"No one understands how impossible it is," she said. "If there were nothing else to separate us, there would be the bitterness and hatred between our countries. It sounds terrible—absurd; but that is the truth. It was that hatred which poisoned our life together, and if I could go back it would poison our whole future. Oh——" she made a little passionate gesture of protest. "Why are we so mean and petty? Why cannot we watch the rise of another nation without hatred and jealousy? Why cannot we be generous and watch with sympathy and hope her progress along the path which we have trodden? Why cannot we go forward shoulder to shoulder with her, learning and teaching, fearing no one? If we are worthy of our great place in the world, we shall keep it, no matter how strong others may grow; if we are unworthy, nothing will save us, from downfall—not all our ships and wealth. It seems so obvious, and yet——" Her momentary outburst died down to the old listlessness. "I talk like that because I have suffered it so in my life," she said; "but it is all talk. At the bottom, the antagonism is still there. Nothing will ever bridge it over." She held out her hand with a wan smile. "Good-bye, Robert." "Good-bye; and God bless you, dear!" He watched her move slowly homewards. He suffered intensely because he knew that her pain was greater than his. He knew that the antagonism she had spoken of surrounded her whole life, and that she stood alone, without husband, without people, and without country. *CHAPTER III* *REVELATION* Miles Ingestre met his sister in the hall, and without a word drew her into the sitting-room and closed the door. His action had been so sudden, his grip upon her arm so fierce, that she stood looking at him, too startled to protest. In the half-darkness she could only see that he was very pale and that he vainly strove to control the nervous twitching of his lips. "What is it?" she asked. "Has anything happened?" "Some one has come," he said breathlessly. She did not answer. A black veil had fallen before her eyes, and an emotion to which she could give no name, but which was so powerful that she stretched out a groping hand for support, clutched at her throat and stifled her. She did not ask who had come. She knew by the very change in herself, by the violent shock which seemed to waken her stunned senses to a renewed and terrible capacity for suffering. "Wolff—my husband!" she stammered. "Where is he?" "It is not Wolff," Miles retorted rapidly. "It is that Hildegarde von Arnim. She arrived half an hour ago, and says she must see you at once. She won’t speak to either of us." "Hildegarde? You must be dreaming! She is too ill to move." "She looks ill, but she can move all right. At any rate, she seems to have come a long way to find you." "I must go to her," Nora said dully. "Where is she? Why don’t you let me pass?"