'Our present life is so busy and full of agitation,' went on Edmund. 'We shall all do better when Hedwig has fairly taken up her abode here.'

'And I mine at Schönfeld,' added the Countess, with profound bitterness. 'Well, we have but an interval of a few weeks to pass.'

'Mother, you are unjust. Am I the cause of your leaving? This separation takes place by your own express wish.'

'I saw that it was necessary for us both. We could not continue to live on together, as we have lived during the past two months. You are frightfully overwrought, Edmund, and I do not know how it will all end, whether your marriage will produce some change in your frame of mind. Perhaps Hedwig may succeed in making you calm and happy once more. Your love for her is now my one hope ... for I ... my power is over!'

Things must indeed have gone far when the proud woman, who had so long triumphantly maintained the first place in her son's affections, stooped to such an avowal as this. There was no bitterness and no reproach in her words, but their tone betrayed such poignant grief that Edmund, with quick remorse, went up to her and took her hand.

'Forgive me, mother. I did not mean to hurt you. Indeed, indeed, I would not wound your feelings. You must be indulgent to me.'

He spoke with a touch of the old tenderness, and more was not needed to make the Countess forget all the estrangement. She moved as though she would have drawn her son to her breast, but it was not to be. Edmund, yielding, as it were, to an irresistible impulse, recoiled involuntarily; then, remembering himself at once, he bent over his mother's hand and pressed his lips to it.

The Countess turned very pale, but she had been too long accustomed to this shy avoidance, this horror of her embrace, to be offended by it. So it had been for months, but the mother could not, or would not, understand that her son's love was altogether lost to her.

'Think of my request,' she said, collecting her energies. 'Take some care of yourself for Hedwig's sake. Show some prudence and moderation; you owe it both to her and to yourself.'

Then she rose from her seat and left the room, hesitating yet a moment on the threshold. Perhaps she hoped to be detained; if so, the hope was futile. Edmund stood quite motionless, not looking up until she had quitted the room.