In the mean time, information of George’s arrival had been taken upstairs to Marie.  She had often wondered what sign he would make when he should hear of her engagement.  Would he send her a word of affection, or such customary present as would be usual between two persons so nearly connected?  Would he come to her marriage?  And what would be his own feelings?  She too remembered well, with absolute accuracy, those warm, delicious, heavenly words of love which had passed between them.  She could feel now the pressure of his hand and the warmth of his kiss, when she swore to him that she would be his for ever and ever.  After that he had left her, and for a year had sent no token.  Then he had come again, and had simply asked her whether she were engaged to another man; had asked with a cruel indication that he at least intended that the old childish words should be forgotten.  Now he was in the house again, and she would have to hear his congratulations!

She thought for some quarter of an hour what she had better do, and then she determined to go down to him at once.  The sooner the first meeting was over the better.  Were she to remain away from him till they should be brought together at the supper-table, there would almost be a necessity for her to explain her conduct.  She would go down to him and treat him exactly as she might have done, had there never been any special love between them.  She would do so as perfectly as her strength might enable her; and if she failed in aught, it would be better to fail before her aunt than in the presence of her uncle.  When she had resolved, she waited yet another minute or two, and then she went down-stairs.

As she entered her aunt’s room George Voss was sitting before the stove, while Madame Voss was in her accustomed chair, and Peter was preparing the table for his young master’s dinner.  George arose from his seat at once, and then came a look of pain across his face.  Marie saw it at once, and almost loved him the more because he suffered.  ‘I am so glad to see you, George,’ she said.  ’I am so glad that you have come.’

She had offered him her hand, and of course he had taken it.  ‘Yes,’ he said, ’I thought it best just to run over.  We shall be very busy at the hotel before long.’

‘Does that mean to say that you are not to be here for my marriage?’ This she said with her sweetest smile, making all the effort in her power to give a gracious tone to her voice.  It was better, she knew, to plunge at the subject at once.

‘No,’ said he.  ‘I shall not be here then.’

’Ah,—­your father will miss you so much!  But if it cannot be, it is very good of you to come now.  There would have been something sad in going away from the old house without seeing you once more.  And though Colmar and Basle are very near, it will not be the same as in the dear old home;—­will it, George?’ There was a touch about her voice as she called him by his