‘Perhaps it will be better not. This place is a very nest of gossip and scandal, and though I do not ever allow such things to interfere with anything I may choose to do that I feel to be right, yet I never could see the sense of going out of my way to make them talk. But should you have any reason for calling, Herr Falkenberg, or anything particular to say to me, pray defy the gossips of Elberthal, and come. I shall be only too glad to see you.’ ‘Thank you. And—forgive me. From things you have said to-night, I fancy you are in some trouble of mind.’ ‘I am,’ she answered briefly. ‘Will you remember that I am your friend and servant, and that any service in my power, I would render you with delight, whether it gave rise or not to gossip?’ ‘Thank you. You are a friend indeed. If I require help or counsel, I will come to you. But so long as I can, I must fight out my trouble alone.’ They exchanged a handshake, and separated; he to go back to the Wilhelmis’, and bear his part as best he might in the merriment; she to her room to slowly undress, and bitterly to decide that to write to Jerome under the circumstances was out of the question, to realise with a rush, the great, sad change and dreariness which had suddenly crept over everything, and to recollect Rudolf Falkenberg as one lost in a wilderness recollects some group of strong, sheltering trees, seen on the far horizon; distant, but safe when one should attain them. [Illustration] CHAPTER IX. ABSCHIED UND RÜCKKEHR. THE morning dawned, and brought the hour at which they were to be at the station. There was the brief time of waiting there, the averted eyes and stealthily-clasped hands. The train came in—another long clinging kiss; then a brief, noisy interval of bustle and shouting—a last wave of the hand from Avice—a last glimpse of Father Somerville’s pale face and deep eyes—then they were gone, and she returned to her ‘sad and silent home.’