I must ask you to put away that thought.  Let the feu sacre of the regenerator, the liberator, have full possession of you.  How I should blame myself if I were to distract you from the aims to which you have devoted your life.  I have no one to advise me; but this I know is right.  You will, I think, not misunderstand me—­you will not think it unmaidenly of me—­if I confess to you that I have written these words with some pain, some touch of regret that all is not possible to you that you may desire.  But for one soul on devotion.  Do I express myself clearly?—­you know English is not my native tongue.  If we may not go through life together, in the sense that you mean, we need not be far apart; and you will know, as you go forward in the path of a noble duty, that there is not any one who regards you and the work you will do with a greater pride and affection than your friend,

  NATALIE.”

What could it all mean? he asked himself.  This was not the letter of a woman who loved another man; she would have been more explicit; she would have given sufficient reason for her refusal.  He read again, with a beating heart, with a wild hope, that veiled and subtle expression of regret.  Was it not that she was prepared to sacrifice forever those dreams of a secure and happy and loving life, that come naturally to a young girl, lest they should interfere with what she regarded as the higher duty, the more imperative devotion?  In that case, it was for a firmer nature than her own to take this matter in hand.  She was but a child; knowing nothing of the sorrows of the world, of the necessity of protection, of the chances the years might bring.  Scarcely conscious of what he did—­so eagerly was his mind engaged—­he opened a drawer and locked the letter in.  Then he went hastily into the other room.

“Evelyn,” said he, “will you take my place, like a good fellow?  I shall be back as soon as I can.  Waters will get you everything you want.”

“But about Wolverhampton, Mr. Brand?” shouted Humphreys after him.

There was no answer; he was half-way down the stairs.

When the hansom arrived in Curzon Street a hurried glance showed him that the dining-room was lit up.  She was at home, then:  that was enough.  For the rest, he was not going to trouble himself with formalities when so beautiful a prize might still be within his reach.

He knocked at the door; the little Anneli appeared.

“Anneli,” said he, “I want to see Miss Lind for a moment—­say I shall not detain her, if there is any one with her—­”

“They are in the dining-room, sir; Madame Potecki, and a strange gentleman—­”

“Ask your mistress to let me see her for one moment; don’t you understand?”

“They are just finishing dinner, sir:  if you will step up to the drawing-room they will be there in a minute or two.”

But at last he got the little German maid to understand that he wished to see Miss Lind alone for the briefest possible time; and that she was to carry this message in an undertone to her mistress.  By himself he made his way up-stairs to the drawing-room; the lamps were lit.