s then the wife
of von Francius. My heart yearned from my solitude toward them both. Why
did not they write? They knew how I loved them. Adelaide could not
suppose that I looked upon her deed with the eyes of the world at
large--with the eyes of Stella or Miss Hallam. Had I not grieved with
her? Had I not seen the dreadful struggle? Had I not proved the nobility
of von Francius? On an impulse I seized pen and paper, and wrote to
Adelaide, addressing my letter under cover to her husband at the town in
which he was musik-direktor; to him I also wrote--only a few words--"Is
your pupil forgotten by her master? he has never been forgotten by her."

At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was short:

"DEAR MAY,--I have had no time till now to answer your letter. I
can not reply to all your questions. You ask whether I repent what
I have done. I repent my whole life. If I am happy--how can I be
happy? I am busy now, and have many calls upon my time. My husband
is very good: he never interposes between me and my work. Shall I
ever come to England again?--never."

"Yours,
"A. von F."

No request to write again! No inquiry after friends or relations! This
letter showed me that whatever I might feel to her--however my heart
might beat and long, how warm soever the love I bore her, yet that
Adelaide was now apart from me--divided in every thought. It was a cruel
letter, but in my pain I could not see that it had not been cruelly
intended. Her nature had changed. But behind this pain lay comfort. On
the back of the same sheet as that on which Adelaide's curt epistle was
written, were some lines in the hand I knew well.

"LIEBE MAI"--they said--"Forgive your master, who can never forget
you, nor ever cease to love you. You suffer. I know it; I read it
in those short, constrained lines, so unlike your spontaneous words
and frank smile. My dear child, remember the storms that are
beating on every side--over our country, in on our hearts. Once I
asked you to sing for me some time: you promised. When the war is
over I shall remind you of your promise. At present, believe me,
silence is best.

"Your old music-master,
"M. v. F."

Gall and honey, roses and thistles, a dagger at the heart and a caress
upon the lips; such seemed to me the characters of the two lette