There was a quick step passing away over the tiled passage, then the sound of the little garden-door being opened and closed, and then a cry of anguish, half suppressed, and all the more terrible on that account, the cry of one who had met with a deadly hurt. Bertram hurried round the intervening shrubs to where Erna stood with her arms raised on high, with wild staring eyes. And then she gave another cry, and the next moment she lay in his arms, clutching him, clinging to him, as a drowning man would clutch, would cling to, a rock. "Uncle Bertram! dear, dear Uncle Bertram!" "My sweet child!" "Save me! save me!!" A great gush of tears relieved her. She was now sobbing aloud, bending over his shoulder. Thus had come to pass that for which, but a brief time before, he had longed as the greatest bliss; a bliss he would fain taste for a moment, and for which he would willingly die, after having tasted it. He held her close to his heart, held the slender maiden's frame, the tender, heaving bosom; her sweet breath was floating around his heated cheek, and he knew she was his, was in his keeping; he had the power to hold her now, and it would cost him but one word. And yet it was all a dream-gift, which one may retain for a second or two by keeping one's eyes closed, but which fades away, to return no more, as soon as the eyes re-open. "Yes, I will save you, save you from yourself; you have lost yourself, and I will restore you." She lifted her head and looked at him, confused, questioning. "Not to-day, my sweet child, to-morrow; but you must be a good and obedient girl." "I will do all that you wish, that you command, dear one, beloved one! For there is none as good, as noble as you, not one, and I love no one as I love you!" Again she clasped him, more violently even than before, and pressed her hot, quivering lips, to his. But he did not return her kiss, and a gentle, melancholy smile played about his mouth as he said, putting her gently from him, and stroking her dark hair-- "And never did father love his dearest child better than I love you." And again she gazed up to him with a strange expression of fear and shame. "Now go, my child; to-morrow we will talk together. I shall not leave to-morrow. I shall not go until you need me no longer. Good-bye till then. And then your dear eyes are to weep no more." She clung to him still, but hesitatingly, shyly now; he disengaged himself gently, and repeated-- "Go, my child, go." She went, slowly, reluctantly, holding her head very low. On the topmost step, in the doorway leading to the tea-room, she paused and turned, as though expecting that he would summon her back. But he beckoned with eye and hand: "Go!" She vanished behind the velvet curtain. He was alone! XXI.