"On a tour of inspection of the preserves?"
Sabine smiled. "My father is not a ranger. It is a long time since this has really been 'The Range.' It is only called that because, up to six or seven years ago, the ranger of the county lived here. But just as, hereabouts, they still call the house The Range, so in town they always call my father The Ranger, although he has never in his whole life been anything remotely resembling that."
"You are the only child?" asked Doctor Graesler while, as though it were a matter of course, she accompanied him through the young pines, on the narrow path to the highway.
"No," she replied, "I have a brother. He is much younger than I, though—only fifteen. When he is home on his vacation, of course he beats about in the woods all day long. Occasionally he even sleeps out in the open." And as Doctor Graesler shook his head somewhat critically, she added, "Oh, that's nothing; I used to do that myself, sometimes. Not very often, to be sure."
"But only just near the house," said the doctor, slightly worried, "and"—he added hesitantly—"only as a little girl?"
"Oh, no, I was already seventeen when we moved here. Before that, you see, we did not live in this vicinity, but in the city of—in different cities."
As she expressed herself with so much reserve, the doctor thought it proper not to inquire further. They stood at the edge of the road. The driver was ready to start off. Sabine held out her hand to the doctor. Something prompted him to add another word.
"If I am not mistaken, we have already run across one another several times in town."
"Certainly, Doctor. I have known you quite a while. Of course it is sometimes weeks before I get in. Last year, by the way, I had the pleasure of meeting your sister, but only quite casually, at Schmidts—the merchant, you know. She is here with you again?"
The doctor only stared at the ground. His eyes chanced to fall on Sabine's shoes, and he gazed past them.
"My sister did not come with me," he said. "She died three months ago in Lanzarote." He felt an ache about his heart; yet that he had had occasion to utter the name of the distant island brought him some little indemnity for his pain.
Sabine said "Oh," and nothing more. And so they stood in silence for a while, until Doctor Graesler constrained his features to a somewhat formal smile and held out his hand to Sabine.
