"You are terrible!" cried Aunt Thekla. "Yours is the obstinacy of our race, only turned against the Dönninghausens. But this cannot be your final decision. You will be calmer; you will see that you must overcome your pride, your just indignation. Stay in your room; I will tell my brother that you need rest, and you must promise me not to be overhasty. Pray promise me this." "Rest assured I will do nothing that can injure Otto," said Johanna. "As I told you, he himself may arrange everything. I will take the blame of the break upon myself. Now let us say no more about it, dear aunt; I really can no more." How sad and weary was the face which had been wont to look so fresh and glad! Aunt Thekla's eyes filled with tears. "If I could only do something for you!" she said. "It is dreadful to leave you so alone; but Otto is waiting for an answer----" "Otto, always Otto!" Johanna thought, bitterly; but the next moment she banished the thought, and replied in a gentler tone than she had used hitherto, "Do not mind me; it is best for me to be alone!" The old lady still lingered. "I hope you have not misunderstood me. You know I have your happiness at heart." Johanna fell upon her neck. "You are kind. You will bear with me," she whispered. Aunt Thekla left her easier in her mind. She would have patience if only the two might be brought together again in the end. And they surely would be if Otto could only plead his own cause. He would do better, perhaps, to-day to leave Johanna to her reflections; to-morrow she would be calmer, more accessible; he could come again then. But whilst Aunt Thekla was resigning herself to the hope of a reconciliation, and even Otto's doubts were partially overcome, Johanna's condition of mind was the same. She had been thrust forth from her paradise, and even although she should force herself to forgive, it would not affect the dissolution of her engagement. Yes, all must be changed. To go on in the old way was impossible. What was she to do? Where should she go? To Lindenbad? And it occurred to her that upon her return from her ride a letter from Ludwig had been handed her, or had she dreamed it? No; there it lay upon her writing-table: a thick, soiled envelope, covered with stamps and addresses. She opened it. It was an old letter,--the one written in answer to the announcement of her betrothal. Ludwig wrote: "DEAR JOHANNA,--I know that it is the fashion to reply to the announcement of a betrothal by congratulations, but I should be false to myself and to the love I bear you were I to conceal beneath any set, formal phrases my feelings and opinions upon the present occasion. I trust you have sufficient confidence in me to believe in the honesty of my intentions, even although you differ from me in sentiment.