Otto had been shaking at the old latch for a while. The door now sprang open. A blast of wind drove it back against the wall with a crash. It was answered by another crash, probably produced by the blowing to of some window. There was a rustling in the air, and a dark something fell from above and lay between Aunt Thekla and Johanna, who recoiled with a slight scream. Otto sprang to pick it up. "It is the homage paid by the old barracks to its future mistress," he said, laughing, holding out to Johanna one of the withered harvest-wreaths. "Or an evil omen," Aunt Thekla whispered, and then hoped that no one had heard her. The lovers looked laughing into each other's eyes, and the Freiherr, standing at the carriage-door, bade them make haste and get in. Johanna fortunately attached no importance to the trifle. The Freiherr was so interested in the prospect of founding a new nest of Dönninghausens in the neighbourhood of the cradle of the race that all through the homeward drive he discussed the pros and cons of the purchase, and the pros came to be more and more in the ascendant. At Dönninghausen he laid before the lovers all the documents that he had been able to procure with regard to the estate, and met with an unqualified assent to his plans and wishes. Otto was even more zealous than the Freiherr; the fourteen days for consideration which his grandfather proposed seemed to him too long, and as he left he whispered to Johanna, "Darling, do what you can to have us established _soon_ at Tannhagen." It was late, and the Freiherr was about to retire. When Johanna bade him 'good-night,' he took both her hands in his. "My child," he said, drawing her towards him, "you must reflect seriously upon the purchase of Tannhagen. Do not forget that the comfort of your future life is at stake, and leave out of the question my wishes and Otto's impatience. Will you do this, and tell me frankly the conclusion at which you arrive? We might look farther and find something better." "Not for me, dear grandpapa. I have fallen in love with the old house," she said. And, kissing his hand, she added, "If I could only tell you how your kindness touches me!" As she spoke, there was something in the sound of her voice that reminded the old man more than ever of her mother. To ward off his own emotion, he exclaimed, "Kindness, dear child! It is obstinacy. I can hardly wait to have you bear the name of Dönninghausen." And, as if to himself, he added, "Dönninghausen-Tannhagen. God grant that name a fair fame!"