Hildegarde was alarmed. An express letter for her! Whatever could have happened? She opened the door and took the letter from the girl, and she shuddered involuntarily when she recognised her brother's handwriting. "Oh, dear!" She threw the letter on the table with annoyance. Without opening she knew perfectly well that it contained a request for money. A feeling of repugnance came over her. "Why should he spoil my pleasure just at this moment? How can I possibly ask my aunt for anything when she has just given me this costly dress?" All her pleasure had vanished. "Well," she said to herself at last, "the letter shall not spoil my temper to-day. I shall read it to-morrow, or this evening, when I get back again." An inward feeling of anxiety, however, caused her to tear open the envelope, and she read: "DEAR LITTLE HILDEGARDE,--You know the old story how the watchman summoned a woman out of bed and called out to her: 'Mrs. Meyer, you are going to have a terrible shock; your husband is dead.' Well, I say to you now, dear Hildegarde, don't be frightened, but I must have four thousand marks. The deuce take it, but I haven't had a bit of luck lately. Yesterday morning I had a whole heap of dunning letters. I didn't know myself where all the people came from who suddenly demanded money. Where on earth am I to get it from without stealing it? So I tried my luck at cards, but the luck was against me, and when I woke up this morning with a splitting headache I found I had lost four thousand marks. Thank heaven I have three days' respite, but then I must settle the affair, or nothing else remains but to put the necessary bullet through my head. You know that other debts don't worry me, but gambling debts are debts of honour, and there must be no fleck on our honour. Rather than this, we must make our exit from this world. Better die than be dishonoured. So, dear Hilda, I must have four brown bits of paper, and you must manage to get them for me. I ask you this with much less reluctance than usual, because I hear with the greatest joy that you are just about to be engaged. Well, it's high time, Hilda, both for you and for us. Don't disappoint us again. You have gone off considerably during the last year or so. When I saw you last I had quite a shock. Don't misunderstand me. You are still, of course, a very pretty girl, but nothing compared with what you were. Well, the main thing now is for you to capture this Winkler or whatever he's called. What sort of a man is he? Aunt writes to mother that he pays you the very greatest attention. You can imagine how beside themselves with joy they are at home. Father wrote to me that in honour of the welcome news he had immediately completed his wine cellar, and like a chivalrous gentleman he drank your health in French champagne. He can't stand that German stuff any longer. Father