"Wheresoe'er the Sun
Doth journey in his chariot, I have sought
For that which shall outweigh the love of woman.
On earth, in air, in water, many things
Fair have I found, the seed of song in man,
The seed of flowers in the earth, but over all,
And fairer far and greater, is the seed
Of love. When love hath flown, who shall endure?"
"Queer song for me to sing, isn't it, Bianca?" Charlotta called back over her shoulder. "Yet perhaps after all it is because I intend to try to live always as true as I can to my ideals that I have done what my father and aunt and perhaps Mrs. Clark do not approve. I ought to remember that I am a good deal older than you are in years and far, far older in experience. Yet I do so love the old German lieder, even if they are sentimental."
As Bianca made no reply to this speech continuing on her way, Charlotta began walking faster than she realized.
Until this afternoon she had never felt so thoroughly happy over her freedom from the future which for nearly a year had stretched before her like a dark cloud. Since leaving Luxemburg, although she had not actually regretted her own action, at least she had been harassed with the sense of her father's anger and disappointment.
But today she was happy in forgetting everything save her love of the fresh air, of the blue sky, of the dark rim of hills on the further side of the Rhine, of walking deeper and deeper into the spring woods.
"Don't you think we had better go back, Charlotta?" Bianca called, not once, but several times, and if Charlotta had only been less self-absorbed she must have understood that Bianca's voice each time sounded a little further away and fainter.
But finally, hearing an unexpected sound, Charlotta swung swiftly around.
About half a dozen yards from her, Bianca had fallen and was making no effort to rise.
"Bianca dear, I am so sorry," she cried out at once with the impulsive sweetness characteristic of her. "I am afraid you are tired out and I am a wretch not to have remembered! Mrs. Clark will be angry with me. Come, let me help you up. I wish I could carry you, but at least you can take my arm. Oh dear, what an impossibly selfish person I am! Poor Miss Pringle is probably dreadfully worried to discover what has become of us. I fear my aunt is right when she says I never think of other people until it is too late to be of value to them."
But although Bianca did get up, Charlotta was frightened to discover that every bit of color had disappeared from her face and that she looked utterly worn out.