of hear life, could but politely decline. She
has made a vow to remain faithful to the memory of her dead husband.
What is a vow? Ought it to be a chain to bind and check our very
existence, after we have outgrown our former selves. In the course of
seven years the physical part of man is completely renewed, and is our
spiritual part, surrounded by new flesh and blood to remain the same,
because some misanthrope doubted his own power of revival. Have I not
also broken my vow never again to approach a sick-bed. And I even deem
this to be rather to my credit than my shame. But the vow of this woman
is raised far above the fickleness of human wishes and resolves. She
wishes me well; I could find no truer friend in need than she would
prove. She would make any sacrifice but this for me, who have saved her
child; but her whole existence, her heart, and soul are rivetted to the
memory of her own passed happiness, and to the future happiness of her
child--and for me, to whom the present alone is of importance.... I
have carefully avoided the question as to where she lives, in what
town, under what circumstances in what neighbourhood. I will part from
her without knowing anything of this, lest I should be tempted to seek
her, and endeavour to make the impossible possible.

"A few days more of the happiness of this singular position--in this
solitary wilderness among the mountains, far from all the littlenesses
and miseries of the world, and as if we were in heaven, where there is
neither giving in marriage, nor parting--then come what may; what must!

"In truth it is a strange and cruel remedy which fate has employed,
making a deep incision in my heart, in order to convince me how little
I was ripe for death; how much strength and feeling there was still in
me, how much I could yet endure!

"Enough of this for to-day. We live here totally deprived of all postal
communication. When, and where, I shall close this letter and forward
it, the Gods only know, if indeed they concern themselves with our
correspondence.

"Farewell!"

He laid down the pen and listened. From the sick room, the child's soft
prattle was heard and though free from the restless and rambling tone
of fever, yet it was an unusually late hour for the child to be awake.
He also heard the soft voice of the mother calming it by a few soothing
words. When Everhard entered the room the child was already fast
asleep.

"She has