herself blithe and light of heart, "the good news has come at last." "Yes," returned Frieda, in the same tone, while the hand which held Grace trembled. "Whatever may be the result I shall see him again, hear his voice again and "—she paused. "Will find him the same as ever," put "Unhappy me!" he said, "I must return to Dresden and to duty; and there is my sweet cousin does not grieve the least little bit for me." "Indeed, I am very, very sorry, Ul-in Grace encouragingly. rich," said Grace, laughing. "Can I do nothing to soften your colonel's hard heart, that he may let you come?" "I am afraid he is such a case-hardened old sinner that nothing would touch him." "And I, gnädige Frau," said the Verwalter, addressing the lady of the house, "have to announce that my brother, the Herr Professor, has at last arranged for a brief holiday, and purposes to be in Zittau on Monday evening." He Ach, Gott! I am glad to hear it! must come also; tell him so from me, my good friend," said Frau Alvsleben heartily. "I drink to the good and worthy Herr Professor," cried the count, again filling his glass; and the Hochs and clinkings were repeated, while Frieda turned so red and pale, her bosom heaving and her hands trembling, that Grace felt terrified lest she should betray herself by some open display of emotion. "The Herr Professor is engaged, I am told, on a work of wonderful erudition," said Lieutenant von Heldenreich. "He will be a leading mind at Leipzig," remarked the Verwalter, with the "I dare not hope," sighed Frieda. "But you, dear one, you will be here and judge more clearly than I can.' "I will try, at any rate,” said Grace, and there was a pause. "How exquisitely beautiful the moonlight makes everything!" resumed Grace, looking round; "even the rugged old village looks soft and lovely!" Frieda did not answer immediately, and then after pressing her friend's arm, whispered, 66 Ach, du Liebling! all things no doubt seem fair to thee now; thy heart's wound is healed by the presence of the beloved." "What are you talking about, Frieda?" said Grace, in genuine surprise. "I have no heart's wound to heal." 66 How, my Gracechen! Did you not tell me, the first day we opened our hearts to each other, that your affections had been blighted?" No, no!" said Grace, half smiling, half vexed; "I never said anything half so strong. I was certainly disappointed and annoyed, and let you know it, because -oh, because I wanted, I think, to comfort you. But my affections are flourish |