of it to
herself, that the task would be very difficult. And then her aunt
would only half believe her, and would turn the facts, joined, as
they would be, with her own unbelief, into additional grounds for
urging on this marriage with Peter Steinmarc. How can one plead one's
cause justly before a tribunal which is manifestly unjust,--which is
determined to do injustice?

Moreover, was she not bound to secrecy? Had not secrecy been implied
in that forgiveness which she had promised to Ludovic as the
condition of his going? He had accepted the condition and gone. After
that, would she not be treacherous to betray him? Why was it that at
this moment it seemed to her that treachery to him,--to him who had
treated her with such arrogant audacity,--would be of all guilt the
most guilty? It was true that she could not put herself right without
telling of him; and not to put herself right in this extremity would
be to fall into so deep a depth of wrong! But any injury to herself
would now be better than treachery to him. Had he not risked much in
order that he might speak to her that one word of love? But, for all
that, she did not make up her mind for a time. She must be governed
by things as they went.

Tetchen came home first, and to Tetchen, Linda was determined that
she would say not a word. That Tetchen was in communication with
young Valcarm she did not doubt, but she would not tell the servant
what had been the result of her wickedness. When Tetchen came in,
Linda was in the kitchen, but she went at once into the parlour, and
there awaited her aunt. Tetchen had bustled in, in high good-humour,
and had at once gone to work to prepare for the Sunday dinner. "Mr.
Peter is to dine with you to-day, Linda," she had said; "your aunt
thinks there is nothing like making one family of it." Linda had left
the kitchen without speaking a word, but she had fully understood the
importance of the domestic arrangement which Tetchen had announced.
No stranger ever dined at her aunt's table; and certainly her aunt
would have asked no guest to do so on a Sunday but one whom she
intended to regard as a part of her own household. Peter Steinmarc
was to be one of them, and therefore might be allowed to eat his
dinner with them even on the Sabbath.

Between two and three her aunt came in, and Peter was with her. As
was usual on Sundays, Madame Staubach was very weary, and, till the
dinner was served, was unable to do much in the way of t