Ellen did not understand, but she had an intense desire to know her mistress Rudolf Falkenberg’s wife, because she was convinced he was good. She knew, from innumerable stories, that he was rich, and, in his way, as great a man as some great nobleman, and therefore a suitable husband for Miss Ford, though not at all beyond her claims. But firstly and chiefly she wished it from a feeling, vulgar enough, and natural enough too, to one of her position, up-bringing, and mental calibre–she wished it as a kind of revenge upon Jerome Wellfield–to show him that a man worth a hundred of him in every respect was only too glad and eager to win the prize which he had cast aside. From this motive, if from no other, she would strain every nerve to forward Falkenberg’s cause. Therefore, when he said to her ‘You understand?’ she affirmed that she understood perfectly, and so let him go. [Illustration] CHAPTER III. IRREVOCABLE. Many days elapsed before Sara was permitted to see anyone. Then, one afternoon, Frau Wilhelmi was allowed to call, and sat for a few moments talking of the most commonplace and least agitating topics. On the afternoon following that, Ellen cautiously began to prepare the way for Falkenberg. As soon as she mentioned his name, her mistress said: ‘If Herr Falkenberg calls, I should like to see him.’ This was when she was so far recovered as to be dressed about noon, or one o’clock, and, half carried, half walking, to make a pilgrimage to the couch or _chaise longue_ in her parlour, there to remain until the authorities intimated that it was time to go to bed again. Falkenberg did call, half an hour after those words had passed between Ellen and her mistress. Ellen repeated them to him, and ushered him into the parlour, where Sara lay on the couch, looking infinitely weak and exhausted, and scarcely able to lift a hand, or to smile faintly, when the tall, strong man came softly up to her; his face working, his eyes dim. ‘You have been very good–unspeakably good,’ she said weakly, as he bent speechlessly over her hand. ‘Ellen has told me of your great goodness,’ she added, in a stronger voice. ‘There is no goodness–there has been nothing but the pleasure I have felt in gratifying my own wishes,’ he said, in a husky, broken voice. ‘It is good to see your face again, and to hear your voice, after the Valley of the Shadow of Death,’ she replied, her hollow eyes dwelling, with an expression of something like curiosity, upon his face. ‘Do not let us speak of that. You are here once more in the light of life–to work, and hope, and make us glad again.’ She shook her head slowly. ‘You are far wiser than I am,’ she answered, ‘so I will not contradict you.’ ‘But in the meantime, you disagree with me from beginning to end,’ he said, regaining his composure gradually. ‘You feel that hope and work are over for you.’ ‘Yes, I feel as if I did not want to see the light of the sun any more.’