and cheeks. The violence of
her grief was over. "Does he still so blind you, Karen?" she then asked.
"Do you still not see that your husband hates me--and has hated me from
the beginning?"

"Not hate!--Not hate!" Karen sobbed. "He does not understand you--that
is all. Only wait--till to-morrow. Only let me talk to him!"

"No. He does not understand. That is evident," said Madame von Marwitz
with a bitter smile. "Nor will he ever understand. Will you talk to him,
Karen, so that he shall explain why he smirches my love and my
sincerity? You know as well as I what was the meaning of those words of
his. Can you, loving me, ask me to sue further for the favour of a man
who has so insulted me? No. It cannot be. I cannot see him again. You
and I are still to meet, I trust; but it cannot again be under this
roof."

Karen now sobbed helplessly, leaning forward, her face in her hands, and
Madame von Marwitz, again laying an arm around her shoulders, gazed with
majestic sorrow into the fire. "Even so," she said at last, when Karen's
sobs had sunken to long, broken breaths; "even so. It is the law of
life. Sacrifice: sacrifice: to the very end. Life, to the artist, must
be this altar where he lays his joys. We are destined to be alone,
Karen. We are driven forth into the wilderness for the sins of the
people. So I have often seen it, and cried out against it in my tortured
youth, and struggled against it in my strength and in my folly. But now,
with another strength, I am enabled to stand upright and to face the
vision of my destiny. I am to be alone. So be it."

No answer came, from Karen and Madame von Marwitz, after a pause,
continued, in gentler, if no less solemn tones: "And my child, too, is
brave. She, too, will stand upright. She, too, has her destiny to
fulfil--in the world--not in the wilderness. And if the burden should
ever grow too heavy, and the road cut her feet too sharply, and the joy
turn to dust, she will remember--always--that Tante's arms and heart are
open to her--at all times, in all places, and to the end of life. And
now," this, with a sigh of fatigue, came on a more matter-of-fact
note--"let a cab be called for me. Louise will follow with my boxes."

Karen's tears had ceased. She made no further protest or appeal.

Rising, she dried her eyes, rang and ordered the cab to be called and
found her guardian's white cloak and veiled hat.

And while she shrouded her in these, Madame von Marwitz, still gaz