that she was under the
pressure of a terrible calamity which must destroy her, but still with
an outward presence of mind that supported her in her work. And her
father spoke to her, saying more to her than he had done for days past,
thanking her for her care, patting her hand with his, caressing her,
and bidding her still be of good cheer, as God would certainly be good
to one who had been so excellent a daughter. "But I wish, Nina, he were
not a Jew," he said suddenly.

"Dear father, we will not talk of that now."

"And he is a stern man, Nina."

But on this subject she would speak no further, and therefore she left
the bedside for a moment, and offered him a cup, from which he drank.
When he had tasted it he forgot the matter that had been in his mind,
and said no further word as to Nina's engagement.

As soon as she had taken the cup from her father's hand, she returned
to the parlour. It might be that Anton was still there. She had left
him in the room, and had shut her ears against the sound of his steps,
as though she were resolved that she would care nothing ever again for
his coming or going. He was gone, however, and the room was empty, and
she sat down in solitude, with her back against the wall, and began to
realise her position. He had told her that others accused her, but that
he had not suspected her. He had not suspected her, but he had thought
it necessary to search, and had found in her possession that which had
made her guilty in his eyes!

She would never see him again--never willingly. It was not only that he
would never forgive her, but that she could never now be brought to
forgive him. He had stabbed her while her words of love were warmest in
his ear. His foul suspicions had been present to his mind even while
she was caressing him. He had never known what it was to give himself
up really to his love for one moment. While she was seated on his knee,
with her head pressed against his, his intellect had been busy with the
key and the desk, as though he were a policeman looking for a thief,
rather than a lover happy in the endearments of his mistress. Her vivid
mind pictured all this to her, filling her full with every incident of
the insult she had endured. No. There must be an end of it now. If she
could see her aunt that moment, or Lotta, or even Ziska, she would tell
them that it should be so. She would say nothing to Anton--no, not a
word again, though both might live for an eternity; bu