“Oh, what a shame! It’s of no use thinking about it any more, then!” cried Emma, in tones of intense disappointment. “And I was just beginning to think that everything would turn out for you as I had hoped. It is too bad! I had such good fun reading the book, and putting your name in the place of the celebrated artist; like this--‘In delicacy of drawing Fani von Buchberg stands far above all his compeers.’ For you know when you were celebrated, you would be spoken of so; for they always take the name of their birth-place, instead of their family name; and that would be particularly nice, because Hopli isn’t a very good name, but Fani von Buchberg sounds finely, doesn’t it? Listen!” And Emma read from the book. “Where Fani von Buchberg learned to mix his paints, is a mystery. Even to this day, he is the only one who can place such enchanting tones of color upon his canvas. Of course, that is a mistake; it ought to be _shades_ of color, shouldn’t it, Fani? Oh! think, if such things could be said of you! and now it is all over; no chance of that any more!” And the girl threw herself on the bench as if it wasn’t worth while to take the trouble to stir again. Fani sat down at her side. He had followed every word she had said, with increasing excitement; and he had caught the fire of her enthusiasm, for his eyes flamed. “I know something that may make a difference,” he said presently; and at his words Emma, who had looked as if life had lost all charm for her, sprang up with renewed interest, exclaiming eagerly:-- “What is it, Fani? Speak; do speak!” “Come with me,” and he ran along the river-side, drawing her with him. “There, sit down here and look up over Rosemount, towards the wood. Do you see that ruined castle, all covered with ivy?” “I don’t see anything. Oh, yes, I do now! I can see an old, old tower”; and as she spoke the excited girl leaned backwards towards the river, and she would certainly have fallen in, if Fani had not caught her and held her fast.