"Yes," he replied; "but our walk to-day does not remind me of them. Then your walks with me were not merely occasional; my home was yours. Remember that since then you have rejected that home and chosen Dönninghausen." "I hoped you understood my choice and approved it." "Understood,--yes; approved,--no," he replied, and changed the subject. A few days later, after the family had all been together in the drawing-room, he said, "I really believe, my dear Johanna, that you have a talent for the stage, you play your part of fine lady so admirably. You even receive the attentions of that blasé lieutenant, who must be intolerable to you, so graciously that any one who did not know you so well as I do would be deceived by your manner." Johanna blushed. "You are mistaken. I think my cousin Otto very agreeable, and I like to talk with him," she rejoined. Ludwig laughed bitterly. "Then I am forced to admire you still more. Not only to seem, but actually to be, what every station in life may require, to suit one's desires and opinions to one's surroundings, requires a rare degree of talent." "You misunderstand me," she said, offended. "I always did," was his reply. At the moment Johanna was hurt by such speeches from Ludwig, but she never resented them for long. Perhaps she had an involuntary suspicion that his mistrust and misconception sprang from disappointed affection, or perhaps her heart was full of other things. The explanation she gave herself was that for the sake of the help and comfort he gave to Johann Leopold, to her grandfather, and to Aunt Thekla, she must forgive her childhood's playmate any harshness of demeanour. For a series of years it had been the custom for all the family to stay over Twelfth-Night at Dönninghausen, and to leave on the seventh of January. On the morning of the sixth the Wildenhayns were consulting with Otto and Magelone as to whether they should depart as usual, or, without any announcement of their intentions, stay until there was some change in Johann Leopold, or, lastly, ask their grandfather what his wishes were in the matter. "I must go to-morrow; my leave is at an end," said Otto; and he added, in a tone intended for Magelone alone, "I will come back for the funeral." "You should not talk so," she replied, reproachfully. She had been thinking the same thing herself. At this moment the Freiherr entered. "Children!" he cried, approaching the group, "thank God with me. Johann Leopold is out of danger." There were loud exclamations of delight. Otto's silence was unnoticed. Magelone grew pale, tottered, and would have fallen if Eduard, who stood next her, had not caught her in his arms. "It is nothing,--nothing," she said, recovering herself. The Freiherr looked keenly at her. "Dear Magelone, compose yourself," he said kindly; but she could not endure his gaze. She bent down and kissed his hand, bursting into tears as she did so.