When Franziska took leave of her husband, she had firmly resolved that she would act as if he were there, and she were moving in his sight.

Ten days had elapsed. There were only a few rooms habitable in the bailiff's. Much had been already sent away, and everything was removed from the hospital. Johannes had received orders to start on a day appointed. Franziska and Johannes were now every evening together. Just as years before, when he was her daughter's teacher, Frau Warning sat with her knitting in her hand, sighing in silence. They had gradually told each other much, the children going at the same time in and out, the handsome young daughter generally with them, and friends and neighbours visiting them. Franziska looked pale and tired, which no one wondered at in these sad times. But the pride of the woman was strengthened by the feeling of the wife, who had been thrown by her husband upon herself! Johannes retained his reserve towards her; each day he became more and more silent, and at last they scarcely spoke to each other.

Half broken down as she was, the duties and demands of every day occupied her with domestic

cares and troubles, and this was her happiness. She had made up her mind that she desired nothing else than what was right and correct under the circumstances; but through all her resignation it was for ever breaking upon her, that her will was otherwise. Like a kind of despair it came over her! When she looked at him and thought, It will soon be over, I shall see him no more!' she was feeling, Could I but make a vow that I would never speak a single word with him, but that I might only see him and know that nothing was befalling him which could harm or destroy him!'

Johannes was like the charioteer who has harnessed his steeds tightly and holds them firmly in check; and though in the freshness of liberty they would gladly gallop over the field, they must proceed onwards quietly, or stand still as the charioteer may please. They may paw the ground with their feet, or neigh with defiant spirit. Every being has its own humour, and vents itself after its own fashion. Johannes now felt within himself a heightened energy; he had to do with a power which does not let the head hang down or utter useless laments. Franziska had early appeared to him, and he had then passed her by ; now he knew that she was the prize of life. It

was no longer enough for him that he saw her happy in the circle of love in which she was to act and rule according to her own true noble feeling; it was not enough for him that she lived for others in her goodness, unconscious of the benefits she bestowed; every power of a heart repressed for years now threatened to burst forth. His will rose up in resistance; in his heart lay the point from whence the conflict with his fate had once begun, where heaven and hell had been at war within him; here lay the point in which he must act for himself, and according to his own standard and law must decide his course. Everything in life had come to him at the wrong time! If he loved Franziska as his life, he was no robber to violate the right of hospitality. He could have drawn Franziska to his heart; but pride and honour were between them, as a drawn keen-edged sword.

CHAPTER VII.

THE PARTING.

THE day had come, and the morrow in the early morning so ran the order-Doctor Olaf was to start. A week later, and all would be over; and nothing more than the remembrance would remain of the old life. Franziska's voice sounded so low; her eyelids looked so heavy; she went about with her head bent down. It was said that day that she was ill; she was so truly, to her innermost heart.

'Good morning, Franziska,' Johannes had said to her as he went past her through the little gate to the wood. She stood in the garden and looked after him, and slowly shook her head; and took her boy, who was beside her, in her arms and kissed him, and pressed him to her. Two red roses, which flowered late, she had broken off from a bush in the neglected garden; she placed them in the child's hand, with a little bunch of mignonette. Then she carried him to the house, and she laid the flowers on the table, where Johannes'

things were thrown about in confusion. His box stood there half packed. Franziska had put in a few books and trifles, which he had here and there liked. This kind of small care is a shift for a woman's heart in time of great sorrow, just as we place flowers with our dead ones, as if from their very fragrance somewhat of life were wafted over our lost happiness.

Johannes felt himself utterly overpowered and shattered. Franziska's appearance, the sound of her voice, was more than he could endure. He walked for a mile across the fields. The wind blew keenly in his face; he went on with rapid hasty step, philosophising and reflecting on the rights of marriage; of Franziska's youth; of the demands of her husband, who was so much older than her! With a kind of hate and inward resentment, he analysed the duties and rights of society. Is the individual who has wrestled for freedom not a law to himself? He shrugged his shoulders at the honour and laws of a world where there are prisons, foundlings, lawsuits, solemn executions, and public dishonour. Marriage is one of its saving institutions,' he said to himself; 'it is the protector of the woman and