“My lover and husband,—­You are going away from your own country, perhaps forever; and I think it is partly through me that all this has happened.  What can I do?  Only this; that I offer to go with you, if you will take me.  I am your wife; why should you go alone?"’

There was no signature.  She folded the paper, and placed it in an envelope, and carefully locked it up.  Then she put out the light and went back to bed again, and fell into a sound, happy, contented sleep—­the untroubled sleep of a child.

Then in the morning how bright and light-hearted she was!

Anneli could not understand this change that had suddenly come over her young mistress.  She said little, but there was a happy light on her face; she sung “Du Schwert an meiner Linken” in snatches, as she was dressing her hair; and she presented Anneli with a necklace of Turkish silver coins.

She was down at South Kensington Museum considerably before eleven o’clock.  She idly walked Anneli through the various rooms, pointing out to her this and that; and as the little Dresden maid had not been in the Museum before, her eyes were wide open at the sight of such beautiful things.  She was shown masses of rich tapestry and cases of Japanese lacquer-work; she was shown collections of ancient jewellery and glass; she went by sunny English landscapes, and was told the story of solemn cartoons.  In the midst of it all George Brand appeared; and the little German girl, of her own accord, and quite as deftly as Madame Potecki, devoted herself to the study of some screens of water-colors, just as if she were one of the Royal Academy pupils.

“We have been looking over Madame Potecki’s treasures once more,” said Natalie.  He was struck by the happy brightness of her face.

“Ah, indeed!” said he; and he went and brought a couple of chairs, that together they might regard, if they were so minded, one of those vast cartoons.  “Well, I have good news, Natalie.  I do not start until a clear week hence.  So we shall have six mornings here—­six mornings all to ourselves.  Do you know what that means to me?”

She took the chair he offered her.  She did not look appalled by this intelligence of his early departure.

“It means six more days of happiness:  and do you not think I shall look back on them with gratitude?  And there is not to be a word said about my going.  No; it is understood that we cut off the past and the future for these six days.  We are here; we can speak to each other; that is enough."’

“But how can one help thinking of the future?” said she, with a mock mournfulness.  “You are going away alone.”

“No, not quite alone.”

She looked up quickly.

“Why, you know what Evelyn is—­the best-hearted of friends,” he said to her.  “He insists on going over to America with me, and even talks of remaining a year or two.  He pretends to be anxious to study American politics.”