into the deeps, he had known his hours of desolation; but from that hour she had stood for him “a thing enskied and sainted.” He felt that he was set apart for her worship, and only regretted that Beatrice had had a better poet for the business than Sanchia could ever hope for. For a year after her flight he continued a correspondence with her which had begun with their first acquaintance; and then he had stopped it, not she. His reason shall be admitted, to his credit or not. It appeared that she read his letters, as they came, to Nevile Ingram--she told him so--and, further, that Ingram was bored. Sanchia did not tell him that, but he gathered it; and whether he felt that the intimacy was fatally invaded, or whether he was piqued--he stopped. Within two years or so from that he wrote once more to tell her that he was about to “join fortunes” with Mary Germain, a young widow. She knew what he meant by that; he was too much of a poet to be anything but shocked at the marriage-bond. She hoped the best for him, but his letter did not encourage her. He wrote, “She is good, sweet and wholesome. I have taught her what she knows--I mean by that that I have helped her to pick up a clue here and there to take her by some means to the heart of our mystery. She has had a dreadful mauling by the world; but her brain is sound. I intend to make her happy, but not here. We go to Baden a-painting. She vows she will keep the door of my tent like a Bedouin's wife. It's a great test. If she comes through it--with her upbringing--she will show mettle. Farewell, Queen Mab. One does what one must, being man. Pray for us both.” She answered him frankly and kindly. Ingram was away on one of his long absences, and she felt acold. “I shall always wish for your happiness. How could I ever forget what you did to give me mine?” He read that as meaning that she had found and had it still, so wrote no more--not even when his venture, not too hopefully begun, had ended. His head was low in the dust, his zest was gone. It needed his austerities and solitude to restore his tone.