AT THORS Below the windows of a long, low, stone house, in its architecture remarkably like a fortified farm--below these deep-embrasured windows the river Oster mumbled softly.

One of the windows was wide open, and with the voice of the water a wonderful music rolled out to mingle and lose itself in the hum of the pine-woods.
The room was a small one; beneath the artistic wall-paper one detected the outline of square-hewn stones.

There were women's things lying about; there were flowers in a bowl on a low, strong table.

There were a few good engravings on the wall; deep-curtained windows, low chairs, a sofa, a fan.

But it was not a womanly room.