stoical men who seem to have but little sympathy with human suffering, came every morning, ordered the usual medicines, and then went away, well knowing that he could do no more good.

One day he had just gone when Scharner came to see Madame Bernold. Dora saw him come in, and observed that Katherine took him at once to her mother's room. Just as she was going to follow them, a carriage drove up, and the Countess Orlaska stepped out to order "the young person "-poor Dora-to do some work for her. She preferred going herself, to having the young woman sent for. In about half an hour the countess went away, and then Dora immediately ran up to her mother's room. She had remarked that Katherine had been continually going up and down, so she thought she might be wanted. Dorsek arrived just as the countess's carriage drove away, and near the gate he saw a beautiful handkerchief lying on the ground, which he knew must belong to that lady. It was, however, useless to think of running after the carriage, and as he stood in an undecided manner, he heard a piercing shriek from the house. He put the handkerchief hurriedly into his pockets, and rushed into the house. The next moment he had reached Madame Bernold's room, and there he saw her inanimate body lying cold and stiff upon the bed-the features still compressed with pain, and Dora hanging over her, sobbing with frantic grief.

Mr. Scharner, who was present, evidently felt deeply moved at this sad scene, and in the centre of the room stood the servant, utterly wobegone, with her eyes steadily fixed on the corpse.

"Dora," said Dorsek appealingly, striving to conceal bis emotion," dear Dora!" But she heard him not, so

overwhelmed was she at that moment by her irreparable loss.

Scharner asked Oswald to leave the room with him, and on going down-stairs, observed, "Let us retire together for a short time; I have something to tell you, and the sooner you know it the better."

Dorsek followed him in silence into the parlour, and then, both having seated themselves, the old lawyer thus addressed him :

"I always thought Madame Bernold would not survive the shock; but I could not conceal the fact from her any longer."

"What has happened, then? Is the lawsuit lost?"

"It is, indeed!" replied the old man, sighing; "and, consequently, poor Dora has lost the last remnant of her father's property-this very house! "

"You will have a poor girl for your bride, Baron; and your courtship will be further clouded by the loss of her dear mother. For Dora's sake I am glad that, in her trouble, she has found so good a protector as yourself. You had, however, better leave her for a short time to recover from the shock; tears flow more freely when they are unobserved."

"Are you going, too?" said Dorsek, as the old man rose. "I am going to send the doctor here, although human aid is now of no avail. Poor Madame Bernold! her spirit was broken as soon as her husband became bankrupt ! But let us fervently hope that she is destined to enjoy that peace above which was denied to her in this world! Now, pray come with me. Do not try to console Dora at such a moment; the best relief to her distressed feelings will be derived from her tears. Visit her this evening, when she will be more calm and composed."

After leaving the house, Dorsek wandered about the town as if he were in a dream, quite unconscious of obstacles in his way, until abruptly recalled to active thought by the coarse comments made by people as he passed. Suddenly his attention was caught by a carriage and a pair of fine horses standing before a house, when in an instant a beautiful female form swept past him to enter the latter. He immediately recognized the Countess Orlaska, and withdrawing her handkerchief from his pocket, at once desired the footman to admit him.

"Whom have I the honour to announce?" said the lackey.

Dorsek gave him his card, and was presently shown into an elegantly-furnished room. In a minute the door opened, and Heloise, Countess of Orlaska, appeared before him, her glossy raven-black hair adorned with fresh flowers.

"You wish to speak to me, baron, I believe?" said she, in a melodious voice; but before he had time to answer, she drew nearer, and added, in a cheerful tone of recognition, "Ah! if I am not mistaken, we are old acquaintances; the careless driving of my coachman very nearly caused you an accident on the first day of my arrival in Frankfort. Were you not then riding a black horse?" "Really, your ladyship," stammered Dorsek, “but I

my

"It happened, I think, in the street where embroideress lives. You stopped your horse-perhaps you may recollect-just before it grazed my carriage." “Oh, yes; I recollect it now, perfectly," said Dorsek, recovering his composure. My horse gave me so much trouble that I could not turn to look at any one.”

"I saw how restive and unmanageable he appeared to

be; but you contrived to master him. I assure you I was much displeased with my coachman."

"But I was more to blame than he ; a single horseman ought always to be able to clear his way, whatever number of carriages may be in the road."

"May I inquire to what I am indebted for the honour of this visit ?" continued the countess, pointing to a seat, while taking one herself.

"By chance we happened to be again in the same street to-day, and I was fortunate enough to find something that belonged to you."

"My handkerchief! Oh, I am so much obliged to you. It is a souvenir from a dear friend, which I would not have lost on any account. But I did not observe you."

"I just turned into the street as you were getting into your carriage. I hope you will excuse the liberty I have taken in calling, but I did not like to trust the handkerchief to the hands of anyone else."

"I am doubly thankful to you for the liberty you consider you have taken; as, besides restoring my lost handkerchief, it enables me to make your acquaintance. you reside in Frankfort ?"

Do

"Yes, at present. But I think of quitting it shortly." "I hope, however, that I shall have the pleasure of seeing you again before you leave."

"Your ladyship cannot imagine how happy you make me," stammered Dorsek, almost beside himself with joy.

"I may lay claim to your services shortly; for my courier does not understand German, and makes mistakes every day. It is very disagreeable to be in a strange town, and know no one on whom one can rely."

"If I can only serve you in any way I shall be truly delighted."

Mind, I do not take you at your word!" said the countess in a kindly tone, her face beaming with a smile, as he retired, bowing respectfully.

CHAPTER VI.

SORROW AND SOLITUDE.

Ir was a very sad time for poor Dora, after her mother's death at first, she thought she could scarcely survive it; it really seemed as if her heart must break with grief. Her new position towards Dorsek seemed quite strange to her, for she had given all her love to her mother, and, now that she was departed, it seemed as if she lived in quite another world.

It also seemed equally strange to have to act for herself. She had been an only child, and now, when she most required her mother's advice, she was deprived of it.

Old Mr. Scharner immediately informed her of the true state of her affairs, thinking that by so doing, he should lighten her heart of its overwhelming burden of grief. She bore the news much better than he had expected. What did she care about the loss of a house when she had just seen her mother borne to her grave? and she soon relapsed into her late habit of dreaming of the future.

Dorsek came every day, and his appearance always brought a gentle smile to her countenance. He would