He ceased speaking. She did not answer. She only sobbed--a low, shuddering sob, as from a broken heart. He rose to go. Then she once more approached him, her face deadly pale, and heavy tears falling from her widely opened eyes. "So this is the end," she murmured almost inaudibly. "The end.... I have found you only to lose you for ever. Friedrich! Friedrich!... it will kill me...." He looked at her compassionately, and then said very gently: "You will also gain calmness and peace, and then you will be happier. You will then understand that I could not have acted otherwise." She sighed deeply. "I am severely punished," she said, with trembling lips. "I must pay for the weakness of a moment with the misery of a long, long life. But there is one thing I can not have you do. You must not despise me. I was induced to write you that letter by the devilish machination of a wretch, who knew how to make use of the prejudice that my people feel against yours--a prejudice I learned in my earliest childhood." "I thought so," he interrupted her, mildly. "I have felt the effects of that prejudice sorely. I forgive you all the more easily. But who was it?" "Prince Alexius Sugatscheff," she answered. "What! That man!" he exclaimed contemptuously; but immediately forced back the words he would have uttered, and continued quietly: "Thank you for telling me this. It makes it easier for me to forgive myself for having partly broken my promise to the old prince...." It had grown darker in the summer-house now, and the sun had set. "Good-by, Jadwiga," he said, in a low voice. "Be happy!"--he took her hand in his--"and never forget that we shall meet again one day." She could not speak. She stood in the middle of the room listening, until the last echo of his footsteps died away, and then fell fainting on the floor.... The next day found Baron Starsky as troubled in mind and as thoughtful as on the previous day. Graefin Jadwiga had gone away very early in the morning. Nobody knew where. He was much put out, for in spite of the curious scene he had witnessed between her and "that beast of a Jew," he would perhaps--have married her. The man against whom his wrath was roused was however at that very moment lovingly stroking the boyish head of the writer of these pages, and comforting him in his sorrow. He had just told the boy that he could be his teacher no longer, for he must now give every moment of his time to the sick and miserable. * * * * * The Jewish burial-ground at Barnow is a pretty and quiet place--a place that brings thoughts of peace and not of terror--especially in summer, when the blue sky smiles down upon the little field with its fresh green grass and sweet-scented flowers. A blossoming elder-bush is to be found close to the crumbling headstone of every grave.