At length came the last day of the vacation and the morning of his departure. At her own request Elisabeth received permission from her mother to accompany her friend to the stage-coach, which had its station a few streets from their house. When they passed out of the front door Reinhard gave her his arm, and thus he walked in silence side by side with the slender maiden. The nearer they came to their destination the more he felt as if he had something he must say to her before he bade her a long farewell, something on which all that was worthy and all that was sweet in his future life depended, and yet he could not formulate the saving word. In his anguish, he walked slower and slower. "You'll be too late," she said; "it has already struck ten by St Mary's clock." But he did not quicken his pace for all that. At last he stammered out: "Elisabeth, you will not see me again for two whole years. Shall I be as dear to you as ever when I come back?" She nodded, and looked affectionately into his face. "I stood up for you too," she said, after a pause. "Me? And against whom had you to stand up for me?" "Against my mother. We were talking about you a long time yesterday evening after you left. She thought you were not so nice now as you once were." Reinhard held his peace for a moment: then he took her hand in his, and looking gravely into her childish eyes, he said: "I am still just as nice as I ever was; I would have you firmly believe that. Do you believe it, Elisabeth?" "Yes," she said. He freed her hand and quickly walked with her through the last street. The nearer he felt the time of parting approach, the happier became the look on his face; he went almost too quickly for her. "What is the matter with you, Reinhard?" she asked. "I have a secret, a beautiful secret," said Reinhard, looking at her with a light in his eyes. "When I come back again in two years' time, then you shall know it." Meanwhile they had reached the stage-coach; they were only just in time. Once more Reinhard took her hand. "Farewell!" he said, "farewell, Elisabeth! Do not forget!" She shook her head. "Farewell," she said. Reinhard climbed up into the coach and the horses started. As the coach rumbled round the corner of the street he saw her dear form once more as she slowly wended her way home. * * * * * A LETTER Nearly two years later Reinhard was sitting by lamplight with his books and papers around him, expecting a friend with whom he used to study in common. Some one came upstairs. "Come in." It was the landlady. "A letter for you, Herr Werner," and she went away. Reinhard had never written to Elisabeth since his visit home, and he had received no letter from her. Nor was this one from her; it was in his mother's handwriting. Reinhard broke the seal and read, and ere long he came to this paragraph: