f the forest in its hidden nest.

This refuge she had been forced to quit, in order to take her place in
the great world--that great world which had so much in it that was
terrifying to her.

Then she had sought a woman's heart that could understand her, and a
manly face that might serve her for an ideal.

And she had found them both--the noble-hearted friend, who had been so
good, so kind to her, far better and kinder than she had dared to hope;
and the idolized youth, of whose heart and mind the world itself had
even grander and finer things to say than she herself had ever lavished
upon him. And this woman, and this idol of a man were spouses--and he
happiest of spouses too!

What must her portion be now?

She must be the dumb witness of that very bliss which she pictured to
herself so vividly. Every day she must see the happy face of her friend,
and listen to the sweet secrets of her rapture. She must listen while
_his_ name is magnified by another; she must look upon the majestic
countenance of the youth whom she may not worship--nay, she must not
even dare to speak of him, lest her blushes and the tremor of her voice
should betray what no man must ever know!

How happy she would have been now, had she never learnt to know this
passion, if she had never allowed her soul to fly away after
unattainable desires! If only she had listened to that honest old woman
she would now be sitting at home in her quiet peaceful cottage among the
meadows, with nothing to think of but her flowers!

That was all, all over now!

She was no longer able to go either backwards or forwards. Only to live
on, live on, one day after another, and, as every day came round, to
sigh, as she got up to face it: "Yet another day!"

But her husband, that good old fellow, what of him?

Only now did Karpathy feel how much he loved his wife! Perhaps if she
had died he would not have survived her. Sometimes the doctors would
allow him to see his wife, and at such times he would stand with
streaming eyes at the foot of the sick woman's bed, kissing her hand,
and weeping like a child. At last his wife was out of danger. On her
departure, Lady Szentirmay impressed upon Karpathy the necessity of
taking great care of Fanny, of not letting her get up too soon and take
cold, of rigorously carrying out the doctor's directions, of not letting
her read too long at a time, of allowing her, in a week's time or so, to
go out for a drive, if the weather w