"'That shall be your Christmas present,' said I, for I remembered that this year I had not been able to embroider or crochet anything for her, as had usually been the custom between us. And as he who gives likes to clothe his doings in theatrical garb in order to hide his overflowing heart, I determined first to act a little comedy with her. "I crept, half-dressed as I was, down into the sitting-room, where our presents were spread under the Christmas tree, groped in the dark for her plate, gathered up what lay beside it, and on the top of all placed the little packet of letters. Thus laden, I came to her door and knocked. "I heard a sound like some one dragging himself up from the floor, and after a long while--she was probably drying her eyes first--her voice was heard at the door, asking who was there and what was wanted of her. "'It is I, Martha.' I said, 'I come to bring you--your plate--you left it downstairs.' "'Take it with you into your room, I will fetch it to-morrow,' she replied, trying hard to suppress the sobs in her voice. "'But something else has been added,' said I, and my words too were almost choked with tears. "'Then give it me to-morrow.' she replied, 'I am already undressed.' "'But it is from me,' said I. "And because, despite her misery, in the kindness of her heart she did not want to hurt my feelings, she opened the door. I rushed up to her and wept upon her neck, while I kept tight hold of the plate with my left hand. "'Whatever is the matter with you, child?' she asked, and patted me. 'A little while ago you seemed the only cheerful one, and now----' "I pulled myself together, led her under the light, and pointed to the plate. At the first glance she recognised the handwriting, grew as white as a sheet, and stared at me like one possessed, out of eyes that were red with weeping. "'Take them, take them!' said I. "She stretched out her hand, but it shrank back as at the touch of red-hot iron. "'See, Martha!' said I, with the desire to revenge myself for her silence, and at the same time to brag a little, 'you had no confidence in me; you considered me too childish, but I saw through everything, and while you were fretting, I was up and doing.' Still she continued to stare at me, without power of comprehension. 'You imagine that he no longer cares about you,' I went on, 'while all the time I have had to give him regular account of your doings and of the state of your health. Every week----' "She staggered back, seized her head with both her hands, and then suddenly a shudder seemed to pass through her frame. She stepped close up to me, grasped my two hands, and with a peculiarly hoarse voice she said, 'Look me in the face, Olga! Which of you two wrote the first letter?' "'I,' said I, astonished, for I did not yet know what she was driving at. "'And you--you betrayed to him the state of my feelings--you--_offered_ me, Olga?'