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It was summer again, the sultry July days were half over.

The forest trees cast long, cool shadows from their green and sombre depths, while the sunbeams danced in and out among the branches through all the silent, bright days.

Ostwalden, the estate which Herbert von Wallmoden had purchased immediately before his death, had been empty and deserted until within the past few days, when the young widow, accompanied by her sister-in-law, Frau von Eschenhagen, had arrived.  Adelheid had left the South German capital soon after her husband’s death, and had gone to her old home accompanied by her brother, who had hastened to her side as soon as he heard of the sad accident.  Her short marriage had only lasted eight months and now in her twentieth year she wore the weeds of widowhood.

Regine had been easily persuaded to accompany her sister-in-law.  She had never changed her ultimatum regarding her return to Burgsdorf, and it is needless to add, Willibald had not changed.  Adelheid asked her to go home with her and she had gone, feeling that her threat had as yet borne no fruit.

Frau von Eschenhagen believed she could effect a revolution of feeling in Willibald’s heart by this move.  But his newly acquired firmness had not been fleeting, though he tried every argument to persuade his mother to return to Burgsdorf and to think kindly of his future wife—­but all to no purpose.  Regine had no thought of yielding an inch, and now, mother and son had not seen one another for many months.

There had been no formal betrothal to Marietta.  Willibald felt that he owed his cousin and uncle the consideration of not having a second betrothal follow so closely upon the first.  Then Marietta’s contract with the Court theatre bound her for the next six months, and as her engagement was a secret there, it was thought advisable to keep it so until she had left the theatre forever.  The young singer had but just returned to her grandfather’s house, where Willibald was also expected soon.  Frau von Eschenhagen knew nothing of all this, or she would hardly have accepted an invitation which brought her into the neighborhood of Waldhofen.

The day had been hot and sunny, but the late afternoon hours brought a refreshing breeze, and swayed the drooping branches of the trees which overhung and shaded the road leading from Ostwalden through the Rodeck forest.  Along this road, two men were trotting their horses; the one in gray jacket and hunting cap was the head forester, Herr von Schoenau, the other in a light summer riding suit, which set off his slender figure to advantage, was Prince Adelsberg.  They had met accidentally, and soon discovered that they were bound for the same place.

“I did not dream of meeting your Highness here,” said Schoenau.  “I understood you were not coming to Rodeck at all this summer.  I saw Stadinger day before yesterday and he certainly didn’t expect you then.”