"Then, as I comfortably spread out the little heap of letters in front of me, I heard next door, in Martha's room, a dull thud and thereupon an indistinct noise that sounded to me like praying and sobbing.
"'That is how she celebrates Christmas,' I said, involuntarily folding my hands, and again I felt that pang at my heart, as if I were acting deceitfully and heartlessly towards my sister.
"And I brooded over it again till it became clear to me that the letters were to blame.
"'Do I not write and keep silence all for her good?' I asked myself; but my conscience would not be bribed; it answered: 'No.' Like flames of fire my blood shot up into my face, for I recognised with what pleasure my own heart hung upon those letters. 'What would she not give for one of these papers?' I went on thinking, 'She who perhaps no longer believes in his love, who is wrestling with the fear that he only did not come because he meant to tear asunder the ties that bind him to her heart.' 'And you hear her sobbing?' the voice within me continued, 'you leave her in her anguish, and meanwhile comfort yourself with the knowledge that you share a secret with him, with him who belongs to her alone?'
"I clasped my hands before my face; shame so powerfully possessed me, that I was afraid of the light which shone down upon me.
"'Give her the letters!' the voice cried suddenly, and cried so loudly and distinctly that I thought the storm must have shouted the words in my ears.
"Then I fought a hard battle; but each time my good intention wavered, hard pressed by the fear of breaking my word to him, and by the wish to remain still longer in secret correspondence with him, her sobbing and praying reached me more distinctly and confused my senses so, that I felt like fleeing to the ends of the earth in order to hear no more.
"And at length I had made up my mind. I carefully packed the letters together in a neat little heap, tied them round with a silk ribbon, and set about carrying them across to her.
"'That shall be your Christmas present,' said I, for I remembered that this year I had not been able to embroider or crochet anything for her, as had usually been the custom between us. And as he who gives likes to clothe his doings in theatrical garb in order to hide his overflowing heart, I determined first to act a little comedy with her.
"I crept, half-dressed as I was, down into the sitting-room, where our presents were spread under the Christmas tree, groped in the dark for her plate, gathered up what lay beside it, and on the top of all placed the little packet of letters. Thus laden, I came to her door and knocked.