“But there is worse than that, Hanserl, far worse,” said she, trembling. “To smooth the rough path of life, I descended to deception. I told him the best when my heart felt the worst. Had he known of Kate's real life, and had he sorrowed over _her_ fortunes, might not such grief have been hallowed to him! To have wept over Frank--the poor boy in prison--might have raised his thoughts to other themes than the dissipation that surrounded him. All this was _my_ fault I would have his love, and see the price it has cost me!” She hid her face between her hands, and never spoke for a long time. And at length she lifted up her eyes, red as they were with weeping, and with a heavy sigh said, “How far is it to Vienna, Hanserl?” “To Vienna, Fräulein! It is a long journey,----more than four hundred miles. But why do you ask?” “I was thinking that if I saw Count Stephen--if I could but tell him our sad story myself--he might intercede for poor Frank, and perhaps obtain his freedom. His crime can scarcely be beyond the reach of mercy, and his youth will plead for him. And is it so far away, Hanserl?” “At the very least; and a costly journey, too.” “But I would go on foot, Hans. Lame as I am, I can walk for miles without fatigue, and I feel as if the exertion would be a solace to me, and that my mind, bent upon a good object, could the more easily turn away from my own desolation. Oh, Hans, think me not selfish that I speak thus; but thoughts of my own loneliness are so linked with all I have lost, I cannot separate them. Even the humble duty that I filled gave a value to my life, without which my worthlessness would have crushed me; for what could poor lame Nelly be,--I, that had no buoyancy for the young, no ripe judgment for the old? And yet, in caring for him that is gone, I found a taste of love and happiness.” “I will go with you, Fräulein; you shall not take this weary road alone. Heaven knows that, without you, this place would be too dreary for me.” “But your house, Hanserl,--all that you possess,--the fruits of all your hard industry--” “Speak not of them,” said Hans, reddening. “They who deem me rich are mistaken. I have speculated ill, I have made bad ventures, and what I have will but pay my debts, and I will be glad to quit this spot.” “And I,” said Nelly, with a voice of deep emotion,--“I cannot say that I can help you. I know nothing of what may remain to me in this world; my father never spoke to me latterly of his means, and I may be, for aught I know, a beggar. Will you see his banker and speak with him?” “I have done so,” said Hans, slowly. “He claims some small sum as due to him.” “And how am I to pay it?” said Nelly, growing pale. “It is true, I can labor--” “Have no care for this, Fräulein. It shall be looked to, and you shall repay it hereafter.” “Oh, Hanserl, beware!” said she, solemnly; “we are an unfortunate race to those who help us; my poor father often said so, and even his superstitions are hallowed to me now.”