t she thought might interest
or amuse him; but she deluded him by no expressions of affection or
devotion.

The duke's absence, that was expected to last but two weeks, was
prolonged to six.

Still Valerie delayed leaving the Hotel de la Motte. She shrank from
taking the final step, until it should seem absolutely necessary.

At length, after an absence of nearly seven weeks, the Duke of Hereward
wrote to his young wife that he was about to return home, and would
follow his letter in twenty-four hours.

This letter threw her into a state of excessive nervous excitement, and
when her daily visitor entered her room a few hours after its reception,
he found her in this condition.

"Why, what is the matter, Valerie? What on earth has happened?" he
inquired, in much anxiety.

"The hour has come! I must go!" she answered, trembling.

"Well, so much the better. You are ready to go. You have been ready for
weeks past! Do not falter now that the time is at hand."

"I do not falter in resolution, only in strength."

"The sooner it is over the better. I will take you away this afternoon,
if you wish."

"Yes, yes, take me away as soon as possible!"

"Have you thought of where you would like to go first?"

"Yes! I have thought and decided! I want you to take me to Italy--to St.
Vito, where we were married, and to the vine-dresser's cottage, in the
Apennines, where we passed the first days of our marriage, and the
happiest days of our lives."

"It will be very sad for you there," said Waldemar, compassionately.

"Yes! I know it will be so without you! for of course I must live without
you! and though I do not love you as I used to do, because love has
perished out of my soul, still, I know, there in that place where we
were so happy in our honeymoon, I shall be always comparing the happy
days that _were_ with the sorrowful days that _are_!"

"But still, if that is so, why do you go there?"

"Oh, Waldemar, it is the only place for me! I cannot go among entire
strangers. I am such a coward. I am afraid in my loneliness: I should be
driven to despair or to insanity, or worse than all, to the unpardonable
sin of suicide! I dare not go among strangers, nor dare I go among people
who know me as the Duchess of Hereward, or knew me as Valerie de la
Motte, for they would scorn and abhor me, and their company would be far
worse than the very worst solitude. No! I must go to the vine-dresser's
cottage in the Apennines. Good