writing materials, but I was in such a wretched state that I
could not even hold a pen, and the fury which raged within me drowned
every thought.

"Never mind," said the old man, "there is no need to write. Is it not
sufficient that she hears you have come? If she then still consents to
this marriage, hundreds of letters would be of no avail."

With this he left me, but first I had to give him my word that I would
not leave the house, which was now completely deserted, and that I
would open the door to no one but him.

By this time day had dawned, and after bringing me some wine to
strengthen me, the old man departed, and I remained alone in the
death-like stillness of the house--I could not rest; I dragged myself
into the garden, to the orange-tree of whose fruit she had given me,
and to the pomegranate the blossoms of which had been her first love
token to me. She was always before me, and the more clearly she
appeared to me the less could I understand her apparent oblivion.

Though I was greatly exhausted by my night's journey, yet I could not
swallow a morsel of bread nor drink the wine, but I sucked the juice of
an orange, and felt so revived that I seemed to have imbibed hope and
comfort with it. Then I returned to the house, ascended the stairs and
slowly walked through all the apartments. In her little room all
remained as she had left it; even the book which she had last read was
still open on the table. I began to read from the same page where she
had left off. It was an edition of the "Canzone di Petrarca" and I felt
soothed and refreshed by their gentle harmony. I shoved a low chair
into the balcony (it was the same on which she had sat as a child while
playing with her dolls), and threw myself into it with the book in my
hand. But after each verse my eyes wandered along the road in the hope
of seeing a messenger appear. I had grown calmer however, and no longer
dreaded the decision of my fate, yet I started wildly when the old man
appeared.

"What news do you bring me," I called to him. But I knew all when I saw
his sorrowful countenance, as he turned towards me, and I rushed down
the stair case with trembling knees. "Read this," he said; "perhaps you
will understand what it all means."

I tore the paper from his hand. On it were hastily scrawled these
words: "My own dear love, what I am going to do, had to be done; do not
try to prevent it, only trust in me. I shall never be another's. You
will und