"You thought-" she repeated; then waited for him to continue his speech. She waited in vain, for he had opened the Keble, and was turning over the pages as if seeking for some particular object. "Perhaps you thought," she went on, "Captain Poyning," it was Margaret who spoke, clearly and distinctly as was her wont, "do you know that we are to have an Italienische Nacht in the hotelgarden this evening?" detested women with a mission; but as he sat talking to her mother in the drowsy undertone suitable to a lazy Sunday afternoon, he could not help looking across at the drooping head and downcast eyes of the daughter. She sat absorbed in her book, her ungloved hand holding a piece" that I ought to know it all by heart, of feathery grass, with which she followed but I only know bits here and there." each line as she read. How slender her hands were! Then, with a sudden start, he began to wonder what she was reading. The heat grew intense, and the desultory talk died away altogether. Lying back and pulling his hat over his brows, Ralph began to watch the slow movements of the grass in Ida's hand; the monotony of her action would soon make him sleep, so he argued with himself, but as time passed on he found himself more decidedly wide-awake than before, and most unaccountably irritable at Miss Stewart's persistent and misplaced studiousness. It was, however, suddenly interrupted by a sound which made her look up with a smile. Mrs. Stewart, who had fallen asleep, gave a ladylike but decided snore, and then, as if conscious that something was amiss, opened her eyes, and said with gentle decision and a certain reproachfulness: "It was not I, Ida dear." Margaret had fallen asleep with her head in her mother's lap, and lay motionless and lightly breathing, the perfect picture of youthful repose. "If you like to follow her example," said Ida with a smile, "I will keep watch and ward." She spoke in a low, clear tone, and the sleeper never stirred, but it vibrated strangely in Captain Poyning's ears. "You are too much occupied with your book to care for doing so, I suppose," he answered. "I was not careful to provide myself with literature." "Would you like this?" she asked, holding out the small volume; "only perhaps you would not care for it." Ralph showed almost rude eagerness to secure it, to open it, but he was not prepared to read it even when he found it was English poetry. "Are you fond of Keble?" he asked, but ill concealing his surprise. "I some how thought " He paused before saying more, for Ida turned upon him a pair of clear eyes full of enquiry, and he straightway forgot everything but his wonder at their steadfast beauty. "I did not even know there was a garden," answered Captain Poyning, gravely intent on fastening a spray of grass into his button-hole, "and I have not the slightest notion what an Italienische Nacht may be." "Lanterns and bands," was the concise answer; "and as to the garden, it is dusty enough to look like a part of the road, but there are some trees and tables where people drink beer." "And there is a skittle-alley, as I should think you must know from the perpetual rolling of the balls on Sunday evenings," said Mrs. Stewart, who had woke up and was preparing to move away. "I am afraid they will be later than ever tonight, because of the fête." "Skittles, lanterns, and bands-these are the materials of which an Italian night is composed." "I think it will be very interesting," said Margaret excitedly, "and we are going to have supper at seven, so as to give Frau Müller plenty of time to attend to the outdoor guests." When Captain Poyning joined the ladies at an early supper as he had agreed to do, he found only the two younger ones there. Mrs. Stewart was suffering from a bad headache, the result of her exposure to the sun, and sent her apologies to him; she hoped to be better by-and-by. The meal was a sober one; the little party had the dining-room to themselves— a little too entirely, as the maid who generally waited at table was so much engrossed with the business of the evening, that she rushed away to greet every one of the numerous arrivals, who at once proceeded to the beer-garden, and did not enter the hotel. As soon as Margaret's supper was over, she rushed to the open window, and began to watch for the band, whilst Ida went up to her mother. When she returned, she went up to Captain Poyning, and said in her earnest, easy manner: you me some of the modern young ladies' views on marriage." Ida turned round with an amused smile. Margaret has not considered the subject deeply, I fancy." "Mother is so sorry, she really cannot leave her room; she would says 66 be so very kind as to take Margaret out to hear the music, and see the people, for a little? If it would not trouble you, it would be a great treat to her." Margaret looked an entreaty she was too well bred to utter; and when she heard Ralph's cordial answer, she gave a skip of delight. The moon was riding in a cloudless heaven, but under the shadow of the trees the darkness was thick enough to throw into strong relief the many-coloured lanterns upon the branches, which gleamed as if they were the jewels Aladdin once found growing instead of fruit. "What a lovely scene!" cried Margaret. "I wonder when the music will begin." To Captain Poyning the whole scene seemed vulgar and uninteresting: the crowds of peasants at the tables, with their common faces, their rough voices; the mingled smell of beer and tobacco; the roll of the skittleballs, and the shouts of the competitors; together with the braying of a brass band, and the glare of tallow-candles, formed a scene uninviting to more than one sense. He was, however, too good-natured to spoil Margaret's enjoyment, and let her exhaust herself in superlatives before he took her to the door of her mother's room. "Oh, mother, it was perfectly lovely do make Ida go and see it! Do go, Ida!" Ralph paused eagerly at the door. "Do go out for a little, Ida; I am sure Captain Poyning will take care of you." In another minute she was walking by his side; and the peasants were really honest, well-meaning country-folk, and the music was full of sweetness. They made their way to the farther end of the garden, where there was an empty seat; and Ida leant back to watch the scene. The brass band broke into a waltz; the skittle-players shouted with excitement; and Captain Poyning looked with national pride or so he thought at the exquisite contrast afforded between the clumsiness of the German clowns about him, and the beauty of his country woman-her face softened by the white lace she had twisted round her head and throat. Quite suddenly, and apropos of nothing, he spoke : "Miss Stewart, your sister was telling "She only repeats what she has heard. others say. But tell me, have you really such a contempt for things of that kind?” Ida did not answer until she had collected her thoughts-then she decided that a sensible woman ought not to hesitate to give her views when they are founded upon reason. "I think upon the whole that men and women do more work, and better work, if they remain single." "But if they love one another," Captain Poyning urged-he was surprised at the emotion in his voice. "I think that love is a very valuable experience," said Ida simply; "particularly when it ends unhappily." His whole soul rose in protest against the calmness of her answer, but he held his peace, only more than ever did he anathematise the terrible mischief training and education had wrought in her nature. The Railway Hotel was exactly opposite the station, which close proximity probably accounted for the fact that Mrs. Stewart, her daughters, and Captain Poyning very nearly missed their train on the last day of their stay at Holzdorf. Frau Müller, no longer smiling, had bidden all and each a melancholy farewell, every girl and boy about the house had wished them a pleasant journey, whilst between the big dog and Margaret there had been a most affecting parting, which had been the crowning delay, and caused them all to rush wildly across the road, followed by three or four men with their luggage, their shawls, and hand-bags. "Will you see to the luggage, and get Ida a comfortable carriage? asked Mrs. Stewart, as she looked at the platform and ticket-office crowded with peasants. Margaret and I will get the tickets and join you later." ་ Captain Poyning, of course, obeyed, registered the luggage to Heidelberg, disregarding, with true British courage, the explanations of the officials, which he did not understand, and happily unconscious that they were sternly refusing to forward any luggage which arrived so late. "I don't like leaving Mrs. Stewart to do all the fighting," he said, as he returned to Ida. "But I suppose she will make the lying back, silent, dreamy, and half clerk understand, which I never could." asleep. Ida smiled, but there was little amusement on her face, which was looking white, and drawn as if with pain. "I am afraid your head is much worse,' ," he went on; "let me get you into a carriage, out of this crush, and then you can rest quietly, whilst I go back to help your mother." She followed him without a word, and he made his way through the crowd until he found a comfortable carriage, and chose a corner seat for Ida. It was a pleasure to him to arrange his rug as a pillow for her aching head; to open the window, which was singularly stiff and tiresome; to find her eau-de-cologne, and to pay her those numerous little services which are too often a trouble to both giver and recipient. His delight in them made him linger a little too long, for he was suddenly startled by the sound of a harsh whistle and a slight movement of the carriage. "Never mind," cried Ida, who could not help smiling at his start of horror; "I can see mother-she is getting into a carriage at the end of the train. I know her white shawl." She sank back in her seat, and, the momentary excitement over, her face grew paler than before, and her eyes closed. "You will not think me very rude if I go to sleep?" she asked humbly. "Sometimes, when I can do so, it cures these headaches." He did not answer her in words, only rearranged the pillow he had put for her head, and sprinkled a little eau-de-cologne on the dusty seat of the carriage. She closed her eyes with a grateful smile, and leant back her head. Soon her breathing grew regular, and the look of pain disappeared from her brow. She slept on. The train stopped, took in more passengers, mostly peasants in holiday garb, and went on its way again. Just as it was entering the second station, Ida woke up. "How full the platform is!" she said dreamily. "Oh, please, don't get out!" as she saw him rising from his seat. "You will lose your place, and we shall meet mother and Margaret at the junction." Captain Poyning sank obediently into his seat, only too much delighted at the prospect of another two hours in Ida's society, although they were surrounded by strange and inquisitive eyes, and she was The junction was reached at last, and the peasants crowded out of the one train into the other waiting for them, so as to leave the platform bare from end to end, but there was no sign of Mrs. Stewart or Margaret, although there were a couple of white shawls exactly similar to the one Ida had identified as her mother's. As soon as the two were convinced of the truth of their position they looked at one another, and burst out laughing; then Ralph said: "The first thing is to telegraph our whereabouts to Holzdorf, and the next to get something to eat." Neither operation was very difficult. With Ida's help a coherent message was sent off, and then the two made their way to a small eating-house-it did not reach the dignity of an hotel-about twenty yards from the station. A table d'hôte was going on, and the view afforded was not particularly inviting, so Ida seated herself in the little garden under the shade of a large sycamore. Here, after a little pause, she and Captain Poyning were regaled on excellent coffee and omelet, and by the time they had finished their repast, the answer to their telegram had arrived. "Going on by express; Heidelberg,'" translated Ida. look out our train?" meet us at "Will you With the dogged courage of a true Briton, Captain Poyning walked across the station, and studied the time-bills. It was now three, and by a careful study he discovered that a train passed through the junction en route for Heidelberg about four hours later. Of the express he could find no trace, but he was glad to give up the search after a very short attempt to unravel the mysteries of a German timetable, and the matter was of little consequence, as the only important thing was to reach their meeting-place as soon as possible. He went back to Ida and the little garden. He would have been content to spend the four hours in this paradise; but she grew a little tired of its narrow limits, and of the curious eyes which the servants of the restaurant occasionally turned upon her and her companion. "The next station is only seven or eight miles off," he suggested, as he saw her a little restless at the enforced delay. "Supposing we get a carriage, and drive so as to catch the train there? It would pass away the time pleasantly." Ida gladly agreed-the respect of most people for conventionality is capricious in its nature, and Ida, being no exception to the general rule, imagined that she should find less awkwardness and constraint in her relations with Ralph when they were driving than when they were loitering together in the shady garden. Accordingly they set out in a quaint, high-perched carriage, with a driver whose seat was much on a level with theirs, and a horse whose whole conduct was a protest against the absence of his fellow-worker. He was harnessed to a pole, and presented a most melancholy, unfinished appearance without a second horse by his side. On they drove, through flat, far-reaching fields, which stretched out on each side of the dusty road. "This is rather like Cambridge, is it not?" asked Captain Poyning, carefully approaching the dreaded subject of Girton. "This dull, unbroken level with no hills or break in its monotony." "You have never been to Cambridge ?" she answered quickly with a slight air of pique. "I thought not." "One of my great chums is a don up there; I wonder if you know him-Wilton, of St. Ursula's, and he is always wanting me to go and see him.” "Mr. Wilton!" cried Ida, with a sudden flash of colour and gladness. "Do you know him?" "Do you know him?" was the rather moody answer. "Indeed I do! He is one of my lecturers, and I have learnt more from him than from any human being." Human thought is rapid, and strangely inconsequent, or else why should Ralph Poyning's mind revert to a struggle in which he had once rivalled Wilton, and beaten him, as he remembered now with a grim joy which his triumph had never before caused him. It was only a matter of physical strength and skill, but Ralph had jumped one inch higher, and secured the silver cup; he gladly recalled the fact now, and lingered over it was it as a memory or an augury? The two relapsed into silence again-Ida first broke it after a long pause. "If you do come to Cambridge, you ought to do so in the race-week; there is plenty to do and to see then, and you could go to any number of dances, if you like them." "I suppose you don't care for such things? "On the contrary, I care for them a great deal too much," said Ida, laughing. "I get into trouble for dancing too much and too often." "Really! I should never have thought that!" Captain Poyning's tone was almost uncivil in the extremity of his surprise. "Why not?" The query sounded a little coldly. "Because Oh, I don't know. I thought that at Girton you were superior to such things." "I do not see why-reading-men at Cambridge often dance, and dance very well. Mr. Wilton, your friend at St. Ursula's, is a splendid dancer." "Does he dance when he is lecturing to you?" The Captain's tone was a little forced in its attempted merriment, and it did not bring a smile to Ida's face; certainly his own expression was not a mirthprovoking one. "Of course not," she replied with great dignity; "but I have often met him out at my friends' houses." After this, conversation did not flourish until the setting sun and the slackening pace of their horse caused them to become amicable under the dread of a common misfortune. "It is past seven, and we must have some distance to go," urged Ida to the driver. "Do make your horse go faster." But the driver only grinned and cracked his whip, which he had been doing unavailingly every furlong during the six miles they had traversed. "I think I see something like a station," said Captain Poyning eagerly; "and we shall be in heaps of time." "I suppose mother and Margaret are at Heidelberg by now, and are just ordering dinner. They will have plenty of time to eat it before we reach them." She sighed a little nervously, quite unconscious that the train they were hurrying to catch had just drawn up at the junction they had quitted, and that Margaret was eagerly looking out of window for them. "Mother dear, I can't see either of them anywhere." "Never mind, my child; they must have gone on by some earlier train which we could not find in our time-table. It was a stupid mistake of mine about the express, but I dare say they have found it out already, and will wait for us in the Heidelberg station." As the train steamed into the Heidelberg station, Ida jumped to her feet and arranged her hat. "If we do not see them on the platform," she said eagerly to Captain Poyning, "we will not wait for the omnibus and all the people with their luggage, but jump into a carriage and drive straight to the Hotel St. Antoine, high up near the castle. Mother always stays there, and if she is very tired she may not come to meet us." This explanation fully accounted for the empty platform, which they both searched with eager eyes before the train stopped. "Come at once," cried Ida, springing out of the carriage as soon as it was at a standstill. "Do let us avoid the rush." She might have added, had she been perfectly sincere, "And the enquiring eyes of people going to our hotel;" but without this explanation her word was law to her companion, consequently they were out of the station before Mrs. Stewart and Margaret, sleeping in the last carriage of the same train, were fully awake to the fact that they had reached their destination. The hotel officials received them with the mixture of condescension and courtesy which is the peculiar attribute of their class, and the presence of an Englishspeaking waiter enabled Captain Poyning to make all the necessary enquiries, which must otherwise have fallen to Ida's share; but the most careful enquiry failed to elicit any information productive of ease or of comfort to the travellers. Mrs. Stewart and her daughter were not there, that was the one fact which waiter and porter alike emphatically declared, beginning to cast rather curious glances at the pale, silent lady, with no luggage or similar token of respectability. What are we to do?" asked Captain Poyning of her in a low tone. Oh, please let us go somewhere else. may have made a mistake in the name of the hotel." I Once more they re-entered their vehicle, and drove off in very different spirits from those which had marked their arrival. As they proceeded downhill, they dashed past the omnibus of the Hotel St. Antoine, laden with luggage and passengers, amongst others, Mrs. Stewart, Margaret, and an irascible German, whose indignation over a broken box had delayed the whole convoy. Heidelberg is a city of hotels, and from one to the other drove Captain Poyning and his companion, their spirits sinking lower and lower as they found their efforts everywhere unsuccessful. Once, indeed, Ralph succeeded in unearthing a mother and daughter, who had just arrived. Ida eagerly sprang out of the carriage, which she had refused to leave whilst Captain Poyning was making his enquiries. But the mother and daughter turned out to be an elderly German, with a severe spinster sister, who extremely resented Ida's intrusion when she knocked at their door. At last, after a fruitless return to the station, they made their last attempt-a forlorn hope-at the hotel which overlooks the railway. By this time Ida had neither energy nor volition left. "What are we to do?" she asked, lifting up her brimming eyes to the face of her fellow-sufferer, who had just received the usual answer to his enquiries. "We must get some supper, and stay here till to-morrow," said he, very gently, but very decidedly. "You are nearly worn out now!" "Oh, indeed, I can't eat !" she protested, as soon as he had paid the coachman, and satisfied the host that they were not as impecunious as external circumstances seemed to imply. "I will go upstairs at once." "You have eaten nothing for hours," said Ralph, with a quiet resolution which bore down her nervous, excited resistance, "and you must eat before you can do anything else. Come, we shall probably have the dining-room to ourselves at this hour." He took her shawl from her arm as he spoke, and led her across the parquetfloor to the folding-doors of the diningroom, which, at that particular hotel, consists of a long, narrow conservatory with a glass roof, glass ends, and glass sides, all overgrown with the thickest and greenest of creepers. Ida obeyed him passively, but could hardly restrain a reproachful glance as he closed the door behind her, for the room was not empty. At a table two people were having supper, obviously English, and they exchanged a meaning glance as Ralph placed a chair for his companion, and proceeded to make every possible arrangement for her comfort. He ordered their supper, and came back to the table, to sit opposite, and try to charm back a smile to her face by narrating |