ran down the mound. The horses stamped, the young man sprang
quickly into the carriage, and it rolled away. But as he was
closing the carriage door he was so maladroit as to drop the
bouquet; only a single violet remained in his hand.

"I suppose it's no use offering you this one, Miss Frederica?" he
said.

"No, thanks; you may keep that as a memento of your remarkable
dexterity," answered Miss Hartvig; he was in her black books.

"Yes--you are right--I shall do so," answered Max Lintzow, with
perfect composure.

--Next day, after the ball, when he put on his morning-coat, he
found a withered violet in the button-hole. He nipped off the
flower with his fingers, and drew out the stalk from beneath.

"By-the-bye," he said, smiling to himself in the mirror, "I had
almost forgotten _her_!"

In the afternoon he went away, and then he _quite_ forgot her.


The summer came with warm days and long, luminous nights. The smoke
of the passing steamships lay in long black streaks over the
peaceful sea. The sailing-ships drifted by with flapping sails and
took nearly a whole day to pass out of sight.

It was some time before the Pastor noticed any change in his