eart, I should almost be grateful for
it; it would be easier for me to put an end to everything between us.
But no, send me away, tell me nothing more, I know what your silence
means, and I know that no words of mine can awake a feeling which
nature has not made possible to you." He moved, as if to leave the
room, but his feet refused to obey his bidding; he could only walk to
the window and stand there clasping with both hands the fastening of
the sash, and pressing his forehead against the pane. Just at that
moment, the young girl began to speak in a low, almost timid voice:

"Are you angry, my dear friend, because I have so mutely listened to
all this, to all your kind, earnest words, which I do not deserve, for
which I cannot even thank you as I ought? For you'll not believe how
much grief it causes me, that you are so kind, and I--I remain as I am.
Oh! you're right, it is becoming a torture to me, this defect in my
nature. It's like a spell. I've read of a girl apparently dead, who lay
in her coffin, surrounded by friends who were pouring forth their love
and sorrow, while she, with all her efforts, could not stir or hold out
her hand to her weeping friends, and say: 'I'm still alive. I love you
and will not leave you.' It's the same with me. Nothing ever caused me
so much pain as that you now wish to leave me, because you desire from
me that which I cannot give. And yet I should think I was committing a
crime against you, if I sought to restrain you. I could expect anyone
else to be satisfied with what I can give, be it little or much. But
you--I want you to have all you desire and need; you're worthy of
something better than to be weighted through life by such an unhappy
creature as I. My dear friend, if I were not perfectly sure that you
would repent it, that I should make you unhappy and in so doing go to
destruction myself, believe me, I would not hesitate a moment, even if
I felt I should be miserable, You've become so dear to me that I would
gladly forget myself to help you. But we must not deceive ourselves;
it's impossible! You're too sensitive to be able to endure happiness at
the expense of another." Then, after a pause she continued: "And yet
you're perfectly right, all this must have been uttered some day. But
it's inexpressibly sad that it should come so! Is there no help? When
we've parted now--is there no hope, that we may again meet in life, if
I still have a life before me, and clasp each other's h