to draw her from the bower. But she looked sad and anxious, and
replied--

'O, Henrich! do not ask me; my bower is fair enough, and I would not go
as far as that old tree tonight, for all the flowers that grow in the
forest. Stay with me, Henrich, dear. Our mother will join us soon, and
she will be alarmed if you are not here.'

The boy looked at his sister's pensive face with an affectionate smile:
but he was not to be diverted from his scheme.

‘Stay here, then, Edith,' he replied; 'and tell my mother that I shall
return in little more than ten minutes. Come, Ludovico,' he added,
calling his little brother, who was always ready to follow where
Henrich led. 'Come, Ludovico, you are not afraid of the shadows. Bring
your basket, and you shall gather moss while I dig up my creeper. When
Edith sees its drooping white flowers, she will forgive me for laughing
at her unusual fears.'

Edith said no more. She was sure that Henrich knew best; and she
silently watched him leave the garden, and enter the shade of the thick
forest, accompanied by her joyous little brother. Were her fears,
indeed, the mere creation of her own young fancy I or were they
occasioned by one of those strange and unaccountable presentiments
which have been felt so frequently as to justify the old proverb,

'Coming events cast their shadow, before them.’

Edith sat on the mossy seat that Henrich had formed in her bower. It
looked towards the wood, and the commanding situation which it