and warm-heartedness. Her talent for acting had not been spoiled by a stage experience. "Hilda's my friend," she said earnestly.  "And I want to see her happy." 

 "Noble creature!" exclaimed Mr. Feuerstein.  "May God reward you!"  And he dashed his hand across his eyes. 

 He went to the mirror on his bureau, carefully arranged the yellow aureole, carefully adjusted the soft light hat. Then with feeble step he descended the stairs. As he moved down the street his face was mournful and his shoulders were drooped—a stage invalid. When Hilda saw him coming she started up and gave a little cry of delight; but as she noted his woebegone appearance, a very real paleness came to her cheeks and very real tears to her great dark eyes. 

 Mr. Feuerstein sank slowly into the seat beside her.  "Soul's wife," he murmured. "Ah—but I have been near to death. The strain of the interview with your father—the anguish—the hope—oh, what a curse it is to have a sensitive soul! And my old trouble"—he laid his hand upon his heart and slowly shook his head—"returned. It will end me some day." 

 Hilda was trembling with sympathy. She put her hand upon his. "If you had only sent word, dear," she said reproachfully, "I would have come. Oh—I do love you so, Carl! I could hardly eat or sleep—and—" 

 "The truth would have been worse than silence," he said in a hollow voice. He did not intend the double meaning of his remark; the Gansers were for the moment out of his mind, which was absorbed in his acting. "But it is over for the present—yes, over, my priceless pearl. I can come to see you soon. If I am worse I shall send you word." 

 "But can't I come to see you?" 

 "No, bride of my dreams. It would not be—suitable. We must respect the little conventions. You must wait until I come." 

 His tone was decided. She felt that he knew best. In a few minutes he rose.  "I must return to my room," he said wearily. "Ah, heart's delight, it is terrible for a strong man to find himself thus weak. Pity me. Pray for me." 

 He noted with satisfaction her look of love and anxiety. It was some slight salve to his cruelly wounded vanity. He walked feebly away, but it was pure acting, as he no longer felt so downcast. He had soon put Hilda into the background and was busy with his plans for revenge upon Ganser—"a vulgar animal who insulted me when 

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