looked at him; till at last he burst into tears. For he suffered
as one can suffer but once, when the childish penitence is fresh
and therefore boundless, and when the yearning for love has
received its first rebuff.

But when, on the fifth day, she met him coming up the stairs, she
stood still in dismay at his appearance: pale, thin, timid; the
effect perhaps heightened by the loss of his hair. He, too, stood
still, looking forlorn and abject, with disconsolate eyes. Then
hers filled; she stretched out her arms. He was once more in his
Paradise, but they both cried as though they must wade through an
ocean of tears before they could talk to each other again.

"Tell me about it now," she whispered. This was in her own room.
They had spoken the first fond words and kissed each other over
and over again. "How could this have happened, Rafael?" she
whispered again, with her head pressed to his; she did not wish to
look at him while she spoke.

"Mother," he answered, "it is worse to cut down the woods at home,
at Hellebergene, than that I--"

She raised her head and looked at him. She had taken off her hat
and gloves, but now she put them quickly on again.

"Rafael, dear," she said, "shall we go for a walk together in the
park, under the grand old trees?"

She had felt his retort to be ingenious.