"Forget all this," she had said, but he never could forget the look or the tone with which these words were uttered. Thea returned clad in travelling costume to bid farewell to all. Bernhard hastily changed his dress, and, when the travelling-carriage drove up, led his young wife down the steps of the hall, which were thronged with bridesmaids and their attendant squires. Alma burst into tears as she threw her arms around her sister's neck. Herr and Frau von Rosen called out their adieux in faltering tones. The wedding guests waved their kerchiefs from the open windows, and servants and peasants crowded about the carriage for one last look at their "dear young Fräulein." The swallows stretched out their heads from their nest under the eaves, and seemed to twitter "Good-by, good-by," and the hanging wreaths of the wild grapevine in which the veranda was embowered seemed to wave a mute farewell. "Farewell, farewell!" The carriage rolled out of the court-yard, and Thea hid her tearful face on Bernhard's shoulder. "Oh, Bernhard," she whispered, "you will always love me dearly, very dearly, will you not?" He kissed away her tears. "My darling, what a question to ask!" he replied. "You know that you are my sweetest, loveliest May rosebud." She smiled at him through her tears, and he vowed inwardly that she never should shed a tear caused by word or deed of his. The road here made a turn, and the mansion of Schönthal, upon the windows of which the last beams of the setting sun were shining, came into view once more. Thea leaned from the carriage window and looked back. Bernhard, clasping her hand firmly in his own, looked back also. The windows of the balconied room, the same in which he had spoken with Frau von Wronsky scarcely an hour before, gleamed brilliantly. "Is she there still?" he thought, and he seemed to hear again her low, penetrating tones, "Forget all this,"--her pale face and brilliant figure were like a shadow dimming the sunshine of his marriage-day. CHAPTER VI. A FAREWELL GLASS AND A DEATH-BED.