vowed at the bedside of her dead mother to stand in stead of
that mother, and never to make her bend under the harsh rule of a
step-mother. Gotzkowsky had faithfully fulfilled his vow; he had
concentrated all his love on his daughter, who under his careful
supervision had increased in strength and beauty, so that with the
pride and joy of a father he now styled her the handsomest jewel of
his house.

Where then was this daughter whom he loved so dearly? Why was she not
near him to smile away the wrinkles from his brow, to drive with light
chat serious and gloomy thoughts from his mind? She it was, doubtless,
whom his wandering glance sought in these vast, silent rooms; and
finding her not, and yearning in vain for her sweet smiles, her rosy
cheeks, he sighed.

Where was she then?

Like her father, Gotzkowsky's daughter sat alone in her room--her
gaze, as his, fixed upon empty space. The sad, melancholy expression
of her face, scarcely tinged with a delicate blush, contrasted
strangely with her splendid dress, her mournful look with the full
wreath of roses which adorned her hair.

Elise was the daughter of the wealthiest man in Berlin, the world
proclaimed her the handsomest maiden, and yet there she sat solitary
in her beautiful chamber, her eyes clouded with tears. Of a sudden she
drew a golden case from her bosom and pressed it with deep feeling to
her lips. Looking timidly at the door she seemed to listen; convinced
that no one approached, she pressed a hidden spring of the medallion;
the golden cover flew open and disclosed the portrait of a handsome