"It will be Lone Linden no longer," the old man said, "since I have so large a family. See, I will not crowd you in the big house; I will stop in my dear little hut. There will be only room enough in the other house for Rudolph and his wife and her two sisters" (the old man was naturally gallant), "whose knight I will be till some one worthier and better shall fill my place. And the red-headed one will go next month?" he asked, turning to Mrs. Wardor. With a sigh of relief he continued, "And the black Kobold will go with her I hope, and the four-footed one too. How they used to break my beautiful white lilies and throw them to that animal. Ah! you cannot make me believe anything--if that horse were not possessed by the evil one he never could have eaten those flowers--stem and all." They could not help laughing, and parted almost merrily. But out in the garden, in the tender white moonlight, Rudolph drew Christine close to his heart and looked searchingly into her eyes. "Are you at peace with yourself now, Christine, and satisfied to be mine--satisfied and happy? Then why are those tears in your eyes?" She struggled out of his arms, and passing her hand over her eyes, she fell irresistibly into her old habit, and sang, soft and low, "Mag auch im Aug' die Thräne stehn-- Das macht das frohe Wiedersehn." _MANUELA._ "Poor Mrs. Kennerly" was more lachrymose than usual to-day; her eyes paler, her hair more faded. Paul Kennerly, the keen-eyed, robust counterpart and husband of the lady, was measuring the room with impatient steps. When her pale-blue eyes shed tears and grew paler, his flashed fire and grew deeper blue; when her light-yellow hair hung limp and loose about her eyes, his darker, heavier locks rose obstinately from his forehead, and were shaken back, now and again, as a lion shakes his mane. While the profuse tears coursing over his wife's cheeks seemed to bleach their original pink into vapid whiteness, his own flushed hot and red with the quick blood mounting into them. Yet, Mrs. Kennerly, of whom her friends spoke only with the adjective "poor" prefixed, was not a martyr; on the contrary, to the unprejudiced observer, the great tall man, in spite of flashing eye and reddened cheek, appeared much more in that light and character. "Laura, _will_ you stop crying just for two seconds, and listen to what I have to say?" "Oh, my poor sister! my poor sister! Coming home, and unwelcome in her own dead father's house! unwelcome to her own brother-in-law, at the house of her poor dead father--oh!"