‘It is from Avice Wellfield. I will tell you the truth. It cannot be more bitter to you than it is to me. These letters are the events of my life, the only things I really care for. I look forward to them with an eagerness I cannot express, and when they have come, I live upon the recollection of them. I cannot find my place in this new life. I will not deceive you,’ she added, with a vehemence almost passionate. ‘I have not sunk so low as to even wish to do that; but I feel degraded, humiliated, miserable, to think that I cannot cast aside my weakness, that it dwells with me. And as for returning to my old pursuits–to my painting–to the joy I used to have in even holding a brush in my hand–I do not believe it will ever return to me again. I believe it is destroyed. I have heard of such things happening after a great shock or a serious illness. I have had both; why should it not be so with me?’ She spoke bitterly, though composedly, and beat her hand with Avice’s letter. ‘And you do care for those letters?’ he asked. ‘Yes–oh, if–do you object, Rudolf? Would you like me to give over writing?’ she asked, with something like a ray of hope dawning upon her face. ‘Give it up–my dear child, I would not deal such a blow to your poor little friend, or offer such an insult to you, as even to hint such a thing. To me, you are above suspicion, Sara. If I heard you were corresponding with Jerome Wellfield himself, I should feel no uneasiness. I know you and your pride and simplicity too well.’ ‘Ah, if only you had not been so chivalrous and so mistaken as to marry me, Rudolf. I fear it has been a terrible error on both sides.’ ‘Do you think so? We had better give it a little longer trial, I think, hadn’t we?’ he asked composedly, while he glanced rather keenly at her face. ‘Do you, perhaps, feel tired of this place? Would you like change of scene or company? Is there no one you would like to have with you? Miss Wellfield, for example?’ ‘No. Avice has found a life at home. It is astonishing how she develops, how quickly she is growing into a woman, and a thoughtful one. She finds that her sister-in-law needs her presence greatly, and I gather from her letters, though she evidently has no idea of it herself, that she also will marry before long, and that happily.’ ‘Then you will not ask her to come and see you?’ ‘No, thank you. I have thought about it, and I am sure that this is the best place for me. Solitude will not drive me mad. Let this be _Mein Genügen_–I will make it so for a time longer, if you will allow me. If I am to find peace anywhere, and a path through life, it will be here.’ ‘So be it. And since such is the decision you have come to, I may tell you the more freely that I have come to-day to say good-bye for a long time. I am going on a journey, and before I go I want to have a little talk with you on business, if you don’t mind.’ ‘Going away!’ uttered Sara, startled. ‘Where?’