s she thought of it all, it seemed to her to be almost
impossible that a secret should remain a secret that was known to
three persons,--for she was sure that Tetchen knew it,--to three
persons besides those immediately concerned. She thought of her
aunt's words to her, when Madame Staubach had cautioned her against
deceit, "I do not think that you would willingly be false to me,
because the sin against the Lord would be so great." Linda had
understood well how much had been meant by this caution. Her aunt had
groaned over her in spirit once, when she found it to be a fact that
Ludovic Valcarm had been allowed to speak to her,--had been allowed
to speak though it were but a dozen words. The dozen words had been
spoken and had not been revealed, and Madame Staubach having heard of
this sin, had groaned in the spirit heavily. How much deeper would be
her groans if she should come to know that Ludovic had been received
in her absence, had been received on a Sabbath morning, when her
niece was feigning to be ill! Linda still fancied that her aunt might
believe her if she were to tell her own story, but she was certain
that her aunt would never believe her if the story were to be told
by another. In that case there would be nothing for her, Linda,
but perpetual war; and, as she thought, perpetual disgrace. As her
aunt would in such circumstances range her forces on the side of
propriety, so must she range hers on the side of impropriety. It
would become necessary that she should surrender herself, as it were,
to Satan; that she should make up her mind for an evil life; that she
should cut altogether the cord which bound her to the rigid practices
of her present mode of living. Her aunt had once asked her if she
meant to be the light-of-love of this young man. Linda had well
known what her aunt had meant, and had felt deep offence; but yet
she now thought that she could foresee a state of things in which,
though that degradation might yet be impossible, the infamy of such
degradation would belong to her. She did not know how to protect
herself from all this, unless she did so by telling her aunt of the
young man's visit.

But were she to do so she must accompany her tale by the strongest
assurance that no possible consideration would induce her to marry
Peter Steinmarc. There must then be a compact, as has before been
said, that the name neither of one man nor the other should ever
again be mentioned as that of Linda's futur