Dearest mother, this letter is long, and I can write no more to-night. I have decided upon nothing so far. So soon as I have done so, I will write, but I must have time for reflection. In tears and love adieu. As ever yours, ELLEN. _From the Baroness Von Eulaw to Professor John Thornton._ BERLIN, December 5, 1895. MY DEAR, DARLING PAPA: I have your telegram telling me to come home without delay, also message for the American Minister in case I should need it, as well as that to my banker. Wise and loving provisions all, for my fortune is squandered, my home dishonored, and my heart more than broken, in that I perfidiously assumed to give a love which was not mine to give, and if I had obeyed my first impulse I should have been on the way to your arms, and to the dear old hearth I so thoughtlessly deserted. But can you understand me when I say that all this I have brought upon myself? I was not a child; I had a fitting experience and was of sound judgment. I knew I did not love this man as it was in me to love, indeed, I felt for him neither the admiration nor esteem which must form the basis of genuine passion. I respected, aye, coveted his position, his title, and I brought myself feebly to hope that some day I should be a devoted wife. I staked my future, as he staked my fortune, and lost. If the money was not his own to lose, neither was my heart mine to lose. One other test I have applied, and the result is in his favor. If I did love the baron as I might love another, would I be so ready with my revenge?—Verily, no; I would wear my life out in the effort to cancel or correct the wrong against myself. Sacrifice is the residue found in love’s crucible; passion is the flux which passes off in the process of retorting. In my crucible, alas! I find nothing but dross—the more the pity. And so I have decided to remain in Berlin for the present. I am sketching out my plans for the future, but they are crude and unformed, and are of a sort of lighthouse quality, meant to warn people of the rocky places. But more of this anon. Tell my mother, dearest papa, how condemned I feel to give her so much agony on my account. Don’t worry; I will be quite happy now that my mind is settled. Possibly we shall come over in a few weeks, but only possibly. I am sorry I wrote my last to mamma with so much feeling. Good-night, and good-by. Your devoted, ELLEN. CHAPTER XXIII. “Happy peace and goodly government.” “Shut that door!” thundered the baron from over the washbowl in a Pullman car, as he stood half-dressed in a small apartment, taking his morning bath.