recovery. I said the Lord's Prayer; it is a
universal petition and thanksgiving; it did not too nearly touch my
woes; it allowed itself to be said, but when I came to something nearer,
tried to say a thanksgiving for blessings and friends who yet remained,
my heart refused, my tongue cleaved to my mouth. Alas! I was not
regenerate. I could not thank God for what had happened. I found myself
thinking of "the pity on't," and crying most bitterly till tears
streamed through my folded fingers, and whispering, "Oh, if I could only
have died while I was so ill! no one would have missed me, and it would
have been so much better for me!"

* * * * *

In the beginning of July, Stella, Merrick, and I returned to England, to
Skernford, home. I parted in silent tears from my trusted friends, the
Mittendorfs, who begged me to come and stay with them at some future
day. The anguish of leaving Elberthal did not make itself fully felt at
first--that remained to torment me at a future day. And soon after our
return came printed in large type in all the newspapers, "Declaration of
War between France and Germany." Mine was among the hearts which panted
and beat with sickening terror in England while the dogs of war were
fastened in deadly grip abroad.

My time at home was spent more with Miss Hallam than in my own home. I
found her looking much older, much feebler, and much more subdued than
when she had been in Germany. She seemed to find some comfort from my
society, and I was glad to devote myself to her. But for her I should
never have known all those pains and pleasures which, bitter though
their remembrance might be, were, and ever would be to me, the dearest
thing of my life.

Miss Hallam seemed to know this; she once asked me: "Would I return to
Germany if I could?"

"Yes," said I, "I would."

To say that I found life dull, even in Skernford, at that time would be
untrue. Miss Hallam was a furious partisan of the French, and I dared
not mention the war to her, but I took in the "Daily News" from my
private funds, and read it in my bedroom every night with dimmed eyes,
fast-coming breath, and beating heart. I knew--knew well, that Eugen
must be fighting--unless he were dead. And I knew, too, by some
intuition founded, I suppose, on many small negative evidences unheeded
at the time, that he would fight, not like the other men who were
battling for the sake of hearth and home, and sheer love and