r hour's ride by train. "Don't
wait for me, Effi. I can't be back before midnight; it will probably
be two o'clock or even later. But I'll not disturb you. Good-by, I'll
see you in the morning." With that he climbed into the sleigh and away
the Isabella-colored span flew through the city and across the country
toward the station.

That was the first long separation, for almost twelve hours. Poor
Effi! How was she to pass the evening? To go to bed early would be
inadvisable, for she would wake up and not be able to go to sleep
again, and would listen for every sound. No, it would be best to wait
till she was very tired and then enjoy a sound sleep. She wrote a
letter to her mother and then went to see Mrs. Kruse, whose condition
aroused her sympathy. This poor woman had the habit of sitting till
late at night with the black chicken in her lap. The friendliness the
visit was meant to show was by no means returned by Mrs. Kruse, who
sat in her overheated room quietly brooding away the time. So when
Effi perceived that her coming was felt as a disturbance rather than a
pleasure she went away, staying merely long enough to ask whether
there was anything the invalid would like to have. But all offers of
assistance were declined.

Meanwhile it had become evening and the lamp was already burning. Effi
walked over to the window of her room and looked out at the grove,
whose trees were covered with glistening snow. She was completely
absorbed in the picture and took no notice of what was going on behind
her in the room. When she turned around she observed that Frederick
had quietly put the coffee tray on the table before the sofa and set a
place for her. "Why, yes, supper. I must sit down, I suppose." But she
could not make herself eat. So she got up from the table and reread
the letter she had written to her mother. If she had had a feeling of
loneliness before, it was doubly intense now. What would she not have
given if the two sandy-haired Jahnkes had just stepped in, or even
Hulda? The latter, to be sure, was always so sentimental and as a
usual thing occupied solely with her own triumphs. But doubtful and
insecure as these triumphs were, nevertheless Effi would be very happy
to be told about them at this moment. Finally she opened the grand
piano to play some music, but she could not play. "No, this will make
me hopelessly melancholy; I will read, rather." She looked for a book,
and the first to fall into her hands was a t