Farewell, Rebecca;" and he attempted to draw her to him as though
he would kiss her. But she withdrew from him, very quietly, with no
mark of anger, with no ostentation of refusal. "Farewell," she said.
"Perhaps we shall see each other after many years."

Trendellsohn, as he sat beside his young wife in the post-carriage
which took them out of the city, was silent till he had come nearly to
the outskirts of the town; and then he spoke. "Nina," he said, "I am
leaving behind me, and for ever, much that I love well."

"And it is for my sake," she said. "I feel it daily, hourly. It makes
me almost wish that you had not loved me."

"But I take with me that which I love infinitely better than all that
Prague contains. I will not, therefore, allow myself a regret. Though I
should never see the old city again, I will always look upon my going
as a good thing done." Nina could only answer him by caressing his
hand, and by making internal oaths that her very best should be done in
every moment of her life to make him contented with the lot he had
chosen.

There remains very little of the tale to be told--nothing, indeed, of
Nina's tale--and very little to be explained. Nina slept in peace at
Rebecca's house that night on which she had been rescued from death
upon the bridge--or, more probably, lay awake anxiously thinking what
might yet be her fate. She had been very near to death--so near that
she shuddered, even beneath the warmth of the bed-clothes, and with the
protection of her friend so close to her, as she thought of those long
dreadful minutes she had passed crouching over the river at the feet
of the statue. She had been very near to death, and for a while could
hardly realise the fact of her safety. She knew that she was glad
to have been saved; but what might come next was, at that moment,
all vague, uncertain, and utterly beyond her own control She hardly
ventured to hope more than that Anton Trendellsohn would not give her
up to Madame Zamenoy. If he did, she must seek the river again, or some
other mode of escape from that worst of fates. But Rebecca had assured
her of Anton's love, and in Rebecca's words she had a certain, though a
dreamy, faith. The night was long, but she wished it to be longer. To
be there and to feel that she was warm and safe was almost happiness
for her after the misery she had endured.

On the next day, and for a day or two afterwards, she was feverish and
she did not rise, but Rebecca