Albert came into the shop as his mother was about to leave on her secret errand. The boy’s eyes were downcast, there was pallor in his cheeks. For he, too, had done his share of brooding since the last ray of hope of the heritage was gone. “Mother,” he said abruptly, “I’ll take no more private lessons. I—” “Albert!” She had hired a music teacher to teach him the violin, and her present ejaculation was the sudden outlet of her accumulated grief. For a brief moment Albert weakened, his mother’s evident unhappiness checked his flow of words, but he soon gained courage. “Mother, dear, I’ll be no burden to you,” he burst out. “I know—I understand—I won’t let you spend your last _groschen_ on me—” “Albert!” she cried, reproach and grief mingled in her tone. “You won’t break your mother’s heart. Since when have my children become a burden to me?” “But, mother dearest,” the boy begged, tears in his eyes, “I am old enough to be apprenticed—” “And give up all hope?—Albert!” The mere intimation of surrender—giving up the chance of becoming a great man, a scholar if not a banker—cut her to the very heart. The boy trembled perceptibly. His mother had touched a vibrating chord in his being. For every thought of his, every dream and fancy, was of the future. And he was confident of the future; even more confident than his mother; for every prophetic little Samuel hears the voice of God before it reaches the ears of the blind Eli, though he may not at first recognize the voice that calls him. “Don’t worry, Albert dearest,” the mother sobbed, sunshine through her tears, “the war will soon be over, business will improve, and you will not be handicapped for want of money.” * * * * * Late that afternoon, in the dimmest twilight, she locked the shop on Schmallgasse, walked down the narrow street, and turned into the Marktplatz, an air of stealth in her movements. Frequently she glanced this way and that, like a hunted criminal, and hugged a little packet to her breast. When she reached Ludwig Grimm’s pawnshop she halted, hesitated a moment, took a step backwards, halted again, and then, with a sudden lurch forward, darted up the three stone steps that led to Grimm’s and opened the door with a resolute jerk. . . . . THE LORELEI. I.