danced along the rope in waltz time, as though borne by the gods of the
wind. Whirling swiftly around, her slender figure darted in graceful
curves from one end of the narrow path to the other. Then the applause
reached the degree of enthusiastic madness which she desired; even Loni
clapped his hands from the steeple window. She had never seen him do
this to any of the company. Yes, she must have accomplished her purpose
well; but she would show him and the others something still more
wonderful. What she had just done was capable of many additional feats;
she had tried it.

With fluttering hands and pulses she instantly loosed from her panting
bosom and her hips the garland of roses and leaves twined about the upper
portion of her body, and swung it around her in graceful curves as she
knelt and rose on the rope.

She had often jumped rope on the low rope, turning completely around so
that she faced the other way. To repeat this performance on the one
stretched to the steeple would certainly not be expected from her or from
any other. Suppose she should use the garland as a rope and venture to
leap over it on this giddy height? Suppose she should even succeed in
turning around? The rope was firm. If her plan was successful, she
would have accomplished something unprecedented; if she failed--if, while
turning, she lost her balance--her scanty stock of pleasure here below
would be over, and also her great grief and insatiable yearning. One
thing was certain: Lienhard would watch her breathlessly, nay, tremble
for her. Perhaps it was too much to hope that he would mourn her
sincerely, should the leap cost her life; but he would surely pity her,
and he could never forget the moment of the fall, and therefore herself.
Loni would tear the gold circlet from his dyed black locks and, in his
exaggerated manner, call himself a son of misfortune, and her the