him, without reaching any moment in which
she first made the confession openly to herself. She knew that she
loved him. Had she not loved him, would she have so easily forgiven
him,--so easily have told him that he was forgiven? Had she not loved
him, would not her aunt have heard the whole story from her on that
Sunday evening, even though the two chapters of Isaiah had been left
unread in order that she might tell it? Perhaps, after all, the
compact of which she had been thinking might be more difficult to her
than she had imagined. If the story of Ludovic's coming could be kept
from her aunt's ears, it might even yet be possible to her to keep
Steinmarc at a distance without any compact. One thing was certain
to her. He should be kept at a distance, either with or without a
compact.

Days went on, and Fanny Heisse was married, and all probability of
telling the story was at an end. Madame Staubach had asked her niece
why she did not go to her friend's wedding, but Linda had made no
answer,--had shaken her head as though in anger. What business had
her aunt to ask her why she did not make one of a gay assemblage,
while everything was being done to banish all feeling of gaiety from
her life? How could there be any pleasant thought in her mind while
Peter Steinmarc still smoked his pipes in their front parlour? Her
aunt understood this, and did not press the question of the wedding
party. But, after so long an interval, she did find it necessary to
press that other question of Peter's courtship. It was now nearly a
month since the matter had first been opened to Linda, and Madame
Staubach was resolved that the thing should be settled before the
autumn was over. "Linda," she said one day, "has Peter Steinmarc
spoken to you lately?"

"Has he spoken to me, aunt Charlotte?"

"You know what I mean, Linda."

"No, he has not--spoken to me. I do not mean that he should--speak
to me." Linda, as she made this answer, put on a hard stubborn look,
such as her aunt did not know that she had ever before seen upon her
countenance. But if Linda was resolved, so also was Madame Staubach.

"My dear," said the aunt, "I do not know what to think of such
an answer. Herr Steinmarc has a right to speak if he pleases,
and certainly so when that which he says is said with my full
concurrence."

"I can't allow you to think that I shall ever be his wife. That is
all."

After this there was silence for some minutes, and then Madame
Stau