But it was not on his account that the crow had uttered that cry, but probably because somebody was approaching. He saw a lady coming down the side-path which led from the forest direct to his bench. Again, this convulsive pain at the heart! But he forced himself to look again; and no, it was not Lydia. Lydia was taller, and her blonde hair was of ashen hue; this lady's hair was dark, very dark. And the style of walking, too, was different, very different: an easy, even, step, making it appear as if she were floating down the somewhat steep path, although he could see the movement of the feet beneath the light summer dress. And now she had come quite close to him. She gave a little start, for, gazing up to the shrieking crow, she had not noticed him, and he had sprung up somewhat abruptly from the bench. But in a moment she was collected again, and the flush faded as quickly from her cheek as it had spread. "Is, it possible?--Erna!" "Uncle Bertram!" There was something wondrously melodious in the voice, but not the slightest trace of the glad emotion which he himself had experienced which he himself had experienced on seeing his darling. His heart contracted; he would fain have said: "You were wont to give me a different reception;" but he blushed to face the young beauty as a beggar, and letting, go her hands, he only said-- "You did not expect to find me here?" "How could I?" was her reply. "To be sure!" thought Bertram. "How could she? What a silly question of mine!" He knew not what next to say, and, in some embarrassment, he stood silent. The crow above had been silent during the last half-minute or so, and now commenced to croak, abominably. Both had involuntarily gazed up; now they were, walking silently side by side along the path. III. The evening was closing in around them. Through the thick undergrowth of wood which bordered the path on both sides but little light could penetrate; overhead the leafy crowns of the beeches interlaced and formed an almost continuous roof. At a certain abrupt declivity a few rough steps had been placed. "Will you take my arm. Uncle Bertram?" said Erna. It was the first word spoken between them since, several minutes ago, minutes which had weighed like lead upon Bertram, they had left the bench under the beech tree. "I was just going to put the same question to you," he replied. "Thanks," said Erna. "I know every step here; but you--and then, you have been ill." This might, of course, have been meant in all friendliness; but there was a coldness about the tone, something like giving alms, Bertram thought. "Have been," he made answer; "but quite well again--quite well." "I understand you are going to Italy for the winter--for the sake of your health." "I am going to Italy because I hope I shall be rather less bored in Rome than in Berlin--that is all." "And suppose you are bored in Rome too?" "You mean, bores are bored everywhere?"