"The only other news is that Harry does not now think that he will go to Australia. He appears to be capricious in his new ideas, and is ready to insist upon a crisis in our affairs. This is so wholly unexpected, that I do not know what to say about it. The foundations of the Temple are not laid, and it would be terrible if the building fell. I suppose it is all very serious, and I should consider it in that light, but I remain an enigma to myself, and am content to let the future speak for itself. "Oh, how cold it is--how cruelly cold! I can write no more, even by a warm fireside. Perhaps Maryska will write herself soon--horrible thought, I have yet to learn if the child can write at all. When she reads, she terrifies me with the possibilities. Her acquaintance with the most dreadful words is a daily fright to me! She speaks Italian and French quite fluently, and another language which my father does not recognise, but thinks may be Roumanian. He brought a professor of Oriental languages from one of the Universities here yesterday, but the poor man was utterly at sea. I am sure he did not understand a single word of what she said--none knew that better than clever Maryska! "She is asking for you every day, and I must tell her that you are going to America. It is a heavy burden upon my poor shoulders. Yesterday she said, 'Even _his_ friend has gone away.' So, you see, she knows that you were his friend, and I am sure that will not be unwelcome to you. "Believe me, with all our kindest regards, "Dear Mr. Faber, yours sincerely, "GABRIELLE SILVESTER." "P.S.--The news is not so well to-night. We have had another day of the damp cold, and I am seriously alarmed for her. Have we done right to bring such a hot-house plant to England at all? She is asking for you again even as I write, for she knows that it is written. 'Tell him,' she says, 'that _he_ would have wished it. Then he will come to me.' I am doing my duty even if it be done without hope." III Bertie Morris drained his glass and then folded the paper he had been reading with great nicety. The journalistic habit inspired a restless curiosity which would probe even the intimate affairs of his friends. He knew that the letter was of great importance, and was almost indignant that his great friend did not speak of its contents. "Well," he said, with a pretence of a yawn, "I suppose it's time for me to be trotting. See you to-morrow, anyhow." Faber thrust the letter into his breast coat pocket and lighted a new cigar. "If I am here, why, yes; maybe I'll not be here." "You'll not be here! But haven't you an appointment with General Heinstein, to say nothing of the Count?"