knew whither her feet bore her, but her heart
beat violently, and she often was obliged to
pause and press her hands against her bosom, as
if to stay the turbulent emotions.

"You are not well, mother," said the son.
"It was imprudent in me to allow you to exert
yourself in this way."

"Let us sit down on this stone," answered
she. "I shall soon be better. Do not look so
anxiously at me. Indeed, I am not sick."

He spread his light summer coat on the stone
and carefully seated her. She lifted her veil
and raised her eyes to the large red-roofed mansion,
whose dark outlines drew themselves dimly
on the dusky background of the pine forest.
Was he still alive, he whose life-hope she had
wrecked, he who had once driven her out into
the night with all but a curse upon his lips?
How would he receive her, if she were to
return? Ah, she knew him, and she trembled at
the very thought of meeting him. But was not
the guilt hers? Could she depart from this
valley, could she die in peace, without having
thrown herself at his feet and implored his for-
giveness? And there, on the opposite side of
the valley, lay the home of him who had been
the cause of all her misery. What had been