what it may prevent."

I believe my words were entirely thrown away, for her blindness is
phenomenal. She is, besides, much too self-absorbed at present to
properly watch Constance; her horizon is obscured by Uncle George's
whiskers. It gives me, even in these days, a grim satisfaction to
see those two preparing millstones for each other's necks.

I shall write to Marianna, telling her to expect me in Florence
shortly. How calm I am! Have I learned my lesson so well? Or is this
calm mere self-deceit? When I have truly learned the lesson, realise
that what I am about to do separates me from both forever, surely I
shall not be alive to go to Florence.

_July 10th._--To-day Constance would not come to the Cottage with
me, although Jane Norton had most particularly wished it. I think
she avoids Gabriel,--it may be my fancy, or perhaps mere chance;
otherwise it still seems to me that she does not know she loves him.

She came up to me in the morning, to help me pack my papers; we
idled, we wandered restlessly about my disordered room. Suddenly she
came to me as I leaned over my strong-box, and, clasping me round
the shoulders, laid her head down on the back of my neck.

"Dear," she said, "do you remember your birthday at Florence, when I
helped you with your books?"

I stood up and took her to me.

"Yes," said I; "and I would that day were back again."

She gave a sigh, a little shiver. I felt it. But she said:

"Silly, big thing, how can you talk so? You are going to be so
happy!"

"Why, yes," I replied; "that's true."

Poor little Constance! To-day I may say it, to-day she is still the
poorer. Soon 'twill be poor Emilia.

_July 11th._--To-day they met again. I am not schooled, I have not
learned my lesson, and now I know that I shall never learn it. We
were out together; again I let them walk ahead, and kept far behind
them, saying to myself: "This is my life!" But it was unendurable. I
rejoined them, and slipped in between them; I cannot yet look upon
them side by side, neither actually nor in my imagination.

This does not mean that I shall not abide by my decision. Only three
days more; I must hasten. Yet these are the last days I have to
live; mingled with my pain is the last drop of joy I may taste upon
this earth. And yet, having their love, I dare not think of death.

It dawned upon me to-day that Constance knows; she is pale, and much
troubled. Poor little one.

_July 12th._--To-morrow it m