"'Come, I will put you to bed, child; there is nothing the matter with me--but you--you seem to be in a perfect fever.' "I jumped up: 'For shame, that is horrid of you, Martha,' I cried; 'I will not be sent away like this. I am not ill, nor am I so stupid that I cannot see how you are pining away, and how each day you gulp down some new sorrow. If you have no confidence in me, I shall conclude that you do not wish to have anything to do with me, and all will be over between us.' "She folded her hands in astonishment, and looked at me. "'What has possessed you, child?' she said, 'I do not know you thus.' "I turned away and bit my lips defiantly. "'Come, come, I will put you to bed,' she urged again. "'I don't want--I can go alone,' I said. Then she seemed to feel that a word of explanation must be vouchsafed to the child. "'See, Olga,' she said, drawing me down to her, 'you are quite right, I have many a sorrow, and if you were older and could understand, you would certainly be the first in whom I should confide. But first you too must learn to know life----.' "'What more do you know of life than I?' I cried, still defiantly. "She only smiled. It cut me to the heart, this half-painful, half-ecstatic smile. A dull dawning presentiment awoke within me, such as one might experience in face of closed temple gates or distant palm-wafted islands. And Martha continued: "'Till then, however--and that will be long!--I must bear what oppresses me alone. Hearty thanks, sister, for your good intention; I would love you twice as much for it, if that were possible; and now go, have your sleep out, we have much to learn to-morrow.' "With that she pushed me out of the door. "Like an exile I stood outside on the landing and stared at the door which had closed behind me so cruelly. Then I leant my head against the wall and wept silently and bitterly. "Martha was henceforth doubly kind and affectionate towards me, but I would not see it. I grew reserved towards her, as she had been towards me, and deeper and deeper the bitter feeling became graven on my soul that the world did not require my love. Of course it was not this one occurrence alone which acted decisively upon my disposition. Such a young creature as I was, is too easily carried away by the tide of new impressions to be lastingly influenced by a few such moments; and, as a matter of fact, it was not long: before I had forgotten that evening. But what I did not forget was the idea that no one dwelt on earth who was willing to share his sorrows with me, and that I was thrown back upon myself and my books until such day as I should be declared ripe to take part in the life of the living.