"Little child, little child," he said wearily, "since it is your wish,
I will go back to the mountains."
Then he bent over the counter, and put his hand on hers.
"I will come and see you to-morrow," he said. "I think there are one or two things I want to say to you."
The next moment he was gone.
In the afternoon of that same day Bernardine went to the City. She was not unhappy: she had been making plans for herself. She would work hard, and fill her life as full as possible. There should be no room for unhealthy thought. She would go and spend her holidays in Petershof. There would be pleasure in that for him and for her. She would tell him so to-morrow. She knew he would be glad.
"Above all," she said to herself, "there shall be no room for unhealthy thought. I must cultivate my garden."
That was what she was thinking of at four in the afternoon: how she could best cultivate her garden.
At five she was lying unconscious in the accident-ward of the New
Hospital: she had been knocked down by a waggon, and terribly injured.
She will not recover, the Doctor said to the nurse. "You see she is sinking rapidly. Poor little thing!"
At six she regained consciousness, and opened her eyes. The nurse bent over her. Then she whispered: