"But can I be mistaken? The fact that this man, amid the puppets by which he has been surrounded, has known how to find the way to you, makes me waver in my estimate of him. Certainly I will not close my mind to a better opinion of him; and should you continue to find him worthy of your love, and should he prove himself capable of appreciating you and of making you happy, I will acknowledge his right to possess you as unhesitatingly as I now challenge it. "November 10, 1874. "Since writing the above I have spent days and nights partly in the hospitals, partly in the poorest quarter of Bombay. I have been at home now for several hours, and, refreshed by a bath, sleep, and food, I shall return to my patients as soon as I have despatched this letter. The occupation of these last few weeks--the old, ruinous portion of the city has been attacked by an epidemic--explains the tone of my letter. All shams seem more intolerable to me than ever before. Health of body and mind seems to me a supreme good, and I am consequently forced as well to warn the thoughtless who may be exposing themselves uselessly to the peril of deadly miasma as to undertake the treatment of organizations already diseased. It is in this sense that I send you my note of warning. Harsh as it may sound in your ears, take it as from a physician, without any false sensitiveness. I expect an answer to it only in case my words have made some impression upon you. If you say nothing of this letter, I shall take it for granted that I have been mistaken, or that the truth wearies you, and shall _never_, unless you yourself desire it, allude to the subject again. "I am still in doubt as to the time of my return. It was fixed at first for next March or April. If I can be of use to you I will come earlier,--come instantly if you write that you wish me to do so. Otherwise I shall probably remain longer away. And even should I return to Europe, I shall not see my home or yourself until the wound from which I am now suffering is scarred over, or until you need the counsel or aid of your brother LUDWIG." "No, no aid from _him_!" Johanna said to herself, as she folded the letter again. The thought of letting him know how she suffered was intolerable to her--why she did not know, and did not ask. Not for one moment did she doubt Ludwig's affection, magnanimity, and efficiency, and yet she felt doubly humiliated since reading his verdict with regard to Otto.