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have never shown this precious remembrance 
to a living soul since my Anita’s disappearance.” 
Opening his loose shirt the old hermit took 
from his person a small gold locket that was 
suspended from his neck by a fine gold chain. 
He gently opened the locket, looked long and 
lovingly at the small picture it contained, and 
then with a heavy sigh he handed the precious 
trinket to me. It was the counterpart of the 
one that I had safely concealed in my pocket. 
As soon as I looked on the beautiful picture it 
contained I felt the blood leave my face, and 
for a moment I was utterly unnerved. 
“In heaven’s name, my dear Fritz, what ails 
you, are you sick?” the old hermit excitedly 
exclaimed; and then, as if possessed of a mad- 
dening suspicion, he sprang to his feet and 
seizing my arm in frenzied anguish, cried: 
“Tell me, my Fritz, in mercy’s name tell me, 
have you ever before seen that face? 
Calmly holding the locket in my free hand, 
and gazing firmly yet cheerfully into the agon- 
ized face of my beloved companion, I com- 
mandingly declared, 
“Be calm, my dear Count, return to your seat 
and give your careful attention to what I have 
to say.” 
With a groan, the old hermit released my 
arm, fell heavily into his chair, and in a husky 
whisper he said: 
“T am listening, my dear Fritz.” 
Slowly, carefully, and in studied detail I told 
