rough the twilight of a corridor she stopped him, and her usually
frank eyes were downcast. She took out that envelope.

"Dearest," she said, almost inaudibly, "this is something I wish you to
read after Anneli and I am gone. I think you will--you will not
misunderstand me. If you think--it is--it is too bold, you will remember
that I have--no mother to advise me; and--and you will be kind, and not
answer. Then I shall know."

Ten minutes thereafter he was standing alone, in the broad daylight
outside, reading the lines she had written early that morning, and in
every one of them he read the firm and noble character of the woman he
loved. He was almost bewildered by the proud-spirited frankness of her
message to him; and involuntarily he thought of the poor devil of a poet
in the garret who spoke of his faithful friend and his worthless
mistress.

"One is fortunate indeed to have a friend like Evelyn," he said to
himself. "But when and has, besides that, the love of a woman like
this--then the earth holds something worth living for."

He looked at the brief, proud, pathetic message again--"_I am your wife:
why should you go alone?_" It was Natalie herself speaking in every
word.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

INTERVENTION.

The more that Madame Potecki thought over the communication made to her
by Natalie, the more alarmed she became. Her pupils received but a very
mechanical sort of guidance that afternoon. All through the "One, two,
three, four; one, two, three, four" she was haunted by an uneasy
consciousness that her protest had not been nearly strong enough. The
girl had not seemed in the least impressed by her counsel. And suppose
this wild project were indeed carried out, might not she, that is,
Madame Potecki, be regarded as an accomplice if she remained silent and
did not intervene?

On the other hand, although she and Ferdinand Lind were friends of many
years standing, she had never quite got over a certain fear of him. She
guessed pretty well what underlay that pleasant, plausible exterior of
his. And she was not at all sure that, if she went to Mr. Lind and told
him that in such and such circumstances his daughter meant to go to
America as the wife of George Brand, the first outburst of his anger
might not fall on herself. She was an intermeddler. What concern of hers
was it? He might even accuse her of having connived at the whole affair,
especially during his absence in Philadelphia.

But after all,