he should do. She asked him, however, no
questions;--none at least till their journey was nearly over. The
more that his conduct warranted her want of trust, the more unwilling
did she become to express any diffidence or suspicion.

After a while she became very cold;--so cold that that now became for
the moment her greatest cause of suffering. It was mid-winter, and
though the cloak she had brought was the warmest garment that she
possessed, it was very insufficient for such work as the present
night had brought upon her. Besides her cloak, she had nothing
wherewith to wrap herself. Her feet became like ice, and then the
chill crept up her body; and though she clung very close to her
lover, she could not keep herself from shivering as though in an ague
fit. She had no hesitation now in striving to obtain some warmth by
his close proximity. It seemed to her as though the cold would kill
her before she could reach Augsburg. The train would not be due there
till nine in the morning, and it was still dark night as she thought
that it would be impossible for her to sustain such an agony of
pain much longer. It was still dark night, and the violent rain
was pattering against the glass, and the damp came in through the
crevices, and the wind blew bitterly upon her; and then as she
turned a little to ask her lover to find some comfort for her, some
mitigation of her pain, she perceived that he was asleep. Then the
tears began to run down her cheeks, and she told herself that it
would be well if she could die.

After all, what did she know of this man who was now sleeping by her
side,--this man to whom she had intrusted everything, more than her
happiness, her very soul? How many words had she ever spoken to him?
What assurance had she even of his heart? Why was he asleep, while
her sufferings were so very cruel to her? She had encountered the
evils of this elopement to escape what had appeared to her the
greater evils of a detested marriage. Steinmarc was very much to be
hated. But might it not be that even that would have been better than
this? Poor girl! the illusion even of her love was being frozen cold
within her during the agony of that morning. All the while the train
went thundering on through the night, now rushing into a tunnel, now
crossing a river, and at every change in the sounds of the carriages
she almost hoped that something might be amiss. Oh, the cold! She had
gathered her feet up and was trying to sit on