the excess of
her eagerness. If this were Peter Steinmarc's decision, Linda would
bear it all without a complaint. She bowed her head in token that
she accepted the disgrace of which her aunt had spoken. "Of course,
Linda," continued Madame Staubach, "recovery from so lamentable a
position is very difficult,--is almost impossible. I do not mean to
say a word of what has been done. We believe,--that is, I believe,
and Herr Molk, and Peter also believes it--"

"I don't care what Peter Steinmarc believes," exclaimed Linda, unable
to hold her peace any longer.

"Linda, Linda, would you be a thing to be shuddered at, a woman
without a name, a byword for shame for ever?" Madame Staubach had
been interrupted in her statement as to the belief entertained in
respect to Linda's journey by herself and her two colleagues, and did
not recur to that special point in her narrative. When Linda made no
answer to her last appeal, she broadly stated the conclusion to which
she and her friends had come in consultation together in the panelled
chamber of Herr Molk's house. "I may as well make the story short,"
she said. "Herr Molk has explained to Peter that things are not as
bad as they have seemed to be." Every muscle and every fibre in
Linda's body was convulsed when she heard this, and she shuddered and
shivered so that she could hardly keep her seat upon her chair. "And
Peter has declared that he will be satisfied if you will at once
agree that the marriage shall take place on the thirtieth of the
month. If you will do this, and will make him a promise that you will
go nowhere without his sanction before that day, he will forget what
has been done." Linda answered not a word, but burst into tears, and
fell at her aunt's feet.

Madame Staubach was a woman who could bring herself to pardon any
sin that had been committed,--that was done, and, as it were,
accomplished,--hoping in all charity that it would be followed by
repentance. Therefore she had forgiven, after a fashion, even the
last tremendous trespass of which her niece had been guilty, and had
contented herself with forcing Linda to listen to her prayers that
repentance might be forthcoming. But she could forgive no fault, no
conduct that seemed to herself to be in the slightest degree wrong,
while it was in the course of action. She had abstained from all hard
words against Linda, from all rebuke, since she had found that the
young man was gone, and that her niece was willin