rs the
schoolmaster as well as the laughter of its schoolmates. It would be so
easy if he would say something instead of walking quietly by her side,
suiting his pace to hers, shifting his position so that she might step
upon the smoothest parts of the ill-paved street, and shielding her, as
it were, from the passers-by. There was a courteous forethought for her
convenience and safety in every movement of his, a something which a
woman always feels when traversing a crowded thoroughfare by the side of
a man who is a true gentleman in every detail of life, whether husband,
or friend, or chance acquaintance. For the spirit of the man who
is really thoughtful for woman, as well as sincerely and genuinely
respectful in his intercourse with them, is manifest in his smallest
outward action.

While every step she took increased the violence of the passion which
had suddenly swept away her strength, every instant added to her
confusion. She was taken out of the world in which she was accustomed
to rule, and was suddenly placed in one where men are men, and women are
women, and in which social conventionalities hold sway. She began to
be frightened. The walk must end, and at the end of it they must part.
Since she had lost her power over him he might go away, for there would
be nothing to bring him to her. She wondered why he would not speak, and
her terror increased. She dared not look up, lest she should find him
looking at her.

Then they emerged from the street and stood by the river, in a lonely
place. The heavy ice was gray with old snow in some places and black in
others, where the great blocks had been cut out in long strips. It was
lighter here. A lingering ray of sunshine, forgotten by the departing
day, gilded the vast walls and turrets of venerable Hradschin, far
above them on the opposite bank, and tinted the sharp dark spires of
the half-built cathedral which crowns the fortress. The distant ring of
fast-moving skates broke the stillness.

"Are you angry with me?" asked Unorna, almost humbly, and hardly knowing
what she said. The question had risen to her lips without warning, and
was asked almost unconsciously.

"I do not understand. Angry? At what? Why should you think I am angry?"

"You are so silent," she answered, regaining courage from the mere sound
of her own words. "We have been walking a long time, and you have said
nothing. I thought you were displeased."

"You must forgive me. I am often silent."