``You never loved me!'' he cried bitterly.

``You know that isn't so,'' she answered. ``Won't you tell me,
Carl?''

``A specter has risen from my past--I must leave you--I may never
return--''

She gave a low, wailing cry--it seemed like an echo of the music.
Then she began to sob--not loudly, but in a subdued, despairing
way. She was not conscious of her grief, but only of his
words--of the dream vanished, the hopes shattered.

``Never?'' she said brokenly.

``Never!'' he replied in a hoarse whisper.

Mr. Feuerstein looked down at Hilda's quivering shoulders with
satisfaction. ``I thought I could make even her feel,'' he said
to himself complacently. Then to her in the hoarse undertone:
``And my heart is breaking.''

She straightened and her tears seemed to dry with the flash of
her eyes. ``Don't say that--you mustn't!'' She blazed out
before his astonished eyes, a woman electric with disdain and
anger. ``It's false-- false! I hate you--hate you--you never
cared--you've made a fool of me--''

``Hilda!'' He felt at home now and his voice became pleading and