"If it were not that I must play true to my clerical gown, Max, I could for very delight in the glory of this October afternoon caper one of my lately-learned waltzes on the roadside. Gods! what a gift life is on such a day as this! Do, you not feel this mountain air tingling like wine through your veins? My blood is all aglow within me—my heart is as light as flame." It was a rich, vibrant, sonorous voice, and yet it had a boyish ring of merriment that seemed in no wise to belong to the soberly-clad student who walked demurely by his companion's side through the quiet, shining meadows.

"Julius Steck!" exclaimed his comrade, who spoke with a lazy, good-humored drawl, "for the love of sport remember who and what you are. A learned young bachelor of divinity to begin by invoking the heathen gods,—to yearn after a waltz in the open fields, and a heart like flame, forsooth! a pretty thing to carry into a country parsonage to kindle a conflagration among the lasses!"

"Nay, Max," returned the other, "I will be grave enough when occasion requires. How could I so soon forget my last and dearest sweetheart behind us in the city,—the Minster of Strasburg? Is not this the first bright afternoon since early June that we two have not mounted at sunset to that spacious platform high above the dusky streets, and quaffed our Rhenish to the dying day? And you fancy that I will throw away a heart devoted to the loyal service of my Lady of the Cathedral on the first pair of apple-colored cheeks and china-blue eyes that we meet on the wayside? Besides," he added, with a sudden mock gravity, "do I look like a fellow to captivate a pretty damsel?" And he doffed his broad-brimmed clerical hat and looked full and squarely at Max.

Was the lad a consummate actor who could, assume at will whatever countenance he desired, or was this expression of sheepish pedantry natural to the possessor of that resonant voice? It must have been clever pantomime, for as Max saw it he burst into uncontrollable laughter, that resounded with jolly echoes through the responsive air. The outline of the face from brow to throat was delicate and strong as that of a young Greek god, and yet a ludicrous and almost homely effect was given by the sleek brown locks combed smoothly back from the temples and turned behind the ears, by the thickly-framed gold spectacles which obstructed any gleam from the dark eyes behind them, and, above all, by this prim look of mingled shrewdness and timidity. He was taller than his companion, but the proportions of his figure were concealed by the long black gown, which formed the principal part of his costume as a theological student.

"Capital, capital, Dr. Steck!" exclaimed Max, clapping his hand on the young bachelor's shoulder. "But make haste and cover your head, for in a few moments we shall be in sight of the parsonage. And yet I can hardly say whether you are best with or without that hideous plate of a hat. At any rate, I am not responsible for whatever happens while you are in my charge. I warn you beforehand that the girls are pretty and engaging, and as for them, if they can listen to—yes, or look with patience on—such an infernal Jesuitical milksop, I will wash my hands of them all."

They walked on for a few minutes in silence, Max with his hand still resting affectionately on Steck's shoulder, and Steck with his head upraised, eagerly inhaling the honeyed air of the harvest-fields, and, with the eyes of an artist rather than of a boy just turned twenty, gazing at the green and purple masses and sun-bathed outlines of the peaks that stood out against the pale gold sky. There was just enough breeze to make a continuous rustle and murmur in the glistening leaves overhead, and to send long-rolling ripples and waves of motion over the grass of the wide-lying meadows. A clear bird-carol now and then, the incessant all-pervading drone of the crickets, at intervals the merry laughter of voices in a far-away meadow, prolonged by the myriad echoes of the neighborhood,—these sweet out-door sounds were all that broke upon the ears of the two young men; and the gentleness, the peace, the unspeakable beauty of the October landscape seemed to gain upon them, and to overpower with quieting suggestions even the exuberant buoyancy of spirits natural to their age.

Max Waldstein was a genial, open-hearted fellow of two or three and twenty. A square, somewhat receding brow, wide blue eyes, a highly-colored complexion, a round, fair, curly head, set off with coarse and prominent ears, a large mouth, adorned with healthy white teeth, a thick, well-shaped nose, and a projecting jaw, overgrown with a reddish-yellow beard,—all these formed an excellent index to the mind and character of the young law-student, who had attached himself almost as to a girl to the magnetic, myriad-sided nature of his fellow-lodger, the boy-artist. New and unaccountable to plain Max were the mercurial moods, the exaltations and despondencies, the irrepressible, child-like delight occasioned by such simple things as a burst of sunlight on a cloudy day, the sudden, unexpected song of a bird, a glimpse of a fair woman-face, a rhyme of some old poet, a shade of color on some faded canvas, or, above all, the outlines and structure of Strasburg Cathedral. But Waldstein made no attempt to follow or fathom the caprices of his imaginative friend. Like many others in that grave old minster-shadowed city, he was led out of himself into an enthusiasm of admiration and affection for the brilliant, beautiful young favorite of the gods, who, bringing all the gifts, had burst upon Strasburg and taken up his abode there early in the preceding spring. Numberless were the holiday excursions planned by these two youthful heads and enjoyed with a wide circle of boon companions, the spice of such amusements being not unfrequently heightened by an escapade somewhat wilder than usual, an adventure of more than ordinary daring, on the part of the younger of the two. Max's only gift, a shrewd, practical sense, enabled him readily to discern the qualities of those around him, and a loyal, generous nature, unspoiled by affectation or envy, brought him into sympathy with men of far higher capacities than his own. With whimsical self-depreciation, he was forever wishing to display the endless talents and attractions of his comrade, who must be brought forth into the light at all costs, forgiven any mad prank, and allowed to follow his pleasure as he chose, in consideration of the halo about his head and the tenderness of his heart. "Let us make the most of the lad while he is with us," Waldstein would say; "such a youth is not for our little Strasburg circle of good fellows. What can he not do? What does he not adorn in touching? It rests but with himself to be the painter, the poet, the tragedian, the statesman—what do I know?—the genius of the age. Come, comrades, let us up to his room now, and drag him from his jurisprudence, and make a day of it on the river."

We all know that in later years neither the sweetest allurements nor the sharpest trials could swerve this royal nature from its chosen path of serenity and wisdom. But at this early period, with the fulness of so rich a life seething in his veins, in the first fresh wonder and delight, with every wreath of honor awaiting apparently but the reach of his outstretched hand to claim and bind it about his brow, who shall say that the intoxication did not mount to his exalted brain, engendering a boyish vanity and self-consciousness, sending through his frame an occasional thrill of not ignoble pride in the very wealth of his own personality?

For many weeks Waldstein had been trying to prevail upon his friend to accompany him to the parsonage, some six leagues beyond Strasburg, where he was wont to spend much of his leisure time, invariably descanting after his visit upon the hospitality of Pastor Duroc and his wife and the beauty of the country surrounding their home, and occasionally letting slip a significant allusion to the charms of the elder daughter, Rahel. But the boy had always an excuse for declining: he must go study the Cathedral, and work out the unexecuted conception of the architect's brain in leaving incomplete that bold and aerial spire; he must prepare himself for the approaching examination, and devote himself more assiduously to his ponderous volumes of jurisprudence, for which he had originally come to Strasburg; or now was the moment to saunter down to the river-side and add a few strokes to his sketch of the city at sunset. Finally, when Max had ceased to press the point, the capricious lad one morning proposed the visit himself. His delicate fancy had been aroused the previous evening by an exquisite prose idyl which he had read before he slept. It was a translation recently made of a story of English clerical life. The homely pathos, the quaint simplicity, the pleasing variety of natural incidents that enlivened the sprightly flow of the narrative, the healthy atmosphere that breathed of trim, inland, hawthorn-hedged meadows, all these wrought upon his lightly-moved spirit and gave him the desire to transport himself to kindred scenes. Early in the morning he burst into Waldstein's room with the "Vicar of Wakefield" in his hand.

"Read it at once!" he exclaimed; "there is art, there is nature! How many of our dreary German treatises cannot this little book outweigh with its searching insight, its naïf truthfulness! Here is a page of life that I have never studied,—never known. While I have been musing in the grim shadow of the Minster, and trying to animate the iron-handed heroes of a mediæval age, what have I overlooked! The smiling fields, the endless minutiæ of a thousand happy homes, the passions, the joys, the troubles, that surround me on every side. Max, dear Max, may I go with you to the Durocs'?"

Waldstein could scarcely refrain from smiling at the wistful tone in which the question was asked. It was like the lad to crave that as a grace which it was but a pleasure to confer. He had as many coaxing, affectionate tricks of voice and manner as a woman. Max assented with delight, and named that very day for the excursion. And now his comrade, full of odd freaks, begged to be allowed to go, not as the wild boy-artist of Strasburg, but as a serious student of these pious, pastoral lives. Thus was the harmless incognito contrived, and thus it was that Max was escorting his friend, disguised as a theological scholar and bearing the name of Dr. Julius Steck, to the home of the Durocs.

Steck was the first to interrupt the sweet quietness which was not silence. "How beautifully clear is this little mountain-brook alongside of us!" he said. "See, it has followed us all the way from the Drusenheim inn."

"I should rather say," answered Waldstein, "that we have followed it; and in truth it is the surest guide for us: as we keep along this path, bearing its channel always in sight, the first bend in its course will bring us in view of our goal."

A few paces more led them to the curve, and then only a single narrow field lay between them and the parsonage.

It looked more like an ancient farm-house than the home of the parish priest, and was separated by a considerable distance from the village church, whose humble spire and glittering vane peered above the clustered trees beyond. It seemed a very antique and weather-stained homestead, but wore rather the quaint picturesqueness that just precedes decay, than the actual dilapidation of ruin itself. It would have been hard to tell with what color it had originally been decorated, for it was now sunburned and rain-washed into a streaky, sombre gray, to which this gorgeous October light gave a certain mellow warmth of its own; and the walls were so covered with the glossy leaves of the ivy, the porch was so overgrown with the interlocked stems of the honeysuckle, that comparatively little of the dwelling itself was left bare. In front was a small, carefully-tended garden, where the autumn roses were glowing; but nearly all the adjacent grounds were devoted to what would have seemed the interests of a goodly farm; the gray old orchard rich with red and yellow globes twinkling among the branches or lying half buried in the soft turf below; the vine-trellises beyond, with their large, dusky leaves, bearing their splendid blue and golden-green fruitage freely in the open air; and on the other side of the house, the thriving kitchen-garden with its stripes of varied verdure,—all prosperously basking in the radiant sunshine of harvest-tide. Some of the windows were thrown open for the air and light to play through the dwelling; from one of them a white curtain, detached from its fastenings, was blowing. A perky little hen, with her brood close after her, was strutting along the garden-lane and pecking near the walls of the manse, but no other living creature seemed to be stirring about the premises.

"A queer, quiet old place it is," said Steck, taking in all the details at a glance.

"Yes," said Waldstein, dryly; "it is younger inside."

The gate was open, and they walked noiselessly through, frightening the hen and her young ones into a brisk trot towards the barnyard. They had almost reached the doorway before they saw, half reclining on a long wooden bench in the porch, the portly figure of the pastor, his face concealed by a large volume held up before his eyes.

"Good-evening, Father Duroc," cried Max.

Their host started, let fall his book from before him, and disclosed a jovial, weak, handsome face, but little marked by age, whose thick dark eyebrows and rosy coloring contrasted strikingly with the pure white of his unpowdered hair.

"I have taken you by surprise this time," said Waldstein, "and have brought my friend, Dr. Julius Steck, of Frankfort. He is a serious fellow, young as he looks; one after your own heart, an indefatigable student, who wishes thoroughly to examine our parochial customs before he enters upon his active duties."

"Welcome! welcome both!" said the pastor, heartily, giving each a hand. "Any friend of yours, Waldstein, has, you know, a double welcome, and Dr. Steck could not have found a better place to complete his studies than the oldest parsonage in Alsace, though the vicar says it himself."

"I shall be proud to put myself under your guidance," said Steck, with becoming modesty. "Your well-known research, your profound——"

"Tut! tut!" interrupted the pleased pastor. "I have but looked into such scant volumes as strayed across my path. But an apt and ardent scholar is my delight, and such a one is a rarity in these superficial days. Ah, Waldstein, your eyes are wandering after the lasses, I'll be bound. They have strolled off with the Mütterchen toward the brook-side to enjoy this bright afternoon. But we can have a good hour's chat in the library before they return."

"We heard their laughter as we came along from Drusenheim," said Waldstein. "If Otto be not with them, why could not I? Might they not be pleased——"

"I see your drift," exclaimed the pastor. "Well, be off to the meadows, young gallant, and bring them safely home; they will all be glad to see thee. Meantime, this serious youth and I will discuss our graver matters."

Max, with a roguish glance at Steck, ran off like a dismissed schoolboy down the slope behind the house, and was almost immediately out of sight in the dip of the valley below. Steck, however, with his head full of the "Vicar of Wakefield," and possessing in the highest degree the artist's capacity to invest with interest the most commonplace of characters, was delighted at the prospect of a conversation with the Dr. Primrose of Sesenheim.

"I do not wonder, sir," he began, "that you have brought your literature to so attractive a seat. I, too, often make my studies in the open air; not that my eyes will wander from my beloved manuscript, but I fancy that the mind has there a larger scope, a clearer perception, a stronger energy of retention."

"Surely, surely," assented the pastor. "I am fully of your opinion, Dr. Steck. So, since it pleases you, we will take our seats here in the porch. At this genial season, the hospitality of my home extends far beyond the shelter of my roof-tree, over all these shining acres." And he waved his hand with a natural pride towards the smiling landscape.

"You are perhaps surprised," he went on, garrulously, "to find me so miserably quartered in a wealthy village and with a lucrative benefice. Long since, it has been promised me by the parish, and even by those in higher places, that the house shall be rebuilt; many plans have been already drawn, examined, and altered,—none of them altogether rejected, and none carried into execution. This has lasted so long that I scarcely know how to control my impatience."

"Perhaps," suggested Steck, "if you were to display a little impatience, you might sooner succeed in forcing them to pursue the affair more vigorously."

"Ah!" sighed the pastor, with an air of discouragement, "you do not know with what people I have to deal. The duke is away the better part of the year, hunting, traveling, killing time as he best may. Herr Klug, the former intendant, was anxious enough to promote the welfare of the parish. Indeed, it was he who proposed the renovation of the manse; then were the plans drawn and deliberated upon; but before we could come to any decision he was removed, to make way for a French successor, M. Guédin. 'Well, Käthchen,' said I to Mother Duroc, 'we can congratulate ourselves now,—we shall soon have a spruce new parsonage when this active young fellow takes the lead.' 'Wait to whistle till you are out of the wood, Moritz,' said the prudent mother, and she was right. It was only the last new idea that M. Guédin could seize with any interest. When he saw the many difficulties to be overcome, and heard of the many tastes to be consulted, it was too much for the Gallic genius, and he has long betaken himself to more congenial occupations."

"But your people," interposed Steck, highly amused at the old man's naïf confidence, "why should not they co-operate to secure their pastor a more comfortable home? Though for my part, sir, the beauty of this picturesque old farmstead, the thoroughly German character of its construction, please me so much that I should be loth to hear of a change."

"Ay, lad," returned the pastor, "it is well for you, who come and take a glance at the outside, to fall into ecstasies over the woodbine on the porch, the moss on the tiles, the wee diamonds set in the heavy gables that form our windows. But it is an inconvenient picturesqueness for the pastor, where a few stout beams of oak, some moderate-sized panes of glass, and a couple of serviceable chimneys might remedy all. But come in with me, and examine for yourself how we fare."

With these words he rose and led Steck into the house. They passed through a commodious hall, furnished like a room with rugs and seats, into the library, where the late sunshine was streaming. Steck was so delighted with the quaint wooden bookcases, the high mantel-shelf with its painted tiles, and the tokens on every side of the habitual presence of youth and womankind,—the flowers in the windows, the festoons of fresh ivy between the prettily-designed landscapes, the open harpsichord, with the last song still upon it, the charming disorder of the tables, scattered with books, writing-materials, sketching-crayons, and embroidery,—that he did not care to note that the deep-ledged windows were indeed somewhat out of date, the ceilings stained and smoked, and the furniture worn and shabby.

"I cannot help it, sir," he said, turning to the pastor with a deprecating smile, "but I think it all charming. And what a glorious outlook from this westward window!"

"Yes, yes," answered the pastor, a little testily, "the outlook is good enough; it is as fair a site as any in Alsace." And all his good humor returned as he leaned with his guest over the broad sill and looked out at the rich spread of vineyard, stream, and meadow, terminated by the gorgeous boundary of the Vosges, with their aerial outlines and indescribable luxuriance of tint glowing in the last rays of the sunsetting.

"Here be our saunterers coming along the road," said he, shading his eyes with his hand. "But where could they have left Alide?"

Steck looked at the figures advancing through the fields, and recognized Waldstein foremost, in apparently earnest colloquy with his companion, a tall, slender woman attired in sober colors. In his mind he immediately named her the charming Rahel, and could scarcely repress a smile at the staid, demure character of the attractions that had captivated his friend's fancy. A few paces behind them hastened a younger figure, with bright-colored ribbons flying and white skirt gleaming between the bushes and tree-trunks as she came along. She had loitered to gather some field-flowers; and as she almost ran forward to rejoin her companions, she seemed in Steck's eyes a very Ruth, with her blue and red blossoms in her hand, and her wide straw hat dangling from her head and encircling like an aureole the dark-brown locks.

"There she is, sir," said Steck, who thought the pastor must have failed to see this young girl, lingering purposely, as he was pleased to imagine, behind the sweethearts.

"No," said Dr. Duroc, "that is Rahel." Then with a sudden burst of laughter, clapping Steck upon the shoulder, he exclaimed, "I see your mistake! It will make a gallant compliment for Käthchen when she comes in. It is not the first time the mother has been said to look as young as her daughters." Before Steck had time to reply, the couple entered the room.

"Here is a young fellow, Kitty," said the blunt pastor, "who has mistaken you for your own child. Madame Duroc, Dr. Julius Steck."

"I am glad to see you, sir," said madame, shaking his hand cordially.

In spite of her slight figure, he could see now that the beauty of her intelligent countenance was indeed somewhat faded. She scrutinized him narrowly with a woman's alert intuition, very different from the unsuspecting confidence of the pastor; but, turning to her husband, she went on, kindly, "You always have your jest, Moritz; but you will make the young gentleman blush if you expose so freely his mistakes. Has Alide come home yet?"

"No," answered the pastor, with surprise; "I thought she was with you."

"So she was, but she left us a good half-hour since with Goetz."

"In that case she has not returned," said Dr. Duroc, "for I have been sitting with Dr. Steck in the porch, and we could not have missed seeing her."

"In the porch!" cried Madame Duroc, "and Dr. Steck has had nothing to refresh himself after his long walk from the inn!"

"That is the way with her, boys," said the simple pastor, as she left them, "always thoughtful for others."

At this moment Rahel burst rather noisily into the room, bringing the sweet fragrance of the fields along with her.

"Where is Alide?" she asked, without noticing the stranger.

"Rahel," said the pastor, in a tone of reproof, "here is a visitor, Dr. Steck; that is hardly the way to greet him."

"I beg your pardon, papa," said the young girl, with heightened color, "and yours too, sir, whom I am happy to welcome," extending her hand with almost as little embarrassment and as much cordiality as her mother. "But, papa, I am uneasy about Alide; she should have been home long ago. I must go seek her." And she hastened away.

"We are all rather foolish about our Alide," said the pastor, apologetically; "she is the youngest of us,—but I have no fear for her. You will soon see them all, Dr. Steck, and I am particularly anxious for you to know my boy Otto; he is a lad of much promise, though a trifle reserved, and if he can but select such companions as yourself and Waldstein, I shall rest content."

"I shall be proud to know them all," said Steck, with sincerity, "for I do not remember when before I have been so happy in a family circle." And his eyes wandered to the door in search of the youngest daughter, whose prolonged absence created such a stir in the household, and occasioned an agreeable flutter of expectation in his own breast.

As he looked, the door was slowly opened, and Madame Duroc re-entered, bearing a tray with a flask of home-made wine, a china basket filled with the fruits of their orchard and vineyard, and a dish of her own sweet-cakes. Waldstein, who was quite at home in the family, cleared one of the tables and helped Madame Duroc to set the plates and glasses, and they all placed themselves around it.

"Kitty is proud of her Rheinwein," said the pastor, as he filled Steck's goblet, "and the surest way to her heart is to show your appreciation of it." And he clinked his own glass against Steck's and raised it to his lips.

"That she may well be," responded the youth, as he quaffed a long draught. "It is a most delicious vintage."

"You know," said Madame Duroc, with assumed modesty, "the parson's wine is always supposed to have a peculiar flavor."

"Never mind, Käthchen," said the pastor; "we will hold our own opinion still. The last time you tasted it, Max, was the evening young Vogel was here paying his court to Rahel. It seemed rather bitter in your mouth then, eh, Waldstein?"

"It not the wine, sir," answered honest Max, with a girl's blush overspreading his face. Just then Rahel herself returned.

"I cannot imagine what has become of Alide!" she cried. "I have been half-way across the meadow without catching a glimpse of her. None of the servants have seen her, and I have been waiting at the porch ever since. It is really provoking, for I suppose she will come in soon with some ridiculous excuse for having made us all so uneasy."

"Is Goetz with her?" asked the mother, rising and looking anxiously from the window.

"Yes," replied Rahel, "or I should be really worried instead of vexed."

"It is indeed provoking!" said Madame Duroc, nervously. "I cannot understand where the child has gone. She seems to be always either loitering behind us or running out of sight ahead. I shall forbid her to leave us at this hour again; she is far too wild and fearless for her years. She seems to forget she is no longer a child."

"Let her alone," said the father, with great composure; "she has already come back."

All eyes were turned to where he pointed as he spoke, and there, under the low doorway, with the soft light from the western window falling full upon her face, stood Alide.

She did not look over sixteen, but it was maidenhood, not childhood, that glanced forth from the gray-blue eyes and sent a rosy flush rippling over the sweet, wistful face as she heard herself so freely criticised before the two young men. Her neck seemed almost too delicate for the large fair braids on her elegant little head. They were twisted loosely like a crown above her brow, and again looped in long thick plaits around either ear. These, indeed, formed her chief beauty, in color no less than in luxuriance and texture, for they had not the lustreless, flaxen hue most frequent in Germany, but a warm, glossy gold, nearer auburn than yellow. It was the indescribable radiance caused by the perfect blending of the divine tints of gold and pink and white, added to the brightness of the large eyes, which made her the lovely vision that she seemed at this moment to Steck; for her features were more irregular than those of either her mother or her sister: the nose was short and slightly upturned, her nationality strongly marked in the breadth of the upper part of the face, and the mouth a trifle large. But then the teeth were brilliant (Steck could see, for she was smiling), and the full chin was cloven by a dimple. Like Rahel, she "wore nothing but German," as they termed it, though the national attire was almost obsolete in Alsace. A full white skirt, with a furbelow, stopped just short of the dainty ankles, disclosing the neatest little feet, and a close-fitting white bodice and coquettish black taffeta apron completed her costume. Her broad-brimmed straw hat was slung over her arm, and its long blue ribbons added the only touch of color that she wore.

"Thus truly a most charming star arose in this rural heaven," Steck wrote many years later, in describing this exquisite apparition of youth and grace as she first stood before him. And such was the substance, if not the form, of his thought as his eyes rested upon her. But the next moment, for the first time since his disguise, the consciousness of his own appearance overpowered him with shame and confusion, and he felt the hot blood tingle in his face. Where were now the glib speech, the insinuating address, the manly assurance and self-confidence that had grown upon him with the knowledge of his gifts and had never before failed him? It was like a disagreeable dream to hear the mention of his assumed name, to see this beautiful creature make him a graceful reverence, and to feel so keenly the ridiculousness of his own position, as he returned with much constraint her salutation. In spite of her costume, she seemed city-bred, for her greeting was quite different from the rustic cordiality of her mother and sister, and he fancied he detected lurking around the corners of her mouth a mischievous smile.

"So you have come back at last," began Rahel, with no little irritation; "I suppose it is nothing to you that we have been watching for you since sunset, and imagining a thousand impossible accidents."

"I am sorry to have made you uneasy, Rahel," answered Alide, quietly.

"What new folly or sentimentalism has kept you out till this hour?" persisted Rahel, her ill humor increased by her sister's imperturbable composure.

It was evident that Alide's intuitive refinement prevented her displaying before a stranger any impatient temper. She loosened her hat from her arm, laid it on the table, and, turning to her mother, kissed her cheek like a child. "Mamma," said she, "I am really sorry that I should have distressed you. Did you not know that Goetz was with me? I only went to the village, and, as Herr Waldstein said papa was engaged with a strange gentleman, I took the road behind the house, without disturbing him to tell him where I had gone. Besides, the days seem to grow short so suddenly."

"Well, my child," replied Madame Duroc, returning her caress, "another time you will try to be more thoughtful: we will say no more about it now." And she glanced significantly at her elder daughter. Rahel shrugged her shoulders, as much as to say, "It is always the same but the mother's calm decision sufficed to disperse at once the little cloud, and the family were soon chatting together in the gayest and most friendly way about uncles, aunts, cousins, gossips, and guests, and Steck learned how much he had to promise himself from so numerous and lively a circle.

Max was entirely at his ease, and added his comments and scraps of news as familiarly as the rest; but Steck felt himself quite apart from the cheerful group, especially as the consciousness of his false position confused him more and more. As he listened, he took occasion to observe them all, and thought with inexpressible astonishment that he was actually in the Wakefield family. To be sure, the pastor had not the earnest gravity and discretion of Dr. Primrose; but it would be difficult to find in real life a single person uniting all the admirable qualities of the English vicar; and, besides, the characters of Goldsmith were only reversed, for Frau Duroc had all the dignity and seriousness that her husband lacked. One could not see her without at once honoring and reverencing her, and the results of high breeding were visible in her manner, which was gentle, unconstrained, pleasant, and attractive. If Rahel had not the celebrated beauty of Olivia, yet she was pretty, lively, and impetuous; her gestures were more animated, her voice had a shriller ring, her laugh was more frequent, her manners more coquettish, than her sister's; and these peculiarities, added to the scarlet ribbons twisted in her brown hair, and the sparkling vivacity of her merry dark eyes, gave a somewhat over-pronounced, provincial tone to her appearance. However, her spirits were so high, and she prattled on with such a sprightly pleasantry, that Waldstein was bewitched, and Steck himself might have been attracted by her picturesque individuality had it not been for Alide. She would answer well, he thought, for another Sophia; for all that is said of Sophia is that she is amiable; and who was ever amiable in the original signification of the word—worthy to be loved—if Alide were not?

"It is a shame to play a joke upon such good people," said Steck to himself, fancying it was his conscience that pricked him, when it was only his vanity that was aroused; and, when all eyes were turned from him, he quickly removed the gold spectacles and passed his hand lightly through his hair. As he did so, Max looked at him and smiled maliciously, but discreetly held his peace.

For some time Alide had taken little part in the conversation, and had answered absently the direct questions addressed to her. "That strange young doctor,"—she was thinking, and it was her conscience, not her vanity, that spoke,—"he is bashful, to be sure, and he blushes like a girl; but is it kind in us to leave him there alone? Papa seems to have forgotten his presence, and mamma is always so quiet. I must try myself to make him feel a little more at home." And she rose from her low chair at the pastor's feet and moved towards Steck. But as she looked at him she drew back and almost lost courage, startled at the transformation which the pseudo-doctor had undergone. The rapid movement of his hand had sufficed to change the whole appearance of his head. His brown hair waved naturally in soft curls, and though the sudden glance of his full, deeply-set eyes was peculiarly keen and penetrating, yet the drooping lids and heavy lashes gave them in repose an indescribably gentle expression. Perhaps she would not have arisen at all if she had known he looked like that. But it was too late to return. He was sitting by the open harpsichord, and had taken up the song that lay upon it.

"Can you play yourself, Dr. Steck?" she asked.

His habitual tact and ease were restored to him by the young girl's expression of surprise, which he had not failed to notice.

"I play after a fashion," he replied; "I cannot pretend to much skill."

"But you will let us judge for ourselves?" pleaded she, with a winning smile.

"Surely, mademoiselle, if it pleases you." And he went to seat himself before the instrument.

"What is this?" interrupted the pastor, turning towards them. "Why, Alide, you certainly will not ask the guest to furnish the entertainment? You must serve him first yourself, with a performance or a song."

"Indeed, I am not in the mood," remonstrated Alide, "but I will do my best." And without affectation she placed herself before the harpischord.

It was a primitive, tinkling little affair, evidently neglected by the schoolmaster, who should have tuned it long since. Alide played a couple of pieces in the ordinary mechanical style of country amateurs, and then sang with rather more sentiment a brief, tender, melancholy song. But Steck had little knowledge of the art, and if the performance had been faultless its merits would have been lost upon him. He scarcely knew how or what the girl was singing; he heard, or rather felt, the fresh clear voice ring through his brain; he watched the dainty white hands resting lightly on the old black keys, he noted the dewy, earnest eyes, the brightly flushed face, the royal little head, and at that moment for him there was nothing else in the world.

"Ah!" she cried, suddenly, "I cannot succeed. I am not in the vein." And she rose with a smile, or rather, as Steck said, "with that touch of serene joy that ever reposed on her countenance." "I cannot play; and yet it is not the fault of the harpsichord or my master. Let us go into the open air, and I will sing you one of my Alsatian songs,—they sound much better there."

He followed her with alacrity. The moist freshness of the twilight breeze, rich with the heavy fragrance of the honeysuckle overhead, blew towards them as Steck opened the door, and they stood out together in the porch. Around the wide gray meadows the mountains loomed huge and sombre against the faded sky, and the moon, still rosy from the vapors of the horizon, was slowly floating upward. Alide raised her head to see if any stars were yet shining, and all the white purity of heaven, which was neither light nor color, but something between the two, descended like a benediction upon the sweet flower-face. In her blithe, child-like voice, that vibrated with infinitely more mellowness in the large air, she began her favorite Alsatian ballad:

caroling forth the refrain with the clear flute-notes of a bird. It had a strange, powerful effect upon the artist's impressionable temperament. When the song was ended he did not speak.

"Why do you not thank me for my performance? I have done my best," she said, innocently, turning quickly around and looking him full in the face. His eyes were quite wet, and his whole frame was trembling with excitement.

"It is too beautiful," he said, in a low voice.

"Let us go in," exclaimed Alide, abruptly. "It is chilly out here."

Lights had been brought, and the family were just preparing to go to supper as they re-entered the room. The first words that Steck heard were sufficient to recall him fully to himself. "Wolfgang Goethe!" Max was saying, as if in answer to a question, while the whole group hung upon his speech. "Of course I know him,—all Strasburg knows him already——" Then, seeing Steck, he laughed, hesitated, and finally added, with some awkwardness, "Well, after all, there is nothing remarkable about him: he is only a jovial young fellow, like the rest of us." Steck looked at him with a startled glance of inquiry, and, being met by a mystifying expression on the part of Max, he resumed his prim student's manner.

At the supper-table Alide sat directly opposite him, and as she noted his demure appearance an unaccountable fear and trouble overcame her. And yet a powerful fascination led her eyes constantly towards his face, until she found herself forgetting the food before her and blushing with shame lest her preoccupation had been remarked. As the wine flowed freely, by imperceptible degrees his countenance became again mobile and eloquent as it had flashed upon her in the porch.

In the midst of supper the door was opened, and a lad of about seventeen sprang into the room, nodded in a half-shy half-familiar way to Steck and Waldstein, and seated himself boldly among them. "What, Moses, too!" exclaimed Steck, involuntarily.

"How do you mean?" asked the pastor, with surprise. "This is my son Otto."

"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon," replied Steck, with a laugh. "It is a foolish habit I have of trying to realize the ideal world. I have lately been reading a charming story of English life,—the description of a country parson's home and family,—and I seem to be among them all since I have been with you. This brave lad was the only one wanting to complete the novelist's group."

"That is a fantastic trick," said Dr. Duroc. "Since you have such romantic tastes, I have no doubt you will be delighted to visit the interesting localities about us here. Not a hill, a grove, nor a waterfall but has its own tradition; my girls can tell you them all."

"I have, indeed, too much pleasure to promise myself here," answered Steck, eagerly. "But when will you allow me to guide you through my beloved Strasburg? There, too, every stone in the streets has its history."

"My girls are not partial to a town-life," said Madame Duroc. "Their city cousins are always begging them to go, yet I cannot prevail on them to leave the parsonage."

"I cannot abide it!" cried Rahel. "It is very well for Cousins Anna and Gretchen; they have adopted all the French modes; but as for poor Alide and myself, we feel like peasants in our German."

"Nevertheless," interposed. Alide, gently, "you are very kind to ask us, Dr. Steck; and if we ever do find ourselves in Strasburg we may call upon you to remember your promise."

"Oh, I am sure you would forget all your prejudices if you would but let me take you through the town!" exclaimed Steck, with enthusiasm. "It is only in a city that one can see the thousandfold life of man fully and worthily developed. There the broad, rich current of our modern industries flows past the stately monuments of an antique world. A single pitiful existence cannot suffice for the soul's insatiable craving after boundless, interminable activity. One must feel one's self in all. These busy comers and goers, these merchants, students, artists, cart be made to serve the single master-mind and carry his thought in ever-widening circles to the ends of the earth. By Jove! when I feel myself so young, so favored, so thoroughly alive, I long to taste the sweets and bitternesses of a hundred existences, to pass through all experiences. It is for me—I please myself by thinking—to study the endless aspects under which our national character reveals itself,—to snatch the secret of the ardent aspirations, the noble discontent, of our German youth. It is for me——"

"Steck," interrupted Max, in a dry, quiet tone, from the opposite side of the table, "don't you think you would like to see the meadows by moonlight? Since we have all finished our supper, what does madame say to a walk in the fields?"

"Oh, charming!" exclaimed Rahel; but Frau Duroc rose silently, and Alide, who had sat with downcast eyes and abated breath, started and looked up with a bewildered sort of disappointment. Again she saw the strange student blush like a girl, and cast, as it were, a mask of dulness over his face. The fire died out from his eyes, a constrained, unpleasant expression replaced the ardent enthusiasm that had ennobled every feature, and once more the shy, awkward Dr. Steck was standing before her.

There was a little confusion in the hall, of shawl-wrappings and head-coverings, and injunctions from Madame Duroc to her daughters to beware of the wet grass and the dripping leaves.

"I cannot get this hood over my hair," cried Alide, who had thrown a white cloak over her shoulders and was vainly trying to draw the hood over her high braids. "Mamma, it is a mild, soft evening. I will go just as I am." And so the whole party went out into the bright night.

The moon was by this time high in the heavens; the meadows were bathed in a lustrous haze, the brook glittered from unexpected places, the vineyard was full of black shadows, and the trees of the orchard allowed broken rays to fall between their branches, checkering the colorless turf with patches of light and darkness. The sound of the brook stumbling over its pebbles, of the pleasant little gusts of breeze as they went shuddering through the crisp foliage, the sudden soft thump of an apple dropping on the grass, and the incessant song of the crickets, were all that could be heard even in the intense quietness of the autumn night.

For a moment the whole group gazed in silence, but Rahel's voice soon broke forth, chattering to Max as he drew her arm through his and led her towards the orchard. "Look! one can almost see the color of the roses!" she cried. "Wait a minute, and I will pluck this one,—it is quite overblown: how wet it is! Ah, I have run that horrid thorn in my finger! Thanks. It was Alide who had them planted on either side of the gate, where——" And so the girlish voice died away in the distance, and the two figures were lost among the shadows and shrubbery.

"Let us go towards the vineyard," suggested Madame Duroc; "Rahel has taken the other path, but Dr. Steck should see the pretty outlook from the opposite side of the trellises. Otto, give me your arm, so that I may not step upon the grass; the dew is almost like rain. Dr. Steck, if you follow us you will see the prospect to advantage."

"Go," said the pastor. "I will wait here till you come back. I have not much relish for these damp walks." And Steck, with Alide upon his arm, followed Madame Duroc and her son through the moonlit lanes. He looked down at the girl's face beside him, with her hair gleaming like pale gold, and the liquid lustre in her eyes which only the moon can shed. About her form everything was white and shadowy as her thin cloak was lifted and fluttered around her by the cool air. He felt the elastic spring of her gait timed perfectly with his own footsteps, the scarcely perceptible pressure of her arm upon his own, the nearness of the warm, bright head, and a delicious joy possessed him. But Alide had not recovered from the disturbing sense of fear with which this strange young man inspired her, and she was resolved not to allow the sweet influences of the scene and hour to work upon herself or her companion. Almost as volubly as Rahel, and as little subdued by the wonderful charm of the night, she prattled artlessly about all that concerned her daily life. In the perfect stillness, her mother, a few steps in advance, could have heard every word she uttered.

"Of course you will know us all," she said, "for whenever a stranger stops with us he is sure to return often and become familiar with our whole family circle. There are so many of us, uncles, aunts, and cousins included, that we make quite a little world of our own."

"And among them all," said Steck, in a low, earnest tone, "is there not one who attracts you particularly?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Alide, "and many more than one. If you could only know my aunt Christiane! She is fully sixty years old, and beautiful as an angel. She had a strange, tragic story connected with her youth; but the longer she lives the more peaceful life becomes to her, she says. And, indeed, the mutual devotion between herself and her two sons seems enough to compensate for many, many trials of the past."

"And they:—your cousins," interposed Steck, "are they also such romantic characters?"

"Dr. Steck, you must not laugh at my enthusiasm," said she, seriously: "my cousins are—what such a mother must make them." And Steck fancied it was confusion that made her draw her cloak closer about her and quicken her steps.

"Forgive me," he said; "I know I have no claim upon your friendship, your regard, but when I hear you talk of this happily-united circle I cannot overcome a painful regret for all I have lost in only now becoming acquainted with so much that is good. I have been a great deal alone,—that is to say, in thought and feeling; and I might almost say, if it were not presuming upon your kindness, that it is a certain selfish jealousy which I feel in realizing this confiding interchange of sympathies."

"In that case," responded Alide, with great composure, "I can promise you that all our family will extend their friendship and respect to whoever deserves and needs it."

He did not reply; but no silence ensued, for she grew more and more talkative in proportion as his reserve increased.

When they reached the vineyard they found that the thick shadows of the grape-leaves made it too dark for them to enter, and Madame Duroc proposed that they should return at once to the house. Then followed a simple incident, now familiar to the world as the memorable events of history. It is but just to say that Steck at the time did not analyze the tender, sincere emotion which it excited in his breast; but in his artist-mind everything photographed itself with such distinctness that almost a lifetime later it recurred to him, and he transferred it to his Homeric page in the exquisite lines which all of us know. There were some large stones, roughly hewn to serve as steps, at the entrance of the vineyard, and they were descending these, when Alide's foot slipped, and she fell in his arms. For a second he supported her, with her hair close to his lips, her trembling form palpitating in his grasp.