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“You’ve been to the inn,” she said with a gesture of dismay. “Poor things; isn’t it dreadful? Some of them are really heart-breaking, they seem so helpless.”

“You’ve visited the inn yourself, then?” and there was a mild note of inquiry in the pleasant voice.

“Oh, no; but I ride sometimes among the hills of a morning. It’s a glorious place for that; and I meet them stalking slowly along, or being wheeled in their chairs. Perhaps it is the contrast between the vigour of the season and their wretched state, but at any rate I feel very bad about it all.”

“Mr. Kirk is a student of American history, and is interested in Schwartzberg and the builder,” Campe informed the girl. “I am about to show him over the place. Will you go along?”

“Indeed, yes.” Then to Ashton-Kirk, “I never get tired of the splendid old building; most of my time is spent in wandering about from room to room, imagining the history it does not possess,” with a smile which once more showed her beautiful teeth. “Oh, if it were only as rich in romance as it seems to be! If the good Count Hohenlo had only performed some of his deeds here.”