rdened herself and it had been a relief to her, but nothing
could be helped or mended. Both knew this, and after a few polite
questions about her future plans and studies, Maurice rose to take his
leave.

"Say good-bye to them both for me, and give Ephie my love."

"I will. I think she will be sorry afterwards that she did not see you.
She has always liked you."

"Good-bye then. Or perhaps it is only AUF WIEDERSEHEN?"

"I hardly think so." Johanna had returned to her usual sedate manner.
"If I do visit Europe again, it will not be for five or six years at
least."

"And that's a long time. Who knows where I may be, by then!"

He held Johanna's hand in his, and saw her gauntly slim figure outlined
against the bare sitting-room. It was not likely that they would ever
meet again. But he could not summon up any very lively feelings of
regret. Johanna had not touched him deeply; she had left him as cool as
he had no doubt left her; neither had found the key to the other. Her
chief attraction for him had been her devotion to Ephie; and now,
having been put to the test, this was found wanting. She had been
wounded in her own pride and self-love, and could not forgive. At heart
she was no more generous and unselfish than the rest.

He repeated farewell messages as he stood in the passage. Johanna held
the front door open for him, and, as he went down the stairs, he heard
it close behind him, with that extreme noiselessness that was
characteristic of Johanna's treatment of it.

The following morning, shortly after ten o'clock, a train steamed out
of the THURINGER BAHNHOF, carrying the Cayhills with it. The day was
misty and cheerless, and none of the three travellers turned her head
to give the town a parting glance. They left unattended, without
flowers or other souvenirs, without any of the demonstratively pathetic
farewells, the waving of hats, and crowding about the carriage-door,
which one of the family, at least, had connected inseverably with their
departure. And thus Ephie's musical studies came to an abrupt and
untimely end.

* * * * *

"My faith in women is shattered. I shall never believe in a woman
again."

Dove paced the floor of Maurice's room with long and steady strides,
beneath which a particular board creaked at intervals. His voice was
husky, and the ruddiness of his cheeks had paled.

At the outset of Ephie's illness, Dove had called every morning at the
PENSION, to make inquiries and to le