causes me uneasiness," she wrote to her husband.
"It's beautiful here, but he does not see it. I am often
frightened."

When her husband had offered to go with them he had done so because
he wished to save her in many ways--Kate had opposed it almost
anxiously: no, no, it was not at all necessary. She would much prefer
to be alone with Wolfgang, she considered it so much more beneficial
both for him and for herself. But now she often thought of her husband,
and wrote to him almost every day. And even if it were only a few lines
on a postcard, she felt the need of sending him a word. He, yes he
would find it just as beautiful there as she found it. As they had both
found it in the old days. They had once climbed that path over the
rocks together, he had given her his hand, had led her so that she
should not feel dizzy, and she had eyed the blue glassy sea far below
her and far above her the grey rocky promontory with the deep green
stone pines that kissed the blue of the sky with a blissful shudder.
Had she grown so old in those eighteen years that she dared not go
along that path any more? She had tried but it was of no use, she had
been seized with a sudden dizziness. That was because the hand
was not there that had supported her so firmly, so securely. Oh yes,
those had been better days, happier.

Kate entirely forgot that she had coveted something so ardently in
those days, that she had saddened many an hour for herself and him,
embittered every enjoyment. Now she looked past the son who was
strolling along by her side, looked into the distance with tender eyes
in which a gleam of her lost youth still shone--her good husband, he
was so alone. Did he think of her as she of him?

That evening when Wolfgang had retired to his room--what he did
there, whether he still sat up reading or writing or had already gone
to bed she did not know--she wrote to her husband.

It was not the length and the full particulars she gave in the
letter that pleased Paul Schlieben so much--she had also written long
detailed letters to him from Franzensbad at the time--but he read
something between the lines. It was an unexpressed wish, a longing, a
craving for him. And he resolved to go to the south. After all, they
had lived so many years together, that it was quite comprehensible that
the one felt lonely without the other.

He settled the business he had in hand with energetic eagerness. He
hoped to be ready to start in a week at th