e that for
yourself." Her face coloured, then went deadly pale. "In justice to the
man, I want you to remember that I was. Oh, I was, I was!"

I rose, a little shakily.

"I am not likely to forget anything you say at this our last parting."

Her hand fell into mine.

"It's difficult to believe that it must be good-bye with us."

She returned my pressure and our hands separated.

"Yes. I am leaving here to-morrow. My eyes are open at last and my hands
are free now. As for the rest--which of us can fail to hear the stifled
cry of our great distress? It may be nothing to the world."

"The world is more conscious of your discordant voices," I said. "It is
the way of the world."

"Yes." She bowed her head in assent, and hesitated for a moment. "I must
own to you that I shall never give up looking forward to the day when
all discord shall be silenced. Try to imagine its dawn! The tempest of
blows and of execrations is over; all is still; the new sun is rising,
and the weary men united at last, taking count in their conscience of
the ended contest, feel saddened by their victory, because so many ideas
have perished for the triumph of one, so many beliefs have abandoned
them without support. They feel alone on the earth and gather close
together. Yes, there must be many bitter hours! But at last the anguish
of hearts shall be extinguished in love."

And on this last word of her wisdom, a word so sweet, so bitter, so
cruel sometimes, I said good-bye to Natalia Haldin. It is hard to think
I shall never look any more into the trustful eyes of that girl--wedded
to an invincible belief in the advent of loving concord springing like
a heavenly flower from the soil of men's earth, soaked in blood, torn by
struggles, watered with tears.

It must be understood that at that time I didn't know anything of Mr.
Razumov's confession to the assembled revolutionists. Natalia Haldin
might have guessed what was the "one thing more" which remained for him
to do; but this my western eyes had failed to see.

Tekla, the ex-lady companion of Madame de S--, haunted his bedside at
the hospital. We met once or twice at the door of that establishment,
but on these occasions she was not communicative. She gave me news of
Mr. Razumov as concisely as possible. He was making a slow recovery, but
would remain a hopeless cripple all his life. Personally, I never went
near him: I never saw him again, after the awful evening when I stood
by, a w