to bed, instead
of first confessing everything to my brave other self and begging
absolution! Come, let me sit down beside you again; and be comforted,
you see it has not cost me my life, I am here, holding your dear hands,
and I feel more deeply than ever before, that we two are one, and that
no power of Heaven or Hell can separate us."

He now sat down beside her and began to quietly relate everything that
had occurred, from the time he finished his letter to her and Marquard
entered his room, till he met Mohr in the forest, where after the long
superhuman strain of all the powers of his soul and senses, he had lost
consciousness for a moment. Nothing was concealed or palliated. It was
evidently a relief to recall to mind all his tortures, his weaknesses,
and his honest struggle, now that he knew himself to be safe, where the
friends who had followed at his heels could not pursue him into the
sacred abode of his peace. The longer he spoke, the calmer became his
voice, the clearer his glance. "It is over," he concluded, pressing her
hand to his cheek. "I hope you'll praise me, dearest, for having done
so well. To be sure, I've not the strong nerves essential to rude
courage, and when I do anything heroic, feel long afterwards by the
miserable trembling of my heart, what the exertion of moral courage has
cost me. But be calm, child, this was the last attack. It will haunt me
for a time; if you had seen her--even without being affected as I was
by the old fate that binds me to this mysterious creature--you could
not have helped feeling the deepest compassion. What a life is before
her with nothing but the vague hope of some change that may release her
and give her some reason for loving existence! My beloved reason, that
helps me over unsolved questions, that sits incarnate beside me, and
that all my future care--"

"You've not yet shown me her letter," she interrupted in an
expressionless tone. They were the first words she had spoken for half
an hour.

"The letter, child? Why do you wish to read it? It's as incoherent a
collection of sentences as was ever scrawled by a poor tortured soul. I
assure you I've not read it a second time myself."

"If I'm to know her thoroughly, to feel any real compassion for her, I
must read it, Edwin. Give it to me. You see I am calm. I have told
myself often enough, that this must come some day. It's a misfortune,
like any other, only far more sad than every day sorrow. But with
hon