It seemed quite terrible--almost incredible. And how should she conduct herself in this trying ordeal? "I must not just fall into his arms," thought she, "so that he will think me crude in everything, and misunderstand me again." She decided to cut a handful of roses. Instead of the usual "Good morning," she would greet him with these and a look that should say, "Take them, beloved. All is yours--all." She selected deep-crimson blooms, full grown with a wealth of curving petals. Each one would speak of love to him--of that wild, entrancing love of which poets sang so beautifully, from whose kisses one drank either eternal bliss or damnation. Nothing pale or faded should have a place in her bouquet. But she did not adorn herself with a rose. Was he not to be for always the one and only ornament of her life? Leo, the dog, trotted meanwhile behind her well satisfied, now and then rubbing his nose lovingly against her sleeve. "Where is your master?" she asked him, with a sigh. The beast looked up in her face with comprehending, melancholy eyes. For hours, since daybreak, he had been looking for him everywhere, but he had ridden off on a secret mission without asking his faithful friend to bear him company. As she ascended the steps of the terrace grandmamma came to meet her. She caught hold of the balustrade, trembling. What if he had already confided the news to his mother? Was she coming before her with a heart whose secret had been laid bare? She ran to her quickly, and hid her head on her breast so that she shouldn't be looked at. The old lady patted her, full of solicitude "No cold, I hope--no fever?" she asked. Hertha breathed more freely. Ah! she didn't know. "Let me feel your pulse," grandmamma commanded. Hertha wriggled away. "I like that!" she thought. "To-day, of all days, to have my pulse felt! Next I shall be asked to put out my tongue!" And she barricaded herself behind the table. Grandmamma made the best of a bad matter, but she was not going to let her off without a lecture. Hertha, with quivering lips and wandering eyes, let the mild outburst pass over her head. Her gaze was directed to Leo's empty coffee-cup, her ear towards the courtyard. And then suddenly the hound gave a howl of delight. Ringing, clattering footsteps came echoing along the corridor. Hertha felt her blood ebb from her veins, and as if she must, at his glance, fall dead from shame. She dashed the roses down on the table, and tore at hot speed into the garden; and grandmamma, whose lecture was in full swing, looked after her in consternation. There was a nook in the yew hedge which ran out from the castle into the garden where, unseen, it was possible to hear and see all that passed on the terrace. There she quickly concealed herself. He stood framed in the glass door, heated and dusty, with a deep frown on his brow which terrified Hertha.