"Here, dame," said Meissen, offering the old woman a gold piece, "buy the girl a ribbon; I was only joking; persuade her so."

"No, no; keep your money, lieutenant, since you are a lieutenant," said the dame, "and be kind enough in future to keep your company as far away from my house as possible."

"Ah," he chuckled, "I'll make you all repent of this, one of these fine days."

He gave a fierce gesture of his hand, and was out of the cottage and swaggering along the garden before he had spoken the last word.

CHAPTER IV.

The few days that had intervened since Meissen's first interview with Count Stralenheim had wrought a fearful change in the demeanor of the unhappy man. His iron gray hair had become entirely blanched, and his grey eyes drooped over his haggard cheeks with a downcast, moody reserve. At times he would look up and find his wife's gaze fixed inquiringly upon him, and then, with a deep sigh, he would turn and walk away to some remote corner of the room. And then the faintest stir or sound would rouse him from a profound reverie, and he would start from his chair shivering and trembling. The society of his children seemed to have lost its charm, and their artless smiles and enduring affection appeared only to augment his sufferings.

Scarcely a day passed that Meissen did not intrude himself upon the count with some fresh demand, either upon his purse or his influence, and always with the same overbearing insolence. On two or three occasions the countess and her daughters were present when he swaggered unannounced into the drawing-room, and they had to endure the rude familiarity of his vulgar jests. The proud spirit of the count chafed and groaned under the galling infliction. He was purchasing the man's silence at a fearful sacrifice, and bitter and fierce was the conflict that was warring in his soul.

It was evening-a bright summer evening, with the sun setting behind the variegated foliage, and scattering its last faint gleams on the glittering fountains and marble statues in the garden. The count, more cheerful, more like his usual self, sat in the drawing-room. The wine was on the table, and dishes of fruit and vases of flowers harmonized well with the golden fluid. On garden chairs on the shady terrace were seated Cecilia and Ernestine, with the youthful Count Steinberg, who had only that morning returned from his diplomatic mission at Berlin. The countess was seated on an easy lounge by the open window, grateful for the fragrant breeze that swept in from the lawn. A proud, happy smile illumined her face, as, with a mother's fervent gaze, she watched the beauteous forms of her two daughters. Memory brought back her own girlhood again. A grove of myrtles in the gardens of an old stately castle, on the banks of the Eyder, rose be

fore her. A youthful soldier, wearing a wreath of conquest on his brow, stood by her side. The first-breathed whispers of his love filled her soul with their music.

fancy changed the scene.

Again the wand of

She was kneeling

at the altar; around her was a throng of beauty and splendor; happy voices mingled in the swell of the wedding march and the pealing bells.

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Gertrude," said the count; and the voice brought her back from her far-off dreamland. She rose at its call, and moved to the couch on which the count was half reclining. "I was thinking at that moment," he continued, "what a close resemblance Ernestine bears to you." "Before I was Gertrude Stralenheim ?" she smiled.

"I do not find you changed," he replied; "I do not think I ever shall."

"Never in heart, I am sure," she said; "but the Gertrude of your youth had neither white hairs nor indented wrinkles. I can only hope, dear husband, that Ernestine's fate may resemble mine. Not one day in the calendar of our love has, in my remembrance, been darkened by a cloud."

"Yes," said he, "I have indeed been one of fortune's chosen favorites."

"And worthily so," said the countess. "Your birth and descent claim something, but you would have climbed to high honors without their aid."

"But had I been an humble man I wonder"

His speech was interrupted; a servant entered the room and said, Lieutenant Meissen desires an interview with the count.

The announcement was made with a cold mechanical precision. The count started to his feet, his face defiant and pale with sudden passion.

"I will not see him," said he. "Why should my privacy be thus disturbed? I will not see him."

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Stay!" cried the countess. "Your message will sound rude, love. Tell him the count is busily engaged."

"No, no," said the count, sinking back on the couch with a deep sigh; "show Lieutenant Meissen into the library; I will join him presently."

The servant bowed, and silently withdrew.

"This man seems to hold some terrible influence over you, husband," said the countess; the very sound of his name inspires you with fear. Why comes he here so frequently? Since his first visit, your temper, once so calm and placid, has given way to angry gusts of passion. The gloom of midnight seems to have crept into your heart. Tell me, I implore you, what unhappy connection there is between him and you ? what dark mystery lies hidden

“Nothing, dear Gertrude—absolutely nothing," interrupted the count, in a reassuring yet sad tone, "only some urgent business connected with the regiment. I have been instrumental in the man's promotion, and he believes that he best evinces his gratitude by an over

zealous display of military duty. children for a few minutes; he will me."

Join our not detain

The countess had never doubted her husband's truth, but his explanation was far from silencing her fears. She, however, yielded to his wishes, and walked with a reluctant air on to the terrace.

The mental struggle within was plainly depicted on the count's wan features and working lips, as he threw open the library-door, and met the gloating gaze of his malignant perse

cutor.

"What!" said the count, in a hoarse whisper, his proud form bowed in abject humiliation, "can I not have an hour in the sacred society of those who love me? What new torture has your brain devised for me now?"

"You are so bitter with your old comrade," said Meissen, in a tone of galling sarcasm. "I, too, who have been so kind to you! Another man might have denounced you, dragged you to a public trial, and

"I know your power, man, too well-far too well," interrupted the count; "state your demand, rob me of my last coin, but leave me the precious guerdons of an honorable career."

"Rob you, colonel!" answered Meissen. "Oh no; I never took up the thief's trade yet. My conscience is too dainty for that. A pity, perhaps; because if I had done so, might have been ennobled too; who knows?" he laughed a fiendish repulsive laugh.

"Do not tempt me beyond endurance!" cried the count, fiercely.