wing old; and the marriage-veil
that we wrap round a beloved child becomes the symbol of the shroud
that is to fold us from her. I knew that I should one day have to
give up my Karen; I wished it; she knows that; but now that it has
come and that the torch is in her hand, I can only feel the
darkness in which her going leaves me. Not to find my little Karen
there, in my life, part of my life;--that is the thought that
pierces me. In how many places have I found her, for years and
years; do you remember them all, Karen? I know that in heart we are
not to be severed; I know that, as I cabled to you, you are not
less but more mine than ever; but the body cries out for the dear
presence; for the warm little hand in my tired hand, the loving
eyes in my sad eyes, the loving heart to lean my stricken heart
upon. How shall I bear the loneliness and the silence of my life
without you?

"Do not forget me, my Karen. Ah, I know you will not, yet the cry
arises. Do not let this new love that has come to you in your youth
and gladness shut me out more than it must. Do not forget the old,
the lonely Tante. Ah, these poor tears, they fall and fall. I am
sad, sad to death, my Karen. Great darknesses are behind me, and
before me I see the darkness to which I go.

"Farewell, my darling.--_Lebewohl._--Tell Mr. Jardine that he must
make my child happy indeed if I am to forgive him for my loss.

"Yes; it shall be in July, when I return. I send you a little gift
that my Karen may make herself the fine lady, ready for all the
gaieties of the new life. He will wish it to be a joyful one, I
know; he will wish her to drink deep of all that the world has to
offer of splendid, and rare, and noble. My child is worthy of a
great life, I have equipped her for it. Go forward, my Karen, with
your husband, into the light. My heart is with you always.

"Tante."

Gregory read, and instinctively, while he read, he glanced at Karen,
steadying his face lest she should guess from its tremor of contempt how
latent antagonisms hardened to a more ironic dislike. But Karen gazed
from the window--grave, preoccupied. Such suspicions were far indeed
from her. Gregory could give himself to the letter and its intimations
undiscovered. Suffering? Perhaps Madame von Marwitz was suffering; but
she had no business to say