Heinrich felt the slight implied by Marie's manner and words; Herr Reichardt had evidently taken the first place in her favour. He was stung by it, and the feeling goaded him into a sort of resolve to win Marie back again. He watched them move off together, and he could not help fancying that there was a malicious satisfaction in Marie's

manner.

He was standing at the end of the room, opposite the doorway, with his eyes vacantly fixed on the people as they came in and out. He was not looking for anyone in particular, for this was not the inn he had mentioned to Rosa, when suddenly, something said within him, 'She is come.' Among the crowds bustling in and out, he caught sight of a slender, graceful figure in the doorway. Her dress was so faded, and had so completely lost its colour, that in the distance it almost looked like white, and at the first moment Heinrich felt as if it were an apparition, and not Rosa herself. He had never seen her look so beautiful

before. Her hair, which was jet black and very abundant, was twisted in large coils round her head in an almost classical fashion; her face was extremely pale, and as her eye wandered round the room in search of the one being she was looking for, she raised towards him the same pathetic and imploring look which had once worked such havoc with his feelings. Their eyes met through the throng of dancers, but just as he was about to wind his way to her, Herr Reichardt placed his partner at his side, and the music struck up with renewed vigour.

"You were going to desert me,' said Marie, I really believe.'

6

'You were so unwearied in your dance with Herr Reichardt that I thought you had forgotten me.'

6

No, I passed you twice before you noticed me; your eyes were fixed on that doorway, as if some spirit had spell-bound them.' And Marie looked in the same direction as she spoke.

Heinrich did not follow her eyes, he felt he should meet those of Rosa's, and he could not stand that look now. He put his arm round Marie, and prepared for the dance. They whirled past the doorway and round the room, and again past the doorway, and the faded frock fluttered in the wind as they went by. They rested for a moment, and again began, but this time, as they passed the doorway, the figure was not there.

'The spectre has vanished,' said Marie, in a light bantering tone; she looked quite ghostly standing there.'

'What spectre?' asked Heinrich. I did not see anyone.'

'The girl from your Mill was there,' said Marie. I thought she had come after you.'

Heinrich was glad to lead Marie to a seat, and then, complaining that the room was hot, he went out. But the spectre had really vanished. For a moment he felt a sense of relief that she was gone; he went back to Marie and again claimed her as his partner. Round and round the room in giddy whirl

jests from heedless merry friends, loud laughter and careless talk-Heinrich felt like an automaton in it all; his feet moved in the dance, his lips joined in the laugh and the joke, but he had no part in it all. His peace of mind for that evening had vanished. That one imploring appealing look haunted him; he felt himself dull and absent, and when the dance was over, Marie was again Herr Reichardt's partner, and danced with him almost the whole evening.

It was three or four in the morning before Müller Mässinger and his wife were ready to return home; the miller had by that time had more than his ordinary amount of wine, and he drove off well satisfied with himself and all the world, and a little more rollicking and noisy than his wife approved of. But she was a wise woman; she knew pretty well that all the scolding in the world would not keep a man sober, and so she helped him out of the waggon and helped him to bed, maintaining all the while a sort of grumbling accompaniment, something between a

grumble and a whine, according to her usual habit on most occasions.

Heinrich had returned home many hours before, but he was still up, and it was his strong arm that aided his mother in getting old Mässinger down from the waggon. The sight of him aroused Frau Mässinger's feelings far more than that of her drunken husband had done. For Frau Mässinger, hard as she was, lived in and for her children, and Heinrich's marriage with Marie Dreuser was just now the prominent idea in her mind.

What hast thou been doing with thyself to-night?' she burst forth as soon as they had disburdened themselves of their load. 'There won't be much luck for thee, unless thou goest to work rather differently to what thou hast done. There was Dreuser's Marie dancing every other dance with Franz Reichardt; I counted them, and so did some one else, I'll warrant, for I saw Frau Dreuser sitting there and watching them, and looking as triumphant and smooth-faced as if