ournful associations. So he
began to talk in a general way of going to Italy. This he mentioned
to the doctor, who happened one day to ask him how he liked Lausanne.
The question gave him an opportunity of saying that he looked upon it
simply as a place where he had been ill, and that he was anxious to
get off to Italy as soon as possible.

"Italy?" said the doctor.

"Yes."

"What part are you going to?"

"Oh, I don't know. Florence, I suppose--at first--and then other
places. It don't much matter."

Hilda heard this in her vigilant watchfulness. It awakened fears
within her that all her devotion had been in vain, and that he was
planning to leave her. It seemed so. There was, therefore, no feeling
of gratitude in his heart for all she had done. What she had done she
now recalled in her bitterness--all the love, the devotion, the
idolatry which she had lavished upon him would be as nothing. He had
regained the control of his mind, and his first thought was to fly.
The discovery of this indifference of his was terrible. She had
trusted much to her devotion. She had thought that, in a nature like
his, which was at once so pure, so high-minded, and so chivalrous,
the spectacle of her noble self-sacrifice, combined with the
discovery of her profound and all-absorbing love, would have awakened
some response, if it were nothing stronger than mere gratitude. And
why should it not be so? she thought. If she were ugly, or old, it
would be different. But she was young; and, more than this, she was
beautiful. True, her cheeks were not so rounded as they once were,
her eyes were more hollow than they used to be, the pallor of her
complexion was more intense than usual, and her lips were not so red;
but what then? These were the signs and the marks which had been
left upon her face by that deathless devotion which she had shown
toward him. If there was any change in her, he alone was the cause,
and she had offered herself up to him. That pallor, that delicacy,
that weakness, and that emaciation of frame were all the visible
signs and tokens of her self-sacrificing love for him. These things,
instead of repelling him, ought to attract him. Moreover, in spite of
all these things, even with her wasted form, she could see that she
was yet beautiful. Her dark eyes beamed more darkly than before from
their hollow orbs, against the pallor of her face the ebon hair shone
more lustrously, as it hung in dark voluminous masses downward,