with Carl had been the last, "a change came o'er the spirit of her dream," that was not exaggerated in the description of Liese." Her face was flushed, and her step quick and resolute; but when she observed the preparations for the journey, she became as pale as marble, and seemed ready to faint." The extreme suddenness of the change, be it remarked, only existed in its external phenomena; for all men--and women too—are accustomed to keep up their anger through a kind of obstinacy, long after every natural prop has melted away from under it.

In the carriage her ideas whirled as rapidly as the spokes of the wheels; and like them they all revolved round a common centre. Before she had journeyed a thousand yards, Carl was acquitted of the charge of infidelity; but found guilty of the minor offence of mystery. It is true she had not asked him to explain his conduct; but there could be no doubt that it was his bounden duty to have broken her windows, if necessary to the explanation reaching her ears, rather than have retired under circumstances so equivocal. At all events she saw no possibility of her making the first advance. She would die, if such consummation was requisite, but "make no sign."

Just at that moment Carl Benzel passed: and Ida Dallheimer waved her handkerchief.

We shall content

Much might be said on this text. ourselves, however, with stating the simple fact, that Ida had no motive for the action at all. She did not know that she had done it till rebuked by her mother's eyes: she did not feel that she had done wrong she felt her cheeks tingle with a blush. Being done, however, it was very well. The consciousness of being "fully committed" eases the mind; which is

till

the reason, by the way, why love (of another kind from Ida's) is never so secure from detection as when it has turned into crime. Having actually made the first advance, it was her business to prove to herself that Carl had deserved it; and she had now leisure of mind and self-possession enough for the task.

We shall not burthen the narrative with the proceedings of the case, in which her judgment catechised her heart-somewhat in the style of a saucy barrister attempting to browbeat a confident witness--but come at once to the result; which the reader will perceive was not very wide of the truth.

Her lover, she concluded, was ruined, and by his own folly; and his reluctance to accept, so suddenly, of her sweet self, arose from his generosity.

This being settled, she determined, lest her telegraph should have been unseen or misinterpreted, to have recourse to the more intelligible signs of the alphabet. She accordingly watched her opportunity; and, when her mother's head was turned another way, dashed down a single line on the blank leaf of a book; which she then tore out, and flung from the window of the carriage into the road; resolving, for fear of accidents, to send a duplicate by post as soon as they arrived at Trèves.

On reaching this city, at length, Madame Dallheimer drove to an inn, her own house being altogether unprepared for her reception, as she had not had time to give the person in charge of it any warning of the intended visit. Here, to her great surprise, and, it may be added, to her great joy, the party fell in with the baron Wolfenstein, who had just stopped to change horses on his way to Mayence.

This baron Wolfenstein, like many other men of fortune, had, for some years past, spent a good deal of

his time in Aix-la-Chapelle; where, in consequence of his intimacy with Benzel, he was introduced to the Dallheimer family. As Benzel sunk in the prudent mother's estimation, Wolfenstein rose. They were both, it is true, publicly known to be addicted to the same follies; but, owing to certain circumstances, what might be overlooked, or laughed at, in the one, was quite unpardonable in the other.

She knew Benzel's fortune to a shilling; she could count his lands acre by acre; and she was well aware that such a rental could not stand long the demands of his extravagance. Wolfenstein, on the other hand, although from a distant part of the country, and wholly unknown at Aix-la-Chapelle, was undoubtedly rich; neither riotous living, nor even losses at play, seeming to have any permanent effect upon his resources. If one visit to the city terminated in his being "cleaned out," he would laughingly take leave of his acquaintances, telling them that he must live upon sour krout and small ale till the next. But at the next, he seemed to have waxed wonderfully upon the lean fare. He sported a new equipage, and new ornaments; and began to dash more brilliantly than ever. Wolfenstein, besides, was a baron, and although this is no great thing in Germany, it is better than nothing. Benzel was not even a baron; his ancestors could not be traced further back than the memory of one's grandmother; and there were indeed some suspicions afloat, that the moderate fortune of his family was acquired by trade. In every point of view, the baron was a desirable match for her daughter; while it was horror to think of the dissipated and ruined Benzel as a son in-law.

Madame Dallheimer was a clever woman, and fond

of intrigue; and she no sooner found, therefore, that Wolfenstein was worth having, than she put all her art into play to catch him. The baron rushed blindly into the snare, he was captivated at once with the beauty of Ida; talked love and raptures; and seemed every day on the point of a matrimonial declaration. This, however, did not come. He had the delicacy to sound Ida on the subject before speaking to her mother; and convinced from his reception, either that his case was hopeless, or at least that hurrying matters would do him no good, he remained, up to the moment at which we now meet him, in such apparent vacillation, that Madame Dallheimer was ready to lose the usual smoothness of her temper with vexation.

When meeting him now, how bitterly did she regret her too fine policy in quitting Aix-la-Chapelle without taking leave! The journey over the Eifel, had they travelled together, she was absolutely certain, would have been conclusive; even Ida would have began the habit of looking upon him as a guide and protector; and by this time, instead of brooding gloomily, as she evidently was, over her love and her despair, she would have been listening silently, if not cheerfully, to the wild, untaught, but brilliant rattle of the baron.

On his part, Wolfenstein was overwhelmed with sorrow that affairs of urgency required his immediate presence at Mayence. How delighted he would have been, he said, to have been able to spend even a week at Trèves, and thus to have an opportunity of enjoying the society of Madame Dallheimer and her amiable danghter! But a time would come, he doubted not, and that speedily, when he might be permitted to hope or the happiness. Indeed he wished

what harm was there in wishing ?-as the next best thing to his having it in his power to remain at Trèves, that the fair travellers were going on to Mayence! There were persons there whom he was to meet on business, who were intimately acquainted with his family and fortune-and he desired of all things-he-he-.The baron stopped abruptly, cast down his eyes in confusion, and heaved a deep sigh. Madame Dallheimer was almost breathless. will go with you!" was about to break from her lips; but the tact of the woman of the world triumphed; and she contented herself with pressing his hand affectionately, and assuring him that both she and Ida would wait with impatience till they saw him again. In fine, the baron took his leave.

"We

The next morning, Madame Dallheimer was waited upon by the master of the inn; who, with a thousand apologies, informed her, that, being aware she had a house in the town, he had expected the honour of her company only for one night, and had given her a chamber that had already been engaged for a traveller, who was now expected every moment.

"Give him another then," replied Madame Dallheimer quickly.

"But consider, madame, he has taken it for several weeks; and besides, he is a young gentleman of luxurious habits, who will not be satisfied with any thing short of the best chamber I have in the house." "Whence is he?"

"From Aix-la-Chapelle." "His name?"

« Benzel.”

Benzel, what Benzel?"

"Madame, I do not know."

"How far is Baron Wolfenstein gone by this time?"