$2.50 
 
 THE 
 ENCOUNTER 
 
 By Anne Douglas Sedgwick 
 
 THIS story of Nietzsche in love, 
 one of the best of Anne Doug- 
 las Sedgwick's earlier novels, 
 is now re-issued in the Uniform 
 Edition. 
 
 ' Rarely is a novel so filled 
 to the brim with ideas, rarely 
 does it combine so success- 
 fully and illusively the ele- 
 ments of seriousness and fan- 
 tasy. ... A novel that is 
 brilliant, a novel that grows 
 all the greater in retrospect.' 
 Boston Transcript.
 
 EtS* 
 

 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 BY 
 ANNE DOUGLAS SEDGWICK 
 
 (MRS. BASIL DE SfiLINCOURT) 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
 
 COPYRIGHT, I9I4, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 All. RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE 
 THIS BOOK OR PARTS THEREOF IN ANY FORM 
 
 CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
 PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
 
 Those of my readers who are familiar with the life 
 of a famous modern philosopher will find a resem- 
 blance to his tragi-comic love affair in the story of 
 Ludwig Wehlitz and Persis Fennamy. With the ex- 
 ception of its central figure, who embodies an im- 
 pression of his piteous and splendid prototype, the 
 characters in my novel are entirely imaginary.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER
 
 2799 
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IT was very still in the Pension Mullen The oil- 
 lamp had been thriftily extinguished in the en- 
 trance hall an hour before, and it was two hours since 
 the band had ceased playing in the Kur-Garten. The 
 last murmurs of the little German watering-place, held 
 in the shallow cup of its surrounding hills, came, ir- 
 resolutely, lethargically, through the open window 
 where Persis Fennamy sat, like the broken words of a 
 child that falls asleep. The window was at the back 
 of the pension and overlooked, from its top story, the 
 gnarled old apple-trees in the garden below, where 
 tin tables stood among untidy grass. An iron grille 
 at the bottom of the garden, rusty, but of a somewhat 
 imposing height and pattern, gave upon the river-path ; 
 then came the river with its bordering of woods, and 
 the quiet hills, rising, some miles away, to a fairly 
 dignified mountainous silhouette. On the right the 
 river-path led to the Eichen Promenade where, among 
 a little plantation of oak-trees, a cheerfully caparisoned 
 cafe attracted many customers on the warm autumn 
 evenings. 
 
 3
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 All was dully sleeping now and offered little of 
 beauty to the young girl sitting at her window, her 
 elbows on the table drawn beside it, her head in her 
 hands. The very river looked like a grey pavement, 
 it hardly seemed to flow, and the hills with their neat 
 patchwork of wood and vineyard, sharply outlined on 
 the sky, looked like pasteboard scenery. Only the 
 moon, high in the heavens, had grace, and the illumined 
 air and the two lombardy poplars which grew in an 
 adjacent garden and trembled incessantly as the soft 
 night-wind passed over them. Upon these trees 
 Persis Fennamy had fixed her eyes, and in the prosaic 
 stillness they were like her thoughts, lonely, dark, 
 serene, and aimlessly melancholy. 
 
 The two candles, placed at either end of the table, 
 and hardly flickering in the nocturnal air, revealed a 
 childish profile, with rounded forehead, small, flattened 
 nose, small, short chin; in full face, the long brows 
 and dilated nostrils and wide curled lips, that seemed 
 at once to pout with a sort of weariness and to smile 
 with a sort of disdain, tinged the more trivial aspects 
 with Egyptian analogies of haughty, pensive force. 
 The eyes were large, radiant and cold. 
 
 She had sat here for a long time ever since she and 
 her mother had come up from their small salon on the 
 ground floor where they had spent the evening on 
 either side of the lamp, she over a volume of Carducci, 
 her mother quietly rustling among the pages of the 
 English and American newspapers that the post had 
 brought. The sonorous Italian rhythms had been 
 
 4
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 beating in her mind as she came upstairs; and all the 
 time that she had sat here they had seemed to people 
 her thoughts with dissolving arabesques, with ara- 
 besques that were feelings rather than forms, feelings 
 imperious, urgent, stoically yet languorously sad. 
 At first, the rhythmic urgency beating in her, she had 
 thought that she would write. She had never 
 kept a diary; she had never been interested in re- 
 corded facts, even when they concerned herself, and, 
 even in early girlhood, had known little of any but 
 a disinterested, unemotional introspection. But she 
 wrote poetry sometimes, fragmentary, inconclusive 
 verses ; her moods seeming to drive them in, as waves 
 drive in their crumbling, fretted curves upon the sands. 
 Sheaves of such records, written on haphazard sheets, 
 filled the battered green leather box that stood on the 
 chest of drawers; treasured, with its velvet lining and 
 secure lock, since her thirteenth birthday, when her 
 mother had given it to her to hold the already accumu- 
 lating store. But though to-night she had drawn the 
 paper towards her, and though the pen lay ready 
 beside it, she had written nothing. The cloudy 
 arabesques, towering, falling, wreathing those feel- 
 ings of undefined power had shaped themselves, as 
 the time went by, into faces only, into a retrospect 
 peopled by a procession of faces that made her more 
 lonely than before; for, though so many, they were 
 none of them near. There was the nameless little 
 face, red-hooded, pale and freckled on a snowy back- 
 ground, of some little girl with whom in very early 
 
 5
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 childhood she had played in America; she often saw 
 her clearly, and she sometimes wondered what had 
 become of her; with this came a hovering of the eyes 
 and smile of an Irish nurse and the benignant form 
 of a grandmother, in black silk, with lace cap and 
 diamond brooch, who had taken her to a mysteriously 
 glimmering cupboard and given her slices of " layer 
 cake " ; and then a dim vision dim because so slight 
 and swift, yet it seemed to flash always like a falling 
 star of her father's face, with strange, pale, shining 
 eyes and tossed back hair. He had died when she 
 was four. After this came the crowded faces of all 
 their wanderings, her mother's and hers English, 
 French, German, Italian, Russian; faces of bonnes 
 and language mistresses, of table d'hote acquaintances, 
 friends picked up at an Italian lake or French plage 
 or pension salon faces of the English family with 
 whom they had gone to stay in Somersetshire; once 
 only; they had been bored there; faces of the young 
 Russian nihilists they had come to know in Rome; 
 the face of the blind, learned German baroness, to 
 whose remote Prussian country-house they still paid 
 a visit every year, and the face of little Ninka, with 
 whose family they had spent a summer in Russia two 
 years ago; (little Ninka, now dead, who had been 
 so fond of her, and who, foolish and gentle, had used 
 to lean her head against her shoulder as she stood 
 beside her and to say : " I love you. You have the 
 eyes of a sea-maiden ") ; and Dexter Mainwaring of 
 Philadelphia, with whom she had ridden in the Bois, 
 
 6
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 in Paris, and whose urbane and elegant mother had 
 been so manifestly relieved when he had gone back 
 to Harvard unengaged; she had never given him a 
 chance to propose to her, though she had clearly seen 
 his state; he had made her think always of a beautiful 
 cake of soap, soap of the very best quality wrapped 
 in fine tissue-paper ; and through it all, of course, 
 looking at the procession with her, indeed, rather than 
 in it, went the little mild, coiffed head of her mother, 
 and the dark eyes and large yellow teeth of Eleanora 
 Zardo; while, like a lamp behind a thin and tattered 
 tapestry, she saw approach nearer and nearer the face 
 that held her thoughts more than any other, the 
 beautiful face that emerged at last of Prince Marco. 
 Persis did not know that she had fallen in love with 
 the Prince. She did not analyse her feeling for him. 
 He had arrested and enchanted her. She had felt 
 herself drawn towards him as a child is drawn, irresis- 
 tibly, by some bright object. All that could be counted 
 as passion in her consciousness was the icy, watchful 
 pride in which her emotion sheathed itself when aware 
 that nothing in his responded to it. She was indif- 
 ferently aware of worldly standards, but it hardly 
 crossed her thoughts that, even had he responded, a 
 wandering American girl with the tiniest of dots 
 could hardly have hoped for an alliance with the 
 splendid and impoverished creature. It was the fact 
 of his indifference that had held her in a vice of suffer- 
 ing. He had married, the winter before, a pretty, 
 commonplace little millionairess, Dexter Mainwaring's 
 
 7
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 cousin. He was said to be in love with her and Persis 
 had noted that she had golden hair and blue eyes as 
 indifferently as she noted, when her mother pointed it 
 out to her, that her ears were placed too low and made 
 her look like a newt. Whether the Prince's bride were 
 pretty or not pretty, and whether he had married her 
 for love or for money solely, were equally idle matters 
 to Persis since he had not loved herself. She knew no 
 malice and no jealousy. Now, in thinking of him, of 
 the glance and smile that had always made her think of 
 a pomegranate-flower, she closed her eyes and leaned 
 her head down on her arms and let her grief pass over 
 her as the trembling passed over the poplars. And so 
 she sat for a long time, drowned in a tearless, passion- 
 less melancholy. 
 
 She roused herself at last. One o'clock had struck 
 from the clock-tower in the town. She sat upright 
 and pushed back the hair that had fallen about her 
 face. Now she felt dispossessed, chill, indifferent. 
 She had turned her eyes on the poplars again and they 
 looked to her like vast submarine plants, rippling up- 
 wards in deep water; and she herself lay at the 
 bottom of the sea looking up at them. The thought 
 had the hallucinatory intensity of a nightmare; but 
 she directed it, indulging it, rather than mastered by 
 it, until, words rising at last in her mind, interlacing, 
 making chains, she took up her pen and drew the paper 
 towards her and wrote, with pauses in which, leaning 
 back in her chair, she fixed her eyes on the silvery 
 world outside: 
 
 8
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 The solemn poplars, murmuring and dark, 
 The poplars near my window in the night, 
 Stir in the midnight wind beneath the moon. 
 They flow and ripple like the sad sea-weed, 
 In air like water, ripple up the sky. 
 
 Lost in the crystal depths I seem to see 
 
 The dim moon far and high above me shine, 
 
 'With ghostly loveliness above me shine, 
 
 As though it shone through fathoms deep and cold, 
 
 As though I looked through water at the moon. 
 
 And I am lonely in the midnight world, 
 Lonely in fathoms deep beneath the moon, 
 Lonely beside the flowing poplars dark, 
 Like a drowned heart rocked on the ocean's bed. 
 
 She had hardly finished the lines and was looking 
 at them, already with indifference, when there came a 
 knock at the flimsy partition between her room and 
 the next. " Persis," said her mother's mild voice, 
 " are n't you in bed yet ? " 
 
 Persis turned a vague eye upon the wall from which 
 the sound emanated and for some moments did not 
 reply. Then, as if the meaning of the question had 
 only just reached her, she answered, " No." 
 
 " Are you going to bed soon ? " the voice continued. 
 
 Persis would have liked to say no, to this also, but 
 reflecting that she was indeed very tired and that, 
 moreover, there would be little further satisfaction 
 in her vigils now that she knew her mother to be aware 
 of them, she replied that she was. 
 
 " Well," came the flat, unemphatic accents, " I ex- 
 
 9
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 pect your feet are pretty cold, are n't they, and that 
 you 'd better have a hot-water bottle." 
 
 Prose though it was after her poetry, the suggestion 
 did not strike the young girl as ironic. She was accus- 
 tomed to seeing her life in two compartments and to 
 passing easily from the desolate loneliness of her inner 
 experience to the peopled, cheerful outer world where 
 her mother dwelt. She rose now, got her bottle and 
 went into her mother's room. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy was sitting up in bed reading, as 
 Persis had seen her do for so many years in so many 
 hotels and pensions. Two candles were placed upon 
 the corner of the stand beside her pillow and she had 
 just laid a French novel down upon the bed-clothes. 
 She wore a pink dressing jacket over her ruffled night- 
 dress and her abundant, if faded, golden hair was 
 neatly twisted, on her forehead, in little implements 
 of wire and leather. But, even at such an unpropitious 
 moment, her placid, delicately tinted face, with its 
 small, full, slightly withered lips, its minute nose and 
 curiously transparent eyes, was not devoid of charm. 
 Persis often thought that her mother looked like a 
 doll. She suggested analogies of wax and glass and 
 kid. Her personality was unruffled, unemotional and 
 singularly limited and literal. Yet she could never 
 satisfy herself as to how far the limitations extended 
 nor as to what might be hidden beneath the literalness, 
 and this uncertainty constituted a standing, if dim, 
 perplexity in her life. Mrs. Fennamy never thwarted, 
 never criticised, never complained ; her affection for her 
 
 10
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 child, as unexacting as it was undemonstrative, Persis 
 knew to be the mainspring of her existence and all her 
 activities to be conditioned by her daughter's wishes; 
 yet, beyond such outer adaptations, she never felt that 
 she influenced her mother in any way, and, at moments, 
 unexpectedly, disconcertingly, she would find herself 
 arrested, brought to a consciousness of what, before, 
 she had not seen, by some chance comment of her 
 mother's, some expression of a laconic, disenchanting 
 realism beside which her own impressions became ro- 
 mantic and even ingenuous. Her mother, however, 
 occupied her thoughts very little; she was merely, in 
 her remote fashion, aware of being fond of her and 
 of relying upon her very much as she relied upon the 
 comfortable things with which she associated her 
 cafe au lait and travelling-cushions and hot-water bot- 
 tles and eau-de-Cologne. In her nomadic life Mrs. 
 Fennamy had reduced a combined economy and com- 
 fort to a fine art. 
 
 She had raised herself on her pillows when her 
 daughter entered and lighted the little travelling spirit- 
 lamp that stood in readiness, as always, beside 
 the candles. With how many nocturnal incidents 
 Persis associated that spirit-lamp ! The little saucepan 
 of hot water was placed upon it and Persis suspended 
 her bottle in readiness upon the back of a chair, lean- 
 ing, while she waited, on the brass railing at the foot 
 of her mother's bed. 
 
 "What is your novel?" she inquired presently, 
 glancing at the yellow-backed volume. 
 
 ii
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " ' Rouge et Noir ' Have you read it ? " 
 
 " Yes, I 've read it," said Persis. She could not 
 remember a time when she had not read what she 
 wished to read. 
 
 " It 's pretty depressing," said Mrs. Fennamy ; and, 
 the water having begun faintly to sing, " Fill your 
 bottle before it boils," she said. " The way they go 
 is something dreadful; the neck of my new one 's 
 begun to leak already." And she then went on, picking 
 up her book again and adjusting her pince-nez with a 
 slender little hand, " And it 's pretty improper, too. 
 I suppose the young man gets his head cut off. I 'm 
 almost too sleepy to go on and find out to-night." 
 
 " Yes; he gets his head cut off," said Persis, smiling 
 slightly as she filled the bottle. 
 
 "Well, he deserves it," said Mrs. Fennamy. 
 " He 's about the meanest thing I ever came across." 
 
 " He was mean, certainly," Persis assented, screwing 
 on her top ; " but there is something piteous about 
 him, too. It's like seeing a rapid, bright little bird 
 of prey shot down." 
 
 " Well, I can't say I feel sorry for any of them," 
 said Mrs. Fennamy. "They all behaved about as 
 badly as they could. What they found in him to fall 
 in love with I can't imagine. Good-night, dear." 
 
 Persis stooped over her and they kissed affection- 
 ately.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 A KNOCK came at Mrs. Fennamy's door, when 
 Persis and her mother were haring their 
 breakfast together, and a deep, tragic voire, speaking 
 English, but with an Italian accent, inquired : " I 
 may come in ? " 
 
 " Come in ! Come in, Eleanora ! " mother and 
 daughter replied, and, the door opening, as if with 
 precaution, an extraordinary-looking woman slid into 
 the room, recalling, in her decorated height, her as it 
 were sombre festivity, a may-pole by Goya. 
 
 She was tall and gaunt and sallow, her face set with 
 dark eyes and with spacious teeth, like the ivory keys 
 of an ancient piano. Her brow, under a thatch of 
 dusty black hair, was ample and innocent, and she had 
 a retreating chin and dilated, histrionic nostrils. 
 
 This was the Signorina Eleanora Zardo, an old and 
 devoted friend, of whom Persis had said that she had 
 the brow and eyes of a sibyl and the mouth and chin of 
 a rabbit. " Or, perhaps," she had altered her meta- 
 phor, meditating the passionate benevolence, the ex- 
 travagance and strangeness of their Eleanora, " more 
 like a desert saint than a sibyl Saint Mary of Egypt. 
 Can't you see her eyes gazing at you from a cave ? " 
 Mrs. Fennamy had assented to this, adding that she 
 
 13
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 supposed Saint Mary of Egypt, also, did not very 
 often wash. Eleanora's hap-hazard personal habits 
 were the subject of frequent and distressed cogitations 
 on Mrs. Fennamy's part. 
 
 Persis had defended her from the imputation. 
 Eleanora, after all, steeped herself in mud once a year 
 at Tannenkreuz, and that was more than one could say 
 of Saint f^ary of Egypt ; but Mrs. Fennamy surmised 
 that Saint Mary had spent her life sitting in hot sand, 
 and that hot sand was very cleansing. 
 
 Signorina Zardo was; indeed, ambiguously dishev- 
 elled with her impenetrable hair and great, black, 
 plumed, battered and dusty hat and her tattered silks 
 and laces, rose and black and grey, all strangely caught 
 together by tarnished safety pins or old cameos and 
 mosaics. Long earrings of pearl and coral repaired 
 with white thread dangled *irom her ears; the ruffled 
 lace at her elbows was old and dingy. 
 
 Signorina Zardo was a scholar, and had lectured on 
 Dante, in London, Boston and Berlin. Her friend- 
 ships were cosmopolitan. She lived when at home, in 
 Florence, in the darkest of little entresols, and gave 
 counsel, consolation and often, from meagre resources, 
 material assistance to numberless proteges, many of 
 them of European disreputability. Nothing could 
 chill or repel her devotion. On her mother's side she 
 derived from an ancient and iniquitous family. She 
 was the fruit of a mesalliance; her father had been a 
 music-teacher. 
 
 She had come to Tannenkreuz some weeks before 
 
 14
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 the Fennamys, and was staying at a cheaper pension 
 near by. 
 
 " My dears what can you think or guess ! " she 
 said, after she had placed her parasol in a corner and 
 seated herself near the bed, where, the breakfast tray 
 upon her knees, Mrs. Fennamy sat propped on pillows. 
 " Je vous le donne en cent. I had myself no idea 
 not the faintest of such a thing. He is here ! Lud- 
 wig is here! I have but just seen him! " 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy looked up from the roll she was but- 
 tering. She always had her bath and did her hair 
 before she breakfasted. Her head now was a master- 
 piece of compact puff and fluff and coil. The light 
 fringe that covered half her forehead gave to her 
 clear, incurious eyes an added and almost infantile 
 directness. "Ludwig?" she inquired. "Who, 
 Eleanora dear, is Ludwig?" 
 
 Persis answered her. " There is only one Ludwig, 
 mamma; Herr Wehlitz, of course; Eleanora's phi- 
 losopher friend. Is he staying in Tannenkreuz, Elea- 
 nora?" 
 
 " Yes, my child ; staying here. And I had thought 
 him in Switzerland. His health is bad. You will 
 remember my anxieties on the score of his health. It 
 was, I find, a sudden decision to come to Tannenkreuz. 
 Herr Sachs advised the baths, and Ludwig then re- 
 membered that I had spoken well of them. They 
 came on at once from the Engadine. Already, he 
 says, he feels benefitted. Yes; he will doubtless be 
 here for the rest of our own stay." 
 
 15
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I remember now," Mrs. Fennamy said, adding 
 honey to her roll. " He is the man who writes the 
 queer books and who quarrels with all his friends. 
 You are the only one he has n't quarrelled with, are n't 
 you, Eleanora ? " 
 
 Signorina Zardo, at this, threw up her hands and 
 eyes as if at an incorrigible child. " Annetta mia!" 
 she murmured. " Know, my friend," she went on, 
 smiling and shaking her head, " know that a giant 
 such as Ludwig wrestles ^only with those approaching 
 his own stature. The pigmies he leaves in peace. 
 Why not? They can do him no affront. I, to my 
 great Ludwig, am such a pigmy. I do not understand 
 the meaning of the thunderstorms I see raging above 
 my head. So I tell him. So I am safe. I do not 
 understand his books. They are terrible and full of 
 splendour; abysses where one sees great lights fall- 
 ing or mounting. Abysses that may be heavens " 
 Signorina Zardo's voice had fallen to a low note of 
 awed melancholy as she spoke " but not mine ; not 
 mine," she finished. She counted herself an idealist 
 free-thinker; yet the roots of her Church were deep 
 in her. 
 
 Persis, who had glanced away from her and back 
 at her and up at the ceiling and out of the window, 
 while she was speaking, now said : " You pretend 
 not to understand his books so that you need not quar- 
 rel with him, so that you may keep him your friend. 
 You do understand them and you abhor them." 
 
 For a moment Signorina Zardo, fixing her great 
 
 16
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 eyes upon the girl, contemplated her in silence. Then, 
 her face softening to a half playful, half cajoling 
 smile, she again shook her head and, putting a finger 
 to her lips, said in a stage whisper: " And if it is so, 
 Persis? If it is so? I throw myself upon your 
 mercy ! " 
 
 " I won't betray you," said Persis slightly smiling. 
 " He shall keep his only friend as far as I am con- 
 cerned." 
 
 " Ah but you are mistaken I am not his only 
 friend. He still has friends, and devoted friends, 
 with him. Herr Sachs is such a one, and Graf von 
 Liidenstein should be counted among them. And I 
 want him to make yet another," Signorina Zardo went 
 on, leaning to the young girl and taking her hand. 
 " I want him to know our Persis ; our poetess ; our 
 strange dreamy head. You are to meet. And if you 
 have often heard his name on my lips be assured that 
 he has often heard yours." 
 
 " We must meet, of course," said Persis, " but 
 whether to be friends is another question. I may like 
 the man less than his books for his books I do like 
 they do not frighten me at all. Do you remember, 
 Eleanora, three years ago in Florence, the day I cut 
 my hand and you took me into your room to bind it 
 up, and I leaned over your dressing-table to see the 
 photograph standing there? It stood next to one of 
 me that may have been a good omen and I spotted 
 it with blood when I took it up, and that may have 
 been a bad one. But you told me then that he was 
 
 17
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 your great unhappy friend and that I though I was 
 only sixteen was the only woman you had known 
 who could understand him. I have always wished to 
 meet him, too, since then." 
 
 Persis Fennamy spoke with a singular maturity. 
 She had been versed since childhood in foreign 
 tongues, and her own had come to be but one among 
 many, to be used with the same ease and the same 
 exactitude. There was nothing girlish, nothing care- 
 less or excessive in her use of words. 
 
 " I remember. I have always remembered. I 
 have always intended that you should meet," said 
 Signorina Zardo. " For years those two faces have 
 stood together on my table. You have always been 
 as different from other women as he from other men. 
 You are fitted, as no one else whom I have known, to 
 be his disciple. Often, in what you say, I hear his 
 own irony, his own scorn, and his aspiration." She 
 and Persis looked at each other, Signorina Zardo with 
 solemnity, the young girl, though slightly smiling, 
 with an accepting gravity. 
 
 " Has he still that big moustache ? " Mrs. Fennamy 
 inquired, pouring out her second cup of coffee. She 
 was an abstemious little person and breakfast was, 
 to her, the chief meal of the day. " I remember that 
 photograph. I never liked those big, gushing mous- 
 taches. I always think a man must have a weak 
 mouth when he wears such a big moustache." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy often disconcerted Signorina Zardo. 
 She was disconcerted now and glanced at Persis, 
 
 18
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 murmuring : " Weak ? There is nothing in Ludwig 
 that is weak. Strength is his creed; he is the apostle 
 of strength. It is a mere matter of fashion, the way 
 in which a man may choose to wear his moustache 
 ... Is it not so, cherie?" She was troubled. Her 
 eyes dwelt almost with appeal on Persis. 
 
 "Of course it is/' said Persis, taking up her neg- 
 lected cup of coffee. " Like the colour of neck-ties or 
 the cut of trousers. How horrid; my coffee is quite 
 cold." 
 
 " There's plenty more milk here," said Mrs. Fen- 
 namy, pouring the tepid contents of the milk-jug into 
 her ubiquitous saucepan. " Heat it on the spirit- 
 lamp." And she went on as unpolemically as if the 
 milk alone were in question : " Glaring eyes are n't 
 a matter of fashion, anyway. I think a man whose 
 eyes glare when he is being photographed must be 
 weak in some ways. It's all very well to glare 
 when you 're looking down an abyss." And she 
 added, since to this there was no reply : " And as for 
 trousers, you know, Persis, you never could bear that 
 young Englishman we met on the Riviera, because his 
 trousers were too loose." 
 
 " It remains to be seen whether I shall be able to 
 bear Herr Wehlitz, since his moustache is too big," 
 said Persis. " When are we to meet, Eleanora ? I 
 promise you to see the moustache and the glare in 
 true proportion. I imagine that I shall be able to 
 forgive them to him." 
 
 " Oh, my dear, forgive ! He is not one to need 
 
 19
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 forgiveness ! " Signorina Zardo murmured, vexed, 
 almost to tears, it was evident, by her friend's levity. 
 " But for the meeting, that is not yet arranged. I 
 am to go to his hotel at one he is at the Beau Sejour 
 and then we will see what can be settled. Ludwig 
 is capricious, uncertain, and by no means re-estab- 
 lished yet in health. He cannot count upon himself." 
 
 Persis stood watching her milk slowly heave in the 
 saucepan and since she was silent Signorina Zardo 
 went on to say that Herr Sachs, Ludwig's devoted 
 friend, had come with him to Tannenkreuz and, in- 
 deed, had been with him for over a year now. He 
 was a cripple; an admirable little person. Graf von 
 Liidenstein, too, a very brilliant man, a man of the 
 world, had come in order to be near Ludwig, for 
 whom his admiration was unbounded. 
 
 Persis now laid the little silver strainer on her cup 
 and poured out her hot milk, and, as she came back 
 to her seat, she remarked that they could meet Herr 
 Wehlitz that afternoon at four in the Kur-Garten. 
 
 Signorina Zardo, had she been less gladly preoccu- 
 pied, might have perceived from the young girl's 
 slightly sulky air that in her own betrayal of uncer- 
 tainty she had blundered.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 MRS. FENNAMY and Signorina Zardo had 
 met twelve years before at a Swiss hotel 
 where their modest au quatrieme, united by a balcony, 
 overlooked a great lake and a range of snowy Alps. 
 
 Persis had then been seven years old, an unusual 
 little girl, with brilliant, glancing eyes, dark brows 
 and radiant hair falling to her waist. Her clothes, 
 too for Mrs. Fennamy had always known how to 
 dress her child had been unusual; little cloaks of 
 poppy-red silk over white lawn frocks; small black 
 shoes, like those of Alice-in- Wonderland, strapped 
 across white socks, and shell-like little hats of fine 
 white straw. It was the child, rather than the un- 
 obtrusively elegant mother, who had first attracted 
 Signorina Zardo's attention as she stood leaning on 
 the balcony, gazing with pondering, perplexed brows 
 at the sunlit evening clouds. " Is it an only child, 
 madame ? " she had inquired when the little girl had 
 been taken away to bed and she and Mrs. Fennamy, 
 divided only by an iron railing, sat over their coffee. 
 
 " Yes ; she is my only child," Mrs. Fennamy re- 
 plied. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy neither invited nor repelled casual 
 acquaintances. Signorina Zardo seemed to her rather
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ridiculous-looking, and distressingly unkempt, but she 
 was quite willing to talk to her, dimly aware of some- 
 thing in the aspect of the melancholy Italian which 
 pleased her more than her untidiness displeased. She 
 had had no opportunity to make acquaintances other 
 than casual. Her friends, the gentry of a small, far- 
 away American town, were not of a kind who could 
 offer European letters of introduction. When they 
 went to Europe, a rite almost as punctually accom- 
 plished as " coming out " or confirmation, they were 
 occupied, solely and perforce, with the sights of the 
 countries they visited and not with their societies. 
 The people in Ashleyville couldn't imagine why 
 Annette Fennamy should care to go wandering about 
 with her child as she had now done for two years; 
 for her letters never conveyed the least appreciation 
 of the opportunities for culture amongst which she 
 moved. Nor did she write of people. Her life 
 seemed a serene and aimless oscillation. 
 
 "A very unusual little child," Signorina Zardo 
 pursued on this occasion, a momentous one for mother 
 and daughter. " And you travel with her ? You 
 will educate her in Europe? You are an American, 
 are you not?" 
 
 "Yes, we're Americans," said Mrs. Fennamy, 
 " and I expect I '11 keep Persis over here till she 's 
 grown up." 
 
 Signorina Zardo showed her surprise. " But that 
 will be many years! You have friends on this side? 
 Your little child has companions? She will not miss 
 
 22
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 her home? Or are you perhaps training her to a 
 vocation ? " 
 
 " No ; we don't know anybody, hardly, over here. 
 A friend of mine is married in London, but we don't 
 care much about her husband and we met some 
 people we took to a great deal in Florence." Mrs. 
 Fennamy quite spoke as if the tastes of her child 
 counted with her own. " But that 's all. I don't 
 think Persis misses anything. She 's too young to 
 miss anything. And we have n't a home, exactly, any 
 longer. I 'm a widow ; my mother died three years 
 ago and my father 's been dead for a long time and I 
 never had any brothers or sisters. It seemed more 
 satisfactory to come over here than to stay in Ashley- 
 ville; not that I couldn't be very contented in Ash- 
 leyville." 
 
 "* Ashleyville ? Where is that? I have been in 
 America, but I do not remember the name." The 
 Italian lady was frankly curious. 
 
 " Well, you 'd not be likely to have heard of Ash- 
 leyville," said Mrs. Fennamy with her small smile 
 that neither apologized for the insignificance of her 
 native place nor claimed acknowledgment for its 
 dignity. " Yes, it 's a small town." She told Signor- 
 ina Zardo all about Ashleyville; its derivation from 
 New England and Virginia ; its drowsy streets, shaded 
 by avenues of trees; its sober Colonial houses; its 
 strict social traditions of mingled austerity and inno- 
 cence. She placed it with affectionate impartiality. 
 " Yes ; it 's simple in some ways ; most ways, perhaps ; 
 
 23
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 but not in the ways Europeans expect to find. It's 
 the kind of place they never seem to see. It isn't a 
 bit crude or hurried or anxious. It just thinks it 's all 
 right and it 's been thinking so for a good while as 
 good whiles go in America. It 's just as peaceful and 
 as contented as can be and the people are the nicest sort 
 of people, only caring about reading all the best books 
 and bringing up their children well and having nice, 
 sweet homes;" Mrs. Fennamy spoke with tenderness. 
 " I could be very contented in Ashleyville," she re- 
 peated ; " but I felt from the first that Persis did n't 
 belong there." 
 
 " Indeed ? She did not belong there ? It was too 
 peaceful, too kind and too rooted for your potent 
 little child? Yes, I can understand your feeling. 
 And what then of your larger cities? New York, or 
 Boston ? Did you think of them ? " 
 
 " Yes; I thought of them; I have some friends in 
 New York. I stayed there one winter after I married 
 and I liked it in a way; but as far as the people went 
 it seemed to me pretty much the same as Ashleyville. 
 They were just the same people, except that they had 
 better accents and that more of them had their clothes 
 made in Paris and gave dinner-parties instead of 
 luncheons; they weren't a bit different; and what I 
 felt about Persis was that she was different. So I 
 thought we 'd better leave America. I thought 
 there 'd be more chance of being different over here." 
 
 Signorina Zardo had kept her eyes upon the little 
 lady with deepening interest. " But it is a very 
 
 24
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 extraordinary, a very strange and valiant motive; to 
 leave your home, your kindred and all you care for," 
 she exclaimed. " You believe in your child's destiny. 
 You sacrifice your life to that." 
 
 This romantic interpretation did not seem to fit in 
 with Mrs. Fennamy's conception of the case. She 
 shook her head saying : " I don't know about a 
 destiny. I don't feel ambitious, exactly, about her. 
 I just feel as if I was taking a fish out of so ft- water 
 where it did n't belong and putting it in the sea, where 
 it did, to take its chances. It 's not sacrificing my 
 life. Persis is the most interesting thing in my life, 
 and the most interesting thing I can do is to give her 
 all the chances I can." 
 
 Signorina Zardo's gaze dwelt on her as she broke a 
 tablet of beetroot sugar to the required length and 
 dropped it into her second cup of coffee. It was 
 arresting to receive so strongly an impression of the 
 indomitable, the inflexible, the purposeful from one 
 apparently so trivial, these qualities seeming as far 
 removed from the little lady with her fair, elaborate 
 head and black lace frills and pale blue bows as were 
 the snowy Alps from tablets of beetroot sugar. There 
 was no emotion, no enthusiasm, no romance about 
 her, yet Signorina Zardo had rarely felt more arrested 
 by anyone. 
 
 " Signora," she said, " you and your Persis interest 
 me greatly. Will you count me among the many new 
 friends that your new life will surely bring you?" 
 And Mrs. Fennamy, smiling quietly at her while she 
 
 25
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 stirred her coffee, said, " Why yes ; thank you ever so 
 much. You wont find me interesting, you know, but 
 as Persis grows up she '11 interest you more and more, 
 I feel sure; and you're just the sort of friend I want 
 for Persis. You 're different, too. There was noth- 
 ing in Ashleyville a bit like you." 
 
 After that, on sunny mornings, when she and 
 Signorina Zardo sat under the trees in the garden 
 watching Persis play, Mrs. Fennamy would talk about 
 her child for as long as her new friend cared to ques- 
 tion her. Persis usually played alone, going in and 
 out among the shrubberies with an air of absorbed 
 and intricate drama, hiding, tip-toeing out, and racing 
 suddenly along the sanded paths to the far wall at the 
 lake-edge where her bonne, a merry, dark-eyed 
 French woman with close white cap and agile hands, 
 sat sewing. She seemed fond of her bonne, fonder, 
 apparently, than of her mother, and would throw her- 
 self, breathlessly, against her knees, looking up at her 
 in some secret triumph. She did not seem to care at 
 all for dolls. Signorina Zardo never saw her with 
 one. " No," said Mrs. Fennamy. " She likes to 
 look at them at first, if they are pretty and nicely 
 dressed; but then she puts them away and seems to 
 forget all about them. And she doesn't care about 
 other children, either. I asked her why she didn't 
 play with that little Canadian girl who is always fol- 
 lowing her about and she said she did n't like her, and 
 when I asked why, she thought a moment and said it 
 was because she wore earrings. I don't like a child to 
 
 26
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wear earrings myself, do you? And she says she 
 does n't like the way another little girl's hair smells 
 it 's perfectly clean hair, you know only she says it 
 has a funny, soapy smell. Sometimes I think she 
 has n't much heart," Mrs. Fennamy went on dispas- 
 sionately. "We met a poor old beggar-woman with 
 one eye yesterday, and when we saw her Persis ran 
 up to me and took hold of my skirt as if she wanted 
 to be protected she seems really to be afraid of any- 
 thing ugly or unpleasant and I told her it was n't 
 brave to act like that, and to try and see if she 
 couldn't be brave, like Hercules when he killed the 
 Hydra, and give the poor old woman a ten centime 
 piece. And do you know what she said looking up 
 at me, her little face all white and set ' Why does n't 
 some one kill the old woman ? ' I told her the Hydra 
 was bad," Mrs. Fennamy continued after giving 
 Signorina Zardo the opportunity for a vague murmur, 
 " and that the poor old woman was good, and then 
 she asked me how I knew she was good, and I could n't 
 think of anything to say except that the Hydra would 
 have tried to tear us to pieces, but that all that the old 
 woman wanted was a little money to get herself some 
 food and that I 'd give it to her myself if she was too 
 cowardly ; and that braced her up and she said : * Let 
 me give her five francs, then, she can only get two 
 sticks of sucre d'orge for ten centimes.' So I gave 
 her a franc I thought five too much and when she 
 came back and we walked away she was rubbing the 
 hand the old woman had taken, and when I asked her 
 
 27
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 why she did that the old woman had looked quite 
 clean and nice she said : ' Her hand was like a 
 hen's foot, mamma, and she smelt like a hen.' She 
 seems to go very much by smells. But it sounds as 
 if she hadn't much heart, doesn't it?" 
 
 " I am afraid she will not like me, your interesting 
 child," said Signorina Zardo with her benignant, 
 melancholy smile. " I am ugly, and perhaps I, too, 
 smell like a hen." 
 
 " Oh no, Persis does n't think so," Mrs. Fennamy 
 assured her. " She thinks you smell like an old trunk 
 of mine where I keep fur and things in camphor ; it 's 
 a rather nice smell. The trunk has a picture of the 
 Bay of Naples inside the lid, and perhaps that made 
 her think of it, too. I told her you were an Ital- 
 ian." 
 
 Persis had, as yet, made no advances towards 
 acquaintance with her mother's new friend, but that 
 evening, Signorina Zardo, finding her alone and lean- 
 ing on the railing of the balcony, the little girl turned 
 her eyes on her and said : " Will you tell me a 
 story ? " 
 
 " A story ? What kind of a story ? " Signorina 
 Zardo asked, much pleased ; " I am not good at tell- 
 ing stories, I fear." 
 
 "Aren't you?" Persis said, her radiant yet cold 
 gaze dwelling on her. " But your eyes are full of 
 stories." 
 
 "Are they, indeed? Sad ones, perhaps you 
 think?" 
 
 28
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Yes ; very sad," said Persis, nodding. " All the 
 things that have happened to you, I guess. Were you 
 whipped and starved when you were little and shut in 
 prisons like Marie Antoinette ? Did you ever see peo- 
 ple having their heads cut off? " 
 
 " Dio mio! No. Such horrors were not in my 
 day, I am glad to say; though some time, when you 
 are older and study history, you may care to hear 
 many wonderful things that I have heard my father 
 tell stories of our great Italian struggle for liberty. 
 Dim memories, also, of my own. But no; I was not 
 unkindly treated when I was a child. My parents 
 died when I was still young, but the good aunt who 
 brought me up was kind to me." 
 
 " Then, when you grew up, perhaps it was then 
 that sad things happened," said Persis. " Perhaps 
 robbers carried you off in a wood and put you in a 
 dark cavern with bars of iron across the entrance 
 so dark that you could only see to grope your way to 
 the bowl of water and piece of dry bread they left 
 there for you. And at night, when they came back, 
 you had to work and work mending their clothes 
 and cooking for them by torchlight, till you grew so 
 thin and yellow and from being so much in the dark 
 your eyes got like an owl's eyes. Have you ever 
 seen an owl in the daytime? Their eyes are just like 
 yours." 
 
 Signorina Zardo's eyes, indeed, dwelt on her with 
 something of the bird's nocturnal melancholy. 
 " Strange little child," she said, " you put me into 
 
 29
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 fairy-tales. I was never carried off by robbers; yet 
 it is not so untrue, what you say of my life; not so 
 untrue." 
 
 Persis, after a hesitation, had given her her hand 
 and came and stood beside her knee, looking up at her 
 face and down at her dress and ornaments and away 
 at the sky and lake, after the flitting fashion that 
 Signorina Zardo had already remarked as character- 
 istic of her. " It is not so untrue," she murmured, 
 putting back the child's bright, turbulent hair with a 
 gentle hand. " I have been very poor ah, very poor 
 and that is, indeed, to be in a dark cavern. And 
 those for whom I toiled (I taught and wrote, yes, 
 far into the night) gave me little more than bread 
 and water in return. And so my youth passed away, 
 and I became thin and pale and old. Yet it was 
 not so sad as you might think, my little Persis. 
 You will learn that one may find treasures in the 
 cavern of poverty and, perhaps, see angels in the 
 dark." 
 
 "Treasures? what sort of treasures? These, do 
 you mean ? " Persis asked, touching the mosaics and 
 chains and cameos with which Signorina Zardo's 
 wrists and throat and breast were decorated. 
 
 " No ; not these," she said, smiling, " something 
 much better than these poor yet beloved trinkets. 
 The treasures I mean are friends; the hearts of 
 friends." 
 
 " Have you a great many friends ? " Persis asked, 
 leaning now against Signorina Zardo's knee as she 
 
 30
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 looked at her, some personal attraction in the gentle 
 Italian overcoming the shrinking from physical con- 
 tact so noticeable in the child. " I expect you have, 
 because you would be so good to them." 
 
 "Yes; I have many dear friends. My life is 
 blessed indeed." 
 
 " And did you really see angels ? Are n't angels 
 make-believes, like fairies and Santa Claus ? " 
 
 " No ; " Signorina Zardo shook her head. " Angels 
 are not make-believes. But they do not come as in 
 the picture-books. They are the thoughts of God 
 that visit us." 
 
 They continued to look at each other for a little 
 while after this, Signorina Zardo glad of the oppor- 
 tunity for influencing a young mind scantily supplied, 
 she imagined, with spiritual sustenance; then Persis 
 said, her eyes dilating singularly : " I pray to God 
 every night and morning, grandmamma taught me to, 
 years ago, when we lived in America; but I don't 
 know who He is or how He can hear me. If He is 
 good, why does He let things die? I saw a dead 
 mouse in the garden yesterday. It had blood on its 
 nose, and when I saw it was quite dead, it frightened 
 me so that I ran away and hid for a long time in the 
 bushes." 
 
 As she spoke, Signorina Zardo saw that she was 
 trembling. She lifted her to her lap, the little body 
 yielding with a curious languor, in which her new 
 friend read the benumbing influences of the remem- 
 bered fear. "Let me tell you, dear child," she said,
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " God lets nothing really die. We are all with Him 
 for ever. The time comes when our task here is 
 done and He calls us elsewhere." 
 
 " Has He called the mouse elsewhere ? " Persis 
 asked, leaning, very still, against her shoulder. 
 
 Signorina Zardo's theology was of the most un- 
 formulated; but to a child it seemed more suitable to 
 express it in the metaphors of her church. The ques- 
 tion of the mouse gave her pause. Fortunately, or 
 unfortunately, Persis passed from it. " Shall we be 
 like the mouse some day when He calls us else- 
 where?" she went on. 
 
 " Yes ; " said Signorina Zardo, though with some 
 reluctance. " Yes. We shall leave our bodies be- 
 hind us when we go." 
 
 The child now sat upright and there was anger as 
 well as fear in her widened eyes. " But I don't want 
 to leave my body," she said. " I don't want to be 
 like the mouse. Will there be blood on my nose, too ? 
 How do you know that I shall die ? " 
 
 Signorina Zardo was much disturbed. " When the 
 time comes we must all go," she varied her former 
 assertion; "though, let us hope, it may not be by a 
 sudden death, or a violent one, such as the poor mouse 
 died. There is nothing to fear, my child. God is 
 with us always." 
 
 But Persis slipped down and away from her arms. 
 " I won't die," she said, standing still and looking 
 at Signorina Zardo with a cold fixity of resolution. 
 " I won't go when He calls me elsewhere. You may 
 
 32
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 go, if you like, and Mamma may go, and Abelline; 
 but I will stay here." 
 
 " You would like to stay, alone, when all who loved 
 you had left you?" Signorina Zardo spoke almost 
 imploringly, aghast at her own predicament. 
 
 But the appeal to affection was vain. " Yes, I 
 would rather be alone than like the mouse," said 
 Persis. 
 
 That evening Signorina Zardo confessed to Mrs. 
 Fennamy her discomfiture. " It was stupid of me," 
 she said. " The child is too young to be troubled 
 with such thoughts. I tried, it is true, to tell her of 
 the other life, of heaven and all the happy things that 
 we should do there; but she would not go beyond the 
 fact of death." 
 
 " Why, that explains," said Mrs. Fennamy, " why 
 she refused to say her prayers to-night. She said she 
 was n't going to have anything to do with God any 
 more. Abelline, who is a very superstitious woman, 
 told her she 'd have to stay in Purgatory for ever if 
 she did n't say her prayers, and Persis said she wanted 
 to stay in Purgatory. I expect she thinks she '11 go 
 on living if she pays no attention to God." 
 
 " But it is sad ; most sad and unfortunate. A 
 young child's prayers; they are the framework of its 
 life. And the responsibility is mine. What would 
 you have done in my place, signora mia? Was I mis- 
 taken ? " Signorina Zardo inquired anxiously. 
 
 " Why no ; I don't see that you were," said Mrs. 
 Fennamy. " She 's got to find out about things some 
 
 33
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 day, and the time may come when she '11 perhaps wish 
 she could believe there was a God to call her. I 'm 
 an agnostic myself," Mrs. Fennamy added, without 
 complacency or apology, " and I expect Persis will be 
 when she grows up. I shan't try to influence her in 
 any way. She shall decide about things for herself." 
 
 On this occasion it was the first of many in the 
 years to come Signorina Zardo essayed to make a 
 breach in her friend's unaggressive scepticism, gazing 
 at her rather helplessly for some moment before mur- 
 muring: " But signora, you are not forgive me if 
 I say it, for is it not so? you are not enough a 
 woman of thought to be a disbeliever. One must 
 think much to have the right to doubt. And, I grant 
 it you one must think much more deeply live much 
 more deeply to have the right to believe. I do not 
 speak of orthodoxies. I speak of the fundamental 
 spiritual needs of our lives which we symbolize by the 
 words God, the soul, immortality." 
 
 But Mrs. Fennamy turned mild and unacquiescent 
 eyes upon her ; " I know I 'm not clever enough. I 
 could never have thought it all out by myself. It was 
 my husband who explained things to me. I 'd never 
 been religious; it was that that made him take an 
 interest in me in the beginning, he said, when he first 
 came to stay in Ashleyville. He used to laugh at me, 
 but it interested him; my family were all church 
 people, and I 'd said I did n't want to be confirmed. 
 He was a very clever man, and he was an agnostic. 
 That 's why my family were so upset when I married 
 
 34
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 him. We were married in church," Mrs. Fennamy 
 went on, the placid rhythm of her speech unchanged, 
 yet with a certain alteration of tone perceptible to the 
 Italian woman's discerning ear. " He did n't mind, 
 and neither did I; and I knew it would have made 
 mother so miserable if I hadn't been married in 
 church with white satin and orange-blossoms and a 
 veil. Persis was christened, too. But we neither of 
 us believed a bit in it, and he explained everything to 
 me, as well as I was able to understand it, how every- 
 thing began with atoms and how, when we died, all 
 that went on was the way we 'd behaved, and how the 
 great thing in life is to be interested, and kind to peo- 
 ple. I don't suppose I '11 ever think any differently 
 about it all. I 'm not likely to meet anyone cleverer 
 than he was, ever." 
 
 Signorina Zardo, as this ingenuous recital came 
 forth, kept her eyes on the little lady's face. Strange 
 in her very shallowness, and mysterious as she found 
 her, and ludicrous, too, in her childlike contentment 
 with her sawdust creed, she still could not look at her 
 or listen to her without a certain respect; tenderness, 
 already, she felt. She now said, after a little silence, 
 " Who was your husband ? What was his calling ? 
 Have you a picture of him? I should be very grate- 
 ful if I might see it." 
 
 " Yes ; I have a picture ; I '11 show it to you," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy, the slightly altered pitch of her voice 
 still discernible. " He was Irish. He was born in 
 Ireland and ran away from home, and went out to 
 
 35
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 California and did all sorts of things, wrote poetry 
 and ran newspapers. And he came to Ashleyville and 
 had a newspaper there ; it was the most brilliant paper 
 in the state, everybody said so, and I know some peo- 
 ple thought it was the most brilliant paper in Amer- 
 ica." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy rose and stepped from the balcony 
 into her room from which she presently returned with 
 a framed photograph in her hand. " Persis looks like 
 him, and she 's like him in all sorts of ways," she said, 
 giving it to Signorina Zardo. " It comes out more 
 and more." 
 
 This, then, was the heart of the story. Signorina 
 Zardo, appraiser of human values as she was, gazed at 
 the face, capricious, unstable, proud, gay, intolerant. 
 She saw the child in it. Yet, raising her eyes to the 
 wife's face, she could read the further inheritance that 
 seemed to bind the glittering sheaf of gifts with more 
 stubborn, more tranquil, if simpler, faculties. " I 
 see ; I see," she said, gently. " Beauty and talent and 
 distinction." 
 
 " There was n't ever anybody like him," said Mrs. 
 Fennamy in a low voice, turning her eyes on the 
 Alps.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 SIGNORINA ZARDO, in her glad excitement 
 that August afternoon at Tannenkreuz, revealed 
 again, as they walked to the Kur-Garten, that Herr 
 Wehlitz's consent to meet her friends had been 
 wrested from some unwillingness. " He is, as a rule, 
 the most intractable of recluses," she said, " but I have 
 already talked to him of Persis. I recalled her to 
 him; her deep studies, her independence, her courage; 
 I said to him, as I have said to you, Persis, that here 
 was the disciple, young, proud, plastic, able to bring 
 him a homage and an understanding that would have 
 its inspiration. For he feels himself isolated. He has 
 swept a great solitude around him. His life is on 
 the mountain-peaks; his former associates have fallen 
 from him and watch him scale the heights with sullen 
 or malignant eyes." 
 
 "He just wanders about, doesn't he, Eleonora?" 
 Mrs. Fennamy inquired, " living in pensions and 
 hotels. Has he got any family ? " 
 
 " No ; no family ; except an old mother who under- 
 stands him in nothing. What he needs is a disciple. 
 Herr Sachs is a devoted garde-malade rather than a 
 pupil and Graf von Liidenstein, though he so much 
 admires Ludwig, does not trouble himself with funda- 
 
 37
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mentals. He needs one who will sit at his knee and 
 learn from him and then, in turn, reinterpret him to 
 the world. I put it all before him when I went to 
 him after leaving you, Persis, and he said, finally: 
 * Bring her. I will see her.' He will be there," 
 Signorina Zardo asserted with grave jubilation. 
 " Ludwig is one to keep his word." 
 
 To all this Persis listened in silence, slightly knitting 
 her brows now and then and now and then turning a 
 glance upon her old friend who, with stooping shoul- 
 ders, her eyes fixed on the green of the Kur-Garten, 
 walked beside her with shambling and uneven gait. 
 Persis walked with a slow, calm step. In a day of 
 constricted waists and irrelevant protuberances, her 
 black silk robe fell to her ankle over a dress of muslin, 
 fluent and unconfined, that gave her a look at once 
 childish and nymph-like. Her small white hat was 
 wreathed with green and on her breast hung a disc of 
 ancient gold, curiously engraved and fretted. Mrs. 
 Fennamy's elegance was heightened rather than 
 diminished by the fact that her little bonnet, tied 
 under her chin with a black lace bow, was in a bygone 
 fashion; it was a shape she always wore and it be- 
 came her admirably. Her black and azure, also, was 
 almost invariable; there was a knot of blue on the 
 handle of her black lace parasol and touches of blue 
 on breast and sleeve. Mother and daughter were un- 
 usual and people turned to look at them as they 
 passed. 
 
 They entered the Kur-Garten. The day was mild 
 
 38
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 and fresh. The sunlight under the trees lay in broken 
 pools upon the sanded paths. Near the distant Kur- 
 Haus the band was playing the Overture to Leonora. 
 
 " I told him to be at our favourite spot, beyond the 
 grotto," Signorina Zardo murmured, pressing for- 
 ward, and they turned the corner where, in the grotto, 
 an artificial waterfall plashed and tinkled among moss 
 and ferns. 
 
 " He is there ! It is he ! " she breathed. 
 
 A little avenue of interlaced lime-trees led to the 
 secluded spot, sunny yet shaded, which had been fixed 
 upon for the rendezvous, and here, seated at a table, 
 were three men, who rose to their feet as the ladies 
 appeared. One, dressed in a short black coat and 
 checked trousers of black and white, was slight and 
 dark; he stood erect and, at a distance, Persis felt 
 the gaze of his intent, near-sighted eyes. Another, 
 leaning his hand on his chair and crossing one leg over 
 the other, was of the robust, well-fleshed, Germanic 
 type, with a square yellow beard and eyeglasses. 
 The third was a cripple, with broad, stooping shoul- 
 ders, one leg in its clubbed boot far shorter than the 
 other, and a large head. He leaned upon a crutch and 
 even in the preoccupation of the moment Persis was 
 aware of his curious face, tormented yet jocular, and 
 its singular half -grimace of the comedian. 
 
 " My dear Ludwig ! Here we are ! " Signorina 
 Zardo exclaimed, advancing with hurrying steps and 
 outstretched hands. " A propitious day is it not ? 
 bright! beautiful! " she clasped his hand. " Sig- 
 
 39
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 nora Fennamy, Signorina Fennamy Herr Ludwig 
 Wehlitz; Graf von Liidenstein; Herr Conrad 
 Sachs," rapidly she presented them, turning her eyes 
 again on Wehlitz. " At last I see you meet. Je vois 
 mes vceux exauces You will sit, Annetta, here? 
 And you, Persis, mia cara, here, between me and 
 Herr Wehlitz?" 
 
 Persis, however, had already taken her seat at the 
 other side of the table. She laid her parasol across 
 her knees and looked about her with a gravity almost 
 severe. 
 
 Signorina Zardo continued to talk rapidly while 
 Mrs. Fennamy, attracting the attention of a kelner, 
 ordered tea, coffee and chocolate according to the 
 various tastes of the company. Signorina Zardo had 
 heard from Marius that morning, their wonderful 
 Marius. Had Graf von Liidenstein yet heard his new 
 quartette? It was to be performed at Munich next 
 week and the poor fellow was in great emotion. And 
 Jean Piridon had been admirably hung, medaille at 
 the Salon, did they know it? She had not seen the 
 picture, but it was highly praised. And had Graf von 
 Liidenstein yet read Tolstoi's last work? Oh, she 
 preferred the earlier Tolstoi of the " Anna " and the 
 " War and Peace." The proselytiser had almost 
 stifled the artist. Did not Graf von Liidenstein think 
 so? Signorina Zardo addressed her remarks to Graf 
 von Liidenstein, for Mrs. Fennamy was engaged with 
 the waiter and the attention of Herr Wehlitz, it was 
 abundantly evident, was concentrated upon Persis. 
 
 40
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 This fact filled the good Eleanora with such jubila- 
 tion that she talked with an almost distempered volu- 
 bility. It had been a coup de foudre and no won- 
 der! Never had the child's fluctuating charm been 
 more apparent; those radiant eyes, childish in their 
 clearness, their coldness, glancing, resting, passing, 
 seeming to look at nobody; while the eyes of Graf von 
 Liidenstein, sleepy, amused, surprised; the eyes of 
 little Herr Sachs, jocular and suffering; the eyes of 
 Ludwig as he leaned back in his chair, playing with his 
 knife and fork, a muscle twitching in his lean cheek 
 all were fixed on Persis. Yes ; it had been a coup de 
 foudre. Discipleship ! Signorina Zardo's soft, re- 
 verberating old heart, filled like an ancient church, 
 with incense and chanting, cherished other hopes. 
 Noble, arrogant, ignorant loved ones! They could 
 not know! But it was as if, sharing the secret with 
 her, the statue of the Madonna smiled a benison. 
 
 They still talked of Tolstoi. " Ludwig does not 
 care for him," said Signorina Zardo. " He feels that 
 he is the apostle of death." 
 
 Herr Wehlitz to this said nothing, and Signorina 
 Zardo had not intended that he should. 
 
 " A very great artist," said Graf von Liidenstein, 
 stroking his beard, his eyes on Persis, who, helping 
 herself to a Sand-torte, ate with the vague deliberation 
 of an uninterested child. 
 
 " I don't think Tolstoi had much taste about 
 clothes," Mrs. Fennamy remarked, pouring out her 
 tea. " He did n't know how to dress Anna Karenine
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 at all events. You remember, Eleanora, the scene 
 where she goes to the ball at the beginning." 
 
 The attention of the party was now, if only mo- 
 mentarily, directed upon the little lady. 
 
 " Did not know how to dress Anna ? How so, 
 gnddige Frau?" Graf von Ludenstein, adjusting his 
 glasses, inquired. 
 
 " I think forget-me-nots don't go a bit well with 
 black velvet," said Mrs. Fennamy. " And I don't like 
 black velvet for a ball besides." 
 
 " I bow to the taste of a lady; it will be better than 
 mine or Tolstoi's, that is sure," said Ludenstein. 
 " How would you then, gnddige Frau, have dressed 
 Anna?" 
 
 "If he felt it had to be black, I 'd have made it 
 black lace," Mrs. Fennamy replied. " And I 'd have 
 made her wear white flowers with it white jasmine 
 for instance; something delicate and luxuriant seems 
 right for Anna." 
 
 " It is well said ; well said. Delicate and luxuriant. 
 Yes. And Fraulein Fennamy? How would she 
 dress the enchanting Anna?" Graf von Ludenstein 
 inquired, while Eleanora's glances clouded at the triv- 
 ial turn which, as usual, Annetta had imparted to the 
 conversation. 
 
 Persis, thus appealed to, drew her brows together. 
 She was not thinking of the trivial talk but of Herr 
 Wehlitz. Her first impression had been one of irony 
 and a disappointment curiously bitter. She had 
 found him insignificant and undistinguished. But, as 
 
 42
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 she had sat there, exposed to his brooding stare, the 
 first impression had altered. What strange eyes: 
 pained, strained, scorched, as it were, by close gazing 
 at some burning object! She had been more and 
 more vividly aware of them, and their gaze, though 
 she had not again encountered it, had rilled her with 
 a growing sense of discomfort and unpreparedness. 
 Fierce eyes, resentful yet appealing; and the man's 
 whole personality expressed the same contradiction, 
 violence, and a sensitiveness that sought to veil itself 
 in nonchalance. She had been aware of all this and 
 of the muscle in his cheek, twitching, as, involun- 
 tarily, he clenched and unclenched his jaws, and of 
 the fact that when, with a sudden clatter, he dropped 
 his knife to the ground, he blushed deeply as he 
 stooped to pick it up and glanced angrily around the 
 circle as if suspicious of ridicule. Yet not once had 
 she looked at him since that first meeting of their 
 eyes. 
 
 Now, as Graf von Liidenstein, leaning to her, thus 
 questioned her, it was with a sense of effort and dis- 
 pleasure that she turned her eyes on him. " I beg 
 your pardon?" she said. She had not heard his 
 question. He repeated it and Persis bent her brows 
 on him while he spoke with a half scornful incredulity. 
 " Her clothes ? " she repeated. " How should I dress 
 her? Really I don't know. I do not take the least 
 interest in how she dresses. I do not find her en- 
 chanting." 
 
 Graf von Liidenstein opened more widely his sleepy 
 
 43
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 eyes. She spoke with the assurance and with the 
 competent impatience of a formed and finished 
 woman. "You do not find Anna enchanting?" he 
 said. "You do not like her? Is it a moral judg- 
 ment? Is it that you do not approve of an unfaithful 
 wife? " Liidenstein, evidently, had been told that the 
 young girl he was to meet was une tete forte. 
 
 She looked away from him at the trees. " I do 
 not like her because she was weak. She seems to me 
 a negligible person. Yes; it is a moral judgment." 
 
 Turning in his chair the German leaned his arm on 
 the table the more fully to consider her. "Ah, but 
 it may mean strength, daring, courage, for a woman 
 to take a lover," he contended, while Mrs. Fennamy, 
 eating her Sand-torte with apparent placidity, cast a 
 meditative glance upon her child. 
 
 Persis still looked at the trees. " It did not with 
 Anna mean strength and courage," she said, after a 
 pause which expressed, perhaps, dislike for her inter- 
 locutor rather than reluctance to pursue his theme. 
 
 He insisted. "If it had, then, been through 
 strength, you would have condoned? pardoned? ad- 
 mired?" 
 
 " I see nothing to admire in self-deception and self- 
 indulgence," said Persis. " It is because Tolstoi does 
 not that I care for him. So many great artists are 
 as deluded as their own characters in regard to the 
 illusion and ugliness underlying what people call 
 love." 
 
 " But this is indeed a severe judgment upon life 
 
 44
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 from lips so young. You condemn, then, all pas- 
 sion?" 
 
 " Do have some more chocolate, Eleanora," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy in a low voice. 
 
 Persis had turned her eyes again on Graf von 
 Ludenstein and she continued to look at him with un- 
 perturbed directness while she said : " It is through 
 passion that life and its sufferings and its evil is per- 
 petuated. It is true that Tolstoi is the apostle of 
 death. That is why he is so great. He sees the 
 truth. As a thinker he has not been great enough to 
 follow his intuition to its logical consequences. He 
 is a Buddhist who tries to condone life. As an artist 
 he has condemned it finally." 
 
 While Ludenstein and the young girl thus debated 
 their incongruous theme, Herr Wehlitz had sat listen- 
 ing, motionless, his eyes dilated. Now, suddenly, 
 he sprang to his feet and leaned forward towards 
 Persis, resting his finger tips upon the table. " You 
 do not know what you say ! " he exclaimed in a vi- 
 brating voice while a tremor of intense feeling almost 
 convulsed his face. " You are a child and do not 
 know what you say! You have read Schopenhauer, 
 nicht "wahr? I ask you. You have read Schopen- 
 hauer?" He rapped violently with his finger-tips 
 upon the table. 
 
 Persis bowed assent. She maintained her calm. 
 
 " I thought so. You have read Schopenhauer and 
 believe that he has said the last word. No; listen to 
 me ; " he held up his hand as she sought to interpose 
 
 45
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 a qualification. "You are infected. It is enough; 
 listen to me now. It is I who have the last word 
 to speak, a word that upbuilds more than it destroys. 
 Schopenhauer saw that life is suffering and want and 
 striving. It is true. I grant it. I flinch from noth- 
 ing of his truth. But what I have to say is that life 
 is not valueless on that account. Cowards find it so, 
 and rot to the nothingness where they belong. You 
 are not one of them. You cannot look me in the 
 eyes and say that you are one of them. No. Yours 
 is not the weakness that turns shuddering away from 
 life. Yours is the youth and pride and strength that 
 measures itself against life and scorns its puerilities. 
 Tolstoi would lead the world into a nest of maggots 
 where the weak cling together and find sustainment 
 in loathsome unity. He cries out ' Woe to the 
 strong. Let them lay their strength aside. Let them 
 give themselves to be devoured by the maggots.' But 
 we strong ones turn from him laughing. He is a 
 sick man; a man of passion poisoned by racial fear. 
 He is no rebel, though he believes himself one. He 
 is no brave infidel. The exhalation of the churches 
 has breathed its ancient infection into him and he 
 trembles before his own desires. He is at heart a 
 coward. Turn from him. You are no coward. I 
 see it in your face. You are life; of life. Its joy 
 and suffering are part of you. You will not escape 
 them." 
 
 While he poured forth this torrent of adjuration, 
 swiftly, fiercely, and with indescribable vehemence, 
 
 46
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis, as if in answer to his demand, had risen to 
 her feet and, from beneath, the eyes of the little circle 
 were raised to the confronted pair. Eleanora's hands 
 were clasped upon her breast. Mrs. Fennamy, steady- 
 ing the table as Wehlitz beat his fist down upon it, 
 kept her eyes fixed upon him with a gaze of child- 
 li'ke interest and surprise; Graf von Liidenstein 
 stroked his beard, smiling slightly and slightly blink- 
 ing behind his glasses, and little Herr Sachs looked up 
 very gravely at his blanched and shaken friend. 
 
 " You are right," Persis said after a pause and 
 with a quiet that contrasted strangely with his vio- 
 lence. "Life does not frighten me. And for some 
 it may have value. I hope to be one of them. But I 
 intend to take what I will from it and to turn when I 
 will from its bondage. It is this talk of passion that 
 wearies me." 
 
 Herr Wehlitz's chest had fallen from its great 
 breaths. He gazed, now, with half incredulous relief 
 yet almost with a sort of anger. " Ah," he said 
 heavily. " You fear bondage. You fear shackles. 
 It is well. You would keep yourself true of aim; 
 clear; undeviating; dedicated; as I. It is well. Yet 
 do not fall into the error of the merely chaste. The 
 flesh has its claim, if no higher claim proscribes it. I 
 speak to you freely. You are a free spirit." 
 
 " Shall we walk a little? " said Persis. " It will be 
 pleasanter to walk than to sit here." She ignored the 
 others. He might have come to speculate upon her, 
 to accept or reject her. It was she who accepted him. 
 
 47
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She looked about, choosing her path. Herr Wehlitz 
 put back his chair. As if automatically he joined her 
 and, opening- her parasol, Persis walked away with 
 her philosopher beside her. 
 
 It was Signorina Zardo who broke the spell left by 
 their departure. She leaned forward to her Annetta. 
 " It is as I have dreamed. It is as I have prayed," 
 she said in a loud whisper. " They have found each 
 other." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy took up her gloves and began to 
 draw them on. " Do you suppose they '11 expect us 
 to wait for them here ? " she asked. 
 
 "They expect nothing. We do not exist for 
 them." ' 
 
 " When shall we begin to exist for them again, I 
 wonder. I suppose he '11 bring her back to the pen- 
 sion in time for dinner ? " 
 
 "And if not? if not, my friend?' Eleanora, smil- 
 ing, still whispered. " We will not intrude on sacred 
 ground with our small conventions. Let us return. 
 The gentlemen will excuse us " ; she turned a brilliant 
 but by no means cordial smile upon Graf von Liiden- 
 stein, her eye softening as it rested on Herr Sachs. 
 
 " I will await the return of our phcenixes here, 
 mesdames" said Liidenstein, bowing, smiling and tap- 
 ping a book in his coat pocket. " I have my reading 
 and a pipe. I will tell them that you have returned." 
 
 "Well, I think I would rather go home," Mrs. 
 Fennamy conceded. " I 've got my bath to take at 
 six o'clock and I '11 be late if we wait any longer. 
 
 48
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 There does n't seem much chance of their coming 
 back soon." 
 
 " None," Eleanora assured her. " None what- 
 ever. They will not be back for hours. I know Lud- 
 wig; when once he talks it is for hours. Is it not so, 
 Graf von Ludenstein?" 
 
 " It is so indeed," said Ludenstein. " The flights 
 of the phoenix are far flights." 
 
 " And will you come with us, Herr Sachs ? " Elea- 
 nora asked. 
 
 But the young man, thanking her, said that his 
 lodgings lay in another direction, and that he must re- 
 turn to them. So the party broke up.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 MRS. FENNAMY and Eleanora walked slowly 
 away together. The afternoon sunlight was 
 shining down the little street when they left the gar- 
 dens and Mrs. Fennamy raised her sunshade. Elea- 
 nora walked, gazing before her, rapt, unaware of 
 physical conditions. Presently, however, her friend's 
 silence roused her from her absorption. She turned 
 her eyes upon the neat profile of her Annetta and after 
 gazing at it, almost unseeingly, for a moment, became 
 aware of conjecture and anxiety. Mrs. Fennamy did 
 not look in any way displeased. There was no cold- 
 ness apparent in her eye or mien ; yet Eleanora, as she 
 looked, felt the check in her gladness. Imponderable 
 creature as she was, Annetta might still impede, re- 
 tard, embarrass. 
 
 "And how does the great Wehlitz impress you, 
 Annetta ? " she inquired. 
 
 " Well, for one thing, Eleanora, I don't think he 's 
 a bit distinguished looking," said Mrs. Fennamy in her 
 perfectly unpolemical and matter-of-fact voice. 
 
 Signorina Zardo's face was not framed to express 
 anger. Deep sadness was its only weapon. " Not 
 distinguished? Ludwig Wehlitz not distinguished? 
 I do not follow you, Annetta. His is the most rare 
 
 50
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mind of modern Europe, the most recondite. The 
 time will come when all will know it." 
 
 " Oh, I 'm sure his mind is rare and recondite all 
 right," Mrs. Fennamy conceded. " Though it did 
 seem to me rather silly, talking in that excited way 
 to a young girl like Persis." 
 
 " A young girl like Persis ! Is Persis then to be 
 talked to like the first come girl of conventions and 
 bondage? You will perhaps tell me next that Persis 
 is not distinguished." 
 
 " No I shan't, Eleanora," said Mrs. Fennamy mildly. 
 " You know what I think about Persis. But she 's 
 too young to be talked to like that, about the flesh. 
 I wish people would n't talk about the flesh. How old 
 isHerr Wehlitz?" 
 
 Eleanora's answer came after a pause and in a 
 voice that repudiated her friend's folly. "Forty- 
 five." 
 
 "Well, I think that a man of forty-five ought to 
 have more sense than to take a child of nineteen so 
 seriously. He '11 turn her head. She is n't nearly as 
 wise and grown-up as she thinks she is." 
 
 " He will fill her head. It is a great, an unusually 
 great head, though you seem to have forgotten it. 
 He does not see Persis as a child of nineteen. You 
 have no understanding of the mingled insight and 
 naivete of genius. He sees her only as a soul, a proud 
 and potent soul." 
 
 " Well, I don't like to have souls sprung on me 
 so suddenly at a tea-party ; that 's what it amounts
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 to, I expect. There 's not much soul about Graf 
 what 's-his-name, anyway, is there ? What fat hips 
 he has." Mrs. Fennamy paused and put up her lorg- 
 nette before a shop-window where various gems of 
 local extraction were displayed. 
 
 "We were not speaking of Graf von Liidenstein. 
 I have nothing to do with Graf von Liidenstein. I do 
 not like him. I do not trust him. He is a talented, 
 a learned man, a man who profoundly admires Ludwig; 
 that is all I know of him," said Eleanora, gesticulating 
 with her hands and casting Graf von Liidenstein 
 aside. 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad you don't stand up for him," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy. " I could n't bear him. Persis would 
 like to have that big crystal, I expect," she added, 
 still examining the contents of the window. " She 
 said she wanted to get a big one to put on that gold 
 chain of hers. I '11 tell her about it. What is Herr 
 Wehlitz's social position, Eleanora ? " 
 
 " His social position ? What do you mean, 
 Annetta? He is of noble origin." 
 
 "Is he? Who are his relations?" They were 
 walking on. 
 
 " He descends on the mother's side from an ancient 
 Hungarian family, now extinct," said Eleanora, but 
 darkly, as if in loathing for the unseemliness of their 
 talk. 
 
 " And who was his father ? " Mrs. Fennamy pur- 
 sued. 
 
 With sombre exactitude Eleanora informed her of 
 
 52
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Herr Wehlitz's simple, if dignified origins, adding: 
 "if you wish to judge a great genius by such puerili- 
 ties." 
 
 " I 'm not judging him," said Mrs. Fennamy. 
 " I 'm finding out about him, that 's all ; since I sup- 
 pose he '11 try to marry Persis." 
 
 At this Eleanora stopped in the little street and 
 confronted her friend, and as Mrs. Fennamy looked 
 back at her inquiringly she laid, for further emphasis, 
 a hand upon her arm. " Annetta," she said in a low 
 voice. " Let me conjure you ; do not speak or think 
 of it. Let no breath of ours touch the sacred possi- 
 bility. They are unaware. They could not dream of 
 it. If we make them aware it may part them." 
 
 " Goodness me," Mrs. Fennamy smiled. " They 
 must be a delicate couple." 
 
 " They are, Annetta ; they are ; try to remember 
 it." 
 
 They walked on and entered now the smaller street, 
 shaded by plane-trees, where the Pension Miiller stood. 
 
 "And suppose, just for the sake of argument, that 
 I wanted to part them, Eleanora," Mrs. Fennamy re- 
 marked. " Suppose I did n't like the sacred possi- 
 bility for Persis. After all I 'm her mother, and after 
 all, mothers do have their feelings. I 'd never inter- 
 fere with Persis, as you know, not even if she decided 
 to marry a Chinese sage with a wart on his forehead. 
 But I 'd dislike a Chinese sage just as much as any 
 mother would." 
 
 " Well ? " Eleanora in a muted voice inquired. 
 
 53
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Well ? And in that case what would you do ? If 
 you did wish to part them ? " 
 
 " I should n't do anything. I *d only wish. All 
 I 'm saying is that I have a perfect right to wish." 
 
 " You dislike it, then ? You do not like Ludwig ? " 
 
 " I don't say I dislike him. I don't know anything 
 about him except that he has n't got any social position 
 and seems very excitable. Perhaps I '11 get to like 
 him better; but I don't see why you should expect 
 me to be on his side." 
 
 They had reached the pension gates and Mrs. Fen- 
 namy put down her parasol and entered. Then, turn- 
 ing, she found Eleanora's eyes fixed on her in an al- 
 most tragic supplication, her hands, in the fashion 
 habitual with her in moments of great emotion, clasped 
 together on her breast. 
 
 "Annetta," she said, "in God's name I conjure 
 you do not take sides against him." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy looked at her, arrested. 
 
 " He breaks my heart, Annetta," Eleanora con- 
 tinued. " He breaks my heart ; his despair ; his lone- 
 liness. You do not understand " 
 
 " But he has lots of good friends, it seems to me, 
 Eleanora dear," Mrs. Fennamy murmured. 
 
 Eleanora shook her head. " Friends. Do you 
 count little Sachs, the faithful dog, with its loving, 
 watchful eye, its tricks and wagging tail, a companion 
 for a soul such as Ludwig's? And me! What can 
 I do for him, a scatter-brained, sentimental old woman ? 
 I can give him nothing; I can only yearn and pray. 
 
 54
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 And for Graf von Ltidenstein he has no real liking. 
 Ludwig is alone; alone in darkness and in despair." 
 
 " It does n't sound very cheerful, it would n't mean 
 a very cheerful sort of marriage, would it," Mrs. 
 Fennamy again murmured, but Eleanora, with pas- 
 sionate energy returned. " He is a great man ; it 
 would be a great life they would lead together. The 
 darkness would go if she came. It is all he needs; 
 sunlight. She is the sunrise. Let her shine on him, 
 Annetta ; it is all I ask of you ; let her shine on him." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy, touched, it was evident, but, it was 
 also evident, not convinced, began to ascend the pen- 
 sion steps. "Of course she shall shine on him all 
 she wants to," she said. 
 
 Eleanora had not followed her, but stood, her hands 
 still on her breast, looking up at her from below. 
 
 " And I hope she '11 cheer him up, I 'm sure," Mrs. 
 Fennamy continued. " But all the same I can't 
 promise to want them to get married." She pressed 
 her thumb on the bell. 
 
 " Do not take sides against him," Eleanora repeated, 
 now in a loud whisper. " You have weight with the 
 child. Yes; yes, Annetta; though you do not know 
 it; though she does not know it; you have weight. 
 Do not turn her against him. Let him have his 
 chance ! " 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy looked down at her. " I won't in- 
 terfere," she said. " I don't believe I could if I 
 wanted to, anyway, and I Ve never interfered with 
 Persis. I won't take any sides, for or against; so 
 
 55
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 there 's no reason why he should n't have his chance. 
 All I mean, Eleanora," the door had now opened and 
 she prepared to enter, " all I mean is that you must n't 
 expect me to do anything to help him." 
 
 * 
 
 It was a quarter past seven when Mrs. Fennamy 
 heard the step of her child upon the stair. She her- 
 self had steeped for half an hour in her bath of aro- 
 matic mud and now, dressed for the pension table 
 d'hote, she sat before her toilet-table and looked out at 
 the sunset while she polished her nails. She won- 
 dered, as she heard the girl's step pause, whether some 
 unaccustomed sense of shyness would prevent Persis 
 from coming in to her. That Persis always kept her 
 informed of the outward facts, at least, in regard to 
 all that happened to her, was not, her mother knew, 
 through communicativeness or the need to confide; 
 it was rather, perhaps, because outward facts meant so 
 little to her that she was willing always to impart 
 them; but Mrs. Fennamy would have felt anxiety if 
 Persis had ceased to come to her with her daily re- 
 cital. And it was relief she felt now, when, after the 
 slight pause, the door opened and she appeared be- 
 fore her. 
 
 Persis was not feeling any shyness; that was evi- 
 dent. She was pale, as always, and with shining eyes, 
 and it was, her mother saw, in a deep absorption and 
 triumph that she stood there. " She thinks herself 
 a great woman," Mrs. Fennamy reflected, "because 
 he 's a great man, and he 's taken her so seriously." 
 
 56
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Well," she asked, " did you have a nice time with" 
 Herr Wehlitz ? " and she added, " Dinner will be 
 ready in a quarter of an hour. You won't have time 
 to dress, I expect." 
 
 " No, I won't dress," said Persis, sitting down on a 
 little chair that stood against the wall. " Yes ; it was 
 a wonderful walk. He is a wonderful man." 
 
 " I expect he is," Mrs. Fennamy assented, pausing 
 in her placid occupation to turn her nails to the light. 
 " I never saw such eyes. They remind me of poor 
 little Ally Robinson's when I was a girl. Do you 
 remember old Dr. Robinson, Persis ? He was so fond 
 of you and always brought you a little bag of marsh- 
 mallows when he came to the house. Dear me, it 's 
 years and years since I tasted a marsh-mallow. Ally 
 was a very bright child. He died when he was only 
 nine, of meningitis. They thought his brain was too 
 active." 
 
 Persis gave little heed to these reminiscences. " I 
 remember," she murmured vaguely, " they were 
 floury, snowy sweets, like pierrots. I really had not 
 understood Herr Wehlitz's books, I find, though he 
 says I have, more than anyone else he has met. His 
 thought is like the waving of a torch, and it dazzles 
 one sometimes and makes one dizzy. He is going 
 to teach me and I am to help him with his work." 
 Persis, unpinning her hat, laid it on her knees and 
 leaned her head back against the wall. " He is com- 
 ing to-morrow, and we '11 sit in the garden if it 's 
 fine." 
 
 57.
 
 " You can sit in the parlour, if you like," said Mrs. 
 Fennamy. " I can read up here just as well." 
 
 " Thank you, mamma, but if it 's fine I think it will 
 be pleasanter in the garden. Graf von Liidenstein is 
 coming, too. He is, Herr Wehlitz says, the only one 
 he has left who will listen to him. The others, when 
 they have listened, have shrieked and stopped their ears 
 and run away." 
 
 It was evident to Mrs. Fennamy that Persis was 
 not addressing her so much as communing with her- 
 self, and at the same time she was aware that a dim, 
 unconscious impulse in her child led her thus to ex- 
 plain and forestall, perhaps, even, to exculpate. 
 
 " What does he say that upsets them so ? " she in- 
 quired, dipping the point of her chamois polisher into 
 the box of nail-powder and passing to the nails of the 
 other hand. And after a pause Persis informed her. 
 
 "He overturns all the beliefs they live by. He 
 shows them that what they believe to be their goodness 
 is only their weakness. He shows them that sub- 
 mission is incapacity and that pity is an infection. 
 He thinks that pity is the disease of the modern world 
 and that it may destroy us." 
 
 " I don't seem to see much of it about, somehow," 
 Mrs. Fennamy commented. 
 
 " Oh yes, mamma, you do ; the philanthropies that 
 enable unfit people to survive and the benevolent poli- 
 tics that put power into their hands. The whole 
 democratic movement is founded on pity, on the con- 
 ception that the weak, the valueless, must be armed 
 
 58
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 artificially against the strong; and, since they are the 
 more numerous, they may become a menace to the 
 strong, if they are armed." 
 
 " I should have thought the idea was to get every- 
 body to be as strong as they could," Mrs. Fennamy 
 objected. " It must be pretty bad to be ground down 
 just because you haven't any weapon. The strong 
 people have got the strength and the weapons too." 
 
 "But there is the modern fallacy; you don't make 
 people strong. Heredity proves that the inferior re- 
 main inferior, however much you may arm them." 
 
 " Well, now, just look at old Jesse Keene, in Ashley- 
 ville," Mrs. Fennamy urged. "Of course you 
 wouldn't remember him, but before the war he was 
 just a lazy old negro who used to potter about and do 
 odd jobs for people; he used to come and help in 
 Grandma's garden, I remember, when the gardener 
 needed extra help; just a black old negro. And now 
 his grandchildren are as respectable and successful as 
 can be and one of them 's a lawyer. What 's that but 
 an inferior getting made over into something better ? " 
 
 " Your old negro had married a mulatto or qua- 
 droon, I suppose," said Persis smiling. "And his 
 children had again mixed with a better blood. If a 
 type tended to rise that would show, of course, that 
 it had been artificially kept down. No one would 
 deny that a good many valuable types are artificially 
 kept down." 
 
 " Oh yes, they all married whiter people than them- 
 selves," Mrs. Fennamy assented. " They 're just 
 
 59
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 cafe-au-lait colour now. All the same, I should think 
 that it was about the easiest thing in the world not to 
 have any pity." 
 
 " You must talk to Herr Wehlitz," said Persis. 
 " He thinks it is the most difficult thing ; the thing 
 that it costs us the most to do to be pitiless." She 
 stretched back in her chair, reaching up her arms, and 
 rose, saying that she must go and smooth her hair, 
 and pausing to look for a moment from her mother's 
 window. The evening sun struck on the poplars, and 
 glittering against the blue sky they made her think 
 of splendid imperious swords pointing up and chal- 
 lenging the heavens. " It 's curious to think that any- 
 thing interesting should happen in Tannenkreuz," she 
 said.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 NEXT morning Mrs. Fennamy went down to the 
 salon to glance over the Gaglignani Messenger 
 some half hour after Persis had led Herr Wehlitz 
 and his friends into the garden. Four or five pension 
 inmates were gathered there like decrepit flies lured 
 to warm window-panes; capped and brooched Lady 
 Frere, a massive German lady trussed in rigid stays, 
 a grievous, gouty old English major and a woman of 
 some fashion from New York; and Mrs. Fennamy 
 saw, as she entered, that, with the exception of the 
 major, who, having secured the Gaglignani Messenger 
 had withdrawn with it into a corner, they were all 
 engaged in examining the group seated in the garden 
 under the apple-trees. 
 
 Persis, so unaware of her fellow-guests, had been 
 the object, since her arrival, of their somewhat hostile 
 attention. Mrs. Fennamy was already popular. She 
 returned now the greetings given her and moved to the 
 window to look out also. 
 
 Her daughter and the three men were gathered at 
 some little distance round one of the tin tables, on 
 which books had been piled; but they were not far 
 enough to prevent Herr Wehlitz's voice, pitched in 
 tones of almost ecstatic vehemence, from reaching the 
 
 61
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 occupants of the salon. Persis, in her dress of flow- 
 ing white, leaned back in her chair, her arms lightly 
 folded across her breast, her head bent in the attitude 
 of concentration habitual to her, her eyes on Herr 
 Wehlitz. Graf von Liidenstein's eyes were on her, 
 though they were shaded by his hand as he sat half 
 turned in his chair, resting his elbow on the back ; and, 
 slightly removed from the group, Herr Sachs poked 
 his crutch here and there into the deep untidy grass. 
 They looked, the men's black coats, the girl's white 
 dress, dappled with sunlight, the tones, swarthy or 
 florid or pearly, of the faces, like a plein air by Manet, 
 though the picture recalled to Mrs. Fennamy was that 
 of a St. Catherine of Alexandria among the doctors. 
 Persis was as composed and as assured as that 
 scholarly virgin. 
 
 " Miss Fennamy seems to have a great many 
 tutors/' Lady Frere observed, turning the stocking she 
 was engaged in knitting and keeping, over her spec- 
 tacles, a watchful eye upon the incongruous gather- 
 ing. "What is she studying, pray?" 
 
 " Well, I suppose you 'd call it philosophy," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy. " Herr Wehlitz is a great philoso- 
 pher and he is going to teach her." 
 
 The plethoric German lady laid down her novel. 
 " Herr Wehlitz ! " she exclaimed. " Is it Ludwig 
 Wehlitz? Herr Gott! gnadige Frew, but do you 
 know who it is then who teaches your daughter? He 
 is an abominable man ! a demoniacal man ! " With 
 astonishment and consternation she stared out 
 
 62
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 at the students. "Das ist schrecklich!" she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy did not show perturbation, but she 
 felt it. 
 
 " Why what do you know about him, Frau Topler? " 
 she inquired. " He was introduced to us by a very 
 old friend of ours, one of the very best women in the 
 world, and though I know he has queer ideas, most 
 philosophers have, I expect, and it does n't seem to do 
 them any harm." 
 
 The German lady continued to stare, shaking her 
 head slowly the while. " I have not read his books," 
 she said. " I do not read such books. My husband 
 would not permit it. But I have been told that they 
 are abominations." 
 
 " Hey ? What 's this ? Who is the demoniacal 
 gentleman? What?" the major questioned, rising 
 with a suppressed ejaculation of pain, for he was 
 crippled with gout, and moving to the window, while 
 the lady from New York swooped down upon the 
 Gaglignani Messenger which, inadvertently, he had 
 left upon his chair. " Who is it? " he inquired, join- 
 ing Mrs. Fennamy at the window. He liked Mrs. 
 Fennamy, who was always reassuring when he in- 
 sisted that the baths were killing him. " Musician ? 
 hey?" he asked, as she indicated the object of the 
 discussion to him. "Writer? What? Looks a bit 
 of a bounder, but I don't see any harm in the fellow. 
 Teaching Miss Fennamy is he? What did you say 
 he was teaching her ? " 
 
 63
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Philosophy," said Mrs. Fennamy. " He 's not a 
 bad man. He has queer ideas and thinks we 're all 
 wrong. But he would n't hurt a fly." 
 
 " Philosophy ? Well, you can tell her from me," 
 said the major, " that there 's nothing in it Ab- 
 solutely nothing. You get no further than you were 
 when you began. I tried to read Herbert Spencer 
 once, when I was in India, and upon my word it gave 
 me indigestion. I don't see the good of that sort of 
 thing. Who is the other gentleman who admires Miss 
 Fennamy so much ? " 
 
 " That 's Graf von Liidenstein," said Mrs. Fennamy 
 somewhat sadly; Lady Frere had ceased to knit and 
 kept severe eyes upon the negligent mother. " He 's 
 a philosopher, too, I believe, or he 's interested in 
 philosophy, or something." 
 
 " He is interested in pretty young ladies ; and in 
 that he shows his good sense," the major observed, 
 making his way back to his Messenger and stopping 
 half-way, arrested by the sight of the New York lady, 
 immersed, with elaborate unconsciousness, in her ill- 
 gotten gains. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy had also turned from the window. 
 " I '11 bring you a paper," she said, touched by his 
 dismay. She left the salon and found herself con- 
 fronted, in the passage, by Eleanora. 
 
 "Just wait a minute, Eleanora," she said, pushing 
 her friend gently along in front of her and into her 
 little sitting-room. " You 're the very person I want to 
 see." She took the paper to the major and then, re- 
 
 64
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 turning and seating herself upon the sofa, she mo- 
 tioned Eleanora beside her and said : " Well, they 're 
 all talking about him and are as shocked as can be by 
 Persis knowing him. I 'm afraid he has a very bad 
 reputation, Eleanora." 
 
 " Reputation ! Ludwig's reputation ! You speak 
 of Ludwig?" Signorina Zardo, as Mrs. Fennamy 
 nodded, threw up her hands and eyes and ejaculated 
 in the German which she could use racily at times: 
 "SchafsKotfel" 
 
 " Well, but we Ve got to live among the sheep, if it 
 comes to that," Mrs. Fennamy returned. " And I 
 don't like even sheep to be able to say that a demonia- 
 cal man is making love to Persis." 
 
 " And what would they say, Annetta, if Shelley, 
 or Goethe, or Leopardi were making love to your child ? 
 Were they not, all of them, by the sheep, thought to be 
 demoniacal? What else can sheep think of a sublime 
 genius, with his world-shaking, world-renewing 
 thought! Have you not only to look in the face of 
 Ludwig and see the soul shining there the noble 
 soul as trusting and as tender as a child's ? " 
 
 " He looks very much like little Ally Robinson," 
 Mrs. Fennamy mused, adding with an apparent irrele- 
 vance, inf'litely relieving to Signorina Zardo ; " Any- 
 way, Graf von Liidenstein has n't got a tender, trust- 
 ing soul and I don't like the way he looks at Persis 
 a bit." 
 
 " Ah ; there ; there I grant you. That is another 
 matter ! " Eleanora exclaimed. " There I am with the 
 
 65
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 sheep! You know that he is a married man, 
 Annetta?" 
 
 "Why no! is he?" 
 
 " He is, indeed. And from all I hear his wife is 
 not to be envied." 
 
 "You mean he's a bad man, Eleanora?" Mrs. 
 Fennamy's inflection was the inflection of Ashley- 
 ville. 
 
 " I mean that he is a dissipated man ; a man of lax 
 morals. Yes; most certainly." And Eleanora 
 pressed her advantage. " Of Ludwig's life there has 
 never been a whisper. I defy the assembled sheep 
 to deny that Ludwig's life has been a spotless one. 
 It is that Gargantuan female, that Berlin merchant's 
 wife whose judgment has troubled you, I will warrant. 
 And all that I ask of you is : What would the verdict 
 of such a woman be on Shelley?" 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy mused. " I 'd be very sorry if Per- 
 sis were to marry anyone like Shelley," she said, and 
 then she added, rising, " Let 's go and sit in the gar- 
 den with them, Eleanora. I 'd like Graf von Luden- 
 stein to think that Persis is a chaperoned girl, even if 
 she isn't." 
 
 "Let us go. By all means let us go." Eleanora 
 with full approbation assented. " But you will not 
 give an observer as keen as Graf von Liidenstein the 
 impression that Persis is a conventionally sheltered 
 girl; he will have seen from yesterday that she is 
 not." 
 
 Eleanora bowed with ceremony to the occupants of 
 
 66
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 the salon as they passed through it, turning as they 
 stepped from the window near the German lady's 
 chair to link her arm in Mrs. Fennamy's and say, 
 pointing out the group below: "Do they not look 
 charming, mia cara?" 
 
 Outside the window a flight of cracked concrete 
 steps led to the garden. Surrounded by its high walls 
 it was very warm to-day and redolent of autumnal 
 fragrance; the smell of the deep grass, of the apples 
 reddening on the branches. Distant wafts from the 
 pine-woods reached it and from the russet vineyards, 
 and even the sun-baked walls of the pension, its white 
 stucco flaked and peeling, its green shutters faded to 
 the blue of a spoiled turquoise, gave forth an exhala- 
 tion as of musty spices. 
 
 The three men rose to their feet as Mrs. Fennamy 
 and Signorina Zardo approached and saluted them. 
 Persis looked up at them vaguely. 
 
 " Well, Persis, are you learning a great deal ? " 
 Mrs. Fennamy asked, pausing beside her daughter's 
 chair and casting a look at the books piled upon the 
 table. None had yet been opened. Herr Wehlitz's 
 monologue had occupied them till now. 
 
 " Unlearning a great deal, rather, I think," said 
 Persis. 
 
 " I should n't have thought you could do that," 
 said Mrs. Fennamy. " It 's not as if you 'd ever be- 
 lieved in anything much." 
 
 Wehlitz's eyes, meanwhile, almost as if he saw her 
 for the first time and recognised her as a possible fac- 
 
 67
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 tor in his relations with the young American girl, ex- 
 amined the little lady. She wore a thin black dress, 
 of summer coolness, small turquoises shook at each 
 ear-tip and she carried her work-box and sewing. 
 Herr Wehlitz, it was evident, found pleasure in her 
 appearance, "You are not opposed, madame, to this 
 quest upon which your daughter has embarked ? " 
 He could speak and smile with the greatest gentleness 
 and a courtly chivalry of manner mingled, as he ad- 
 dressed her, with a hint of playfulness. There was 
 indeed something very child-like in Mrs. Fennamy's 
 elegant little personality. Herr Wehlitz, evidently, 
 thought of her as child-like as soon imagine a small 
 blue butterfly an envoy of destiny. 
 
 She smiled back at him. " Dear me, no," she said. 
 " Persis embarks on anything she likes. I thought, 
 when she was sixteen, she was going to join the Ni- 
 hilists ; we 'd been seeing a good many Russian exiles in 
 Rome that winter. I don't suppose your philosophy 
 is as dangerous as Nihilism." 
 
 " I fear the risks of Nihilism are child's play com- 
 pared to my Alpine climbing, madame," Wehlitz re- 
 plied. 
 
 " So long as it 's only philosophy I don't care how 
 far she climbs," Mrs. Fennamy returned. 
 
 Still with his touch of playfulness, Wehlitz bent his 
 eyes upon Persis. " And you wished, then, to be a 
 Nihilist? To pull down the strong? To exalt the 
 weak ? And by violence ? Is it possible ? " 
 
 "Yes; it was so; for a little while," said Persis. 
 
 68
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Her eyes were not on him but on the lombardy-poplars 
 which, beyond the apple-trees, rose above his head. 
 " When I saw how foolish they were, the people them- 
 selves not, necessarily, their ideas, I gave it up. 
 I was only a child. No; I never wanted to exalt the 
 weak and pull down the strong. I wanted to pull 
 down the mean and cruel and crafty." 
 
 " Ah craft cruelty meanness you will find them 
 always among the weak among your former friends, 
 for instance," said Wehlitz. " The strong do not need 
 them. Or, if they must use cruelty, much less. 
 Russia will not be corrupted so long as she maintains 
 her despotism. It is we who are in danger, with our 
 life-destroying, so-called humanitarian, creeds that in- 
 fect the strong with pity for the weak. I spoke to 
 you of this yesterday. Do not misunderstand me. I 
 have no hatred for the servile classes when, in their 
 proper place, they serve the purposes of those above 
 them. But in our days of hideous democracy the 
 plebeians, ceasing to fulfil their only function, swarm 
 into our palaces like vermin and devour all that is 
 beautiful and rare. My gorge rises at that! Moist, 
 dank parasites, clinging together, mounting in their 
 shoals of heaped up paltriness: pfui! the tepid stench 
 of them is in my nostrils ! I see the glint of their ma- 
 licious, shifty eyes. Beat them back! with the flat 
 of the sword! you will not need to use the point; 
 beat them back; it is the only way. Crush them into 
 their dens again and give them again their tasks to 
 do ! " He had spoken with a rising excitement, em- 
 
 69
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 phasizing his words by blows from his fist upon the 
 books piled before him ; but now, raising his eyes again 
 to Mrs. Fennamy and finding that she stood con- 
 templating him as a child might contemplate the in- 
 teresting antics of a strange animal in its cage, his 
 voice fell, he smiled again, nervously, and said, turn- 
 ing to Liidenstein, " You feel no extravagance in my 
 words, Ernst?" 
 
 Graf von Liidenstein, leaning on the back of his 
 chair, had been listening with a smile. " None ; none, 
 my dear Ludwig," he replied. " I agree with you to 
 the full in seeing that nature is relentless and that 
 those who fall away from her precepts are preparing 
 themselves for extinction. At the same time I do not 
 altogether share your fears for the strong. They will 
 always, I imagine, contrive to surmount the weak. 
 It may be, in the future, by outwitting them. One 
 cannot tell." 
 
 " Ah ; but there you are wrong ; there you make 
 your mistake of over-confidence! They are simple, 
 the strong; simple!" Ludwig cried. "Wits are the 
 ugly mandibles of the vermin, sharpened by neces- 
 sity. No! no! no! it is by force, proud, relentless, 
 smiling force alone, that the strong survive. We have 
 talked of this." 
 
 " Let us sit here, Annetta, under this tree," Eleanora 
 said, moving away to an adjoining table with sadness. 
 " We can listen to the interesting discussion or talk 
 together, as we choose." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy followed her, laying her work-box 
 
 70
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 on the table. She remarked in a low voice, as she 
 seated herself and unfolded her work : " Does he 
 think we are vermin, I wonder ? I 'm sure I don't 
 feel very proud or relentless." 
 
 " He speaks with extravagance, Annetta, and with 
 his own use of violent metaphor. It is the rare, the 
 precious, the beautiful things, the things that make 
 life of value to both high and low that he sees menaced 
 and would preserve. As to him I know no heart 
 fuller of pity, of tenderness and pity, than Ludwig's." 
 Eleanora spoke with a note of pleading. She feared 
 Annetta, feared her understandings of Ludwig as well 
 as her misunderstandings of him. It was difficult to 
 interpret a titan to a butterfly. 
 
 " My, yes ; anyone can see that he would n't hurt a 
 fly." Mrs. Fennamy repeated her fundamental as- 
 surance. " Only it must be very bad for him, getting 
 so excited." 
 
 The group at the other table had now resumed their 
 seats and Wehlitz, passing his hand over his forehead 
 was saying: "Back to Schopenhauer, then, and let 
 us forget, for the moment, the weak and their menace. 
 As I was saying to you, Fraulein, you do not contra- 
 dict a great thinker, you complete him. Schopenhauer 
 is valuable for his half truth. Facing the illusions of 
 goodness, of freedom, of the self, he would lead us to 
 despair of life and to resignation. It is there that I 
 come to you. It is there that I complete our acrid, 
 flaccid pessimist. Face illusion ; yes ; but face despair 
 as well. Seize it; master it; and tragic joy is its
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 flower. Despair sinks to death and nothingness; 
 tragedy accepted is life at its highest. I teach, not 
 resignation, but serenity; not the peace that will only 
 look at the flat, safe path beneath its feet! no! a 
 serenity sublime and terrible. It can smile in its 
 strength at its own and at others' pain, at its own and 
 at others' anguish; it has risen above pity and hor- 
 ror and fear; it rejoices in them as an athlete in his 
 opponent's strength; as a swimmer in the buffets and 
 abysses of the sea." 
 
 His gaze, half hypnotised, almost hypnotic, was 
 again on Persis. She said : " I have felt that." 
 
 " You do not need to tell me so," said Wehlitz. 
 " I have seen it in your face." 
 
 " But," after another moment, Persis went on, " I 
 must think. I must think a great deal, and study. 
 I do not really understand you yet; not all you 
 say." 
 
 " And I do not ask, I do not expect, any blind ad- 
 herence. Yes. We are to study, you and I. And, 
 together, we will discuss our studies, you and I, and 
 Liidenstein." His eyes turned from the last-named 
 friend to Herr Sachs, who still sat a little withdrawn 
 from them. " And you, Conrad, shall come too, to 
 our discussions, gall and wormwood though my doc- 
 trine should be to you, if you were honest with your- 
 self. You can come as the benitier to the devil! ha! 
 ha! He is a believer, our friend Conrad, Fraulein. 
 He believes in God, in freedom, in the immortal soul, 
 do you not, Conrad ? He is a mystic ; yet it is a sound, 
 
 72
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 good head that he thus stultifies. Some temperamen- 
 tal aberration misleads him ! " 
 
 Herr Sachs was laughing as at some well-worn 
 joke. Persis looked at him with some wonder. 
 " Do you really believe in those dogmas ? " she asked. 
 
 The young man grimaced, discomposed, apparently, 
 by her notice. " By no means, by no means, Frau- 
 lein I am a devil-worshipper " he exclaimed, still 
 laughing rather incoherently ; " am I not a friend of 
 Ludwig's?" 
 
 " Do not believe him ; his is no such dignified creed," 
 said Wehlitz. " He seeks to hide his infamy from 
 you. Aha, Conrad, the Fraulein has eyes like the 
 dawn like the dawn over the sea; she can see into 
 your quaint Christian soul. He has never stepped 
 freely from his cradle, Fraulein, it rocks and rocks 
 him still, and the bells of Christmas chime in his 
 head." He was looking, not untenderly, yet with a 
 sort of latent irritation at the young man. " Is it not 
 so, Conrad? Will you deny that, in essentials, you 
 may be counted as a Christian ? " 
 
 Suddenly, at this, and to the astonishment of Persis 
 and her mother, Herr Sachs gave a long, clear cock- 
 crow, and then, snapping his fingers rapidly in the 
 air, still grimacing, he got up, adjusting his crutch 
 beneath his arm. " I shall escape you, Ludwig," he 
 said. " I shall run away from your questions. 
 Yours is an inquisition worse than that of Spain. I 
 shall talk to the ladies." And again he crowed as he 
 limped to join Eleanora and Mrs. Fennamy. "Lud- 
 
 73
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wig is mocking 1 me, signorina," he said, drawing a 
 chair beside them. " I take refuge with you." 
 
 " You are still an admirable mimic, Herr Sachs," 
 said Eleanora, kindly if with a certain severity. 
 " Your cock startled me. I thought myself just 
 awake." 
 
 "But what a glorious sound, signorina, is it not? 
 and comic, too, a cock's crow," said Sachs, glancing 
 with some timidity at Mrs. Fennamy, whose courteous 
 scrutiny did not conceal astonishment. " It fills one 
 with mirth, and sadness. Do you not find it so ? It is 
 full of the early day, and yet so old, so very old. There 
 is nothing that seems to me so old. I think always 
 of Ulysses and Ithaca when I hear a cock crow 
 Ithaca seen at dawn over the dark sea. Does it come 
 in the Odyssey? I do not remember." Herr Sachs, 
 it was evident, sought to efface the memory of his ex- 
 travagance. 
 
 " You still keep Ludwig always amused, always gay, 
 when you are with him, I see that," said Eleanora, 
 lifting her eyes to him from her crochetting. A ball 
 of linen thread was in her lap and a narrow band of 
 lace lengthened under her fingers. Yards of this lace 
 she presented to her friends at the New Year. Persis 
 had had it at the edge of her petticoats almost as 
 long as she could remember. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I keep him amused, very often. But it 
 does not amuse him when we discuss religion. He 
 does not like that at all. That is why I ran away," 
 said Herr Sachs, still with his touch of bash fulness. 
 
 74
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Herr Sachs, I must tell you, Annetta," said 
 Eleanora, " has been a very wonderful friend to Lud- 
 wig. He has nursed him through a dangerous ill- 
 ness. Had it not been for you, Herr Sachs, I do not 
 think that Ludwig would have survived, when, in the 
 Riviera, he was taken so ill, a year ago. Oh, it was 
 a terrible time." 
 
 " He was ill ; yes, he was very ill," said the young 
 man. His face had changed as rapidly in expression 
 as a dog's when it lowers pricked ears. " But I do not 
 deserve such thanks," he added. " It is Ludwig who 
 has been a wonderful friend to me." 
 
 " Ah, I know that, too," said Eleanora, with con- 
 viction. " And what a friend is our Ludwig ! What 
 kindness ! What loyalty ! What depth of heart ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, he has all that," said Sachs, nodding. 
 
 " Tell me," Eleanora went on, " how do you find 
 him now ? The waters do him good ? " 
 
 " It is too soon to tell, signorina, but I hope much 
 from them. He is far from well. He has a great 
 deal to trouble him." 
 
 " This silence, you mean : this silence that falls 
 about his work. It is like a dark well, a well into 
 which stars fall and are extinguished." 
 
 " Yes ; that is well said," Sachs nodded, " well said 
 indeed, signorina. And he cannot shake off the 
 thought of that silence. It weighs upon him. He 
 fears that his message may not come to the world. 
 And now, the great prose poem : it is just to be issued. 
 He has begun to read the proofs and re-lives it all," 
 
 75
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " You have seen it ? It is a masterpiece ? " 
 " No, I have not seen it ; he will not have me see it 
 until it is in book form. But I believe that it will be 
 his masterpiece, signorina. He has put into it his 
 whole heart and mind." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy now asked : " Is n't it Herr 
 Wehlitz's digestion that is wrong? If it is, and he 
 looks to me like it, the waters are sure to do him 
 good. Nothing upsets one's digestion so much as 
 worry. You remember, Eleanora, that winter when 
 Persis had fever, in Florence ; I 've never really been 
 right since."
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 SIGNORINA ZARDO, full of her hopes, made 
 her way that evening to the Hotel Beau Sejour. 
 The three men were there in Ludwig's salon; little 
 Sachs at the centre table, leaning on his hand and 
 silent, as he so often was in Liidenstein's presence, and 
 drawing, as was also his wont, neat little pictures of 
 flowers and birds on a sheet of the hotel note-paper; 
 Liidenstein extended in a chair, a pipe between his 
 teeth and a tall glass of beer beside him; while Ludwig 
 half sat, half lay on the sofa that stood against the 
 wall between the windows. Ludwig and Liidenstein, 
 it was evident, were engaged in an altercation. There 
 was always a latent rivalry and antagonism in Lud- 
 wig's attitude to this follower, for although a follower, 
 Liidenstein's allegiance was confined to intellectual 
 matters and his appreciation of his friend did not go 
 beyond suavely defined limits. In his manner towards 
 Ludwig, personally, there was no homage; at times, 
 indeed, though Wehlitz was the senior by five years, 
 he treated him with the affectionate irony of an older 
 towards a much younger man, the tolerant indulgence 
 of a man of the world towards a man who could claim 
 no such experience. How deeply, if dimly, Ludwig 
 resented these implications, Eleanora was aware, and 
 
 77 
 
 TIME LIMIT IS 14 DAYS 
 RETURN AND GET ANOTHER
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 his resentment was revealed in a provocative self-as- 
 sertion, in the need, constantly betrayed, of proving 
 to himself as well as to Liidenstein, that he was 
 Liidenstein's follower in nothing. " Welcome Elea- 
 nora, welcome ! " he cried now, and with an exag- 
 gerated gaiety, as she entered. " You come most op- 
 portunely. We were talking of your friends and 
 Liidenstein and I are not of one mind on the subject. 
 I find that Fraulein Fennamy has beauty, great beauty, 
 as well as unusual intelligence. I find her appear- 
 ance of the greatest distinction. Liidenstein will con- 
 sent neither to beauty nor distinction." 
 
 Liidenstein, puffing quietly at his pipe, held up his 
 hand. " Gently, my friend, gently," he smiled. 
 " You overstate our difference ; I suspect that there is 
 little distinction of blood in Fraulein Fennamy, but I 
 have not denied that she possesses, in a marked degree, 
 the curious acquired distinction so characteristic of 
 her country-women. As to beauty, no. No, my 
 Ludwig. There is no beauty in that sullen, brilliant, 
 brooding little face. Force, fire, charm, yes, I grant 
 them freely, but not beauty. The face is incoherent, 
 and has no significance of form; undress it of its in- 
 telligence, and you find the mother's triviality." 
 
 Eleanora had seated herself at the table near Sachs 
 and had stripped off her long gloves and unwound the 
 scarf from her neck, her eyes fixed upon Liidenstein 
 while he spoke. She caught up the gauntlet thus 
 thrown down. " It is not triviality, Graf von Liiden- 
 stein. The face of my friend, Madame Fennamy, is, 
 
 78
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 I have often thought it, like that of some minute 
 flower, so small, so unobtrusive in its delicacy, that 
 one might pass it by as insignificant. But pause, ex- 
 amine it closely, and you will find what the minute 
 and delicate may express of power and purpose. Ma- 
 dame Fennamy has more of both, let me assure you, 
 than any other woman I have known ; and among sig- 
 nificant women my experience has perhaps been wider 
 than even yours! And if you speak of blood," Elea- 
 nora added, " I have been to the American States and 
 may also assure you that in those mingled currents 
 there are many strains of antique race as good as any 
 that we can boast of. How could it not be so? " 
 
 The gratitude in Wehlitz's eyes, while she thus an- 
 swered Liidenstein's challenge, was a guerdon and a 
 spur to the devoted woman. " Liidenstein's ideal is 
 our blonde, bland Germanic female," he said, " sleek, 
 submissive, sensual. We must not ask him for a 
 judgment upon types as foreign from his apprehension 
 as Mrs. Fennamy and her daughter. Of the mother, 
 you speak my thoughts, Eleanora, a graceful and a 
 finished woman of the world, well fitted to foster a 
 more precious flame of life. The father, I think you 
 told me, showed the strangeness, the power, so appar- 
 ent in the child. But let us have your opinion, Con- 
 rad. Your tastes, we can be sure of it, are not Liiden- 
 stein's. The sleekly sensual is not for you, not for you 
 Liidenstein's courtezans and sentimental Mddchen. 
 Come, Conrad, do you find Fraulein Fennamy beau- 
 tiful?" 
 
 79
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 As he spoke Liidenstein laughing softly the while, 
 shaking his head and ejaculating: " A woman of the 
 world ! Ta-ta-ta ! " Wehlitz turned on his sofa and 
 fixed his eyes upon his young friend who continued to 
 draw his flowers and birds. 
 
 " I find her very beautiful, Ludwig," he answered, 
 not looking up from his paper. " She brings old 
 fairy-tales into my mind: a princess imprisoned, im- 
 prisoned in a lonely tower beside the sea. Did you 
 not say this morning that her eyes were like the dawn 
 over the sea? I find them so." 
 
 " Here," Liidenstein murmured, " we have our au- 
 thority on beauty and distinction." 
 
 Wehlitz continued to gaze so steadfastly at the 
 young man that Eleanora could not tell whether he 
 had caught the comment. 
 
 Then, at last, " It is well said, well said, Con- 
 rad," he returned, " and your judgment has value, 
 for yours is a poetical mind; yes, the golden bees of 
 old German romance still hum and sing in your brain. 
 We look for honey from you, one day, Conrad. You 
 have seen what I have seen, the element of poetry in 
 this young girl, of the remote, the mysterious, the 
 inaccessible. You told me, Eleanora, that she wrote 
 poetry ? " 
 
 " Ah, she would hardly consent to have it called 
 so," said Eleanora eagerly. " I call it poetry, you 
 might not. Strange thoughts visit her and she exhales 
 them, without effort, without consciousness, as a 
 flower its perfume. Yes; I hope some day to show 
 
 80
 
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 you what she has written. She refuses to think of 
 publication. She has no ambition." 
 
 " For my own part, though you lend me different 
 tastes, my Ludwig," Liidenstein here remarked, as if 
 continuing placidly the train of his own thought, " I 
 admire the Fraulein's figure: fine, firm, supple, and 
 well rounded, too, for one so young. The wrists, too, 
 are well turned and the ankles. The knees and elbows 
 would also be charming. Yes; I admire her figure 
 unreservedly." 
 
 There was silence for a moment. Sachs did not 
 lift his eyes from his drawing but his colour rose until 
 it was evident that the young man was hotly blushing, 
 a blush of anger rather than of embarrassment; and 
 Wehlitz, though the twitching muscle in his cheek 
 betrayed his extreme irritation, went on after a mo- 
 ment, as though he had not heard : " You know my 
 fondness for you, Conrad, and since our meeting with 
 her yesterday I have been aware how deeply this 
 young girl appealed to you. I have sharp eyes, 
 Conrad. Is it not true that you feel deeply for 
 her?" 
 
 Sachs looked up now, gravely. He did not reply 
 and Wehlitz, as if he had not expected a reply, went 
 on : " She has a small fortune, Signorina Zardo tells 
 me; very small as American fortunes go, but amply 
 sufficient to secure freedom from all base annoyances. 
 And I, for my part, would see that you were not 
 empty-handed, Conrad. The idea will no doubt seem 
 fantastic to you, yet I mean it most seriously when 
 
 81
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 I ask you, why should you not marry this young 
 American ? " 
 
 Sachs's pencil had remained motionless. He sat 
 gazing at his friend. 
 
 " Was it not love at first sight, Conrad ? " Wehlitz 
 inquired, with a gentle rallying air. 
 
 " Dio mio!" Eleanora exclaimed, clasping her 
 hands on her breast. 
 
 Sachs, after his long stare, was blushing again. He 
 sat, his face brightly illuminated by the lamp, a help- 
 less target for all their eyes. Ludenstein had thrown 
 back his head and was laughing. 
 
 "Love at first sight, Ludwig?" said the young 
 man, now in a severe voice. " What have I to do 
 with love at first sight? You do the young lady an 
 unkindness by your jests. Her name has been already 
 too lightly treated." 
 
 "But I do not treat it lightly! I do not jest! I 
 speak with all seriousness," Wehlitz cried, his excite- 
 ment breaking through the mask of gaiety so evidently 
 assumed. " I see the disparities as clearly as you 
 can and I say, deliberately, that they are atoned for 
 by your qualities of mind and heart. Yours is a 
 fine and powerful mind, misuse it though you do, 
 and you are capable of an infinite devotion who 
 should know that better than I ? and women need de- 
 votion. She is not as other women, this young girl, 
 she is above them ; she scorns their parasitic impulses ; 
 yet she could be taught what they imply of develop- 
 ment. She could be taught that a woman's highest 
 
 82
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mission is to be the mother of great men. It is not 
 her right to shut herself away from this claim the fu- 
 ture has upon her. It is the future that calls to her. 
 I believe that your and Fraulein Fennamy's children 
 would be exceptional." 
 
 His urgency, his excitement, his extravagance ap- 
 pealed, evidently, too much to Sachs's sense of hu- 
 mour for his severity to maintain itself. His face, 
 while he listened, twisted in a grimace of unwilling 
 mirth and as Wehlitz ended, he burst into a laugh. 
 "Ludwig! Ludwig! Ludwig!" he said, "You look 
 me in the face fortunately, for the moment, my legs 
 are hidden! and you speak to me of hereditary ad- 
 vantages! The poor Fraulein! the unfortunate 
 princess, indeed! to be handed over to a plebeian 
 cripple who can barely earn his bread and who would 
 bequeath to his children his clumsy form and his ugly 
 clown's face! It is a picture to draw tears as well 
 as laughter is it not, signorina? and I can see the 
 young lady's expression as it was proposed to her. I 
 beg of you, Ludwig, for the sake of your friendship 
 with her, do not let your brilliant idea go further ! " 
 
 " Herr Sachs speaks the truth, Ludwig," Eleanora 
 said. " It is an unseemly jest. Do not let it go fur- 
 ther. It would seriously displease Persis. I can as- 
 sure you of that." 
 
 " I do not see it as an unseemly jest. I repeat 
 that I do not see it so," Wehlitz cried, with increasing 
 vehemence. " Why should you imagine me incapable 
 of appreciating that young girl's claims as well as 
 
 83
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 you and Conrad, and of having, I dare swear, as keen 
 a regard for her dignity. I do not agree with Con- 
 rad as to his face; ugly it is, but full of force; and 
 Fraulein Fennamy's distinction will atone for his lack 
 of it. No, I do not see it as a laughing matter. It 
 is not my custom to make unseemly jests. She should 
 be married, that young girl. She should be the mother 
 of great men." 
 
 " Then why not the mother of your children, Lud- 
 wig? " said Sachs. " Why should not you marry the 
 young lady? Aha! I turn the tables on you! It is 
 your turn to change colour ! Why should not the fu- 
 ture call to her through you? You can give her fame 
 as well as devotion, and you have some fortune, too, 
 and are of good birth." 
 
 Wehlitz's brow had darkened. "No," he said, 
 " that is not well of you, Conrad. I spoke in love 
 for you. It is not a subject for mockery." 
 
 " But I do not speak in mockery, Ludwig. I speak 
 in earnest; more earnestly, at all events, than you can 
 speak." 
 
 * You know my views as to social ties," said Wehlitz 
 darkly; "they are not for me. Marriage would, to 
 me, mean, inevitably, fetters, compromise, frustra- 
 tion. Say, if you like, that it is a weakness I recog- 
 nize in myself ; yes, say that it is a weakness," he re- 
 peated fiercely, casting a covert glance upon the im- 
 perturbably smiling Liidenstein, " and that if I allowed 
 myself to love I should love too deeply and too ab- 
 sorbedly. I know the dangers of my own tempera- 
 
 84
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ment. My thought would become lessened, crippled, 
 my personality would alter and lose its edge. Is it 
 not my mission in life to keep my blade sharp and 
 clear? No; no home, no children, no wife for me. 
 Marriage, for the prophet, is an impossibility." 
 Wehlitz, as he spoke these last words, turned over on 
 the sofa and lay at full length, facing the wall. 
 
 "But why speak of marriage at all, Ludwig?" 
 Sachs inquired mildly after a little silence. " Fraulein 
 Fennamy shares your views, as we heard from her 
 yesterday." He glanced, smiling, with lifted brows 
 and merrily puckered lips at Eleanora, who, not ac- 
 customed to take her great men lightly, looked back 
 at him with some solemnity. Sachs added a large 
 fluted tail to one of his birds. 
 
 " She may think so," Wehlitz took up the challenge 
 after another moment; "she may think so, in her 
 proud ignorance of life. But woman cannot stand 
 alone. Woman must have another mate than thought. 
 Woman, when she is not a mother, is a contradiction, 
 a nothingness. So strongly do I feel this necessity 
 concerning our young friend that, were he not already 
 married, I should urge the same suggestion upon 
 Liidenstein, though, I owe it frankly, I should prefer 
 you, with all your disabilities, as a husband for her, 
 Conrad." He had continued speaking, with his face 
 turned to the wall, but the fingers of his hand, as it 
 lay upon his thigh, contracted continually and ner- 
 vously; now, as he listened for Ludenstein's answer, 
 they became still. 
 
 85
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Liidenstein, it seemed, had hardly ceased to laugh 
 since the beginning of the discussion; and, before 
 speaking, he lit another match and bent his head, 
 shaken by quiet, internal merriment, to draw at his 
 freshly filled pipe. " Would you, indeed, my friend ? 
 Would you indeed?" he commented. "I am hon- 
 oured and gratified by your choice even though it is 
 only a second choice, a faute de mieux. But no, my 
 Ludwig, I could \inder no conceivable circumstances 
 enter your romantic counsels. The Signorina, who is 
 at home among men, will pardon my frankness if I 
 say that woman is for me a toy, a relaxation, a grati- 
 fication, and nothing more. Surely, then, you could 
 hardly, had I been free for distribution, have chosen 
 me as a mate for our soaring young friend, who sees 
 herself as so significant. I do not say that I should 
 be an unhappy choice, it is possible that I am more 
 fitted to give happiness to a woman than those who take 
 her more seriously." 
 
 "I do not speak of happiness," said Wehlitz in a 
 dry, harsh voice. " I speak of development. She is 
 not one of your happiness-mongers, this young 
 girl." 
 
 "Ah, you take her, indeed, very seriously," said 
 Liidenstein. " And I have never taken a woman seri- 
 ously. I do not even make your sentimental distinc- 
 tion boy that you still are at heart for woman as 
 wife and mother. I have but one prejudice, if that 
 can be called a prejudice which follows inevitably from 
 my convictions; in a world such as this we live in, 
 
 86
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 a world for which I have, morally speaking, the most 
 profound contempt, the propagation of life seems to 
 me a grotesque and pitiable action. My own mar- 
 riage, you will remember, has remained childless and 
 on this account there is an immense outcry and cack- 
 ling among my wife's respectable relatives, who share 
 your views as to woman's destiny, Ludwig ! " 
 
 While Liidenstein thus declared himself, Wehlitz 
 had turned upon the sofa and fixed his eyes steadily 
 upon him. His expression, as he did this, was singu- 
 lar. It was as though he forced himself to listen with 
 a detachment as great as that with which the other 
 spoke. After a moment's silence he observed : " I 
 have always failed to understand how those could 
 be the views of one who accepts my interpretation of 
 life. That the reproduction of the slave-type should 
 be severely restricted I have always insisted, and woe 
 to the nation that does not come early enough to the 
 realisation of that necessity! But that the proud, 
 insatiable master-type should condemn itself to disap- 
 pearance seems to me a madness, a degeneracy. At 
 heart, Ernst, you are a pessimistic hedonist." 
 
 Liidenstein shrugged his shoulders. " Fix your 
 labels as you please, my friend. It is with your 
 thought as destructive of illusions, with your poetical 
 gift as creator of beauty, that I am in agreement. For 
 your ethical system for it is nothing else I have no 
 use. If I am of the proud and insatiable type, as you 
 kindly suggest, I have no wish to hand on the species. 
 I am sufficient to myself. I know none of your crav- 
 
 87
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ings towards futurity." Liidenstein rose, knocking 
 out the ashes of his pipe against the stove. 
 
 " You fear life. That is it," said Wehlitz in a low 
 voice. " You fear the future." 
 
 " Not at all," said Liidenstein. " It should be put 
 differently. I do not fear the present. I do not fear 
 myself. I am contented to be an end to myself. But 
 it grows late for metaphysical discussion and I see, 
 moreover, that the Signorina endures my negations 
 with impatience. Adieu. I will leave you to your ro- 
 mantic deliberations, only, if I may, I will venture to 
 offer a word of counsel before I go." He paused, 
 smiling not unkindly down upon them. Sachs was 
 again busily drawing and did not lift his eyes. " It 
 is this, that neither you nor Herr Sachs consider 
 Fraulein Fennamy as a wife. She has great force, 
 great charm; but she is not a home-builder; not the 
 mother of a great race. She is, like so many of our 
 modern women, an ineffectual artist. She has the 
 artistic impulse without its capacity. And, with her, 
 ambition takes the place of passion. She is of the 
 ambiguous race of those who love imaginatively, in- 
 tellectually, not physically; a dangerous type, cold, in- 
 satiable, devourers of men. Be careful, therefore; 
 that is my very affectionate advice to you ; be careful. 
 Do not imagine that in Fraulein Fennamy you will 
 find the gentle clay to mould upon the wheel of your 
 desire. On the contrary, she may mould you. The 
 Signorina will forgive me. I speak with scientific 
 detachment." Slightly laughing, slightly shaking his 
 
 88
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 head, he thereupon bade them good-night and de- 
 parted. 
 
 " Liidenstein, with all his intelligence, is at times a 
 dull animal," Wehlitz remarked after some silent mo- 
 ments had passed and in a voice that, for all his ef- 
 fort at control, trembled with intense vexation. 
 
 " I am glad that you can see and say it, Ludwig ! " 
 Eleanora exclaimed. " It is the viveur's standard he 
 applies. Cold and insatiable! my Persis! my ardent 
 spirit!" 
 
 " And what do you think of Liidenstein's diagnosis, 
 Conrad ? " Wehlitz inquired, looking over at the 
 young man who, his elbows now planted on the table, 
 had ceased to draw. " Is there truth, do you think, 
 in what he says of Fraulein Fennamy?" 
 
 " There is perhaps some truth," said Sachs, after a 
 moment. 
 
 "What? You too, Conrad!" Wehlitz raised 
 himself on his elbow. " Come, come ! You think 
 then that this young girl will try to devour us ? " 
 
 " Devour us ? No, I do not think that. No, cer- 
 tainly not ! " said Sachs laughing. 
 
 "Well, then? What do you think? Explain 
 yourself," said Wehlitz impatiently, frowning and 
 beating down his cushions. " You speak always in 
 jest. It becomes wearisome ! " 
 
 "Ah, Ludwig!" Sachs cast a glance half grave, 
 half comical upon his friend, " how should I say what 
 I think. I do not know what I think, and I have 
 none of Graf von Liidenstein's fluency. He hates 
 
 89
 
 women, or, no, it is truer to say that he despises them, 
 and there is often much insight in contempt. On the 
 other hand, in love there is even more. So, though 
 there may be truth in what he says, it should not 
 disturb you." 
 
 " I agree, I agree," Eleanora observed, the startled 
 severity of the glance she had at first fixed upon him 
 relaxing. " All of us poor humans are complicated 
 creatures, deserving of both love and hate. That is 
 all that you would say, is it not, Herr Sachs ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is all," Sachs nodded. " And Graf von 
 Ludenstein is a clever man. I always feel that there 
 is much truth in what he says, though so much that 
 he says displeases me. It is true that young things 
 are selfish; the self must at first absorb and interest 
 us most. And the Fraulein is so young. Too young 
 to understand herself. How, then, should we under- 
 stand her? And since she is a woman she will tend 
 to become what the man who loves her makes of her. 
 Hein, signorina, is not my psychology profound?" 
 He looked with his sad, merry eyes at Eleanora. " I 
 ought to have been a novelist ! " 
 
 Wehlitz had been listening with evident fretfulness. 
 *' There is a selfishness, young or old, which I admire 
 and which I would encourage in Fraulein Fennamy," 
 he said. " I do not fear her. I will mould her. I 
 will make her think higher things of herself than she 
 can dream." 
 
 Eleanora rose. It was getting late and this was a 
 propitious note. She stooped over Wehlitz to press 
 
 90
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 his hand. "Well said, Ludwig; well said," she as- 
 sured him. " Yours is the hand and brain she needs 
 in order to find herself. And it is not to Graf von 
 Liidenstein that you must listen. It is to Herr 
 Sachs." 
 
 The remark was unfortunate. Wehlitz replied with 
 a more marked irritation. " I need listen to nobody. 
 My own opinions are, in this as in all matters, enough 
 to guide me." 
 
 Sachs had accompanied Signorina Zardo to the door 
 and he went with her down the passage. She paused 
 at the head of the stairs. " Dio mio! Herr Sachs," 
 she murmured, " what possessed Ludwig to offer my 
 proud young friend in marriage in this fashion! I 
 cannot understand his state of mind." 
 
 Sachs, leaning on his crutch, looked at her mildly 
 and shrewdly. " Can you not, signorina? It is not 
 difficult to understand. It was a fanfaronade of Lud- 
 wig's; to prove to Graf von Ludenstein his detach- 
 ment. He is jealous of Graf von Ludenstein. And 
 also he wished to see what effect his proposals would 
 have on him." 
 
 " You think our great Ludwig is so weak and fool- 
 ish ! " Eleanora said with some indignation. 
 
 " Mein Gott, signorina, have we not agreed that we 
 all have our weaknesses ! " said Sachs laughing. 
 
 Eleanora was silent for a moment, looking about 
 the dimly lighted passage and down into the well of 
 the staircase. A lazy porter yawned lengthily below. 
 " Perhaps you are right," she observed at last. " Per-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 haps you have seen clearly. It may have been jeal- 
 ousy." 
 
 ** I am sure it was," smiled Sachs. 
 
 They heard now Wehlitz's fretful voice. "Con- 
 rad ! Conrad ! What are you doing? " it called from 
 the salon. " I want you. You are not to leave me 
 yet!" 
 
 " Good-night, signorina," said the young man. 
 " Do not take Ludwig's fantastic behaviour too 
 hardly. It means only kind and generous things, at 
 bottom, like so many of Ludwig's fantasies. And the 
 Fraulein will never hear of it." 
 
 " Let us hope not let us hope not, indeed ! " Elea- 
 nora ejaculated, descending.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 PERSIS and Wehlitz were climbing among the 
 vineyards to the beech-woods. They had left 
 Tannenkreuz by the little bridge that crossed the docile 
 river and taken this, the most direct path. The pine- 
 clad summits lay on the left, dominating the tamer 
 graces of the landscape with a touch of haughty ro- 
 mance. Wehlitz had asked her that morning the 
 third that they had spent under the apple-trees, and 
 since the first he had come alone if she would go with 
 him to the beech-woods where there was a spot, much 
 loved by him, that he would like to show her. Their 
 first walk had been a purposeless progression, on and 
 on and round and round the Kur-Garten and the river 
 path, while they talked voraciously. Now they walked 
 in silence and with a sense of intimacy that the im- 
 personal and passionate discussions of the mornings 
 had not brought. 
 
 The path among the vineyards was hot and stony. 
 Persis carried her green sunshade and they paused 
 often to look back over the town and river. It was 
 Wehlitz who broke the silence. 
 
 " To-day we must talk of ourselves, Fraulein," he 
 said, with the mingling of appeal and authority char- 
 acteristic of his attitude towards the young girl. 
 
 93
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " We know of each other already the essential ; we 
 know what each possesses of freedom and of force; 
 but the history of the forces, their goal, and aim, is 
 yet to be told." 
 
 From the green shadow cast by her sunshade Persis 
 turned her calm regard upon him; calm and cool and 
 grave, it was the gaze of a naiad, of a creature without 
 a past or a future, and it seemed in the spirit of such a 
 detachment that she said, after a moment, very slightly 
 smiling: " I have had no history." 
 
 " No? A young lady who at ten wrote poetry and 
 quoted Dante Eleanora has told me much, you see 
 and who at sixteen wished to join the Nihilists ? " 
 He leaned to look into her face with the tender, rally- 
 ing look she so often aroused. 
 
 "Is that history? Eleanora, then, can tell you 
 all that there is to tell." 
 
 "Ah; not of the inner life and purpose. You will 
 not make me believe that Eleanora has partaken of 
 them. Devoted creature that she is, and full, too, 
 of intelligence, she is not of your kind. She is not of 
 the type that chooses, that rejects, that is ruled by 
 itself as you are." 
 
 Persis seemed to receive this as a contribution to- 
 wards self-knowledge and to reflect upon it. " If I 
 am like that," she said, " I am not aware of it. I am 
 not conscious of an aim. All that I feel of myself is 
 that I am waiting can one wait with intensity? 
 Isn't it very young to be all interrogation, intense in- 
 terrogation? I may have power, but nothing seems 
 
 94
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 yet to have been put into my hands. I am always 
 surprised at the things that content other people." 
 
 He gazed at her for a moment without speaking. 
 " I will put something into your hands," he said 
 presently. " I will put a sword into your hands. My 
 thought ; it is a sword. And you, into my heart will 
 put a song." 
 
 She was touched and elated. He was beautiful, she 
 felt. And, as was usual with her when moved, she 
 remained silent, looking away from him. They en- 
 tered the beech-woods. " Tell me," Wehlitz went on 
 presently he had seen that he had pleased her and 
 his face was full of happiness; " tell me, shall we not 
 drop the puerile conventions of that lesser world we 
 both despise ? They raise a barrier between us. May 
 I not call you Persis? It is a beautiful name. It 
 sounds like the name of a goddess whose forgotten 
 shrine might stand in a lonely island of the Grecian 
 archipelago." 
 
 " By all means call me Persis," she said smiling, for 
 his pronunciation, like Eleanora's, gave the word 
 Latin vowels and consonants. " In its original English 
 it would not, I think, suggest poetical analogies. My 
 mother, you know, calls it Pursiss." 
 
 " Ah, even so it is full of grace full of grace and 
 strangeness; of leaves that whisper, rivulets that sing. 
 And you will call me Ludwig? " 
 
 " Your name makes me think of knights and an- 
 chorites," said Persis. " Yes, indeed, I will call you 
 Ludwig." 
 
 95
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Of knights and anchorites? " His delight was ap- 
 parent, a boyish, almost a childish delight. " But that 
 is apt, singularly apt. On my mother's side I am, as 
 you may have heard, of an ancient and chivalrous 
 family. And my life is the austere life of thought, 
 a dedicated life, the anchorite's. Yes, it is well found. 
 You too," he smiled, " have you need not tell me so, 
 for it is apparent strains of a noble blood in you,," 
 
 " I don't think so," said Persis. She was looking 
 about her now, at the woods, the fan-like branches of 
 the beeches spreading horizontal webs of green, the 
 dense, soft brown of fallen leaves, the chinks and 
 spaces of summer sky above. She listened to him, but 
 her thoughts were tangled in the green and light, 
 fluttering like birds from branch to branch; this 
 vagrancy of attention was frequent with her. j 
 
 " Ah, but it is again Eleanora who supplies me with 
 my background: your father was a remarkable man, 
 a soldier, I think, a man of war. And, I think, of an 
 old Irish family." 
 
 " No ; he was a newspaper editor in a little American 
 town," said Persis. " Perhaps you are thinking of 
 mamma's father. He was killed in the Civil War." 
 
 "As I said. A martial blood beats in your veins, 
 the blood of conquerors." 
 
 His persistence caught back her attention to him. 
 She looked round at him with a mild amusement. 
 " You would hardly say so if you could see the daguer- 
 reotype mamma has of her father; a kindly, insignifi- 
 cant creature, more like a sheep than a soldier. The 
 
 96
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Civil War, you see," she enlightened him, " drove so 
 many unlikely types into the struggle. My grand- 
 father was not a soldier, though he died in battle." 
 
 Wehlitz would not relinquish some part, at least, 
 of his myth. " A heroic struggle ; I have read of it ; 
 heroic in defeat; a struggle for the ideal of aristocracy. 
 Slaves indeed should do your bidding." 
 
 A slight but definite irony edged her smile. " But 
 we were Northerners I am glad to say. As far as I 
 know anything about it, my prejudices, and certainly 
 all my traditions, are on the Northern side. I should 
 have hated to have slaves. It is a repellent relation- 
 ship, I think." 
 
 Wehlitz had flushed. " You marshal your facts as 
 if to prove to me with them that you are not, what 
 your very independence of them proves that you are 
 an aristocrat to the bone." 
 
 " I certainly don't feel that I need conquering an- 
 cestors to give me independence," she returned. 
 
 " Ah, but it is there that you are wrong ; we owe 
 them everything, our ancestors. Without their pride 
 and prowess we should be the slaves and not the 
 masters. All that is of value is inheritance. The 
 efforts of the small and weak to raise themselves only 
 result in ugliness and deformity." 
 
 " Ah, well, the wish to rise, the effort, shows that the 
 man cannot be entirely weak and small. And some one 
 must have begun. But I think you would have been 
 interested in my father," she went on, aware that he 
 was embarrassed by the fear of having offended her 
 
 97
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 and feeling very kindly towards him. " I must show 
 you the photographs we have of him. Yes, he was 
 Irish, but not of a great family. He was the son of 
 an Irish country doctor and he ran away from home 
 when his mother died. He was a rebellious creature, 
 and full of gaiety and scorn; one sees it in his face." 
 
 " As in yours ; as in yours ; yes ; you shall not 
 make nothing of my convictions ! " Wehlitz cried, with 
 quickly recovered radiance. " See ; this is the spot 
 I wished to find. Is it not peaceful? Shall we rest 
 here and tell each other of our lives?" 
 
 "You shall tell me of yours, since you are old 
 enough to have had a history," said Persis. 
 
 They had come from the woods into a green nook, 
 open to the sky and divided on one hand from fields 
 of tall grain by a grassy bank and a row of pastoral 
 trees. Persis sat down on the grass and Wehlitz, 
 taking off his hat, stretched himself beside her and 
 leaned his head on his hand. He was happy once 
 more and did not need to be asked again for his story. 
 He longed to pour it out, to gain her sympathy and 
 understanding; she did not need to gain his; she felt 
 this, and that his curiosity in regard to her was more 
 than satisfied by her presence there beside him. She 
 more than answered for herself. 
 
 A series of pictures rose before Persis while he 
 spoke. He told her all, from the very beginning: the 
 strange little boy, formal, sensitive, full of pride and 
 generosity: the quaint German town; the sober ten- 
 der-hearted customs; the traditions of duty, and re- 
 
 98
 
 sponsibility ; and, over all, as in an old German child's 
 picture-book, the clustered bells of the happy simple 
 faith. After that came the pictures of youth and 
 storm, of the bankruptcy of belief, and of manhood 
 with its scholastic triumphs and ardent friendships. 
 Her clear, if untrained mind followed, without the aid 
 of images, the growth of his inexorable thought as he 
 told her of it, spreading chasms around him that those 
 he loved could not cross. To bear witness to his light 
 had been to sever all the ties, once so dear, and to 
 drive himself naked and bleeding into the wilderness. 
 For years he had wandered there, looking down upon 
 a fen of baseness where men, refusing to listen to his 
 drastic creed, battened upon illusions and clung to- 
 gether for warmth and safety. 
 
 Wehlitz's face had grown scimbre while he spoke. 
 Half turned from her he looked down, plucking at the 
 tall grasses under his hand. The muscle twitched in 
 his cheek and his voice dropped to long silences. Once 
 he brushed angrily at his eyes and she saw that his 
 tears had risen. " And now," he said, the story hav- 
 ing reached its end, " I am alone. The few whom I 
 thought I might still count as friends did not deign 
 to acknowledge my * Mountain Cry.' It enraged and 
 terrified them. They hide from me. I take from 
 them all the props they live by. I leave them only 
 what they have of native strength ; it is not to be won- 
 dered at, perhaps, that they hate and fear me! the 
 cravens ! " 
 
 He had, she saw it clearly, almost forgotten her,, 
 
 99
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 His voice was fierce and moody. Almost two hours 
 had passed while he told his story and the afternoon 
 sun slanted over the bank casting long shadows from 
 the trees above them. Persis, suddenly, felt that she 
 was tired. " You have still Graf von Liidenstein and 
 Herr Sachs ? " she questioned. She would be too late 
 for tea, she was thinking. Also she watched a little 
 bird that fluttered, with bright glimmers of the wings, 
 from branch to branch among the lower bushes at the 
 wood-edge a chaffinch. She wondered if Wehlitz 
 was fond of birds. She had almost added the ques- 
 tion to her first one, but checked it. 
 
 He plucked at the grass, knitting his brows. " Yes, 
 yes, yes, I have them." He spoke rather fretfully; 
 how completely, indeed, he had forgotten her. " But 
 they are not such disciples as I seek. Liidenstein and 
 I have, at bottom, little in common ; his is an indolent, 
 if brilliant mind; it is pleasure he seeks, not joy, and 
 joy, tragic joy, is the climax of my initiation. Liiden- 
 stein is not capable of tragedy or of joy. His is the 
 cynical smile of the worldling, not the brave, god-like 
 laughter. Still, yes, after a fashion I believe that 
 Ernst is devoted enough. The recondite pleases his 
 aesthetic sense and he gains lustre in his own eyes from 
 his association with me." 
 
 "And Herr Sachs?" 
 
 Wehlitz's face involuntarily softened. " Yes. 
 Sachs indeed is my friend, my dear friend, devoted, 
 loyal. But our minds do not meet, not at all. He 
 calls the empty sky upon which we evoke our visions, 
 
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 God, and the fen-parasites his brothers, and says that 
 each of them may see the sky. Poor Conrad! Yet 
 not a hypocrite, a sincere self-deceiver. He limps 
 along, mentally and physically, and makes a creed 
 from incompatibles like his Hegel, the web-spinner. 
 And frank, he has been frank. He does not try to 
 deceive me with compromises. From the first, when 
 I led him to my icy mountain top, he said, * No, here 
 we part.' I do not blame him." 
 
 " He lives with you ? " Still she watched the bird 
 and her thoughts were as much with it as with Wehlitz. 
 
 " Lives with me ? Perhaps we may say so. Since 
 a year ago, one may call it that. It was a time of 
 great distress for me. I was ill, gravely ill, haunted, 
 pursued. Conrad came to me, left his work, his life 
 and came. He shall not lose, no, I shall see to it that 
 he does not lose, and he carries on his work now quite 
 happily. He too, writes and says that he is glad of 
 the leisure his companionship to me permits him. Yes, 
 he writes : webs webs webs to entangle the feet of 
 other cripples. Well let them swing merrily in the 
 sunshine! One does not grudge to cripples their al- 
 leviations ! But for Conrad's thought it is not to be 
 taken seriously. I do not consider it. It does not 
 count with me at all." 
 
 " His voice is a much pleasanter voice than Graf 
 von Liidenstein's," said Persis absently. " I have not 
 looked carefully at him yet, but I think that with all 
 his ugliness his face pleases me the most." 
 
 " Ah. It does ? " Wehlitz at last looked up at her, 
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 and with a new vividness. " And me, too, it pleases 
 more. Yet Ernst is a fine looking man, do you not 
 find?" 
 
 Persis was laughing a little, her limpid yet mirthless 
 laughter. " Is he ? Do you know what mamma says 
 about him, that his hips are too fat. It does strike 
 one, you know." 
 
 Wehlitz loudly laughed, drawing himself upright. 
 " Good. Yes. Good. I am glad that as to Liiden- 
 stein you feel with me." He was looking at the young 
 girl almost merrily and as if at last he saw her again. 
 " You are pale, Persis," he went on. " I have talked 
 and talked and perhaps wearied you." 
 
 " No. I am glad to have heard your history. It 
 makes me understand you better. You have been 
 very brave." 
 
 " Brave, yes, I have been brave," said Wehlitz with 
 a deep sigh, "but at times weary, weary beyond 
 words." He extended himself again in the grass. 
 " Ah it is good to lie here and to tell it all to you, 
 who understand. How deep is the trust I feel in you, 
 Persis. Brave and weary, so it goes, the pulse, the 
 pulse of life, the effort, and then the swoon when life 
 seems to ebb away." He had closed his eyes. 
 
 " That is like a poem I wrote once," said Persis 
 presently. " How little I thought that I was to meet 
 anyone like you when I wrote it. I think that I have 
 felt brave and weary, too, though I am so young." 
 
 He sat up at once, with widely open eyes. " A 
 poem? Eleanora has told me of your poems. What 
 
 1 02
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 is this poem? Our poem for, yes, our hearts beat 
 as one have I not felt it from the first? Say it to 
 me." 
 
 " It was about a flying bird that I had watched. I 
 am very fond of watching birds. Are you? Even 
 the sparrows in towns I like to watch." 
 
 " No, I have not watched them. You must teach 
 me to watch them with you." 
 
 " You know, when they fly. Does it not make you 
 feel an almost unendurable gladness for them ? " 
 
 "No; I have not felt it; I have not thought of it. 
 But say the poem. Let me hear it," he cried vehem- 
 ently, gazing intently at her. 
 
 Persis sat above him looking down at him, her hands 
 folded on her knees, and in her cool, monotonous 
 voice, that yet lent to the words a curious magic, she 
 repeated : 
 
 Beating wings, soaring wings, wings of joy 
 
 Pulsing wings you are like my heart in its sorrow; 
 
 It beats in hope and it pauses for sorrow to soar ; 
 
 It beats like your wings like your wings against the sky; 
 
 But the pulse of its hope is pain and its pause is sorrow. 
 
 It beats in darkness; but you fly over the sun. 
 
 It strives in silence; but the music of earth mounts to you. 
 
 It pauses in wonder; but you are glad without thought. 
 
 My heart and life are like the beating of wings; 
 
 Ever not yet; ever to pause and go; 
 
 Ever to strive and float and desire and dream, 
 
 And a dream is the pause and a joy is the pulse into pain. 
 
 103
 
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 Pause, oh life, too long, and you pass away, 
 Your dream to nothingness fades, you faint from the sun; 
 Like the dew in the sun your dream and your pain are over 
 As a bird too long outstretched on its joy would fall to the 
 ground. 
 
 After she had finished, Wehlitz sat looking at her in 
 silence. Then his eyes filled with tears. " But you 
 have said it all, wonderful child," he murmured. 
 
 " No, not all it was a mood," said Persis. " Life 
 itself is more like the bird, I think, with more joy in 
 the flight." 
 
 " Yes, yes," he said slowly, looking at her. " Life 
 is joy, its pain and horror are joy, and to pause too 
 long is to fall to nothingness; for beyond our flight 
 there is nothing. You see it all, all is there in your 
 poem. The rapture of impulse and creation and the 
 dark pause of contemplation where life knows itself 
 and the emptiness in which it hovers. Were we not 
 destined to meet, Persis? You seem to me to be my 
 other self: the very spirit of my dreams." 
 
 His deep emotion stirred an answering emotion in 
 her. Tenderness made part of it, but deeper than 
 tenderness was the delight she felt in his delight. His 
 delight in her was a halo cast around him. She stood 
 bathed in its radiance and she felt no need to draw 
 nearer to the man who cast it. " I think that it is you 
 I was waiting for," she said gravely. " I think that 
 you will make me fly." 
 
 "We will fly fly fly together," said Wehlitz. 
 " And I will arm you with my thoughts and you will 
 
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 wreathe your thoughts for me. Ah, beautiful child, 
 are you indeed to be my perfect friend ? " He had 
 put out his hand and laid it on hers. 
 
 She was a little troubled. She believed herself 
 quite capable of being a perfect friend, yet she was 
 not prepared for the profound trust and tenderness 
 expressed in his gaze and gesture. She pressed his 
 hand and rose. " I think that I can be a perfect 
 friend," she said. 
 
 The vineyards on the hill-side lay in shadow, and 
 when they had crossed the bridge and entered Tannen- 
 kreuz the sun had set. Persis walked in a happy 
 mood. The sense of power he gave her was like a 
 translucent lake in which she could dive and float and 
 swim. She was too tired, now, to wish to swim; she 
 lay buoyantly supported by the magical water and it 
 stretched, shining, all about her and far, far away to 
 the horizons of her life. Above it birds, their birds, 
 soared and floated and vague rhythms wreathed them- 
 selves in her mind. They came to the pension gates. 
 Wehlitz broke the silence. 
 
 " It is as if we had gone on a long journey, you 
 and I, Persis, is it not? And it is only the first of 
 many." 
 
 " We can hardly, at any time, make a longer one, 
 can we ? " said Persis. 
 
 They stood there in the twilight at the gate, under 
 the ranged poplars of the street, and she was aware 
 it was like waking from a dream to become aware of 
 it that they were probably visible to her mother 
 
 105
 
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 from the sitting-room window. The thought came 
 with the discomfort that so often attends waking. 
 She hoped that he would go now and not try and keep 
 her there. She was so very sleepy. 
 
 " No," Wehlitz was saying, " not longer flights, for 
 that could scarcely be. Sky and abyss, we have to-day 
 traversed them both. But there are many paths 
 through the sky, through the abyss ; we are to traverse 
 them all together." 
 
 " I am ready." 
 
 He looked at her. His hand held the gate-post. 
 " I wish always to be with you." 
 
 His gaze was grave, tremulous, beautiful. She felt 
 it so; again he moved her, almost with a sense of pity; 
 and how discordant it was that at such a moment the 
 thought of her mother's quiet, unsparing vision should 
 bring incongruous analogies. Why should he remind 
 her suddenly of a little chemist from whom she had 
 bought toilet vinegar one day in a steep, hot Italian 
 street? He had had a large, high brow, aggressively 
 and foolishly expansive, and a great moustache over- 
 whelming a chin the more futile for its veiling, and as 
 he tied up the toilet vinegar he had looked at her with 
 fierce, foolish, romantic eyes. How hateful of her 
 to have remembered him! It was her mother's 
 thought and she tried to call it back, but still it lingered 
 on Wehlitz, remarking that his trousers were over- 
 large and that stood with a trained, habitual tension 
 that had no military ease. She cut short the unworthy 
 moment, holding out her hand. " Yes, we must never 
 
 106
 
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 part, we are always to be comrades. I feel it. Now 
 I must leave you." 
 
 He held her hand. " I am to come again to-morrow ? 
 To-morrow morning?" 
 
 "Of course. We have our lesson to-morrow. In 
 the garden, as usual." 
 
 " And will you walk with me again to-morrow 
 afternoon? Or drive with me? to the vineyards? 
 It is a beautiful drive. And I have so much to say 
 to you." 
 
 " Let us drive, then, in a few days from now as a 
 reward for hard work in our mornings." 
 
 " Ah, the wise child ! Already she has mastered 
 the discipline and the austerity that true life requires. 
 I am to wait, then, for my reward." 
 
 All this time he had held her hand. She felt an irri- 
 tation, and, unusual self-conquest in her, summoned 
 a smile to hide it. " We are both to wait. Good-bye, 
 then." 
 
 " At ten to-morrow ? " 
 
 " At ten." She stepped inside the gate and closed 
 it, and he turned away at last, looking back at her as 
 he doffed his hat. 
 
 In the passage, when she had entered the pension, 
 old Lady Frere met her and looked at her with sleepy 
 disapprobation. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy, in their sitting-room, made no pre- 
 tence of not having witnessed the long-drawn part- 
 ing. It was one of the most comfortable things about 
 her that, tactful to the bone as her daughter had al- 
 
 107
 
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 ways found her, she never affected tact. And now, 
 turning from the window, she did not pretend to con- 
 ceal her surprise. "You have had an afternoon of 
 it ! " she said. " It 's almost seven ! " 
 
 " We have not been far," said Persis, " only up to 
 the woods, where we have been sitting. But, yes we 
 have been talking for hours. Herr Wehlitz has been 
 talking, rather." 
 
 " I should think it would wear him out, the way he 
 talks," said Mrs. Fennamy, pushing aside her work for 
 the lamp, which the maid brought in, " and you look 
 pretty tired." 
 
 Persis owned that she was tired.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 WEHLITZ, however, did not appear at the ap- 
 pointed hour next morning. It was little 
 Herr Sachs who, alone, at ten o'clock came tapping 
 down the street. A fine rain was falling ; so that Per- 
 sis had put her books in readiness in the sitting-room ; 
 and from the window she watched the young man ap- 
 proach, with some wonder and with some chagrin. 
 She had completely recovered from her fatigue and 
 was eager for fresh flights. 
 
 Herr Sachs entered shyly and awkwardly. He 
 did not know what to do with his hat; or with his 
 hands; and after seating himself at her bidding, he 
 shuffled his feet about and told her that Wehlitz was 
 not well. He had sat up till late the night before 
 composing; yes, he sometimes composed music; did 
 the Fraulein not know? And this was for her; Lud- 
 wig had written it for her. Sachs held out to her the 
 long roll of MS. he had brought with him, " And he 
 asks that you will play it through so that I may tell 
 him if you like it." 
 
 Persis unrolled the music. At the head of the first 
 page stood "Flight of the Bird." She was pleased; 
 touched ; and the colour rose to her cheeks. 
 
 " But is he ill? " she asked, after looking in silence 
 109
 
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 for some moments through the tribute thus laid before 
 her, and glancing down at the little cripple who, on 
 the edge of his chair, turned his hat round and round. 
 " Or is it over- fatigue ? I was afraid yesterday that 
 he was very tired." 
 
 "Yes, he was tired; and it was also the late hour 
 last night, Fraulein. He sat till twelve at his piano, 
 and then would not be satisfied until all was written 
 out. It was three before he went to bed. This morn- 
 ing he woke with a bad headache. He often has these 
 neuralgic headaches, and he cannot use his eyes next 
 day. They affect his eyesight." 
 
 " I am so sorry," Persis murmured, moving to the 
 piano; but she was not thinking of Wehlitz's indis- 
 position; she was absorbed in the thought of the 
 tribute. She sat down and played. 
 
 The piece was very difficult, written with a curious, 
 complicated vigour; but she read with facility, and 
 on a second playing the music was all revealed. The 
 expression was inadequate to the intention. She 
 recognized the intention tragic joy, tragic freedom, 
 poised on nothingness. The music escaped pedantry 
 through its vehemence, but it did not achieve beauty. 
 A painful simile came to her of a bird shot, and falling 
 with abrupt, desperate strokes of the wings. Her 
 own conception seemed blurred by this interpretation 
 of it and for some moments after she had finished she 
 sat rather disappointedly glancing over the pages, for- 
 getting the young man who sat behind her. Then, 
 remembering, she turned to look at him. 
 
 no
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She had not really looked at Herr Sachs before. 
 He had emerged from his embarrassment while she 
 played, and now, as his eyes met hers, the ugliness and 
 oddity of his face stamped itself upon her mind. It 
 made her think, freakishly, of a wooden trencher, 
 broad, clumsy, plebeian, and carved with quaint Ger- 
 manic antiquities; or of the fiddler's face in some old 
 carousing picture; or else and the analogy came as 
 easily of the devout face of a burgher donor in a 
 Memling triptych, kneeling in the corner, and looking 
 up, with hands folded, at the enthroned Madonna. 
 Very singularly ugly it was, with its stiff ungainly 
 hair, spatulate nose, large mouth awry and small eyes 
 that twinkled was it in mirth or in pain? or that 
 became fixed, clear, observant as now ; eyes sunken be- 
 tween lids slightly swollen and suggesting sleepless- 
 ness or tears. While she thus looked at him these 
 eyes had become questioning, and they brought her 
 mind back to the music and its composer. " I only 
 wish that Ludwig had not made himself ill in writing 
 it," she said. 
 
 " He felt that he must put it down while it was so 
 strongly in his mind, Fraulein. I may tell him that 
 you are pleased with it?" 
 
 She hesitated for a moment. " I must tell him 
 myself," she then found. " I shall come this after- 
 noon with mamma and see him." 
 
 " Ah, he will be very happy to hear that," said Herr 
 Sachs. " It will be the best of medicines for him. 
 And he asked, Fraulein, if it will not be too much 
 
 in
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 trouble for you, that you, in return for his music, 
 should write out your poem for him." 
 
 " Write it out ? " Persis smiled. " Certainly I will 
 write it and bring it to him." 
 
 " No, no ; " Herr Sachs smiled back, encouraged, 
 evidently, by her kindness. " If I may say so it will 
 give Ludwig more pleasure to have it now; there are 
 many hours to pass before the afternoon and he can 
 read your poem over. He is waiting for it. And 
 he promised me," the young man added, "that if 
 you were willing, I should see it too. You will al- 
 low that, Fraulein? I have heard the music, you 
 know." 
 
 " But, of course, I allow it," Persis said, still smil- 
 ing and pleased with Herr Sachs. " It will not bear 
 much reading, I warn you. My poems, 'if you can 
 call them that, are really improvisations, to be re- 
 cited and then forgotten. But, of course, if you 
 would like to see it " 
 
 She drew the ink-stand towards her and took up a 
 pen. 
 
 She had but just finished writing when the door 
 bell sounded again, and the round-cheeked little ser- 
 vant, wiping her arms on her blue apron, ushered in 
 Graf von Liidenstein. 
 
 Large, blond, well-dressed, exhaling a fragrance 
 of good tobacco and eau-de-Cologne, he stood there 
 smiling, hat and stick in hand, his eyes fixed on Persis 
 who, looking up from her paper, hesitated in a mo- 
 ment of surprise before rising to meet him. 
 
 112
 
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 " At last I find you, Fraulein," he said. " I have 
 been wondering when I should see you again, since 
 Ludwig has banished me from the metaphysical sym- 
 posiums." 
 
 " Did Ludwig banish you ? " Persis asked. " Les- 
 sons are better, it is true, in tete-a-tete. They are 
 lessons, not symposiums now, you know." 
 
 "Yes; he has banished us, both of us, has he not, 
 Sachs? And he was right and you are right; every- 
 thing is better in tete-a-tete except the things that 
 bore us; they, by diffusion, become less wearisome. 
 Ah, you are a musician, Fraulein? I did not know 
 that. What have we here ? " He leaned down to 
 peer with short-sighted eyes at the music. " ' Flight 
 of the Bird.' Is it your inspiration?" 
 
 " Herr Wehlitz sent it to me," said Persis. Graf 
 von Liidenstein made her feel vaguely shy, or, rather, 
 vaguely at a loss. " It is very interesting." 
 
 " Oh ! One of Ludwig's compositions. Yes ; I see 
 now that it is his hand. Interesting ? They are some- 
 times that; seldom more. You permit, Fraulein? I, 
 also, am passionately devoted to music." He had laid 
 his hat on the piano, his stick and gloves beside it, and 
 seating himself ran his thick, white hands with a mas- 
 terly competence over the keys. 
 
 Persis had flushed a little and, as Ludenstein thus 
 took possession of Ludwig's tribute to her, she glanced 
 over at Herr Sachs, whose eyes, she thought, met hers 
 gravely. Her poem was lying in full view on the 
 table and folding the paper she handed it to him with
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 a certain answering gravity that would convey to him 
 her discrimination; Graf von Ludenstein might take 
 possession of the tribute; he should not see what 
 had inspired it. Sachs bowed his head as he took 
 the paper from her and put it carefully in his coat 
 pocket. 
 
 Persis now could listen to Graf von Ludenstein. 
 He was playing with splendour, a splendour that em- 
 phasized the inadequacy of Ludwig's composition. 
 When he had finished he turned on the stool and 
 looked smiling at Persis. " You find it interesting ? 
 No. It is not good. It is from friendship you 
 speak." 
 
 " Not at all," said Persis, with some haughtiness of 
 mien. " I find it very interesting." 
 
 "So; 'Flight of the Bird'"; Ludenstein looked 
 back at the music ; " not for one yard does the bird 
 fly. It is strange, Ludwig being such a rebel, that his 
 music should be so unoriginal and platitudinous; and 
 thin; and laboured." He struck out a phrase here 
 and there. 
 
 " I would rather you did not dissect it," said Persis. 
 She rose and gave effect to her wish by lifting the 
 music from the rack. Liidenstein's glance expressed 
 amusement and admiration. 
 
 " You are a devoted friend, Fraulein Fennamy. 
 That is well; very well; I, too, am a devoted friend 
 and, if not so prejudiced, I can yet be glad to see 
 that you are so. I may not, then, play Ludwig to 
 you; but may I play something else something that 
 
 114
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 we both find interesting. For you are, I feel sure, 
 fond of music." 
 
 His unruffled composure made her feel a little ri- 
 diculous. Murmuring that it would be delightful to 
 hear him, she took her seat again, holding Ludwig's 
 recovered composition. And looking across at Herr 
 Sachs, so still, so silent, in his chair, she was restored ; 
 for she saw that he was pleased that she should have 
 rescued Ludwig. 
 
 But now she must listen as she had not listened be- 
 fore. Liidenstein was playing a Brahms Rhapsodie 
 and it was long since she had heard such music. It 
 mounted in her like a rising fountain of exquisite 
 expectancy; it brimmed her with delight and waves 
 of blissful sadness broke over her. She was bathed, 
 possessed by the magic that eluded her and saw it as 
 an Eros, bending to his Psyche in the darkness, splen- 
 did and invisible. Under the happy tumult of her 
 obliterated yet heightened self, words and rhythms 
 wreathed themselves. 
 
 Ludenstein, when he turned to her, found an un- 
 seeing gaze dwelling upon him and he was aware of 
 the presence of creative power in the young girl, the 
 artist's mastery of what has mastered him. 
 
 She hardly smiled her thanks, sitting there in the 
 attitude habitual to her, with folded arms and head a 
 little bent so that her pale, cold eyes looked up from 
 under brooding brows. He examined her, almost 
 with an impersonal interest. " I see that you are one 
 of those who care for music," he said. 
 
 "5
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis emerged from her visions to consciousness of 
 their evoker. She could not see Graf von Liiden- 
 stein again with quite such alien eyes. 
 
 "Yes; I care very much for it," she said. "I 
 hardly play at all myself. I studied very assiduously 
 at one time but I found that to do what I should wish 
 to do would take too much of my life. And I could 
 find what I wanted in other people's playing; in play- 
 ing like yours. Will you come and play to me some- 
 times?" 
 
 " As often as you will let me as often as you will 
 let me," said Liidenstein. 
 
 It was as if they had forgotten Herr Sachs. He 
 rose now from his chair. " I am to tell Ludwig that 
 you will come at four, Fraulein ? " 
 
 She was sorry that he was going. She felt that she 
 would like him to sit there, while Graf von Liidenstein 
 played to them, for hours. " Must you go ? " she 
 said ; " yes ; I will come at four." 
 
 " I must go ; I thank you, Fraulein. I promised 
 Ludwig to be back." 
 
 "That is a singular little personage," said Liiden- 
 stein when Sachs had gone and they had heard the 
 front door close upon him. Leaving the piano as he 
 spoke he came and leaned against the mantelshelf, 
 looking down at her. 
 
 " Yes," said Persis rather absently. " He has a 
 wonderful devotion to Herr Wehlitz." 
 
 " Wonderful ? I do not know about that. We 
 are all devoted to Ludwig, are we not? those of us 
 
 116
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 whom he does not strike from him. There are few of 
 us left, I confess." 
 
 " One can't imagine anyone wishing to strike Herr 
 Sachs away." 
 
 " One cannot imagine it and it may, indeed, not 
 befall him. He is safer in being outside the circle of 
 intellectual interests. He fills the post of court dwarf 
 and jester, one of the misshapen creatures, merry, 
 sagacious and melancholy, whom we read of in Shake- 
 speare or see on a Velasquez canvas; licensed clowns 
 who contrive to amuse their masters while instilling 
 sometimes a wisdom that equals would not dare im- 
 part. Liberties are allowable from those beneath us. 
 You are reading much of our Ludwig, Fraulein ? " 
 
 " Yes ; a great deal ; the earlier books. What I 
 most want to read is the prose poem. It is to come 
 out very soon now, he says." 
 
 "A very great poet, our Ludwig, and poet rather 
 than thinker. That is his tragedy; he can infect, he 
 cannot prove ; and he wishes to prove." 
 
 " I shall understand him, I think," said Persis. 
 She sat beneath Graf von Ludenstein on her sofa and 
 she had, while they talked, a very singular feeling. 
 The meaning between them was not the meaning of 
 their words. It was embodied in the large, blond 
 presence of the man who stood at the mantelpiece 
 looking down at her. He was full of some ambiguous 
 power and she felt in herself an answering and resist- 
 ent power and rejoiced, though with a sort of fear, in 
 her awareness of him. It made her think of a time at 
 
 117
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Scheveningen when she had bathed in a stormy sea, 
 diving with dread delight, through each great foaming 
 breaker as it advanced and swimming, in an ecstasy of 
 insecurity, towards the next. How frightened her 
 mother had been! standing calling on the beach, her 
 words blown away like bubbles by the gale. She did 
 not like Graf von Liidenstein, yet she rejoiced in 
 his presence ; and in the long silence that now grew 
 it was in the silences that the meaning towered she 
 saw the immense breaker advancing, its translucent 
 wall rising between her and the sky, laced with ribbons 
 of foam. Meeting his eyes calmly she felt that she 
 struck into it, passed through it, and emerged, smiling, 
 triumphant. 
 
 " You are fond of understanding people," Luden- 
 stein remarked after this potent silence. " I see that. 
 And yes, you will understand Ludwig soon; better 
 than he understands himself. And let me give you 
 a word of friendly warning, Fraulein it is for his sake 
 that I venture on it do not, when you understand 
 him, let him see that you do so. His is the child's 
 instinctive genius with the man's brain; but he has 
 also the child's susceptibility to criticism. So be a 
 true friend to Ludwig and do not let him quarrel with 
 you." 
 
 "Do you never let him see that you understand 
 him?" she asked. 
 
 " Never. When he deceives himself I keep silence. 
 When I do not agree I keep silence; an acquiescent 
 and not a provocative silence." 
 
 118
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " You seem to value his friendship more than your 
 own integrity," she observed dryly. 
 
 Ludenstein smiled. " My integrity, my dear young 
 lady, rests on the foundation of my own tastes and 
 wishes, and on no small moral formulas. I am, in this, 
 of Ludwig's way of thinking. You will find indeed, 
 that I am Ludwig's sole disciple and that I practise 
 what he only preaches. I am fond of Ludwig. I 
 find him of value. I guard him from himself, lest a 
 valuable and fragile object should be broken, and this, 
 often, can be secured only by sacrificing strict veracity. 
 I advise you to imitate me." 
 
 " I do not know that I should care to take so much 
 trouble. My wish and taste is for veracity." 
 
 " What? You have, then, no affection for Ludwig? 
 Do not think that you can change him. You will 
 only break and bruise him if you do not indulgently 
 adapt the truth to him." 
 
 " Certainly I have affection for him." He was con- 
 fusing her a little. 
 
 " It is more trouble, then, let me assure you, to 
 quarrel with those we care for than to indulge them." 
 
 " You do not convince me that I shall have to 
 choose between your alternatives." 
 
 " Ah ; you are a remarkable young woman, you 
 would say, and it is true that you may be able to 
 keep Ludwig's friendship on your own terms. But 
 if you succeed in that you will be the first of his friends 
 who has done so. With all my heart I wish you suc- 
 cess." They spoke of Ludwig and of her friendship 
 
 119
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 for Ludwig; but it was not of Ludwig that his eyes 
 spoke to her, as, intent and sleepy, they rested upon 
 her with the force of a physical weight. 
 
 On her sofa, her attitude unchanged, she looked 
 up at him from under her bent brows and slightly 
 smiled, testing in the smile her own resisting strength. 
 " It is very kind of you," she said, with a faint yet 
 quite perceptible mockery. " Why are you so solici- 
 tous on my account, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Ah, my kindness is for Ludwig not for you, 
 Fraulein," said Liidenstein laughing. " I have no 
 kindness for you." 
 
 This was indeed, an unexpected whirl of the waters. 
 She felt herself striking out blindly and knew that she 
 showed the discomfiture of a child rebuked. " I 
 thought you had," she heard herself saying, lamely, 
 and she hated herself and him for her helplessness. 
 
 " Not at all," Liidenstein continued to laugh. " It 
 is all for Ludwig, my kindness. I am Ludwig's friend, 
 not yours. I do not wish to be your friend." 
 
 She knew that the colour had rushed to her cheeks. 
 She dropped her eyes and felt the tears of anger and 
 embarrassment brim them, while he stood there leis- 
 urely watchful of her awkwardness. But when he 
 spoke again it was with a change of tone that made 
 her look quickly up at him. 
 
 "No," he said, and his eyes, meeting hers, nar- 
 rowed themselves as he watched the effect of his words 
 upon her. " No ; I hope for something more interest- 
 ing than friendship with you, Fraulein. Antagonism 
 
 120
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 and curiosity and delight are too strongly present be- 
 tween a man and woman, when one is young and beau- 
 tiful and the other neither a dreamer nor a child, 
 for anything like friendship to be in question. Be 
 friends, good friends with Ludwig; that is what I ask 
 of you. But with me I hope that you will often 
 quarrel, and as far as it lies with me I promise you 
 that our quarrels will never part us." 
 
 Through this speech, made with the greatest de- 
 liberation, she kept her eyes fixed on him, but she 
 knew that the waters had indeed closed over her 
 head. She heard herself saying at last she feared 
 it was ridiculously " Oh thank you but I have no 
 intention of quarrelling with you at any time. I 
 don't care for quarrels except with friends." 
 
 " Perhaps this is our first," Liidenstein suggested, 
 smiling upon her almost paternally. 
 
 She had risen and stood, her eyes dwelling on him, 
 not shy and not indignant it was only astonishment 
 she could feel as yet and a deep uncertainty as to his 
 meaning. 
 
 " Is Madame Fennamy in, Fraulein ? " he now con- 
 tinued. " I hope that I may see her also. I shall 
 be very glad to pay her my respects." 
 
 " Yes ; she is in," said Persis. Was he releasing 
 her after his experiments? Had he been teasing her? 
 Was it possible that he was trying to make love to 
 her? "I will ask her if she can see you," she said. 
 She hoped that her swift retreat had not the appear- 
 ance of flight. 
 
 121
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Indignation came fully as she mounted the stairs 
 to her mother's room, but an impulse of secrecy came 
 with it and what were the words he had used? 
 antagonism curiosity delight. She did not fear 
 him. She had been confused, that was true, and dis- 
 concerted; but she did not fear him and, if he were an 
 unprincipled man, she would show him that she was 
 not the silly child he took her for. " Mamma," she 
 said, entering her mother's room, " Graf von Liiden- 
 stein is downstairs and hopes to see you. I have my 
 work to do this morning, for Ludwig, will you tell 
 him so? so that I cannot give him more of my time."
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MRS. FENNAMY, when she and Persis met at 
 luncheon, made no comment upon her visitor. 
 It was as they were walking that afternoon to 
 Wehlitz's hotel that she remarked : " I don't like Graf 
 von Liidenstein, Persis, one bit ; do you ? " 
 
 " I can't say that I like him," said Persis. " But 
 he is an interesting man." 
 
 "Is he interesting? He is clever, I suppose, but 
 not as clever as he thinks. It isn't clever to think 
 other people are more stupid than they are. He was 
 very polite this morning, but I saw perfectly well that 
 he was laughing at me all the time and he thought 
 I did n't see it. And he has a way of looking at you 
 as if you had a smut on your nose but he was n't going 
 to embarrass you by telling you so. I hope he 's not 
 coming often." 
 
 " Well, as to often, I should n't care for that,'* said 
 Persis. " But he plays exceedingly well and I shall 
 enjoy hearing his music from time to time." Her 
 mother's shrewdness amused her and, having by now 
 completely recovered her poise, she could feel how 
 immature beside herself this unsuspecting mother was. 
 With all her knowledge of the depravities of the Eu- 
 rope where she had spent so many years, she was still 
 
 123
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 at heart, if not as ignorant, yet quite as guileless as 
 when she had left Ashleyville. Queer experiences 
 might befall the queer people one met or the still 
 queerer people of whom one read in novels; but that 
 her own daughter should find herself in the midst of 
 such a one, neither accepting nor avoiding it, scrutiniz- 
 ing it, rather, with an intellectual enjoyment, was not 
 a supposition that could, so Persis conceived, cross 
 her orderly little mind. 
 
 Herr Wehlitz's hotel was a small cheerful place with 
 terraces about it on which, under awnings, tables were 
 set out and bay-trees stood ranged in tubs. 
 
 They were met in the hall by Eleanora who, evi- 
 dently, had been watching for them from the window. 
 " Ah ! this will be the medicine he needs ! " she ex- 
 claimed. " He has been so ill ! in such blinding pain, 
 my poor Ludwig! And already he was beginning 
 to toss and stare at the clock and to mutter that 
 you were late! This way, Annetta, this way, my 
 child." 
 
 " But we are not late," Persis observed. " The 
 clock, you hear, is just striking the hour." 
 
 " Ah it has been no ordinary impatience that has 
 awaited you," Eleanora murmured as she led them 
 upstairs and along the passage to Wehlitz's sitting- 
 room. 
 
 He lay on the sofa, and his eyes, as they entered, 
 seized upon Persis. "You have come," he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 He greeted Mrs. Fennamy, even at this moment 
 
 124
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 his punctilious courtesy not failing him; then, taking 
 Persis by the hand, he drew her to a seat beside him 
 and gazed at her with feverish exaltation. 
 
 Persis was taken aback by the fervour of her recep- 
 tion. Their intimacy seemed to have made immense 
 strides since yesterday. Herr Sachs was in the room, 
 but Wehlitz had so taken possession of her that she 
 could only cast a glance of greeting upon the young 
 man and observe that Eleanora had drawn her mother, 
 with him, to the window and had engaged them in an 
 animated conversation. 
 
 " Tell me," Wehlitz said, clasping his hands behind 
 his head and looking at her with bright, joyous eyes, 
 " you cared for my music ? Much ? Conrad said 
 that you yourself would tell me how much. He told 
 you that my night had been passed with it. It was 
 the dedication of our union." 
 
 She was already accustomed to feeling that he at 
 once touched and amused her. His gaze so much 
 touched her now that she felt it true to say : " It 
 told me everything you wished it to tell me. It was 
 the most beautiful present I ever had." 
 
 " Ah, I knew I knew that you cared for music. 
 We could not be apart in that. Not that I mislead 
 myself, Persis. I am not a great musician, though I 
 had dreams of that flight. Yet great ones have cared 
 for my works." 
 
 " I must hear them all some day." 
 
 " Soon, yes, soon. And there are to be so many 
 days for us." 
 
 125
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "Are you here for long," she asked, a little and 
 not for the first time at a loss. 
 
 His eyes dwelt on her. "You ask? I am here 
 for as long as you are." 
 
 " We had thought of passing the winter in Paris." 
 
 " In Paris. It is well." 
 
 She looked at him in perplexity. Did he intend to 
 follow them to Paris ? Wehlitz turned from the ques- 
 tion of these practical adjustments. " And your poem, 
 Persis," he said, " and written in your beautiful hand 
 a hand that floats and soars with your thought. I 
 have wept over it. Conrad, too, has seen it; but 
 he is a sorry fellow, our Conrad; he would not take 
 it seriously. He rallied me when I wept." 
 
 "Would not take it seriously?" Persis repeated 
 with some austerity. The young man sat near the 
 window listening to the talk of the two ladies in an 
 attitude of attention, a hand upon each knee. His eyes 
 turned now on Persis and his friend, and it was evident 
 that he had heard her exclamation. 
 
 "Ah, he saw its beauty; but he could not under- 
 stand that a soul could be at once so young and so 
 profound. He does not understand that a young 
 soul may taste in presage and through intuition all 
 the tragedy of life. No, no, he laughed at me and 
 said that as a pretty young lady you had no right to 
 make such poems. He spoke of you as if you had 
 been a canary in its golden cage. Aha ! You hear us, 
 Conrad. Well, is it not true what I say? " 
 
 Herr Sachs was looking extremely discomposed, and 
 
 126
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Wehlitz, whose eyes had followed Persis's, watched 
 him with an expression half resentful and half affec- 
 tionately malicious. " Aha ! " he said, shaking a fore- 
 finger at him, " see him change colour ! Do you dare 
 to look the young falcon in the eye, you jackanapes, 
 and talk to her of canaries? " 
 
 Very red indeed, Herr Sachs stumbled up out of 
 his chair and came to stand before them, leaning there 
 on his crutch and turning his eyes from one to the 
 other. " It is you who are the jackanapes, Ludwig," 
 he retorted, and though not ill-temperedly it was with 
 a certain vehemence. " I have said nothing of 
 canaries." 
 
 " Aha ! " Wehlitz repeated, laughing like a malicious 
 boy, " he is dumb-founded, our Conrad. You said 
 nothing of canaries? Very well. But who was it, 
 then, who spoke of Schw'drmerei of the Schwdrmerei 
 of the young heart, ignorant of itself and of life. 
 Yes ! it is well that he should be betrayed to the falcon ! 
 such irreverence deserves its punishment ! " 
 
 But Persis was examining the young man with more 
 curiosity than displeasure. " Do you think, then, that 
 because one is young all that one feels of suffering 
 is self-deception and froth?" she inquired while 
 Wehlitz, intently watching her, took an evident delight 
 in the high serenity of the gaze she lifted to the young 
 man. 
 
 "Oh, no, oh no! Fraulein, I did not mean that," 
 Sachs stammered, smiling at her, however, with the 
 recovery of composure that seemed to come quickly 
 
 127
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 to his rescue. " And let me assure you that no 
 thought of canaries could have entered my mind. 
 Du boser Kerl! " he cast at Wehlitz. " It was in no 
 sense your poem that I criticised, for I, too, thought it 
 very deeply true; all that I said to Ludwig was that 
 he must not read a real sorrow into your words, for 
 though the young can suffer very keenly, it may also 
 be that they are intoxicated with the mere imagination 
 of sorrow; is it not so, Fraulein? You must know it 
 too, how one reads and reads, and dreams and dreams, 
 and fills one's heart and brain with visions; and for 
 the young there is pleasure, deep pleasure, in the sad- 
 ness and the tears. Do I not know it ? " Sachs 
 added with his infectious grimace. " Have I not 
 spent many nights gazing at the moon while the tear 
 dripped down ! " 
 
 Persis was not able to restrain a smile. " You im- 
 pute to me an experience I have not shared," she ob- 
 served, and her demeanour was that of the young 
 queen who bandies deep themes playfully with a fa- 
 voured jester. " There are no tears in my poem. I 
 have never looked at the moon while the tears dripped 
 down. I do not, indeed, remember ever having cried 
 in all my life." 
 
 " Mein Gott, Fraulein! what are you saying!" 
 Sachs murmured, and now with only a semblance of 
 playfulness to veil his gravity. " You have never 
 cried ! That is indeed a strange thing ; a sadder thing, 
 it seems to me, than you can know." 
 
 Wehlitz's gaze was lighted with triumph. "Ah! 
 
 128
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 You did not understand of what a breed is my young 
 falcon, Conrad. Not for her our Germanic sentimen- 
 talities! Not for her our moon-gazing! No! She 
 is of the race of the masters, of those who walk proud 
 and tearless." 
 
 Sachs made no reply. A waiter came in bearing 
 on his shoulder the tray of coffee and cakes, and he 
 rose to make way for him. 
 
 Eleanora darted forward, insisting that Annetta 
 should do the honours of the occasion. " You, my 
 dear Ludwig, are not fit to sit up," she cried. Mrs. 
 Fennamy could read in her old friend's brooding, 
 excited gaze her satisfaction in the air of intimacy, 
 of unity, implied in this. To see Annetta sitting there 
 at Ludwig's board, dispensing Ludwig's fare, was al- 
 most to see her blessing a compact. 
 
 " We lack only Liidenstein," Wehlitz observed when 
 the table was drawn near his couch and the coffee was 
 being poured out He had still his air of child-like 
 gaiety. 
 
 Conrad's discomfiture, for so he read it, had com- 
 pleted his felicity. Once or twice, while the table 
 was being adjusted, he had murmured under his 
 breath: "There are no tears!" Now, if an alien 
 memory came, it came with hardly a shadow. " We 
 lack Liidenstein," he said, looking genially around the 
 board. " But I do not think we shall greatly miss 
 him, eh? He is too sophisticated a person for these 
 simple gatherings, and neither Eleanora nor Conrad 
 cherishes him. Conrad tells me that he played to 
 
 129
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 you this morning, Persis? You enjoyed his music? 
 He is an accomplished musician Ernst." 
 
 His eyes were on her and a certain intentness in them 
 fixed her. To her dismay and to her anger, Persis 
 felt that, suddenly, beneath this gaze, her colour rose. 
 She blushed seldom and when she did so, the clear, 
 bright carmine, springing, like a hot flower laid on 
 either cheek, told, as she knew, with an exaggerated 
 significance. She called an added calmness to her 
 eyes and said, yes, Graf von Liidenstein had played 
 to them, and she thought him an admirable musician. 
 
 "Ah, yes." Wehlitz sat gazing at her. "He 
 played to you. So Conrad told me. And he stayed 
 long? It was a long visit? I was surprised to hear 
 that Ludenstein, too, counted you as a friend." 
 
 " Yes, he stayed for some time." She spoke coldly 
 now, while the hot flower glowed and she was furious 
 and miserable. 
 
 Wehlitz continued to look at her fixedly for some 
 more moments and then, setting his cup of coffee, un- 
 touched, upon the table, he lay down again, turning 
 his back upon them. 
 
 A disastrous silence fell upon the little group. Per- 
 sis gazed before her, her colour slowly dying, her lips 
 haughtily serene. Herr Sachs feigned to busy him- 
 self, unperturbedly, with the sugar and tongs. 
 
 Eleanora's eyes met her Annetta's in an almost des- 
 perate supplication. And Annetta nobly came to the 
 rescue. 
 
 " I wish I 'd heard him play," she said. " It was 
 
 130
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 rather unfair of Persis to have him play to her and 
 then turn him over to me for the talking. I don't 
 cherish him, either, and I can't say I enjoyed it. We 
 talked about French plays, Persis, and acting. It 
 might have interested you." 
 
 " Ah, he is not accustomed to being left in the lurch 
 like that ! " Eleanora breathed forth with more ap- 
 parent gratitude than grace. " He was disconcerted, 
 no doubt, by the withdrawal of half his audience." 
 
 " I don't exactly consider myself the lurch," Mrs. 
 Fennamy commented with a benign touch of playful- 
 ness. " But I suppose he did think Persis would 
 have cared to stay and talk to him, when he 'd done 
 playing. Yes; do let me give you some fresh coffee, 
 Herr Wehlitz, coffee is so horrid when it 's the least 
 tepid." 
 
 Wehlitz had again turned on his side to fix his eyes 
 again on Persis and Mrs. Fennamy's adroitness en- 
 abled him to re-enter the circle with the least possible 
 emphasis. 
 
 His restored spirits mounted to the pitch of hilarity. 
 He loudly laughed, and talked with volubility. He 
 discussed French acting with Mrs. Fennamy and 
 Italian with Eleanora. "But of them all," he cried, 
 " Conrad is the best. Yes, you did not know that we 
 had a finished comedian with us! Give us the dogs, 
 Conrad! the fighting dogs; it is not a cruel mimicry, 
 Persis, I assure you. Frenzy rather than pain; their 
 joy transcends their tragedy! Ha! ha! we can laugh 
 at our most solemn truths, Persis, you and I. No
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 tears for us! There, crouch behind the table, it is 
 better when one does not see you. And after the 
 dogs give us the pigs battling at their trough ! " 
 
 Sachs obediently disappeared, and Persis and her 
 mother, whose sense of humour but thinly veined 
 their natures and ran to no deep ore, sat, more aston- 
 ished than amused at the immediate outburst of fero- 
 cious sounds. Shrieks, growls, strangled breaths, one 
 vizualised the combat; the teeth buried in the oppo- 
 nent's hair, the snatching jaws, the rearings and the 
 falls. And after the tempest came the retreat, full of 
 dignity, deliberation; an intermittent thunder-roll of 
 dying growls suggested the stiff, slow trot which car- 
 ried the combattants in opposite directions. Wehlitz 
 laughed like a child ; laughed until the tears ran down. 
 He lay back against his cushions, beating applause with 
 a clenched fist on the arm of his sofa. " And now 
 the pigs ! " he shouted, " The pigs that feed and buffet 
 one another ! Admirable ! Inimitable, Conrad ! " 
 
 Sachs placed himself behind a chair, running his 
 fists between the bars to simulate the lithe and eager 
 snouts, and again he impersonated as accurately these 
 animals as they gulped and squealed and grunted. 
 
 " Ah, there is no one like you, Conrad, no one ! " 
 Wehlitz gasped, fallen back, breathless, among his 
 cushions. " It is a miracle ! You do not laugh, Per- 
 sis? You are too amazed to laugh?" 
 
 " I have been laughing," said Persis, gazing at the 
 young man who, red, panting and dishevelled, rose 
 from behind his chair. 
 
 132
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "You wonder at a person being willing to make 
 himself so ludicrous? That is it. But it is Conrad's 
 strength that he does not object to making himself 
 ludicrous. Eh, Conrad?" The young man, how- 
 ever, pulling at his cuffs, adjusting his collar and mop- 
 ping his forehead, stood, his face fallen to sobriety, 
 looking a little abashed. 
 
 " Oh, I did not think of that at all," said Persis, 
 still examining him. " But it was disconcerting, as 
 well as comical, as if one saw someone metamorphosed 
 suddenly before one's eyes." 
 
 " And now," said Eleanora, rising with buoyancy 
 from her place, "now I wish to show you, Annetta, 
 a most beautiful and remarkable arbuste which I have 
 found in the garden here. You, too, Herr Sachs, must 
 come and tell us what it is, and if you are ignorant, 
 know that we are more so. Come; we will leave 
 Ludwig and Persis to entertain each other for a few 
 moments." 
 
 Through this patent manoeuvre Wehlitz and the 
 young girl found themselves alone. A look of almost 
 humble supplication at once clouded his face. " Ah, 
 that is kind of Eleanora," he murmured ; " she always 
 reads my heart. I hoped for a word with you, Persis. 
 Tell me, you are not seriously displeased with me?." 
 
 " Not seriously, perhaps," said Persis, looking at 
 him thoughtfully if with no severity. 
 
 " Forgive me ! Forgive me, then ! " said Wehlitz, 
 taking her hand, which she yielded. " It seemed to 
 me let me tell you all that you changed colour when
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 I spoke of Ernst, and I wondered if he had in any 
 way displeased you. But it was my imagination. 
 iYou did not blush." 
 
 She was silent for a moment, and her young face 
 assumed its aspect of almost sullen pride. " On the 
 contrary, I did blush," she said. 
 
 " I was not then mistaken ? you did ? " Wehlitz 
 paled visibly. 
 
 "You know quite well that I did," said Persis, 
 "and you know quite well that what you wondered 
 was not whether he had displeased me, but whether 
 he had pleased me. I saw your jealousy, and it was 
 in reply to that that my colour rose. It is foolish 
 in me, I know; but it is because I am young. A 
 glance, a word, can make me change colour." 
 
 For a long moment after this Wehlitz lay gazing at 
 her as if bereft of all resource. Veils of shyness, of 
 pride, of pain, seemed to drift across his face and, 
 finally to pass, leaving him helpless before his blissful 
 adoration. " And you still forgive me, if it is so ? " 
 he murmured. " You are true ! brave ! loyal ! my bet- 
 ter self!" 
 
 Smiling, with a little uneasiness, she said. " Oh, 
 but now you idealise me. See, I am blushing 
 again." 
 
 He gazed in rapture at the lovely colour. "And 
 it is now for me. Ah! but I am ashamed. It is the 
 truth; you read me like a book. It was jealousy of 
 Ernst. And how unfounded. You left him, when he 
 had finished playing to you. You left him to your 
 
 134
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mother. Ah, the good lesson for Ernst, with his 
 morning calls on young ladies." 
 
 " I left him because I had our work to do, yours 
 and mine. But I might have cared to stay and talk. 
 Why not ? Why should he not come and see me ? " 
 
 " Why not ? why not, indeed ! " Wehlitz cried. 
 "You are a strong, free soul! a soul to be trusted! 
 And you forgive me?" 
 
 He still had her hands and, the others, entering 
 again, she rose, gently withdrawing them while she 
 said, " Don't think of it again."
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 TYTHEN Mrs. Fennamy and her daughter were 
 VV g ne > Wehlitz lay for some time silent, his 
 hands clasped behind his head, his eyes fixed before 
 him. Suddenly he called his friends. " Eleanora ! 
 Conrad ! Here ! Come to me." Eleanora and Sachs 
 turned from the window where they had stood in 
 silence. " I must have your help," said Wehlitz, look- 
 ing up at them. " You see what my situation is. 
 You read it plainly. I cannot live without her. 
 What is to be done ? " 
 
 Eleanora clasped her hands. "But, Ludwig, my 
 dear, dear friend, what is done, when a man loves a 
 woman and cannot live without her ? " 
 
 A deep blush mounted to Wehlitz's brow. He sat 
 up and hid his face in his hands. " I dare not ! " he 
 muttered presently. 
 
 Eleanora had drawn a chair beside the sofa and, 
 casting a glance of prophetic gravity upon Sachs, who 
 stood near by, she laid her hand on Wehlitz's shoulder 
 and said: "Why not, Ludwig? Why not? Have 
 you not everything to offer her? Your great name. 
 Your great future, your devotion. Why should you 
 not win her? And I know Persis's heart; cold, una- 
 wakened, it may be; but deep, with the profundity 
 
 136
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 of a northern lake. Never have I seen her so ab- 
 sorbed, so interested in any man as in you." 
 
 " She detests marriage ! You heard her." 
 
 " I heard her ! Yes ! And you heed the dreams of 
 a child? What does she know of life? '' 
 
 " What does she know ? Ah, you do not under- 
 stand her as I do! Neither you nor Conrad under- 
 stands that free soul ! At the mere hint of bonds and 
 burdens, I may find that I have lost her ! It is because 
 she believes me to be unlike other men that she has 
 become my friend ! " He tossed restlessly upon the 
 sofa as he spoke, beating down his cushions and half 
 burying his face in them. " Yet, how shall I keep 
 her near my life without bringing the shadows of 
 gossip about her head? This was my thought the 
 other night, Conrad. Yes, there was sincerity in my 
 hope for you, though you mocked at it." And again 
 he hid his face muttering, "Yet self-delusion, too! 
 self-delusion. I could not share her. Not even her 
 friendship. Pitiful to-day! pitiful! so to expose my 
 jealousy to her ! " 
 
 " But, Ludwig," Sachs said, seating himself at the 
 foot of the sofa and casting a quietly merry glance 
 upon his friend, " why should you judge your state 
 with such severity? Does one ask composure and 
 wisdom from a man in love? Come; is it not plain 
 to us all that it is you who must win Fraulein Fen- 
 namy ? It must indeed be plain to her. And now let 
 us lay our heads together and seek out the best way of 
 winning this young lady who has never shed a tear."
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Yes, yes. In Heaven's name, Ludwig, no dreams ! 
 no follies ! " Eleanora cried. " May she never know 
 that you indulged them. Listen to Herr Sachs. He 
 speaks like the man of sense he is ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am listening." Ludwig clutched at his 
 head. " Think for me. I am distraught ! Shall I 
 say that I ask no more than a nominal marriage, so 
 that I may be with her always? I can promise her 
 to rise above lesser desires." 
 
 " Good heavens, Ludwig," said Eleanora, " do not 
 take the spiritual arrogance of a child so seriously! 
 You must tell her that you ask all all, of her! No 
 woman welcomes a bloodless devotion whatever she 
 may tell herself." 
 
 " I understand her, I say, and you do not," Wehlitz 
 cried angrily. " It is for her to dictate the terms of 
 our union. She must be told that I ask only the 
 torch of her spirit, taking fire from mine, lighting thus 
 our united paths. She must be told that our children, 
 if she so wishes it, shall be the works that we shall 
 write together, she to be my spur and stay! Yes; I 
 am nearer to her heart than you think and I read 
 it as you cannot. Conrad shall convey my suit to 
 her. I shall go away. I shall go away at once." He 
 sat up, casting off the rugs that covered him. 
 
 Eleanora raised her hands to heaven. "Ludwig, 
 stay, I conjure you. Listen to me," she cried, grasp- 
 ing his arm to detain him. " Listen to me, and to 
 Herr Sachs, who will tell you what I tell you. Put it 
 so if you will, say what you will to her; but let her see 
 
 138
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 that it is from no lack of ardour in yourself; that is 
 all I ask of you. Plead your own cause, whatever the 
 cause may be. I beseech you to listen to me ! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " Wehlitz had risen and, in great 
 agitation, was feeling in his pockets, stroking down his 
 hair, walking to and fro as if uncertain what steps 
 to take towards instant flight. " You do not under- 
 stand, my good Eleanora, neither her nor me. I 
 should alienate her by ardour. She shrinks from 
 ardour. And to speak to her myself would shatter 
 me. I am not a man of the burly physical type. It 
 is beyond my strength. Conrad will plead my cause 
 for me and I will go to-night to my mother. The 
 time-table. Where is the time-table? let one be 
 brought ! " He rang violently. 
 
 Eleanora had fallen back in her chair and sat gazing 
 at him despairingly. The man came and returned 
 with the time-table, and only after he had gone again 
 and while Wehlitz, with shaking fingers, was turning 
 the leaves, did she say : " You are not fit to go alone 
 on any journey, Ludwig. May I not go to Persis to 
 plead your cause, while Herr Sachs goes with you?" 
 
 Sachs had remained sitting on the end of the sofa, 
 his eyes thoughtfully downcast; he raised them now 
 \\ ith a look of gratitude. " Well found, signorina ! " 
 he said. " It would be much better so. I have no 
 gift with young ladies." 
 
 "No, no, no! I will not have it so!" Wehlitz 
 cried, pausing from his search. " I will not, do you 
 hear? This one is not as other young ladies. It is 
 
 139
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Conrad's lack of gift that will do more for me than 
 all your eloquence, Eleanora ! I fear your eloquence ! 
 She will distrust it. Conrad will say for me what I 
 cannot say for myself. You will go to her, Conrad? 
 You will not refuse to do me this service ? " 
 
 " No, I will not refuse, Ludwig. But I agree with 
 the Signorina. It would be better if you were to go 
 yourself." 
 
 Wehlitz shook the words away with an impatient 
 hand. " Enough ; I will not ; I cannot. Already the 
 thought of it has put me in a fever. You go, then, 
 to-morrow morning; and you will tell her what I 
 have said, that it is for her to determine the conditions 
 of our union. And if she cannot accept me, you will 
 secure from her promise that our friendship shall 
 continue on its present footing. Do you see, Conrad ? 
 I shall have done nothing, in that case, to jeopardise 
 it. And you will telegraph to me, at once, Conrad? " 
 
 " Yes. But since it is to be to-morrow, why not 
 wait quietly here?" 
 
 " No. I cannot remain here and wait to learn my 
 fate." He looked about the room with a haggard 
 gaze. "If she will not unite her life with mine, I 
 cannot see her for some days. It will need my 
 strength, fully recovered, to face the blow. I must 
 gather myself together. I must compose myself. Al- 
 ready I have shown myself to her in a pitiable light; 
 like a foolish school-boy, that has been my behaviour. 
 If she will not accept me, I must learn to meet her in 
 another fashion, with the dignity, the authority of 
 
 140
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 one who is her master as well as a friend." He walked 
 up and down, running his hand through his hair. 
 
 Sachs picked up the forgotten time-table. " And 
 what train will you take, Ludwig? I see one here at 
 half-past seven. That will give you time to eat while 
 I put your clothes together." 
 
 Eleanora now rose. " You are not fit to go alone, 
 Ludwig. You will, at all events, however futile you 
 consider me, allow me to accompany you." 
 
 He turned to look at her. He gazed and then broke 
 into a short, almost a playful laugh, holding out his 
 hands. " What friends I have ! " he cried. " What 
 friends! Was it not you who found me futile, Elea- 
 nora? You demanded of me that I should be another 
 man than what I am. Ah, we shall not quarrel fur- 
 ther. Yes ; you will come with me, and you will pray 
 for me to your good old grandpapa in heaven that I 
 shall be made happy. You believe that there may be a 
 chance for me, Eleanora? Yes; you have said so. 
 Ah, those eyes of hers! Those eyes of dawn over the 
 sea ! And they may dawn for me, for me, Eleanora ; 
 over my darkness! Who can tell? Come; come; 
 to eat, as Conrad says. We must be strong to face 
 these coming days."
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 "T Y THEN Persis came into her mother's room next 
 V V morning she found her reading a sheet hastily 
 dashed with Eleanora's large, excitable hand-writing 
 and her expression as she looked up from it was oddly 
 compounded of satisfaction and perplexity. " What 
 do you think, Persis," she said, " Herr Wehlitz has 
 gone away with Eleanora. They went yesterday even- 
 ing; right after we'd been there. And Herr Sachs 
 is coming this morning to explain. Here, read it 
 yourself. Eleanora is evidently very agitated." Mrs. 
 Fennamy took up the coffee-pot and poured out the 
 coffee, thus giving Persis an opportunity, did she de- 
 sire one, of composing her features. Persis read the 
 note. It was dated 6.45 an hour hardly after she 
 and her mother had left the hotel and written, evi- 
 dently in the greatest haste, on the hotel note-paper. 
 Eleanora gave them her blessing and said that she 
 would see them again soon. " How very extraor- 
 dinary," Persis commented, laying the sheet down on 
 the breakfast tray. Her voice was even, and as she 
 spoke she drew her chair up to the bed and took a 
 roll from beneath its napkin. But, with swift upward 
 glance, her mother saw that her face had been stricken, 
 as if by a sudden blow, into an amazed rigidity. 
 
 142
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Do you suppose he 's gone mad, poor fellow ? " 
 Mrs. Fennamy suggested. " He looked very queer 
 and wild yesterday, and the way he behaved about 
 Graf von Liidenstein was hardly sane. Did he say 
 anything to you about Graf von Liidenstein after we 
 left you?" 
 
 Persis had buttered her roll and was drinking her 
 coffee. " Yes. I told him that he had displeased 
 me and he asked my pardon. He seemed to me very 
 childish, but not at all insane." Under her frosty 
 composure her mind was snatching at conjectures. 
 Was it possible that the puerile jealousy had returned 
 and that it had determined him to leave her? Did 
 he trust her so little and insult her so deeply? And 
 how could he have gone like this without a word to 
 her? Eleanora's discretion, as of one who picked 
 cautious footsteps about a shrine or might it be a 
 tomb? was full of portentous implications. "It's 
 a very silly note," she observed presently. 
 
 " Well, dear Eleanora is pretty silly sometimes. 
 We know that," Mrs. Fennamy returned. " Was 
 there ever anybody so ready to put herself out for 
 her friends? Think of her going off with him like 
 this at a moment's notice, not giving herself time, I 
 suppose, to take a night-gown and a tooth-brush. Of 
 course he looked hardly fit to stand alone, but I should 
 have thought Herr Sachs would have gone with him 
 or that they would have taken a later train; she says 
 the 7.30, doesn't she? It looks as if they were just 
 crazy to get off." And since Persis remained silent, 
 
 143
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 she added : " Perhaps he has had a stroke or fit or 
 something and wants Herr Sachs to teach you phi- 
 losophy." 
 
 After a pause, Persis answered this last surmise. 
 " Ludwig is n't likely to send Herr Sachs as a sub- 
 stitute. If he is really gone for good I shall go on 
 with my philosophy at a university." 
 
 This suggestion was more pleasing to Mrs. Fen- 
 namy than a wish Persis had expressed the year be- 
 fore to go on the stage. She hoped that the wound 
 to her child's pride was not deep; and at all events, 
 she felt secure in the belief, her heart had escaped un- 
 touched. 
 
 It was a sparkling autumn morning and since there 
 was over an hour to wait before Herr Sachs should 
 come, Persis went out for her usual morning walk 
 along the river path. The woods lay on one side, and 
 on the other, the water shining between them, a row 
 of young poplars edged the river bank. Persis glanced 
 about her as she walked, after her wont. She held 
 her head high and in her white dress, with her shining 
 eyes and fresh pallor, looked as radiant as the morn- 
 ing. 
 
 But a heavy depression was upon her and no pride 
 or feigned indifference could hide from her the fact 
 that she was suffering. Wehlitz could not be dismissed 
 as one among the many episodes of her nomadic life. 
 He had altered her existence to its very foundations, 
 already, in these few days. Childish she might find 
 him, and at moments deeply wearying, but no one had 
 
 144
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ever come so near to her or moved her so profoundly. 
 No one had ever demanded so much of her or made 
 her feel herself so much. She felt herself now not 
 only disorganized but diminished. Bewilderment min- 
 gled with her dismay. 
 
 Suddenly, at a turning of the path, she came face 
 to face with Liidenstein. He had taken the waters 
 at the little Kur-Haus half a mile away, and was 
 walking with his hands clasped over his stick behind 
 him, his head raised while he drew in long breaths 
 of the aromatic air. The sunlight sparkled on his 
 golden beard. Persis, as she saw him, stopped short 
 and she could not have said whether fear or pride more 
 moved her. 
 
 " Good-morning, Fraulein," said Liidenstein, doffing 
 his hat and sweeping her a low bow. " I am fortunate. 
 Do you often walk here in the morning?" 
 
 He knew, perhaps, the reason for Ludwig's depar- 
 ture. If he did, it was strange that he should not 
 at once speak of it. She would ask him nothing, 
 but he might tell her. She realized that she re- 
 sented the position in which she was placed in re- 
 gard to Herr Sachs. She hoped that Liidenstein, 
 rather than Ludwig's emissary, might enlighten 
 her. 
 
 " Good-morning," she said. She did not give him 
 her hand though she smiled upon him coldly, nor did 
 she answer his question. He had turned to walk 
 beside her. " You clear your thoughts before the 
 lesson?" he went on, and his glance this morning 
 
 145
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 was almost flawlessly paternal. " Is it still at fen 
 o'clock?" 
 
 " There is to be no lesson this morning," said Persis, 
 "Ludwig has left Tannenkreuz. Did you not 
 know?" 
 
 Liidenstein stopped short in the path to gaze at her. 
 "Ludwig has left Tannenkreuz?" 
 
 "Yes." She continued to smile, and there was 
 irony in the smile. 
 
 " But when ? How ? With whom ? " 
 
 " Last night. An hour after mamma and I had left 
 him. Signorina Zardo has gone with him. We heard 
 only this morning." 
 
 " Herr Gott! " Liidenstein ejaculated. " This is 
 surprising. And may I ask the reason for this sudden 
 departure? I have been told nothing." 
 
 " I have not been told yet, either. Herr Sachs is 
 coming this morning at ten to explain everything to 
 me." There was a deeper satisfaction, certainly, in 
 enlightening Graf von Liidenstein than in receiving 
 enlightenment from him. He stood beside her in the 
 path looking down at her, and behind his glasses his 
 sleepy eyes showed a keen scrutiny. 
 
 " Sachs is coming to see you. Ludwig has sent 
 Sachs to you," he murmured, and then, turning to 
 walk on, he added after a moment, pulling gently at 
 his beard: "Ah, yes I see. I think, now, that I 
 begin to read the riddle." 
 
 " Perhaps you will give me the key to it, then," said 
 Persis. " For I am very much in the dark." 
 
 146
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Liidenstein seemed deeply to muse, and a faint 
 chuckle agitated his shoulders. " The riddles of 
 Ludwig's eccentricities are difficult at times to read," 
 he said ; " but, yes, I think that I can interpret this 
 one for you. Little Sachs; the court jester; Ludwig's 
 own very particular property. Yes; it is the key; 
 unmistakably. But perhaps, in fairness to our friend, 
 it would be better that little Sachs himself should put 
 it into your hands." He was laughing softly now, 
 shaking his head, his eyebrows raised as though at 
 some inconceivably comical revelation. 
 
 " Not at all," Persis said with some urgency. " I 
 would rather know beforehand. I can't imagine why 
 Herr Sachs should be sent to me, why Ludwig did n't 
 write to me. That would have been the natural thing 
 to do, the simple thing." 
 
 " The natural thing, the simple thing, is not the 
 thing to which our Ludwig is by temperament in- 
 clined. No, no; it is drama, mystery, romance, that 
 he craves, realist though he imagines himself to be. 
 He has constructed drama and romance in this case 
 from very singular materials, from very disparate 
 materials, one must own ; but is it not the function of 
 romance to unite the singular and the disparate ? Pre- 
 pare, then, for a surprise, Fraulein, when I tell you 
 that Ludwig's hope is that you may become the wife 
 of little Sachs. So he will secure his court jester and 
 his Egeria at once." 
 
 The young girl's eyes were on him, fixed in a gaze 
 of blank astonishment. She had stopped still in her
 
 walk. "What do you mean?" she stammered. 
 
 " What I say, Fraulein. Ludwig proposed it to 
 Sachs, the other evening, with all seriousness in my 
 presence. It is true that Sachs refused to consider 
 the idea. Ludwig since then, inconceivable as I own 
 I find it, for Sachs is by no means devoid of wits, 
 must have over-persuaded him." 
 
 She now walked forward again. She looked before 
 her steadily. To have turned her eyes on Graf von 
 Liidenstein would have been to avow too helplessly 
 her anger and her humiliation; but glancing aside at 
 her as they went he could note that her delicate, 
 stubborn profile, with its child-like forehead and petu- 
 lant lips, had stiffened into a look of intense, repudi- 
 ating pride. 
 
 " I am afraid that I have unpleasantly surprised 
 you, Fraulein," he said. " Do not take it hardly. 
 It is a comedy; to be laughed at and you will laugh 
 at it and at him when friend Sachs repeats it to 
 you. Eh! eh! that young man! What effrontery! 
 But it is the effrontery of sheer naivete. And with 
 our poor Ludwig, too, Fraulein, it is naivete; do not 
 forget that. Do not be angry with him." 
 
 After a few more moments, in a low voice, Persis 
 said: "What could have been his motive? Is he 
 mad?" 
 
 "His motive? Why the happiness of his friend 
 of his friends. It is not only devotion to Sachs; 
 but devotion to you. Ah, he enlarged upon the ad- 
 vantages to you of such a mate ! " 
 
 148
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " He could think of that little man as a fitting 
 husband for me." Disdain and disgust curled her 
 lips. 
 
 "Ludwig does not see our realisms, Fraulein; he 
 does not see Sachs as he is. Anything that is his own 
 becomes in Ludwig's eyes precious and significant and 
 desirable. Sachs he counts as his very own." 
 
 " He has no right to count me as his very own." 
 Her chagrin was so intense that she found herself 
 helplessly sharing it with this stranger. 
 
 " No ? " Liidenstein smiled. " Yet it is, you must 
 own it, part of Ludwig's charm that where he counts 
 himself yours he takes complete reciprocity for 
 granted." 
 
 They walked on in silence a little further and Persis 
 then said that she would go back. " It will be time 
 for Herr Sachs to come." 
 
 Liidenstein turned with her. " Do not be angry 
 with Ludwig, Fraulein, let me beg it of you again. 
 I should feel, unless you can treat this lightly, that I 
 have done him a wrong." 
 
 " I asked you to tell me." 
 
 " True ; yet I should not have offered my solution 
 had I realized that you would feel in Ludwig's project 
 a personal affront. You would not do so if you un- 
 derstood him. He is ignorant of the standards and 
 perceptions of the world." 
 
 " I am quite as indifferent to the standards of the 
 world as he can be," said Persis haughtily. " No 
 artificial standard should have been required to pre- 
 149
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 serve Ludwig from such presumption and such 
 stupidity." 
 
 They said no more until the pension grille was 
 reached, Liidenstein's glance, deliberate and adroit, 
 turning on her from time to time with a look of quiet 
 amusement tinged with a certain cautious satisfaction. 
 
 " Good-bye," she said, stepping into the garden. 
 She drew the grille behind her. 
 
 " Au revoir, surely," said Liidenstein. 
 
 Persis gazed above his head. " I do not know. 
 We may be leaving Tannenkreuz. It does not inter- 
 est me here very much." 
 
 "But Ludwig will still hope to be your master. 
 Why should Sachs's rebuff change your relation ? " 
 
 She swung the grille slightly on its creaking hinges, 
 still not looking at him. " And there is our music," 
 Liidenstein added. "Will you not stay for that?" 
 
 " Oh no ; I should not stay for that," said Persis. 
 The bitterness of her self -absorption wrapped her in 
 indifference to Graf von Liidenstein. 
 
 She felt now that she wished to leave Tannenkreuz 
 and never again to see either Ludwig or Herr Sachs 
 or this ambiguous man who stood before her. " Good- 
 bye," she repeated, and she closed the grille de- 
 cisively.
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 HERR SACHS had already arrived. He was 
 waiting for her in their little sitting-room, 
 perched on the edge of a chair, his crutch beside him, 
 his hat held awkwardly in his hands. 
 
 The burning images that crowded her mind focussed 
 themselves upon this ungainly figure. Here was the 
 end of the fairy-tale into which she had felt herself 
 caught up. She was confronted with a toad, and it 
 was Ludwig who had sent the toad to her. The icy 
 contempt with which she fixed the young man was 
 less for him than for Ludwig ; yet that he was at once 
 aware of it she saw, for he started to his feet, blushing 
 furiously, knocking over his crutch, dropping his hat, 
 and becoming for the moment such a merely piteous 
 spectacle that Persis, involuntarily, stooped and re- 
 stored the hat and crutch to him. 
 
 " Vielen Dank, vielen Dank, Fraulein," he breathed. 
 
 " Sit down," said Persis in a voice of frosty 
 courtesy. " You have come to see me ? I hear from 
 Signorina Zardo that Herr Wehlitz has left Tannen- 
 kreuz. Is it for good ? " 
 
 Sachs had sunk again to the edge of his chair, but 
 Persis remained standing before him, the princess, 
 indeed, in her whites and golds and greens, the
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 princess confronting the toad, and her heart was bit- 
 ter not so much against the poor, dun, dusty toad, 
 gaping in its toad-like stupidity, as against the friend, 
 the supposed friend, who had sent him to her with 
 his inconceivable request. For Sachs was indeed 
 gaping blankly, as he echoed ; " For good, Fraulein ? " 
 staring up at her; and in his consternation, for it was 
 that, he had lost his confusion. 
 
 " Yes ; is it for good that he is gone ? " Persis re- 
 peated. " He has not vouchsafed any explanation to 
 me." 
 
 " I have come with a message to you from Ludwig, 
 Fraulein," said Sachs, after a slight pause in which 
 they looked at each other, she standing beside the 
 table, her finger-tips resting tensely upon it. "But 
 you make it difficult to give. You almost make me 
 feel, in advance, that it is useless." 
 
 " I know your message, Herr Sachs," said Persis 
 then. She was becoming sorry for him and she could 
 not bear to let him go on and croak out his grotesque 
 proposal. Hurrying her words, her colour rising, she 
 went on : "I know it, so please don't try to say any- 
 thing further about it. It is some very fantastic ideal 
 of friendship that has brought you here; for even if 
 Ludwig in his devotion to you did not see how im- 
 possible it was, you should have seen it for yourself. 
 It is impossible, Herr Sachs " his gaze of intense as- 
 tonishment, instead of checking her, drove her to an 
 extreme of literalness " quite impossible. I could 
 never marry you." 
 
 152
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She looked about her, as she heard her lips bring 
 out these last words, with frowning helplessness, un- 
 willing to witness Herr Sachs's pitiful confusion; and 
 sinking on a chair that stood near by she fixed her 
 eyes on the window and for a long time, it seemed to 
 her, there was silence. Then she heard Herr Sachs's 
 voice, burdened, groping, as if in the sudden obscurity 
 she had cast about him it sought for an exit " But 
 that is not the message I have come with. Who has 
 told you this, Fraulein ? " he asked gently. 
 
 His clear impersonality could not help her ; she was 
 dyed in blushes. " It was the other evening, he said, 
 and in his presence, that Ludwig suggested it. You 
 must forgive me; but it seemed the only explanation; 
 Graf von Liidenstein did not know, either, of any 
 reason for Ludwig's going away suddenly or why you 
 should be sent to me. He said he thought it must be 
 this. I am so sorry." 
 
 "Yes. I see," said Sachs looking gravely at her. 
 " And you have just come from him. Would it not 
 perhaps have been better to have waited to hear what 
 I had to tell you before you questioned Graf von 
 Ludenstein ? " 
 
 She was abashed. " Yes. It would have been bet- 
 ter. But I was troubled. I could not understand. 
 Ludwig seemed to have treated me with so little con- 
 sideration." 
 
 " I see," Herr Sachs repeated, and for a few mo- 
 ments there was a silence in which Persis tasted perhaps 
 the deepest discomfiture she had ever known. " I 
 
 153
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 see," Herr Sachs took up after this pause. " And you 
 have just come from him. He may have believed 
 what he told you; but this was ill done of Graf von 
 Liidenstein; very ill done." 
 
 " I asked him," Persis murmured. " He said that 
 he thought he understood and I asked him to let me 
 understand too. It was not true, then ? " 
 
 "Yes; it was true; after a fashion, true," said 
 Sachs, with his preoccupied air. " Ludwig, for a 
 moment, on that evening, may have deluded himself 
 into thinking that he really wished such a thing. 
 
 " He had renounced the idea of marriage for him- 
 self, and, since he idealizes all those he loves, I seemed 
 to him, perhaps, for the moment, worthy of such an 
 alliance. But Graf von Liidenstein knew how I re- 
 ceived the suggestion. He knew that I laughed it to 
 scorn. Ah; a very paltry action." 
 
 " He said you laughed. He thought Ludwig must 
 have over-persuaded you. Why should he have told 
 me of it unless he believed it possible? " 
 
 "Why indeed? For he is Ludwig's friend. But 
 Ludwig vexed him that night; and intended to vex 
 him. There was that beneath it, too, beneath this 
 foolish idea of Ludwig's. It was a challenge to 
 Liidenstein. He is jealous of Liidenstein. I need 
 not tell you that." He still pondered, his eyes on 
 the ground and she felt herself wishing that they 
 could rest upon her again, in forgiveness. 
 
 " I am glad that you see, too, how very fantastic 
 and foolish an idea it was," she murmured. " I do 
 
 154
 
 not mean of course," she added hastily, though hardly 
 more happily, " that you are unworthy of many peo- 
 ple. Only for one man to offer a woman to an- 
 other man, a man she hardly knows; you see it is 
 fantastic." 
 
 " Quite as clearly as you do, Fraulein ; quite as 
 clearly as Graf von Liidenstein does, I assure you. 
 Ludwig often is fantastic." They seemed to have 
 forgotten what the message, presumably not fantastic, 
 that had brought him to her, might be. Persis re- 
 called it to him. 
 
 "What was Ludwig's message, then?" she 
 questioned. 
 
 He looked at her at last, not now with any sever- 
 ity, but with a deep, scrutinizing perplexity. And 
 without speaking he examined her thus for some mo- 
 ments before he asked, " Do you not guess it, Frau- 
 lein?" 
 
 She shook her head, her eyes dwelling on his. She 
 did not guess it; not at all. 
 
 " I have come to ask you, Fraulein, if you will 
 marry Ludwig," said Sachs. " Surely you have seen 
 how deeply he loves you." 
 
 Persis as she heard these words rose to her feet. 
 
 It was the first time that she had ever been asked in 
 marriage and the request changed her to herself. 
 After her great astonishment, joy and fear thrilled in 
 her, and then the wave of a dark regret, as if for 
 something precious yet spoiled. " Tell me," she said 
 in a dull voice. " What does he say to me ? " 
 
 155
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "It was after you had gone yesterday, Fraulein," 
 said Sachs, looking away from her, " and he told us, 
 Signorina Zardo and me, that he could not live with- 
 out you. And he could not bear to wait here until he 
 had your answer. So it was arranged that I should 
 come to you while he, with the Signorina, went for 
 some days to his mother. He will be patient." 
 Sachs's eyes again turned on her ; " He will wait as 
 long as you wish if you will give him hope. He knows 
 that it is sudden and that you may feel you can give 
 no answer yet ; but he loves you so much that he could 
 not keep silence any longer." 
 
 There had flashed into her capricious mind now, 
 from a distant past, the memory of a beautiful doll, 
 waxen, golden, rosy, with real hair, and eyes that 
 closed, and clothes of silk and lawn. It had been put 
 into her hands on a Christmas morning and after- 
 wards, in the grave delights of examination, she had 
 discovered that its feet were abbreviated to the point 
 of deformity and that they had painted shoes and 
 socks upon them. The doll had been spoiled for her. 
 So it was now. 
 
 " How can he love me if only the other day he 
 wished you to marry me ? " 
 
 Herr Sachs had watched her clouding, downcast 
 face. "But that was still to love you though to 
 love you differently, Fraulein. He did not then know 
 you so well, and it was as a sister and comrade that 
 he wished to keep you in his life." 
 
 " But it was so absurd of Ludwig; worse than fan- 
 
 156
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 tastic; how could a man be so absurd? To have 
 thought of you and me; two people who do not care 
 for each other at all; who hardly know each other. 
 Such absurdity makes a man almost repulsive. I 
 must say it." 
 
 " But Ludwig was not so absurd as that, Fraulein," 
 said Sachs, his manner of patient determination un- 
 changed. " It is not true to say neither of us cared. 
 Ludwig had seen that I admired you very much ; that 
 I was much smitten. He is quick, very quick, at see- 
 ing such things." 
 
 She felt herself turning helplessly in a tangled 
 Mdrchen where the very trees took human shape and 
 spoke to her. 
 
 "You admired me very much? You were much 
 smitten?" Her own dazed voice seemed to come 
 from far away and to be part of the fairy-tale. 
 
 " Yes, Fraulein," said Sachs faintly smiling. " A 
 cat, you know, may look at a king." 
 
 She stared and stared at him, her brows knitted in 
 the effort to understand. " You would have liked 
 to marry me? Ludwig saw that you would have 
 liked to marry me ? " 
 
 " Oh, for that, Fraulein, the idea could never have 
 crossed my mind. I only tell you this so that you 
 may see that Ludwig's was not quite the absurdity 
 you thought it." 
 
 She pushed her way on among the interlacing 
 branches of the wonderland. " But how is it pos- 
 sible? How could he have seen that you cared? 
 
 157
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 How could you care when you do not know me and 
 have hardly seen me ? " 
 
 Sachs, now, as he looked at her, gave a slight and 
 deprecatory grimace. 
 
 " But, Fraulein, there is such a thing as love at first 
 sight. You are young, and beautiful, and strange, 
 too, like a vision. Why should one not care at once? 
 It was Schwarmerei, if you like," he found the word 
 with evident relief, "pure Schwarmerei, as when we 
 Germans look at the moon and the tears drip. It 
 came to me like that, when I saw you, that first time, 
 under the trees in the Kur-Garten. I am a susceptible 
 fellow and I do not often see beautiful young ladies. 
 You will not be displeased with me, or blame me? 
 It is only the cat who looks at the king and admires 
 the crown and sceptre and the bright, royal face." 
 
 She had sunk, while he spoke, on to the little sofa 
 that was placed across a corner of the room, and, 
 fallen together, her arms lying limply along her lap, 
 she gazed at him with something indeed of the expres- 
 sion of the king whom the cat had suddenly addressed 
 in a common tongue. She was absorbed in wonder at 
 Herr Sachs. He had taken out his handkerchief and 
 rubbed his forehead with it, casting glances of some 
 anxiety towards her, and now, as she did not speak, 
 he went on with a little timidity. " So you will see 
 that it was fantastic, Ludwig's devotion to me, Frau- 
 lein, but not so absurd, not so absurd as to be re- 
 pulsive." 
 
 Her thoughts returned to the spoiled treasure; it 
 
 158
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 had, undoubtedly, regained more normal proportions 
 and a more adequate attire. 
 
 Sachs's face brightened as he saw from hers that 
 he had lifted the darkest shadow from his friend. 
 
 " No, not so absurd," she owned. But she went 
 on presently. "If he is not so absurd, he is all the 
 more unkind. If he saw what you were feeling, how 
 could he bear to send you? Why did he not come 
 himself? Wasn't it to make use of your devotion 
 for him?" 
 
 And almost with a touch of his quaint merriment, 
 Sachs answered. " But Fraulein, he knows that all I 
 could ask is to be allowed to look! he knows that it 
 would not be possible for me to think seriously of 
 romance in connection with myself, he knows that I 
 feel it the greatest privilege and happiness to come 
 if only I can succeed for him. Why should he not 
 send me? He would have come himself but that he 
 fears as deeply as he loves. He is not strong. It 
 would have broken him to face your refusal." 
 
 She smiled a little at him now, finding his smile 
 infectious. " I wonder that he did not send Elea- 
 nora," she observed. 
 
 " Ah, she and I urged it upon him," said Sachs. 
 " She is, it is true, as whole-hearted in this matter as 
 I am; but she is perhaps not so wise; that is what 
 Ludwig felt. He said that he feared her eloquence; 
 and was there not some truth in that? I think there 
 was. You know her too well. It was better that a 
 stranger should come, and a delegate only; not a 
 
 159
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 pleader and advocate; that might have antagonized 
 you." 
 
 Still she smiled at him, though more gravely, and 
 she said, after a moment : " Sit down here. You 
 must be tired." He had been standing for a long 
 time, leaning on his crutch. He sat down beside her 
 on the sofa and she went on, her brooding, sombre 
 look altering her face ; " I have never wished to marry. 
 I do not like marriage. You know we talked of 
 Tolstoi. I do not say that he is right ; but, personally, 
 I feel with Tolstoi/' 
 
 It was her girlish mind, perplexed and groping, 
 that spoke. The words did not translate the curious, 
 cold tumult of her heart. 
 
 " I know Tolstoi. Yes, I do not feel with him. 
 And Ludwig does not feel with him," Herr Sachs 
 replied. "You condemn life, then? Ludwig has 
 then not yet cured you of that?" 
 
 " I was only speaking for myself for my own 
 feeling. Would it not stultify one, marriage? and 
 tie one? the woman especially? Married women 
 usually seem to me to become like vegetables, dull, 
 rooted, only significant because they are edible and 
 succulent, so to speak ! " She smiled a little bitterly 
 over her simile. "Unmarried, one may remain a 
 flame. I want to remain a flame." 
 
 " One must be rooted if one is to grow, Fraulein. 
 Why not a flower? The married life, it seems to me, 
 is the highest life; the shared life, stronger, fuller, 
 through union, and growing from its joy into other 
 
 160
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 lives. 'A flame is sterile, Fraulein, and is soon extin- 
 guished." 
 
 She sat, attentive, yet unconvinced. What he said 
 might be true, but she could not connect his words 
 with Ludwig. And, as the silence grew long, Sachs 
 went on. " But Ludwig knows your mind on this. 
 He would not oppress you with choices too difficult. 
 That is what he has charged me to say; there need 
 be no such choice for you. If you will take his name 
 and share his life it will be for you to determine the 
 conditions of your union. All that he asks is to have 
 you near him always. He would want of you nothing 
 that you did not freely, gladly give." 
 
 She sat looking down at her clasped hands. His 
 words astonished her, if further astonishment were 
 possible. Relief, as of a stress removed, seemed to fol- 
 low them, and the widening again of strange, new 
 horizons. To be the great man's companion, to bear 
 his name, and with no servitude to life. Yet the first 
 flat taste of regret was not effaced. " It is very beau- 
 tiful of Ludwig," she murmured. 
 
 " Ah, Fraulein, he is beautiful. It is not known or 
 understood how beautiful he is," said Sachs with deep 
 feeling. " He would give his life for what he loves. 
 You will see. You will understand. You will bring 
 him the happiness he so sorely needs." 
 
 She sat pondering. " How can you feel that I am 
 the woman to make him happy? You know," she 
 said, raising her eyes to his, "Eleanora always says, 
 when she is displeased with me, that I have no heart, 
 
 161
 
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 and mamma, I know, thinks so too. It is true. I am 
 hard. I see all the flaws in people and it makes them 
 absurd to me. I sometimes feel there is nothing that 
 I love. I do not mean that I am unhappy." 
 
 " You are very young, Fraulein," said Sachs, " and 
 it is a child's heart you have, so young, so smooth, 
 so hard. Yes, I feel that what you say is true. It is 
 like a bird's egg, a young heart. But wait, and the 
 soft tap-tap of the warm life within will begin and the 
 little bird will break its shell and be ready for its 
 flights. It is like a fairy-tale, Fraulein you will find 
 it so the awakening of the heart to love." 
 
 He was smiling at her, reassuring her, for he read 
 the trouble and perplexity on her face, and, as if she 
 were indeed a child to whom a fairy-tale has been 
 told, a wavering smile, candid and rueful and touched, 
 answered him. And as they sat in silence, looking at 
 each other, the young girl's mind, from the heights 
 where far horizons opened about her, seemed to flut- 
 ter down softly like a falling bird, down from the 
 vastness and, as it were, into the eyes of Herr Sachs 
 looking at her. This was not to fall to nothingness. 
 She remembered her poem, and its sadness was far 
 away. The eyes of Herr Sachs made her think of a 
 nest; sweetness, tenderness, safety; had she ever 
 thought them ugly? They surrounded and encom- 
 passed her as the soft grass, warm, translucent with 
 sunlight, waves above the bird. Over the grass was 
 the summer sky; and strange words, unaccustomed 
 words, floated through her mind, like the breeze blow- 
 
 162
 
 ing over the harvest : " The peace of God which 
 passeth all understanding." 
 
 The silence had grown long. A little pony-car- 
 riage, driven with a cheerful flourish of the whip, 
 went rattling down the street. Mrs. Fennamy's 
 travelling-clock, the clock which had accompanied 
 them on all their travels and which Persis remem- 
 bered since her babyhood, gave the soft premonitory 
 cluck which was its only symptom of age and then 
 struck eleven deliberate, silvery notes. Listening to 
 them Persis found herself smiling, for they made her 
 think of the sound of bells heard from the meadows. 
 All was sweet and beautiful. 
 
 " Tell me," she said, leaning towards the young 
 man, " is that all you care about that other people 
 should find each other and be happy? You are so 
 different from everybody ; what is it ? " 
 
 Herr Sachs blushed now and became again the shy, 
 ungainly, ugly man: but she could never again see 
 him as that. " We all wish those we love to be 
 happy, do we not, Fraulein." 
 
 " Do we ? I don't know. I never think about 
 people being happy. I think so very little about 
 other people," said Persis. " You think of them 
 all the time. That is all your life means. I see 
 that." 
 
 " By no means, Fraulein," he said, laughing. " I 
 have my studies to think of and often, when I am 
 deep in them, I forget that anything else exists." 
 
 "EvenLudwig?" 
 
 163
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 (C 
 
 Even Ludwig," he answered. And now, after 
 their interlude, he led her back again to the purpose 
 that had brought him there. "Will you now think 
 of Ludwig, Fraulein, and of what he asks ? " 
 
 "Yes, I will. I will think of it all day. I will 
 give you my answer to-morrow. Is that right and 
 fair?" 
 
 " Very right and fair, Fraulein." He had risen 
 and, taking his hat and crutch, he moved towards the 
 door. There he paused. 
 
 "Am I allowed to give one word of advice, Frau- 
 lein?" 
 
 "You are allowed to say anything you like for 
 ever ! " Persis assured him, clasping her hands to- 
 gether under her chin and laughing at him, though 
 gravely laughing. 
 
 Her trust, her gaiety, pleased and confused him, too, 
 she saw. He was unaware how deeply she had come 
 to know him. He blushed again as he said : " That 
 is very good of you, Fraulein. Then, since I am per- 
 mitted, I will ask you not to see Graf von Liidenstein 
 again to-day. Do not let him come near your de- 
 liberations. He might harm them." 
 
 Liidenstein seemed indeed a wraith. It was an 
 easy promise to make. 
 
 " You were very displeased with me for having 
 talked to him, were you not?" she said, as she went 
 beside him to the front door. 
 
 " Displeased with you, Fraulein ? " 
 
 " Yes. I felt that you were quite angry with me 
 
 164
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 when I told you of our talk. It almost frightened 
 me." 
 
 Sachs laughed. " I do not think that you are so 
 easily frightened, Fraulein! But, yes; I was dis- 
 pleased." And his face assumed a retrospective 
 severity as he said : " It was very ill done of Graf 
 von Liidenstein, very ill done indeed."
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 PERSIS wandered out into the garden and went 
 slowly down the path. Her head was bent, her 
 eyes on the mossy stones. As she came near the 
 grille, she heard her mother's voice inquiring: 
 "Well, Persis?" 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy was sitting at the bottom of the 
 garden where the branches were lowest and the grass 
 tallest. Her little work-box another ancient mem- 
 ory made of plaited Indian grass, which, after so 
 many years, still kept the wild, sweet fragrance of the 
 prairie, was beside her on the table and she was hem- 
 ming, with her delicate, almost invisible, stitches, on 
 a long strip of the fine lawn frilling that she and 
 Persis wore in their dresses. 
 
 Persis, after standing still in the path for a mo- 
 ment, turned aside into the grass and joined her 
 mother. 
 
 " Well ? " Mrs. Fennamy repeated, glancing up at 
 her. "What is it all about? Is he mad?" 
 
 It was unpleasant to have these surmises of the 
 morning recalled at such a moment. Persis put them 
 aside with a slight impatience. " He is not at all 
 mad," she said. She took a chair on the other side 
 of the table, and, leaning her elbows on it and her 
 
 166
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 head in her hands, she looked down at the Indian grass 
 basket as she went on : " He is very beautiful and 
 strange. He wants me to marry him. It was that 
 Herr Sachs came to ask me." 
 
 As she spoke she lifted her eyes and rested them 
 on her mother. There was no appeal or shyness in 
 them. If they held an underlying anxiety it was un- 
 conscious. Yet Mrs. Fennamy read in them uncer- 
 tainty and questioning and hope. 
 
 " Gracious ! " she said, mildly, after a moment. 
 She was aware that by an effort of will she con- 
 trolled the rise of her colour. She continued to 
 stitch. 
 
 Persis flushed faintly. " It is very quick, certainly ; 
 but not exactly surprising, mamma. From the first 
 moment there was a deep congeniality between us, 
 was n't there ? " 
 
 " Was there ? I should n't have called it that, 
 exactly. I saw he was very much struck with you, 
 of course. They all were. But that 's not congeni- 
 ality, necessarily, is it ? No ; I should n't have said, 
 somehow, that you were congenial. Just see if my 
 scissors are in the basket, dear; I can't find them." 
 Mrs. Fennamy felt among the turmoil of lawn upon 
 her lap. 
 
 The scissors were in the basket and Persis, extract- 
 ing them and handing them to her mother, asked, with 
 an assumed nonchalance, " Why, pray ? " as she did 
 so. 
 
 " Well," Mrs. Fennamy snipped away a scrap of 
 167
 
 lawn, " you 're both so set on your own ways for one 
 thing." 
 
 " There is no reason why our ways should not be 
 the same." 
 
 " No ; perhaps not. He takes things, I should say, 
 much harder than you do; little things, I mean. 
 He's such a nervous man." Mrs. Fennamy did not 
 ask: Do you really think of marrying him? but 
 this was the question thudding at her heart. 
 
 " He is a very great man, mamma, and a very great 
 genius. I have always felt that I should not care to 
 marry at all unless it could be some one like that. 
 Don't imagine that I 'm blind to the foibles and even 
 follies, if you like there are in him. All geniuses, 
 I imagine, have foibles and follies. The question is 
 what have they besides? You can see, of course, 
 that he is as different from the ordinary man as an 
 eagle is from a gander. And he thinks me remark- 
 able, too. I could help him in his work. My criti- 
 cism would be of real value to him. I can't imagine 
 a more interesting life." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy listened carefully. " I don't know 
 about criticism. He '11 want you to accept everything 
 he says and admire him for it. I expect the reason 
 he quarrels with his friends is that they won't agree 
 with him." 
 
 " He knows that I could not tolerate any relation 
 that did not leave me complete independence. Our 
 friendship has made that clear to him already." 
 
 " Are you sure he knows it ? The way he treats a 
 
 168
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 friend will be different from the way he '11 treat his 
 wife. I 've always found that Germans think of their 
 wives as pillows, and that 's what he wants some- 
 thing soothing and restful and always there to turn to 
 when things go wrong." Mrs. Fennamy seemed 
 mildly to surmise rather than to oppose. 
 
 Persis had leaned back in her chair and folded her 
 arms. " I don't think so ill of Ludwig as that," she 
 said. 
 
 " I don't see that it 's to think ill of him at all," 
 Mrs. Fennamy rejoined. "A man of that sort 
 does n't want a critic in his wife or some one who will 
 tell him what his faults are or point out his mistakes 
 to him. He '11 hear all that fast enough from outsid- 
 ers. What he wants is some one who can pretend not 
 to see what outsiders see, who can pretend to be satis- 
 fied with him and think he 's all right when he 's hurt 
 and bothered and suspects things about himself; 
 who '11 give him confidence enough in himself to go 
 on with. He may not know it 's what he wants now, 
 when he's so in love with you; but it is. And 
 you don't strike me as one bit that kind of a 
 woman, Persis," Mrs. Fennamy finished dispassion- 
 ately. 
 
 Persis sat still, gazing down at the grass. " I cer- 
 tainly could not love a man who was too stupid to see 
 his own faults," she remarked presently. 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Fennamy, as dispassionately as 
 before, " that 's being rather cruel, when you come to 
 think of it, because hardly anybody does see their own 
 
 169
 
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 faults. That 's what I mean by saying that you 're 
 not the kind of woman he needs." 
 
 " I could not love a man, then, who was not able 
 or willing to recognise his faults when they were 
 pointed out to him. That is not cruel." 
 
 " It 's not very loving." 
 
 " But, mamma, I should accept criticism from those 
 I loved. Why should I not expect them to accept 
 mine? All that I am asking is that I should be al- 
 lowed to love. And I do not believe what you say of 
 Ludwig. Already he has told me that I am his better 
 self." 
 
 " Perhaps he '11 go on thinking so when you thwart 
 him. My impression of him is that the one thing he 
 can't accept is criticism." 
 
 They were silent for a little while after this, and 
 then Persis presented another aspect of the case. 
 " Besides, mamma," she said, " Ludwig is n't asking 
 me to be his wife in that sense, at all. He is really 
 asking for the things you imagine he rejects com- 
 radeship, equality, mutual independence. You don't, 
 in the least, appreciate his beauty and generosity. He 
 has let me understand that it is for me to determine 
 the conditions of our union. He knows my dislike of 
 the idea of marriage. I mean," she added, as she saw 
 her mother's face change and a more marked gravity 
 fixed upon her, " he is in love with me but he does not 
 ask me to be in love with him. Love is all he asks; 
 not wifehood. I think it very beautiful of him." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy, with a slight constriction of the lips, 
 
 170
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 remained silent for a moment, and again Persis felt 
 her colour rise as if before an unexpected rebuff. 
 
 " I expect I like everyday, ordinary men who are 
 in love in an everyday way better," Mrs. Fennamy 
 remarked at last, and Persis was aware that the words 
 understated her thoughts, and were carefully chosen. 
 " I don't seem to understand a man very well who can 
 carry generosity as far as that. I 'd feel he could n't 
 be in love himself, I expect." 
 
 " I don't think that you do understand Ludwig, 
 mamma. I don't think that you 're capable of under- 
 standing him." 
 
 " I expect I 'm not," Mrs. Fennamy acquiesced, 
 without any irony; and in a voice that accepted all 
 fantastical interpretations she went on : " Is that 
 why he went away, because he could n't ask you him- 
 self?" 
 
 " Yes. He is very sensitive ; very over-strung." 
 Persis spoke with a certain dryness, rising as she 
 spoke. 
 
 " Well, if what he asks is comradeship, why should 
 you marry him at all ? " her mother inquired. " You 
 don't need to marry a man to study his works." 
 
 Persis, passing her hands over the back of the chair 
 as she stood above it, glanced at her with now ap- 
 parent uncertainty. Was this not, after all, the crux 
 of the situation? 
 
 " He has n't asked for anything more, so why 
 should you give him anything more ? " Mrs. Fennamy 
 pursued, though without urgency. 
 
 171
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " But he wants me to be always there. He wants 
 me to live with him." 
 
 " Well, why should n't he see as much of you as he 
 likes?" 
 
 " You mean that he could travel about with us ? " 
 
 "Why I suppose he might just as well. People 
 will know that you could marry him if you wanted to ; 
 so there couldn't be very much made of it. All I 
 mean is that if you're not in love with him I don't 
 see why you should marry him." 
 
 " No ; I am not in love with him," said Persis, look- 
 ing down thoughtfully at her hands which she still 
 passed to and fro over the chill tin top of the chair. 
 " No ; I certainly am not in love with Ludwig." She 
 was thinking of her love for Prince Marco, that hid- 
 den love which no one in the world, not even this 
 shrewd little mother, had dreamed of. 
 
 If that had been to be in love, she certainly was not 
 in love with Ludwig. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy continued to sew. She was very 
 sorry for Persis. She could not blame herself. She 
 had denied herself any frank expression of her dis- 
 may, though she could not go so far as to pretend to 
 Persis that she saw beauty where, in fact, she saw 
 only weakness and absurdity. Yet it was as if, in 
 happy confidence, her child had come to her holding a 
 jewel on her open palm for her admiration, and as if 
 she had commented, glancing at it : " Paste. I 
 would n't have it if I were you." 
 
 " Well, I must think," Persis said at last, lifting her 
 
 172
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 hands. " I will go up to the woods. I don't wan? 
 any lunch." 
 
 "Just buy some fruit and a roll, then, as you go 
 down the street," Mrs. Fennamy suggested. " You '11 
 get so hungry after your walk." 
 
 " Yes ; I '11 get some fruit," Persis acquiesced, mov- 
 ing away. 
 
 " I 'm sure you '11 do just what you feel best about 
 Herr Wehlitz," Mrs. Fennamy added as Persis opened 
 the grille.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE treasure was spoiled; the jewel had been 
 pronounced paste; what had been troubled 
 surmise was now clear vision. She saw how it had 
 been spoiled, and why. It was as if, to return to the 
 first metaphor, her mother had said : " You see, the 
 shoes are painted, and no really good doll has painted 
 shoes." The flaw lay deep in the fact, now recog- 
 nised, that there was in this proposal of Ludwig's no 
 romance and no passion; benevolence, no doubt, and 
 beauty ; but it had been the possibility of romance that, 
 if it had disturbed, had also thrilled her. 
 
 She saw now that there had been no need for dis- 
 turbance, no occasion for a thrill, and as she moved 
 slowly away from her mother she knew that she did 
 not intend to marry Ludwig. As her mother had 
 said, you did not need to marry a man in order to 
 study his works. 
 
 There was something else, too, but this she could 
 not see so clearly. It lay, half-hidden, under all her 
 thoughts that afternoon, as she wandered in the beech- 
 woods, like the slightly malicious twinkle of a gold- 
 fish in a pool of water. Herr Sachs had shown her 
 beauty; but was it not, mainly, his own? Her 
 mother had shown her something else. 
 
 174
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 A flash and turn of irony passed and repassed as 
 she contemplated Ludwig and his wooing. 
 
 Herr Sachs came on the stroke of ten next morning 
 and Persis, as she entered the sitting-room where he 
 waited for her, saw that he had come full of hope. 
 
 " I have my answer," she said, giving him her 
 hand ; and she knew that there was a certain fictitious 
 buoyancy in her demeanour which he, no doubt, could 
 penetrate. " I don't think that it will displease you," 
 she had rehearsed what she was to say in the beech- 
 woods " when you have heard it all ; for it is a 
 rather long answer. I cannot marry Ludwig; but I 
 think that I can make him happy. I want to devote 
 myself to him and to his work. I have told mamma 
 he is to come with us wherever we go at any time 
 and for as long as he likes. I don't trouble about 
 conventions, and I know that he will not. And be- 
 sides, mamma will be with us; you too, I hope, Herr 
 Sachs, for I cannot imagine Ludwig parted from you. 
 You see, there is really no reason at all why we should 
 marry; we are both independent, and can do as we 
 like, and though we love each other very truly, we 
 are neither of us in love." Under the growing grav- 
 ity of Herr Sachs's regard she heard herself speaking 
 more quickly and with a little confusion, and she fin- 
 ished rather lamely, forgetting what she had meant to 
 say at the last. " That is really what he wanted 
 most, I believe the right to be with me constantly, 
 and to know that I am devoted to him." 
 
 All this time she had been holding Herr Sachs's 
 175
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 hand, and now, though instinctively she tried to re- 
 tain it, he drew it away and leaned on the table, look- 
 ing down in silence at the floor between them. And 
 after a little pause, not raising his eyes, he said: 
 " You are mistaken, Fraulein. Ludwig is in love 
 with you." 
 
 The memory of her mother's glance returned to 
 her. " Oh no, Herr Sachs ! Really he is not," she 
 admonished him, smiling slightly. 
 
 Herr Sachs's eyes were upon her, penetrating her. 
 They seemed to see more than she was herself aware 
 of, though she was aware that she hid something from 
 him. " But I say yes, Fraulein. He is in love with 
 you. Why do you contradict me ? " 
 
 " A man who is in love does not send another man 
 to plead his cause." 
 
 Yes; this is what her mother's glance had said, 
 though it had said more besides. 
 
 " Why do you say that to me, Fraulein, when I tell 
 you that it is not true ? " 
 
 " He has asked only for comradeship. Why should 
 the question of marriage arise at all ? " 
 
 " Ludwig hopes for more than comradeship. It 
 was what you said of your disdain of marriage, in the 
 Kur-Garten, that made him unwilling to burden you 
 with his hopes. Signorina Zardo pressed upon him 
 that you might misunderstand his generosity; Lud- 
 wig believed you would not misunderstand. He be- 
 lieved that you were not as other women." 
 
 Under his severity she saw dismay, yet the severity 
 
 176
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 was disconcerting. " Are you angry witH me ? " she 
 asked. " I cannot help it if he has not been able to 
 make me feel that he is in love with me." 
 
 " No, Fraulein, no," said Sachs, looking away from 
 her. " I do not understand your manner this morn- 
 ing, but it is with myself that I am angry. I have 
 been stupid. I have failed to make you understand 
 my friend." His face was sad and careworn, altered, 
 indeed, from its first eager hope, and Persis replied 
 with urgency: 
 
 " That is not so ; I am sure it is not so. What I 
 feel is that you make me understand him far better 
 than he could himself. I am sure that you do. He 
 is so vehement and so sensitive. I might have hurt 
 him and he might have exasperated me. As it is, 
 through you, I see his generosity clearly." 
 
 But Sachs still stood looking on the ground, as if 
 discouraged beyond words. 
 
 " I will try to make him happy," Persis went on. 
 " I know that I can make him happy. We will be the 
 best and most loyal of friends ; and we will study and 
 I shall understand all that he writes and help him. 
 Please see it as I do. Ludwig and I are not like other 
 people. We are in a different world. Let other peo- 
 ple marry. Tell him that I say that." 
 
 " I will tell him what you say, Fraulein," said 
 Sachs, moving towards the door. " But what I see is 
 that you do not love Ludwig as he loves you." 
 
 " What do you mean ? Wait. Please wait. It 's 
 as if you blamed me. If what you say is true if I 
 
 177
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 do not love him as he loves me what do you ask me 
 to do? What do you think that it would be right for 
 me to do ? " 
 
 He paused, half turning to her, and stood trying, 
 she saw, to see his way through his pain, perplexity 
 and doubt. Then, after a moment, not lifting his 
 eyes, he said: "If you do not love him as he loves 
 you, would it not be best that he should not come back, 
 Fraulein that you should not see him again ? " 
 
 A deep dismay filled Persis. " Not see him again ? 
 I must break my friendship with Ludwig because I 
 am not in love with him?" She gazed at the young 
 man almost aghast. 
 
 " I do not know," said Sachs, knitting his brows. 
 " I do not know. It is for you to say. I only ask, 
 if you cannot marry him, would it not be best that 
 you should part?" 
 
 "But why? Why should we part? If I am to 
 devote my life to him? " 
 
 " You say it, Fraulein, but I do not feel that you 
 realize the seriousness of your promise. I do not feel 
 you realize you are taking another's life into your 
 hands. You will not play with it ? " 
 
 "Play with it?" 
 
 He raised his eyes to hers. There was no sternness 
 in them ; only deep anxiety. " Yes, Fraulein ; like a 
 toy." 
 
 Her tears rose. She was keenly hurt. No one had 
 ever had the power to hurt her so much. "You 
 think me so shallow, so cruel, so childish," she 
 
 178
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 said. " And I thought that you were fond of 
 me " 
 
 He contemplated her, singularly detached, indeed, 
 for a young man who had the day before confessed 
 to Schwdrmerei. " I should still be fond of you, 
 Fraulein, if you were shallow and cruel and childish," 
 he said. " But it is not that. I accuse you of none 
 of these things. I do not, nor do you yourself, know 
 what you are. But is it not true that a woman, think- 
 ing she means kindness towards the man whose love 
 has disappointed her, may mean cruelty? And is it 
 not true that what to Ludwig would be life or death, 
 to you might be an interlude of life only, an amuse- 
 ment, a distraction? I do not know. It is for you 
 to say." 
 
 She was displeased by some intimation in this 
 speech, and though a faint fear, caught from his grav- 
 ity, rose in her, she dismissed it with the thought that 
 Herr Sachs could be naif. With that worshipful re- 
 gard and care they all and by all she meant Herr 
 Sachs and Eleanora surrounded Ludwig! It was a 
 little ludicrous as well as a little belittling, to Ludwig 
 himself. What did he mean by disappointed? 
 
 Her underlying displeasure betrayed itself. " You 
 cannot think me disappointed in Ludwig's love," she 
 said, and dryly, " since it was love, in the usual sense 
 of the word, that made my first difficulty. Ludwig 
 very nobly has removed that, and I do not think that 
 Ludwig's trust in me is misplaced. You seem to think 
 so no, please let me go on. I know that you do not 
 
 179
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mean to be unkind; but you say very strange things. 
 I can't send him away. That would be cruelty, if you 
 like, a priggish cruelty. What would Ludwig think 
 of me if I refused to see him again because he has 
 asked to spend his life with me? You must see that it 
 would be ridiculous. It would only be wise if what 
 you seem to think of me is true." 
 
 " No, no, Fraulein," he was able now to stammer, 
 for she had brought him to some confusion. " I do 
 not think it of you. I only asked you to be very sure 
 of yourself before you went forward." 
 
 She could now afford to smile at him. " But I am 
 sure of myself. I am not a cruel and shallow child. 
 I do not say that it is a matter of life and death to me 
 I cannot think that it is that to Ludwig either I 
 cannot think that he is as brittle and as unreasonable 
 as you imagine. But it certainly will not be a diver- 
 sion or an interlude. I can be a true friend to Lud- 
 wig. Tell him so. Tell him that I am going to show 
 him what such a friendship can be. You know, you 
 Germans don't really believe in friendships between 
 men and women, nor understand them." 
 
 She almost expected him to recognize the element 
 of patronage in her words and to be offended by it; 
 but, on the contrary, though still anxious, he seemed 
 to listen very carefully, and almost, as it were, with 
 a renewal of hope. " Perhaps that is true, Fraulein," 
 he said when she had finished, disconcerting her some- 
 what, although she believed, indeed, that it was true. 
 " Perhaps it is because I am a German and very 
 
 180
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ignorant, moreover, of many things which, to people 
 more experienced, are plain. Not that I can think 
 that you understand Ludwig as I do. It will be a 
 great blow to him, a great grief, to hear that you will 
 not marry him. But it may be true that through your 
 friendship you will be able to make him happy." 
 
 He had now opened the door, and his gentleness and 
 sincerity made her feel compunction; renewing, too, 
 the stir of fear within her. Did he, perhaps, after all, 
 understand Ludwig better than she did? And did 
 she realize, after all, what it was that she was under- 
 taking? In any case it was impossible to face the 
 trenchant alternative he put before her. " I promise 
 
 you I promise you " she reiterated, giving him 
 
 her hand. She did not quite know what she promised, 
 but she felt that she owed something to Herr Sachs 
 and that she must not disappoint him.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 SIGNORINA ZARDO returned to Tannenkreuz 
 the following afternoon, and came into the Fen- 
 namys* sitting-room at tea-time. It was hard for her 
 to confront Annetta after the swift overthrow of her 
 hopes; and Mrs. Fennamy read embarrassment in the 
 deep melancholy of her gaze. Travel-worn and dusty, 
 she sank down on a chair beside the table, shaking her 
 head to the offer of tea and keeping a silence that 
 combined reproach and stubbornness. 
 
 " This has all been very sudden, has n't it, Elea- 
 nora?" said Mrs. Fennamy, in a kindly if not a com- 
 passionate voice. " And I 'm afraid you 're tired out, 
 rushing about with Herr Wehlitz as you have been 
 doing. Has he come back with you ? " 
 
 Persis asked no question, but her eyes were fixed 
 upon Eleanora. 
 
 "No, he has not come back with me," said Elea- 
 nora. " He is walking, walking in the mountains." 
 And after a pause she added : " He takes it bravely. 
 But he has received a blow from which it will take 
 him time to recover." 
 
 " Well, there was no reason exactly why he should 
 expect anything else, was there ? " said Mrs. Fennamy,
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 since Persis kept silence. " He had no reason for 
 thinking Persis was in love with him. It seems to 
 me it 's all ended just as comfortably as it could pos- 
 sibly have ended." 
 
 " No ; he had no reason to think Persis was in love 
 with him," Eleanora echoed with bitterness, " and I 
 much doubt whether the man lives who ever will have 
 reason to think so. If Ludwig Wehlitz cannot win 
 love from her, why, indeed, should we expect at any 
 time to see her wedded? Well, let the proud heart 
 retain its solitude. Some of us, who are not proud, 
 could whisper that the time comes when solitude be- 
 comes a presence, a spectre, that we could give all we 
 have to exorcise." 
 
 Eleanora and Persis often engaged in this one-sided 
 sparring. Secure of Eleanora's heart as she knew 
 herself to be, Persis rarely took more part in it than to 
 maintain her air of quiet attentiveness or now and 
 then to interpose an ironic comment. She thought of 
 Eleanora, indeed, as if she were another girl, but a 
 more immature, more extravagant girl than she had 
 ever felt herself to be, and, oddly enough, though she 
 had far more respect for Eleanora's intelligence than 
 for her mother's, she thought always of her mother as 
 a being apart from these disputes, too old for them, 
 and, in a sense, too wise for them. Her mother would 
 never jeopardize a cause she had at heart by wrangling 
 over it. 
 
 She vouchsafed no answer now to her foolish old 
 friend, although she was feeling some anxiety. Lud- 
 
 183
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wig must have sent her some message, and she could 
 not but wonder what it might be. 
 
 " I don't believe Herr Wehlitz and Persis could 
 have made each other happy, Eleanora," Mrs. Fen- 
 namy now took up with her complete dispassionate- 
 ness. " He 's such an excitable man. Just see the 
 way he behaved that day at tea over Graf von Liiden- 
 stein's visit to us. Why, it made you feel as embar- 
 rassed as could be to see a man behave like that ! And 
 Persis, as you know well enough, is n't a bit the sort of 
 girl to put up with things. I suppose you've heard 
 what she 's going to do for him. I don't see that he 
 has any cause to complain. He is going to be a sort 
 of son and brother to us and travel about with us. 
 You'd better come along, too, Eleanora and little 
 Herr Sachs, I suppose. We shall be a circus ! " 
 
 " Yes. I have heard from Ludwig of the strange 
 life that you have arranged for him," said Eleanora. 
 
 " I did n't arrange it, Eleanora. It was n't ar- 
 ranged for my convenience," said Mrs. Fennamy in 
 mild disclaimer. " It 's not the sort of life I 'd have 
 chosen for myself or for Persis. And it seems to me 
 it 's doing a good deal for a man you 're not in love 
 with. I was trying to explain it to Lady Frere this 
 morning when she asked me what had happened the 
 pension is just as excited as can be about it all. I told 
 her the whole thing quietly, and it made her look 
 pretty dull and thick, as though I 'd put a batter pud- 
 ding into her mouth and she could n't swallow it." 
 
 Despite herself, a sickly smile flickered for a mo- 
 
 184
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 ment on Eleanora's cheek at this picture of Lady 
 Frere's speechless disapprobation. " The dolorous 
 Philistine ! " she exclaimed. " It will keep her quiet 
 the batter pudding! But what have the Philistines 
 themselves to say against such an arrangement? 
 Does it not do honour to all concerned ? " 
 
 " Well, I 'm glad you can see it like that, Elea- 
 nora." 
 
 " And you, Persis," Eleanora now turned her gaze 
 on the young girl " What have you to say ? You 
 do not ask after Ludwig? Do you not wish to know 
 if he has sent you any message?" 
 
 " Very much indeed, Eleanora," said Persis. " But 
 since you gave none, I supposed that he must have 
 written." 
 
 " No ; he has not written. He cannot write," said 
 Eleanora. "Nor will he speak of this again. But 
 what he asks me to say to you is that he thanks you. 
 ' Tell her ' these were his words ' tell her that we 
 are worthy one of the other.' You should feel 
 crowned, Persis, by such devotion." 
 
 " I am very glad indeed to hear that Ludwig under- 
 stands mine," said Persis. She had finished her tea, 
 and she presently got up and left them. It was then 
 that Eleanora leaned forward to her friend and said 
 in low tragic tones : " Had he been less generous, 
 less unselfish, he would have won her ! I warned him 
 of it!" 
 
 " Now, what do you mean by that, Eleanora ? " 
 Mrs. Fennamy inquired, unfolding her work. " I do 
 
 185
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wish you would n't take everything so hard. You see, 
 they're both perfectly satisfied." 
 
 " Perfectly satisfied. Both perfectly satisfied ! " 
 Eleanora repeated, while the tears came thickly to her 
 eyes. She brushed her handkerchief over them. 
 " Have I not seen him and read his despair and his 
 humiliation? Do not pretend to misunderstand me! 
 You know, I am sure, the terms in which he asked 
 her hand." 
 
 " Well, but if he 'd asked in any other terms every- 
 thing would have been over between them, wouldn't 
 it? You know that Persis can't bear the idea of get- 
 ting married. You know when she was only sixteen 
 and we explained to her about things when she was 
 getting worried, how she took it. And you remem- 
 ber how she said she agreed with every word Tolstoi 
 said about it. Why, I could see perfectly well, when 
 she told me about Herr Wehlitz, that it was just that 
 that made her feel fondest of him." 
 
 " So you say ! So she may think ! " said Eleanora, 
 still in her low tones and unwinding the scarf that was 
 twisted round her neck. " But you do not deceive 
 me into believing for one moment, Annetta, that you 
 take seriously the first revolt of a young creature 
 against the natural ordering of life." 
 
 " Well, no ; I don't think I do take it very seriously 
 at all events, I shouldn't think it was to be reck- 
 oned with if the right man came along. Everything 
 gets so simple when that happens. I was just like 
 Persis myself," Mrs. Fennamy remarked, " and re- 
 
 186
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 fused lots of men and just hated them for having 
 asked me; but the moment Christopher Fennamy 
 came, I never gave all that another thought. So I do 
 understand the way Persis feels." 
 
 Eleanora had gazed at her, still darkly, while she 
 diagnosed the case, but now, putting out her hand, she 
 took a cake and began to eat it. Mrs. Fennamy, with- 
 out comment on this yielding, leaned forward at once 
 to pour her out a cup of coffee. " You see, Eleanora, 
 she is n't one speck in love with him ; that 's the trou- 
 ble," she said. 
 
 But Eleanora seemed to have received some inner 
 sustainment. Her face had resumed its more normal 
 expression of anxious, watchful hope. 
 
 " Persis's father, when he came to you, came as a 
 wooer, did he not, Annetta?" she said, stirring her 
 coffee. " That has been my poor Ludwig's great mis- 
 take. A woman does not know what she feels for a 
 man until she has seen him as her wooer." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy eyed her. " So you think he has n't 
 given up hope, yet ? " she asked. 
 
 " I do not say what I think, Annetta," Eleanora 
 replied. "And, indeed, it may with truth be said 
 that I think nothing. But I feel, I still feel, all is not 
 yet at an end."
 
 CHAPTER XVH 
 
 LUDWIG did not return for four days, and when 
 he and Persis met again, in the little sitting- 
 room, it was, on both sides, with a natural embarrass- 
 ment. His, from his attempt to conceal it, was the 
 more apparent, and she was almost disconcerted by 
 the veil of artificiality he drew between them. She 
 had felt her colour rise as she entered to welcome him, 
 an unwonted tenderness filling her, and pity for his 
 imagined pain; but she was met by no appeal and by 
 no tenderness ; by authority, rather, and a disciplinary- 
 terseness, as, turning at once from their hand-clasp, 
 to the piled-up books, he said: "And now, to 
 work." 
 
 A sense of depression fell upon Persis while she 
 obediently took her place before him at the other side 
 of the table. She could understand that his satisfac- 
 tion with the situation was feigned, yet she wondered 
 whether he were not feeling resentment against her, 
 and whether, with it, there did not mingle a vein of 
 relief. She was there, waiting, obedient, affianced to 
 his cause. To have entered upon a reciprocated love- 
 affair might well have been a cataclysm from which, 
 however blissful, his fragile nerves had shrunk. He 
 did not, however, look physically as fragile as when 
 
 188
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 they had parted. The mountain walks had browned 
 his temples and his form was more erect. He seemed 
 conscious of bravery in his acceptance of his defeat 
 and there was a new emphasis in his ceremonial dig- 
 nity, his military deliberation and alertness. All this 
 she saw, finding it all slightly ridiculous, while at the 
 same time she could not defend herself from feeling, 
 at moments, a little in awe of the new Ludwig, the 
 dark, austere man, who, with knitted brow and scru- 
 tinizing eye, looked at her from across the table and 
 repeated, wringing at the end of his moustache, " You 
 understand what I say, Persis ? " 
 
 She did not, at first, understand; she seemed to 
 understand less than before this strange interlude of 
 phantasmal wooing; and sometimes when her mind 
 groped in bewilderment among the fierce, flashing 
 lights he threw about her, a half entranced Brunn- 
 hilde circled in flames, she suspected him of seeing 
 her, mentally, at his feet. That was what he wanted 
 of her, no doubt. The domain of romance had been 
 denied to him, his claim now was the domain of the 
 mind and he wished to show her that he could think 
 as lightly of romance as she. He was to inform and 
 she to acquiesce. Her mother's careful comments 
 returned to her; it was acquiescence he asked, not 
 judgment, and for the first days of reunion, abashed 
 by his demeanour, in which she had expected to find 
 signs of the avowed lover, she gave it somewhat help- 
 lessly. But it was only for the first days. She be- 
 came aware, as the mists of embarrassment dissolved, 
 
 189
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 that though from a lover the oppression Ludwig exer- 
 cised might have been tolerable, from a master it was 
 not. With a sensation of almost physical growth, she 
 grasped her resources and turned her thoughts from 
 Ludwig to fix them upon what he showed her. 
 These were strange objects. They seemed to her, as 
 whole-heartedly at last she bent over them, sorting, 
 matching, grouping, like the fragments of some splen- 
 did shattered mosaic, and she wondered how they 
 could be made to fit together. That they did fit, that 
 they did make one superb and inevitable pattern, was 
 the implication of the commanding gesture with which 
 he gave them to her. But now, seen by this imper- 
 sonalised vision, she found it more and more difficult 
 to conceive that the flashing surfaces, the facetted, 
 fantastic outlines, could be united. She questioned 
 him. He answered; and she would then continue to 
 look at him, not, it must be evident to him, receiving 
 light; meditating, rather, in her own. And before 
 that unhostile, reflecting silence, she found that the 
 acerbity, the vexation, with which Ludwig had re- 
 ceived her queries, could drop suddenly to gentleness 
 and even to appeal. She regained, with the old Lud- 
 wig, a new sense of her own power when she realised 
 that her recovered poise shook his assumed one. He 
 would lean across the table to expound his doctrine to 
 her more technically and as he spoke he smiled at her, 
 almost timidly. She could find no answer, now, en- 
 meshed in filaments of scientific evidence, and her 
 helplessness, if it was not acquiescence, was, she saw, 
 
 190
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 a balm to him. Yet he was watchful. He suspected 
 her reticences. 
 
 When he left her at last, on these mornings, Persis 
 often remained sitting for a long time motionless, her 
 hands lying folded on the opened books, her eyes 
 fixed on the little street seen through the lace curtains, 
 with which she was always, so incongruously, to asso- 
 ciate Ludwig's philosophy; and she would find that it 
 was the accumulative power of his thought, rather 
 than its gaps and weaknesses, that remained with her. 
 It brooded over her like a strange, bright, dark cloud, 
 changing the colour of the day, and at night her 
 dreams were haunted by the rhythms of his sen- 
 tences. 
 
 What was this life he showed her? Could she feel 
 its triumph ? Could he ? Did not the hand of fate 
 blind, indifferent strew dust not only upon the weak, 
 those poor slaves whom Ludwig so despised, but upon 
 the smiling, resplendent masters themselves? Was 
 there not an unjustifiable optimism lurking in his 
 tragic creed ; for what, in such a world, shining, pano- 
 plied, heartless, was there to love and live for? It 
 was as if, putting out hands to find a mother's breast, 
 one met the brazen shield of some terrible warrior 
 striding, cruel and laughing, through the universe. 
 Persis had never yet felt that she put out her hands to 
 anything; but now, as if before some peril, she shrank 
 back and a strange new desolation knocked at her 
 heart.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 SINCE the day when she had made him her 
 promise in the sitting-room she had had hardly 
 a glimpse of Herr Sachs, and she was glad one after- 
 noon, while walking along the river-path, to see his 
 figure approaching her. He was limping quickly, a 
 bundle of books under his arm, and he came, no doubt, 
 from Ludwig's hotel, for his own lodgings were in 
 one of the smaller streets of the town, and were 
 reached most quickly by the river. Persis was aware, 
 as she watched him approach her, his eyes fixed be- 
 fore him on the ground, absorbed, no doubt, in 
 thoughts in which she had no share, that she had a 
 vague sense of grievance against Herr Sachs. It was 
 very strange that a man who cared for her and, how- 
 ever oddly, she had felt that he did care should never 
 have come to see her. The cat's discretion was al- 
 most discourteous. It was strange, too, that if he was 
 fond of her he should not have warned her of peril 
 in connection with Ludwig and his doctrines. Herr 
 Sachs could not be in agreement with such doctrines. 
 She stood still under the trees, and as he did not 
 look up until he was close upon her, the sight of her 
 standing there evidently startled him very much. He 
 stopped short; he uttered an exclamation; he blushed. 
 
 192
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 He was pleased, as well as startled; that, too, was 
 evident. 
 
 Persis gave him her hand. " We are almost 
 strangers, are we not ? " she observed, smiling upon 
 him. " It must be over a week since you told me that 
 I was so young. Stop and talk to me for a little 
 while. I am sure that you will feel that I have grown 
 very old during these last days." 
 
 The smile had a touch of irony, but he answered 
 it with his cheerfulness, saying, " I hope not, Fraulein ; 
 I hope not indeed." 
 
 " Are you busy ? What are all those books ? " she 
 asked, as his pause expressed some uncertainty. 
 " Can't you stop and talk ? " 
 
 " I ha ve' just borrowed them from Ludwig, Fraulein. 
 Yes, I am busy; I, too, am writing a book; did you 
 know? But it will be very pleasant to sit with you 
 here for a little while and to hear how old you have 
 grown." 
 
 They sat down on the nearest bench under inter- 
 lacing green boughs, and Sachs depositing his burden 
 beside him leaned his crutch against it. It was fresh 
 and still. In the vineyards on the opposite hill-side 
 there were people working in the hot sunlight. 
 
 " I am very busy, too," said Persis. " All the 
 morning I read and discuss with Ludwig, and for 
 four or five hours in the afternoon I read to myself. 
 Has Ludwig told you? You have seen, I hope, that 
 I am not playing with his life." Her face expressed a 
 slight vexation. 
 
 193
 
 "Ah, Fraulein," said Sachs, taking off his round 
 straw hat which was too small for him and mop- 
 ping his forehead, " all that is past. We only think 
 of happy things. I hear from Ludwig that you work 
 admirably. I see that you give him great satisfac- 
 tion." 
 
 "Do I ? " she said vaguely. Her eyes were on the 
 limpid flow of the river seen between the poplars. 
 Some moments passed before she went on: "Will 
 Ludwig approve of your book? Do you read it to 
 him as you go on? You and he think very differ- 
 ently, don't you ? " 
 
 "We think differently. Yes; it may be so. Lud- 
 wig says so, at all events," Herr Sachs replied after a 
 little silence. " No ; I do not read my book to him. 
 It is a very simple little book." 
 
 "He would not like it?" 
 
 " I do not think he would. I do not put things 
 as he likes to see them put. There are many different 
 ways of putting things, are there not, Fraulein?" 
 
 " Not if they are the same things," said Persis with 
 a rather dry laugh. " You don't care to say that you 
 disagree with Ludwig. I see that." 
 
 Again, after a slight pause, Herr Sachs, still cheer- 
 fully, replied, " Yes. That is true. I do not." 
 
 "Why?" asked Persis. 
 
 She had turned her eyes to him. In the green 
 shade of the trees and under the white shade of her 
 hat, they were singularly brilliant eyes, emanating 
 light, making, it might seem to a susceptible young 
 
 194
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 man who looked into them, darkness about them 
 by their own radiance; not the eyes of German 
 romanticism, lucid pools of receptive tenderness; 
 ruthless, rather, like shining swords; almost baleful. 
 Sachs blinked a little, screwing up the corner of his 
 mouth, as if, indeed, he faced a dazzling object, and 
 for a moment looked as if he were about to take refuge 
 in a crow and thus evade discussion. But, suddenly, 
 his face relaxed to gravity, and looking at her very 
 earnestly he said : " It is affection that binds us, not 
 theories. I have a great affection for Ludwig. I 
 love him." 
 
 " I see," Persis looked gravely back at him. " Yes, 
 of course I see. But if you, who love him, cannot 
 think as he does, how much less can other people, 
 who do not love him ? It is a sad and a strange thing, 
 is it not, that so few people should agree with Lud- 
 wig." 
 
 " It is usually the fate of pioneers, Fraulein." 
 
 "Is it that he frightens people too much?" Persis 
 asked, dispassionately ; " that he destroys everything 
 they live by? Is that it?" 
 
 " Yes ; when they listen long enough to understand, 
 he frightens them," Sachs assented. " And they think 
 that he only destroys." 
 
 " Do you not think so, too ? " 
 
 " No ; I do not think so, Fraulein." The faint 
 grimace, half jocular, half evasive, again was on his 
 face. 
 
 " But if all the things that people live by are illu- 
 195
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 sions? If might is the only right? If good is only 
 the will of the strong, and the only evil that the weak 
 should band together and pull down the strong? If 
 life is so cruel and meaningless, what is there to live 
 for ? What is there that is not destroyed ? " 
 
 She spoke without apparent urgency, as if rehears- 
 ing a well-learnt lesson, and Sachs replied in the same 
 tone of impersonal research. 
 
 " The slave escapes the truth, does he not, Frau- 
 lein ? In Ludwig's world its woe and emptiness would 
 be borne by the conquerors, by those who saw the 
 truth. It would not be such a cruel world as it seems ; 
 at the bottom, the obedient industrious hive, the many, 
 automatically fulfilling the commands of those who 
 guided and made use of them; they would have their 
 human joys and sorrows unspoiled and all their hopes; 
 at the top, the tormented few, finding new goals, new 
 roads for life. There is truth in the vision, Fraulein." 
 
 " You think so, too, then ! " Astonishment was in 
 her voice; and something else. For the first time the 
 young man heard it. 
 
 "Yes, I think so/' he said. And he hesitated. 
 " But it is not all the truth. You must not be like 
 the others, Fraulein," he added, examining her: 
 " You must not be frightened." 
 
 " I ! I am not frightened ! " Persis exclaimed. 
 Her colour rose. 
 
 Troubled, but penetrating, his eyes continued to 
 probe her. " Are you not, Fraulein ? It sounded to 
 me as if you were." 
 
 196
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " If I am," said Persis, after another moment, " I 
 did not know it. It was all too far away. It was 
 like a curious, interesting picture he showed me. Now 
 I see that he wants one step into the picture, and be- 
 come part of it, and live in it. It is n't picture, it is 
 reality, to him. Tell me; what am I to do if I am 
 frightened ? " The hot colour was still on her cheek, 
 and it was so strange to her to find herself thus con- 
 fessing to fear, thus appealing for help, that she felt 
 the sting of tears rise to her eyes. 
 
 Herr Sachs, looking at her very gravely and kindly, 
 said: "What are you to do, Fraulein? But if you 
 become really frightened and do not feel strong 
 enough, you must run away. It is not for the young 
 to measure themselves against powers they cannot 
 master. Ah, yes, Fraulein, for you are very young." 
 
 " But I am strong," said Persis. His quiet and his 
 kindness helped her to recover herself. " I am one 
 of Ludwig's strong people. I do not want to run 
 away. I could not bear to run away." 
 
 " Then, if you feel yourself so strong go forward. 
 Do not listen to fear not to your own fear nor to 
 Ludwig's for he is frightened too, how not? Listen 
 to what he says. Accept what he says, yes, accept 
 it. When we know how to accept, so much of Lud- 
 wig's thought is cleansing and purifying like wind 
 and fire. Go through the fire. We become chaff if 
 we fly before it. We are steel when we have learned 
 to endure and rejoice in it." 
 
 She sat looking at him. Fear was a wraith. She 
 197
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 'felt strong enough to face anything when she looked 
 at Herr Sachs and when his eyes became the benignant 
 sky. But then, was it not because under that sky 
 Ludwig's dark theories dissolved like wisps of cloud? 
 And if Herr Sachs dissolved them, must it not be 
 because he, too, saw them as wraiths? 
 
 A dim smile trembled on her lips and in her eyes, 
 and, recognising some new and happy assurance in 
 her, Sachs said : " You see, it will be well with you 
 and with Ludwig. You are one of the brave who do 
 not need to run away." He rose as he spoke, gather- 
 ing up his books, smiling down at her. But Persis 
 put her hand on his arm. 
 
 "Wait, only a moment. I am always asking you 
 to wait! Yes. You make me remember. You 
 make me think of so many things. All the beautiful 
 things I have ever known. Tell me, you do not be- 
 lieve that there is no good and evil ? that only strength 
 is good ? " 
 
 He had paused, looking down at her. And after a 
 moment he said : " But yes, only strength is good." 
 
 " Cruel, mocking, destructive strength ? " 
 
 " But is not that better than cruel, mocking, destruc- 
 tive weakness, Fraulein? There is hope for it, is 
 there not? Think." 
 
 " But, if it is all mechanism? If there is no free- 
 dom?" 
 
 " The word mechanism is meaningless when one 
 speaks of human wills, Fraulein. Strength, what is it 
 but choice, purpose, freedom? And what does 
 
 198
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 strength choose ? What is the strongest thing that we 
 know? Is it cruel? Look at it, Fraulein." 
 
 Persis had risen. " What is the strongest thing ? 
 Let me understand. Tell me what you mean." 
 
 " But, Fraulein, the strongest thing is love. Who is 
 there in the world who seems to us so strong as the 
 Christ?" 
 
 He read an almost ingenuous amazement in her 
 eyes. " Christ ? He died. He was crucified ; 
 broken." 
 
 " It is not weakness to die, Fraulein. He was not 
 broken." 
 
 " You are a Christian ! What Ludwig said was 
 true!" 
 
 " Not as you mean the word ; not as Ludwig means 
 it. By the Christ I do not mean only the historic 
 Jesus we read of." 
 
 " But you believe in goodness like that ; in sacri- 
 fice; in selflessness; all the things that Ludwig 
 hates." 
 
 " I hate them when they mean impotence and sub- 
 terfuge, Fraulein. Goodness is what the highest 
 strength desires and chooses. If only strength is 
 good yet it is still more true to say that only goodness 
 is strong. That is all my creed. And Fraulein Per- 
 sis, see. When you understand Ludwig's creed you 
 will find that it is not so different a one from mine. 
 No. It is not. Whatever he may say." 
 
 There had been incredulity as well as amazement in 
 her gaze, and he spoke almost with vehemence as 
 
 199
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 though in answer to it. She could not have believed, 
 with all her knowledge of its significance, that Herr 
 Sachs's face could be so changed. It spoke his mean- 
 ing with even more authority than his words. Power, 
 intentness, swiftness; she saw them bared suddenly 
 in his glance, like a human form stripped of its cloth- 
 ing and standing in chiselled nakedness before one. 
 And the analogy brought another as she looked at 
 him. How much like trappings and tinsel, devices 
 for covering, protecting, decorating some cowering hu- 
 man frame was much of Lud wig's strength. The 
 thought made her grave. By the light of Herr Sachs's 
 reality, she had seen a truth that he himself would 
 never willingly have shown her. 
 
 They walked now along the path towards the pen- 
 sion garden. And for a little while they both kept 
 silence. It was Persis who broke it. " Why do you 
 not come any longer to our discussions, and study with 
 us ? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 He had walked, absorbed, his eyes on the ground, 
 and he looked up in surprise. " I have my own 
 studies, Fraulein," he said after a moment. 
 
 " Would they have interfered ? You came at first. 
 Did Ludwig want you not to come ? " 
 
 " You are his pupil, Fraulein. He wants you to 
 himself. Under all the circumstances I find that very 
 natural." 
 
 " I suppose it is natural. But it would have been 
 more helpful, I think, if we could all have talked 
 together, searched for the truth together." 
 
 200
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Ludwig is not searching for the truth with you. 
 He is showing you his own truth." 
 
 She looked at him rather as if he had placed a high 
 wall across her path, which, gauging its height, she 
 abandoned any idea of scaling, and since they had 
 now reached the garden she mounted the stone steps 
 and drew the grille behind her and her young face, 
 potent, smiling, faintly challenging, looked at him 
 from between the bars. " Is your mother alive ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " My mother! " Sachs looked back at her in aston- 
 ishment. 
 
 "Yes. Is she alive?" 
 
 " She is alive. Why do you ask, Fraulein ? " 
 
 " Where does she live ? I wanted to know." 
 
 " In Leipsig, Fraulein, where I was born." 
 
 "And your father?" 
 
 " He died many years ago." 
 
 " So that your mother brought you up ? " 
 
 " She brought us up, all eight of us," said Sachs. 
 " She keeps a boarding-house for students. It is a 
 hard life." 
 
 " And she is very unselfish, very self-sacrificing, 
 very unresisting?" 
 
 " You would not call her very unresisting," Sachs 
 answered, smiling. " She has a high temper, the 
 Mutterchen. But, yes, she is unselfish, devoted, the 
 best of mothers." 
 
 "You love her very much?" 
 
 "Very much indeed," Sachs now had begun to 
 
 201
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 laugh. " Is it a game, Fraulein ? I think you are in 
 a mischievous mood after all our grave talk." 
 
 " No ; it is n't a game. I wanted to know where 
 she lived and whether you loved her. May I some- 
 times send your mother a little gift, do you think as 
 a friend of yours? She would not mind?" 
 
 " But it would be too good of you, Fraulein. It 
 would be a great surprise and a great pleasure to her." 
 He looked very boyish; touched, amazed, delighted. 
 He was full, she saw, of a boyish capacity for enjoy- 
 ing little things and, at the moment, she felt herself 
 his senior. 
 
 " I should like to please your mother because that 
 would please you," she said. "And I feel I should 
 like her because I like you so much. We will talk 
 about it, about what gift it shall be. Now you must 
 go and write your book. Good-bye."
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 SHE had a note from Wehlitz next morning post- 
 poning their lesson until the afternoon as he had 
 important proofs to correct. It read rather tersely, 
 but terseness, now, was his garment; and when the 
 afternoon came and she was told that he was in the 
 garden waiting for her, it was a happy mood she 
 brought him. For she had her talisman; he was not 
 to frighten her and she was to help him; she was to 
 be steel, not chaff. 
 
 The day was beautiful. As she went down the 
 path she paused to look at an apple-bough, clustered 
 thickly with apples, and making her think of some 
 picture she had seen a long hand reaching up to 
 seize a rosy fruit. She could recall the subtle draw- 
 ing, the warm white of the flesh on its background 
 of sky and leaves, the supple turn of the wrist and the 
 narrow nails; some primitive Italian painting it must 
 have been. Looking down from the branch, she saw 
 that Wehlitz was standing watching her at some lit- 
 tle distance and she read in his attitude, in the brood- 
 ing poise of the head, some disapprobation of her 
 loitering. She still paused, however, reaching up her 
 own hand, picking an apple from its stem and set- 
 ting her teeth in it, and as she did so she called to 
 him: 
 
 203
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Good-morning. The apples are ripe. Shall I 
 bring you one? " 
 
 " No, I thank you," Wehlitz, from his station, re- 
 plied. 
 
 Persis ran forward now, taking another bite at her 
 apple, a radiant, confident young figure, her white 
 skirts sweeping the grass, the sunlight dappling her 
 hair and shoulders. But Wehlitz, as she joined him, 
 hardly replied to her second greeting, setting the books 
 very carefully one upon the other on the tin table 
 and evading her glance. " Would it trouble you too 
 much," he inquired, "if I ask you for a glass of 
 sir op? I am loath to disturb you, but it is oppressive 
 to-day, and I am thirsty." The artificiality of his tone 
 matched his meticulous gestures. 
 
 Persis had stopped short before him, examining him 
 with curiosity. " Certainly; " she answered, after the 
 scrutinizing pause. There was an ironical note in her 
 voice, but it concealed bewilderment and even hurt. 
 She turned away and walked slowly back to the house. 
 He was still occupied with the placing of the books 
 and papers when she returned. " I thank you," he 
 repeated. 
 
 She took her place at the table. 
 
 " Before we begin," said Ludwig, folding and un- 
 folding a paper and glancing down it with a feint of 
 carelessness, " I should like to give you a word of 
 counsel, of friendly advice. My friend Conrad Sachs 
 is a busy man, a cruelly driven man. He has his own 
 support to provide, and that of his aged mother. It 
 
 204
 
 . THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 is most important for him that his work should not be 
 interrupted. I went to his lodgings yesterday, almost 
 immediately after he had left me, at a time when he 
 had told me that he was to be at work, and there I 
 waited for over an hour, yes, it was over an hour by 
 my watch. He said, when at last he came, and he was 
 evidently preoccupied and excited, in no fit frame of 
 mind for study, he said that he had met you and had 
 been talking with you. It is a woman's place, Persis, 
 to carry the man's shield, to buckle it upon his breast, 
 to bind his wounds. When she enmeshes him in idle- 
 ness and frivolity she does him the greatest of in- 
 juries." 
 
 After this speech there was a pause. Wehlitz had 
 kept his eyes fixed on his papers and Persis, lean- 
 ing lightly back in her chair with folded arms and 
 bent head, had looked at him with grave attention. 
 " Is his mother an aged woman ? " she asked pres- 
 ently. 
 
 With half incredulous amazement his eyes fixed 
 themselves upon her. " His mother ? " 
 
 " Yes, Herr Sachs's mother. He is quite a young 
 man, not so many years older than I am. I should 
 never think of calling my mother aged." She stressed 
 the syllable as he had done. 
 
 For some moments of silent interchange, while he 
 paled and flushed, Wehlitz said nothing; then, with 
 ponderous dignity, he answered : " I am unable to 
 inform you of Frau Sachs's age." 
 
 "When you said she was an aged woman it was 
 205
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 only, then, because you wanted to add a pathetic touch 
 to the picture you were drawing." 
 
 Wehlitz's nostrils dilated and he drew deep breaths. 
 " You mock me, Persis ? " 
 
 " I think I do," she conceded, but without playful- 
 ness. 
 
 " Ah, very well," said Wehlitz after another pause, 
 " Very well. I understand. You are tired of me and 
 I will relieve you of my presence. Permit me, how- 
 ever, to observe before I depart, that I should not have 
 exposed myself to the flouts of a vain, spoiled child 
 had I not misread her character." While he spoke he 
 gathered up the papers, and his hands trembled. 
 
 To Persis, though she sat with her head bent, her 
 eyes turned away from him, all the symptoms of his 
 discomposure were evident, and that she betrayed 
 none of her own was a sustaining fact. But though 
 she, too, felt dismay, she was determined to yield at 
 no point to his folly. 
 
 He buckled a strap about the books, folded the pa- 
 pers into a portfolio, took up his hat and placed it upon 
 his head. Then he paused, and she knew that his 
 eyes were resting on her. She did not raise her glance 
 to his. As if with a certain precaution, then, he took 
 his hat off and laid it softly back upon the table. 
 Then standing still he looked at her intently. 
 
 Something in this last gesture and in this last still- 
 ness struck upon her sense of pity and of mirth. He 
 was like a reproved and sulky dog who dares not call 
 attention to himself, yet watches carefully for signs 
 
 206
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 of relenting on his master's face. She looked up and 
 a glint of laughter was in her glance. 
 
 Tears of fury, of shame, of relief mounted to Weh- 
 litz's eyes. " You will let me go like this, then ! You 
 have no word to say ! " he cried, clutching and un- 
 clutching his hands on the back of his chair. 
 
 " What can I say ? " she returned soberly. She felt 
 no feminine desire for a retaliatory quotation of his 
 " vain, spoiled child " though that he seemed to her. 
 She expressed, indeed, with sincerity, her sense of 
 helplessness. "Of course I do not want you to go," 
 she added. 
 
 " You do not want me to go ! You say that you 
 do not want me to go! Yet you will not deny that 
 you flout me ! " 
 
 " I don't deny that I find you absurd." 
 
 Her sobriety, her maturity, at once scattered his 
 faculties and concentrated his grief. " Absurd ! My 
 solicitude for my friend is called absurd! I am not 
 accustomed to such accusations! I am not accus- 
 tomed to being treated with disrespect ! " 
 
 " You certainly seem to me absurd," Persis 
 reiterated. " In what way do I impede Herr Sachs 
 more in talking to him about all our theories than you 
 did when you had him with us in those first days ? " 
 It was weak perhaps to descend to such queries, but 
 she was really curious to discover the basis of his 
 grievance. 
 
 " There is a time for all things ! Those were holi- 
 days for Conrad 1 They are over now! He must 
 
 207
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 work! He must work!" Wehlitz almost sobbed, 
 the most singular commotion on his face. " What 
 need have you to discuss our theories with him? 
 Am I not your master ? Have you not promised your 
 allegiance to me? It is to me you should come with 
 your' perplexities. Conrad does not recognize and 
 could not understand the world we live in you and I. 
 I do not discuss my beliefs with Conrad. I would 
 not have discussed them with you had I known that 
 you would take them to Conrad for his inspection and 
 criticism." 
 
 The paltry, piteous truth was evident. It was no 
 personal jealousy; for that her heart could have soft- 
 ened. It was a jealousy of the mind. She saw him 
 as puerile, fiercely egotistic. 
 
 The maid, at this moment, most inopportunely, 
 brought the sir op in its red and white glass, and after 
 looking at it unseeingly for a moment, Wehlitz filled 
 the glass with water from the carafe and drank the 
 beverage hastily. Then, pushing aside the tray, he 
 again fixed his insistent, accusatory, yet supplicating 
 eyes upon her. She could not restrain her irony. 
 
 " It was not for Conrad, then, your solicitude. It 
 was for your own position." 
 
 A violent red mounted to Wehlitz's cheek. " False ! 
 False ! " he cried, panting, while he dashed his fist 
 down upon the table. " You have a serpent's tongue ! 
 You seek to sting and wound me ! It is the woman's 
 nature! I resent rightly your seeking out my 
 friend to criticize me with him behind my back! It 
 
 208
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 is not loyal! It is not loving! I trusted in your 
 loyalty yes, and in your love. Have you not prom- 
 ised them? If you disagreed with me I believed that 
 you would come to me openly, frankly, like a com- 
 rade." 
 
 " So I do," said Persis coldly. " So I intend to 
 do always. I do not criticize you with Herr Sachs." 
 
 " No? You do not? What then? What did you 
 say with him ? " 
 
 "Did he not tell you?" 
 
 " I did not ask. I did not stoop to ask. I ex- 
 pressed my anxiety my disapproval and I left him. 
 I did not hear, nor choose to hear from him, what you 
 had said of me." 
 
 " And you will not hear it from me," said Persis. 
 
 Again a silence fell. Wehlitz walked up and down, 
 his hands clutched together behind him. Persis fixed 
 her eyes moodily upon the ground. Presently he 
 stopped before her, and she knew before he spoke 
 that it was surrender she was to hear, veiling itself 
 in authority. " Tell me this," he said, " may I count 
 upon your loyalty your common loyalty? May I 
 trust you not to say behind my back what you would 
 not say to my face ? Answer me." 
 
 She did not raise her eyes. Moodily she still gazed 
 down at the grass. 
 
 " What ! " he cried, and tears quivered in his voice. 
 "You cannot give me this assurance! I may not 
 trust you even so far ? " 
 
 She raised her eyes to him at last and he read in 
 209
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 them pride rather than reluctance. " I must have 
 complete independence." 
 
 " Independence ? What do you mean by independ- 
 ence?" Wehlitz asked, leaning heavily on the back 
 of his chair with both hands while he stared back at 
 her. 
 
 " Between friends there cannot be such promises. I 
 must be free to talk to anybody I like and of anything 
 I choose, and you must, if we are friends, trust my 
 loyalty." 
 
 He gazed at her. It was now all surrender she 
 saw ; authority had fallen away completely. " Then 
 we are reconciled ? " 
 
 " Reconciled," she agreed. 
 
 " You forgive any offensive expressions that, in my 
 excitement, may have escaped me ? " 
 
 " I shall not think of them again," she dimly smiled. 
 
 He sought a little to recover himself. " As I for- 
 give you for yours." 
 
 And with all good humour, Persis echoed: "As 
 you forgive me for mine." 
 
 Wehlitz took his place at the table. " And now to 
 work to work," he said. Persis sat ready while he 
 turned the pages of a book. But suddenly he put his 
 elbows on the table and rested his forehead in his 
 hands. 
 
 " I am afraid that you feel ill," said Persis after a 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes," he said, his face hidden. " I feel ill. Yes, 
 I am not well." And he added, after another silence, 
 
 210
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I have over-excited myself. I cannot think fruit- 
 fully to-day. Forgive me. I must go." He rose. 
 
 With the grave solicitude that was her nearest ap- 
 proach to tenderness, she helped him to put together 
 his books and papers. " I am so sorry," she said. 
 "You will go and rest, won't you?" 
 
 " Yes, I will go and rest." He spoke as though he 
 were on the verge of tears. She was indeed very 
 sorry, but disturbed, too, and perplexed ; for he seemed 
 to her like a child, and a child one could not caress and 
 soothe if such ministrations had been natural to her. 
 He gave her, indeed, no time for further expressions 
 of sympathy. Smiling with constraint, avoiding her 
 eyes, he lifted his hat and turned away. He went 
 out by the grille, and as he came to it and opened it, 
 he paused for a moment, as though struck by a sudden 
 thought, and looked back at her. She felt sure that 
 he was wondering if it were here that she and Herr 
 Sachs had met.
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 PERSIS sat on under the apple-boughs. She 
 watched a ladybird wander distractedly on her 
 sleeve and stooped presently to pick a long blade of 
 grass on to which, with some difficulty, she succeeded 
 in cajoling it. Then she rose and placed the grass on 
 a branch. As she thus secured the ladybird, she heard 
 footsteps approaching down the path, and, looking 
 round, saw Graf von Liidenstein before her. 
 
 She had wondered, once or twice, and with a curious 
 sense of relief and disappointment, whether he had 
 gone away and, hearing nothing of him, she had al- 
 most accepted the fact of his disappearance from her 
 life. Now, meeting the sleepy yet intent eyes, she 
 was aware that the sight of him was reviving, ex- 
 hilarating like a draught of light yet potent wine. 
 This man, at all events, would not weary or exasperate 
 her. Nor should he discompose her; this was the 
 second thought that came as, with the sense of weight 
 in his glance, memories of their last meeting strongly 
 returned to her. 
 
 He was looking grave. It struck her, as they 
 greeted, that it was the first time he had looked at her 
 unsmiling. Glancing down at the books upon the 
 table, he said : " Do I interrupt ? Am I permitted ? 
 I have been away. I only returned last night." 
 
 212
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She assented, and he sat down on the other side of 
 the table in Ludwig's chair, taking off his hat and 
 laying it down while he glanced away from her and 
 up at the branches, drawing in the air with the ap- 
 pearance of satisfaction she remembered to have 
 noticed in him when she had met him on that mo- 
 mentous morning on the river-path. He was, indeed, 
 satisfaction personified. She was able, while his eyes 
 were thus turned from her, to appraise his face as she 
 had not done before. The chin was hidden by the 
 square gold beard, but the moustache, brushed up 
 from them, revealed the lips, calm, sensual, resolute, 
 as if always slightly smiling, even when the face was 
 grave, as now ; not a bad mouth, nor a bad face, with 
 its thick yet handsome nose and placid brow; kind 
 even, though certainly callous; full of character, too, 
 though was it not? unscrupulous. His eyes met 
 hers as they rested on him with their impersonal 
 scrutiny, and now he vaguely smiled. " I was wrong 
 the other day, it seems, Fraulein," he observed. " I 
 hope you have forgiven me for my blunder." 
 
 His words brought another memory to her mind. 
 She paused for a moment before saying : " Was it a 
 blunder?" 
 
 Liidenstein raised his eyebrows slightly, consider- 
 ing her. " Was it a blunder ? " 
 
 "You really thought Herr Sachs had come for 
 that?" 
 
 "Why not?" he asked. "Who has suggested 
 otherwise?" 
 
 213
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " No one," said Persis somewhat hastily. " I only 
 wondered. It was such an incredibly foolish idea of 
 Ludwig's. He could hardly have taken it seriously 
 himself and it seemed that you did." 
 
 He looked at her thoughtfully. " I did not take it 
 seriously until I heard that Sachs had come with a 
 message for you. I thought it the only explanation 
 of that. Ludwig had given me no hint of his hopes, 
 and it could not have occurred to me that he would 
 confide their expression to another man. No, I con- 
 fess the reality would have seemed to me even less of 
 a serious possibility than what I had imagined to be 
 the truth." 
 
 She felt her colour rising. He made her angry, if 
 not with him ; her anger seemed a diffused feeling ap- 
 plicable to no one person, and centreing only in the 
 suspicion that an indignity had been done her and 
 that he reminded her of it. " Yes, I see yes, it was 
 no doubt natural for you to have thought it," she mur- 
 mured. 
 
 Ludenstein was silent for some moments, with no 
 air of resentment, though evidently her implied ac- 
 cusation still preoccupied him. After a little while 
 he said : " You were wise in refusing Ludwig, Frati- 
 lein. He is a man to whom one can devote oneself, 
 but not a man whom one should marry. And this 
 situation that you have made for him is an admirable 
 device." And looking now down at her books, as if 
 he turned from a theme too delicate for his intrusion, 
 he went on: "You have been studying? You 
 
 214
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 plunge seriously, resolutely, into all our direful prob- 
 lems?" 
 
 " Are they your problems, too?" She wondered if 
 it should not have been hers to open this new con- 
 versational path; she took it with some relief, though 
 again with a little sting of anger at the thought that 
 he always was the initiator; her only part seemed to 
 be to follow or to resist. 
 
 " I should not, perhaps, say ours," said Liidenstein. 
 " I have myself made up my mind as to which prob- 
 lems are insoluble. That is a great convenience, and 
 lightens one's mental baggage very considerably. 
 With my own little handful of solutions I exist very 
 comfortably; a dressing-case, if you will, rather than 
 a box. I find a dressing-case all that I require for this 
 journey of life." 
 
 She felt that she would like to know what the dress- 
 ing-case contained. " Are your solutions the same as 
 Ludwig's ? " she inquired. 
 
 "Ludwig?" he repeated. "Has Ludwig solu- 
 tions? I was not aware of any. He finds premises, 
 it is true, and draws conclusions. The premises I 
 often accept; the conclusions seldom. I am not a 
 poet. I am an old-fashioned hedonist and a new- 
 fashioned materialist, and that is what Ludwig would 
 be if he logically followed the premises he finds. 
 Luckily for us he is not a logician and gives us art 
 instead of systems. All the beauty in the world is 
 made by the people who are incapable of logic. Lud- 
 wig has his boxful of labels, like the rest of them his 
 
 215
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 higher, his lower, his base, his noble, his peaks and his 
 morasses. It is an idealism, a frantic idealism, that 
 spurns the metaphysical basis of idealism." 
 
 " We must all use labels if we are to speak together 
 at all," Persis demurred. Oddly, while to Sachs she 
 could point out her difficulties, from Liidenstein she 
 wished to hide that she saw any. " You, as a hedon- 
 ist, would call higher that which pleases you most." 
 
 " Not at all," said Liidenstein, laughing. " Not at 
 all, gnddiges Frdulein. I should not call it lower 
 either: but simply, that which pleases me." He 
 moved, now, the book beneath his elbow and opened 
 it, glancing down its pages and murmuring here and 
 there a phrase of comment. " Hm ! Say you so, my 
 friend? Brave fellow! So dies the Chimaera!" 
 
 He affected her with a strong curiosity as he sat 
 there looking down; the book was not one of 
 Ludwig's, it was written by a young scientist, and ex- 
 pounded a mathematical cosmogony. 
 
 What did he live by, this strange man? What did 
 he believe in? And why did he trouble to seek her 
 out and impart to her his indifferences? For, after 
 all, though she thought of herself as a powerful young 
 person, she did not expect a man of his type to find 
 her so. 
 
 Suddenly, as if he had felt her questions, he looked 
 up and their eyes met. For a moment, without words, 
 they looked steadily at each other. Then, slowly, as 
 if coming to some decision, weighing its timeliness, he 
 said : " Fraulein Fennamy, you see before you a man 
 
 216
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 who has no consolations. I believe in Ludwig's higher 
 man as little as I believe in friend Sachs's metaphysi- 
 cal mythologies. I believe in alien and indifferent 
 forces call them material or mental, as you will 
 which have produced us, which grind out their destiny 
 through us, which destroy us and our small schemes 
 and standards as relentlessly as they call us into life. 
 I am not an unhappy man, for I expect nothing from 
 any Gods, and in frustrated expectation lies our 
 misery. But, though I have no complaint to make or 
 aspiration to express, I am, perhaps, in my accept- 
 ance of our singular human situation, no less worthy 
 of interest than our two illuminated friends. I, too, 
 can suffer, though I have, it may be, more power of 
 enduring and controlling suffering; and I, too, can 
 desire and hope. My life is not so arid as it may seem 
 to your young eyes. There remain in our world, 
 sinister as it is, potent draughts of intoxication even 
 for the man who has seen through its illusions. There 
 remain the intoxication of beauty, I drink deep of 
 mine in music, and the intoxication of love." 
 
 She knew now, suddenly, though ominously, was 
 it not? without surprise, that behind all his careful 
 words had been an intention, an intention directed to- 
 wards herself. And, for a moment, while the realiza- 
 tion laid hold upon her, she sat as helpless as a bird in 
 a snare, gazing at him and maintaining the appear- 
 ance, only, of fearlessness. 
 
 Liidenstein seemed unaware of any advantage. It 
 was in the same tone, thoughtful, deliberate, that he 
 
 217
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 went on, looking quietly at her. "Of that I have 
 often drunk. But never has the magic more strongly 
 come to me than now; I do not need to tell you so, 
 you know already your power over me. You know 
 that I love you, Fraulein Persis." 
 
 His eyes rested steadily on her, without embarrass- 
 ment, without appeal, and, it almost seemed, without 
 ardour. It was in the weight of their regard, pressing 
 down upon her like the slumberous heat of a sultry 
 day, that she felt passion, watchful, imperious, armed 
 with a maturity of experience and resource. And as 
 she sat gazing at him with her pale, brilliant eyes, 
 Ludenstein slightly smiled. " So. It is well. You 
 are not of the vulgar brood," he said. "You are 
 not affronted. You are grave and haughty and beau- 
 tiful, as I have always found you, neither fearing me 
 nor stooping to reprove. So. My confession is 
 made. From the first moment that I saw you, mov- 
 ing towards us under the linden trees, stepping so 
 proudly, like a noble child, in your dress of black and 
 white and with your green ribbons, I have been in- 
 toxicated." 
 
 What came to her now was more bewildering than 
 fear or was it but another form of fear ? Antagon- 
 ism, curiosity, delight; they were his words. And 
 the first added only a charm to the others. She did 
 not dislike him. She felt no affront. She was not 
 angry. For he showed her there was his power 
 that in listening to him she lost no dignity in his 
 eyes. More than that; she received the ambiguous 
 
 218
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 assurance that were she to yield to him, even unlov- 
 ing, she would gain rather than lose in his esteem. 
 Yield? The word, re-echoing back, incredibly, upon 
 her, brought a sudden shock of blood to her cheeks. 
 For the first time in her young experience she, who 
 had contemplated much of the forbidden fruit of life, 
 untempted, scornful of its meretricious gloss and glow, 
 felt the charm that may lie in temptation, felt the im- 
 pulse of Eve, the impulse to put out her hand to 
 touch, if not to pluck. She could never pluck; never, 
 never; so her pounding heart reiterated; yet a siren 
 cry, resonant, haunting, as if from the shores of the 
 most ancient world, rang in her ears. She had the 
 vision of the Lucretian Venus, implacable, serene. 
 And, amazed, incredulous, she saw that it was she her- 
 self, Persis, who listened to the cry. The thought of 
 herself as listening to sirens, of herself as yielding to 
 the unhallowed passion of a man she did not love, was 
 so monstrous that she was able to dismiss it, a night- 
 mare that had crossed the stately order of her dreams. 
 The blush still dyed her cheeks, but she had mastered 
 her voice and gaze as she answered : " I am not af- 
 fronted; but I do not love you." 
 
 Liidenstein smiled. " But of course you do not 
 love me. And you have almost disliked me. I saw 
 it; and perhaps I am dislikable. That does not mean 
 unlovable, be it said." 
 
 " I do not dislike you." 
 
 " Yet you are not indifferent to me ? " 
 
 She was silent at this for a moment. The qualm of 
 219
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 the disavowed nightmare was still in her blood. 
 " That may be only because of your feeling for 
 me." 
 
 " Ah, precisely. And that is all I ask. That mj 
 feeling should determine yours." 
 
 " What do you mean ? I do not understand you," 
 she said. She spoke haughtily, challenging herself; 
 for this was only to put out her hand, to touch the 
 fruit, to examine it with a mingling of repulsion and 
 delight. 
 
 She heard the slow smile in his voice, for her eyes 
 were downcast. " Since you do not play the part of 
 the affronted simpleton, Fraulein, I will be frank with 
 you and tell you that what I hope for, what I desire 
 to make possible by the power and persistence of my 
 feeling, is that we shall one day share the intoxication 
 of love. No, I see it, you will not pretend to be in- 
 sulted. From a man like me, who laughs at laws and 
 customs, it is no insult." 
 
 She knew that it was not. She, too, knew no other 
 law than her own taste, her own standard of fitness 
 and harmony. And she did not love this man, so that 
 she was in need of no conventional barriers. 
 
 " So, since you understand, you will continue to let 
 me see you," Liidenstein added. 
 
 "You will not speak of this again?" Persis asked. 
 
 She did not wish him to speak of it, that was true ; 
 yet beyond the stipulation was the desire to feel his 
 feeling, to know it there, held in check by her will, 
 offering, in silence, its ambiguous homage. 
 
 220
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I cannot promise that," said Liidenstein, after a 
 moment. " But I am wise and tactful. I will not 
 displease you, that I can promise; nor inconvenience 
 you." And he added, watching her narrowly, 
 " Others shall not guess. That would be to incon- 
 venience you, would it not?" 
 
 She kept her eyes on his. " You will not imagine 
 that I am consenting to a clandestine flirtation. I 
 accept nothing from you. I only do not send you 
 away because I am not a simpleton; because I under- 
 stand that from you it is not an insult." 
 
 He was, she saw, at once charmed and amused by 
 her haughty candour. He leaned across the table and 
 put a finger-tip on her hand. "And you will not 
 think me so stupid as not to understand why you do 
 not send me away." 
 
 He understood. Perhaps better than she herself 
 did. She felt the pressure of that kindly, half ironic 
 comprehension in him, as of one who has seen round 
 and through the scruples and qualified acceptances of 
 many women. To see him so content frightened her 
 again, a little. But the sound of her own words had 
 fortified her. He might see further in one direction 
 than she did, in another he did not see so far; he 
 could not really understand the tastes and standards 
 of a woman like herself. He thought he read her 
 strength; he read only her weakness; secure in the 
 one, she could admit the other. This was a conviction 
 to part on. She rose, putting back her chair. Then, 
 when he, too, had risen, she paused. " You say that 
 
 221
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 you are Ludwig's friend. How does what you have 
 told me agree with your loyalty to Ludwig?" 
 
 " But my dear young lady, how not ? " said Liiden- 
 stein, smiling with assurance. " Ludwig has accepted 
 your verdict. The field is free for other aspirants." 
 
 " Has he accepted it ?" 
 
 "Has he not?" 
 
 " I have no reason to think that Ludwig does not 
 still hope. I have every reason to think that he 
 does." 
 
 Ludenstein considered her. " It is then for you to 
 say whether you find the hope so justified that you 
 must send me away. For my own part " his tone 
 changed " I believe that you are as far from loving 
 Ludwig as you are from loving me ; perhaps further." 
 
 " I do love him," said Persis. " I love him very 
 much. Of you I can only say that I do not dislike 
 you." 
 
 " Ah, that love ! I should prefer your dislike ! " 
 Ludenstein smiled, slowly shaking in the air his open 
 hand. " No, I confess I should have no hope of a 
 woman who loved me in that fashion. Therefore I 
 feel no disloyalty towards Ludwig." 
 
 She gathered up her books in silence, turning to the 
 path, and Ludenstein walked beside her. They had 
 spoken almost in the tone of challenge and retort. 
 She was thinking now of Ludwig. If he still had 
 hope, why did he not make it manifest and protect 
 her from this experience upon which she was ventur- 
 ing? Had he been a lover worthy of the name, 
 
 222
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Ludenstein could never have come to her with his 
 avowal. A dart of her mother's irony mingled with 
 deeper bitterness towards Ludwig. At the foot of the 
 steps, she bade Ludenstein a cool farewell and left 
 him. 
 
 She passed through the salon, unaware of the eyes 
 lifted upon her from the table and sofa and easy- 
 chairs, and went to her room. Dusk was falling and 
 by the line of light under her mother's door she saw 
 that she had come from her bath and was dressing 
 for dinner. 
 
 From the earliest days of her childhood she had 
 always associated her mother with the delicate and 
 evasive perfume of violet powder; and standing now 
 outside her door in the dark little passage, her hand 
 still laid on the stair-rail, there rushed upon her a 
 sensation of fear and helplessness made up of all the 
 atavistic associations that clustered, like the impal- 
 pable mist shaken from her mother's powder-puff, 
 about the old familiar scent. It was as if everything 
 that her mother instinctively embodied and stood for, 
 as if generations of Ashleyville, unaware of the Lucre- 
 tian Venus and of any but the world of law and bond- 
 age, spoke suddenly in her, or to her, demolishing the 
 fabric of her education and telling her in staid, in- 
 genuous terms that it was wicked to allow a married 
 man to make love to you and perilous to keep the 
 secret of any temptation from your mother. And in 
 reply to all the self- justifications and securities of the 
 afternoon she seemed to hear her mother's voice, 
 
 223
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 speaking for the generations of Ashley ville and say- 
 ing : " Why, Persis, you 're a bad girl." 
 
 She stood there in the dusk, lightly poised, hovering, 
 drawing swift, shallow breaths, and the impulse to go 
 in to her mother, tell her all, ask her for advice, was 
 so strong that she felt it pass in a tingling thrill 
 through her muscles and sway her towards her 
 mother's door. Then astonishment checked it, and 
 the realization of its absurdity. She could see so 
 clearly the powder-puff in its silver box and, turned 
 to her above it, the trite little face that was like the 
 powder-puff in its lightness and conventionality. 
 What an absurd person, indeed, of whom to seek 
 counsel! With the ironic perception of reality came 
 a restoring consciousness of her own resource, detach- 
 ment and significance. She did not need to ask coun- 
 sel. There was nothing to be afraid of; there was 
 exhilaration, but no peril, in this new experience. If 
 she still breathed quickly as she tip-toed into her own 
 room, that was, she told herself, because, after all, she 
 was young and not accustomed to such experiences.
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 TT TEHLITZ, when he came next morning, had a 
 V V large parcel of proofs under his arm. It was 
 raining and Persis awaited him in the little sitting- 
 room, recognizing at once in his demeanour the min- 
 gling of resolution and uncertainty. He, less discern- 
 ing she felt sure, would not read the excitement and 
 anxiety that had run in her veins since her interview 
 with Liidenstein. She was not aware that she cloaked 
 them by an emphasized kindliness. 
 
 Wehlitz unfolded his parcel and drew from it the 
 long rolls of proof-sheets, glancing up at her swiftly 
 from under his brows as he did so with a scrutiny at 
 once fierce and wistful. This was the great prose 
 poem he had so often spoken of and it was evident to 
 her, touchingly so, that by this demonstration of his 
 genius he hoped to efface the memory of their dispute 
 and to bind her to him anew. 
 
 "Yes, Persis," he said, "the time has come when 
 we must share all. I had not felt sure, till now, of 
 your readiness. It needs a strong brain and a heart 
 that knows no tremors to listen to this lion-voice. 
 That you are strong, yes, disciplined already for one 
 so young, is evident to me. Together we will go 
 over these final proofs." 
 
 225
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Ludwig, really, had never touched her more than 
 this morning when his hurried sentences revealed the 
 pathos and artificiality of the situation. Not thus 
 should he have brought his sheaves and laid them at 
 her feet. Fear and distrust mingled with his homage 
 and the trophy was displayed more in threat or appeal 
 than as an offering. " I am so glad," she said. " I 
 felt that I should not really understand you until I had 
 heard it." 
 
 "True," said Ludwig. "Those who have not 
 heard or who, hearing, have been deaf to my meaning, 
 are strangers to me. I will read to you. I will sit 
 here and you there so that I may see your face. So. 
 With your chair a little more turned to the light, 
 Persis." 
 
 Wehlitz had a deep resonant voice and when he 
 read aloud it lost the fever and fretfulness with which 
 the turmoil of daily life so often edged it. His own 
 works he read with an impassioned gravity. He 
 plunged her, with the opening stanza into a realm of 
 uncanny brightness and she felt a hypnotic quality in 
 his rapid, chanting, exulting utterance. She seemed 
 at first to hear only the rhythm of the sentences. 
 They were arabesques of running light upon the 
 brightness and made her dizzy. Only after a little 
 time had passed could, she grasp what they were say- 
 ing, and, as their meaning came, a new realization of 
 alarm, almost of distress, rose within her. It was 
 magical and sinister, this poem of Ludwig's, full of 
 splendour and menace ; with exquisite and nimble f oot- 
 
 226
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 steps it ran and danced and leaped over graves and 
 waves and altars, and always in an uncanny light like 
 that of a baleful, beautiful star. And it was Ludwig 
 who had made this marvellous thing, the Ludwig 
 whom she pitied and flouted and wondered at. Her 
 distress was for the sense of incompatibility ; for why, 
 since his work was so great, was he not greater? Her 
 alarm was for the greatness divined. Was such 
 greatness to be held by her? Did she hold it? 
 Would not such a shaft of blinding light pierce to 
 the bottom of her confused heart and read the dis- 
 cords there? But if it could so pierce her quick 
 thoughts wove themselves into the glancing pattern 
 of the poem it must win her. She had done no 
 wrong. If she drifted, it was because he did not put 
 forth greatness and hold her. It was not enough to 
 show his greatness to her, like a picture; he must be 
 it, too. He must claim her, hold her and she would 
 never drift again. 
 
 So for a moment her new fear of unworthiness 
 gave him a new glamour in her eyes. 
 
 When he had finished the chapter he looked up to 
 find her eyes dwelling on him; and very deeply they 
 seemed to dwell. 
 
 " You care for it, Persis ? " he asked, and in a voice 
 that trembled. 
 
 Her voice, too, trembled as she answered him. " It 
 is beautiful; it is wonderful." 
 
 To see the homage of her gaze intoxicated him. 
 " Ah," he said with a laugh almost wild, " I shall 
 
 227
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 write now. All will now be well with me. It is as 
 I had hoped and believed when I first met you. Your 
 presence will banish the phantoms. For I have had 
 arid times, Persis; times with no life, no thought; 
 dull welterings of gloom and doubt not of my truth, 
 no, never of my truth ; that is there, above me, secure, 
 triumphant; but of myself, of power to seize and make 
 it manifest the bright, the terrible truth. Yes 
 yes yes, all will now be well." 
 
 He had leaned forward across the table and she had 
 given her hands into his; but it was as if unseemgly 
 that he pressed them, not looking at her as he went 
 on ; " You feel it and you will understand it. Later. 
 This is but the beginning. Later you will see and 
 accept it all. For life says even to the most dread 
 vision! So be it. So I will it. Even the nightmare 
 life can clasp and smile upon as a bride." 
 
 "What nightmare do you speak of, Ludwig?" she 
 asked. His heavy yet exalted gaze dwelt on nothing- 
 ness. She wished that he would look at her. 
 
 But though he turned his eyes on her now it was 
 for a moment only. " What nightmare ? " he re- 
 peated. " Have I not told you? " 
 
 " There are so many that we must face," said Persis. 
 She was not thinking of nightmares, but of him. 
 
 He considered her again. " The eternal return of 
 all things; cycle upon cycle of life repeating itself with 
 mathematical exactitude through immeasurable time. 
 For an infinite universe such repetition is a necessity. 
 That is what I mean. Is it not manifest in all I write ? 
 
 228
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 I must make it manifest. My life depends upon it. 
 It is on my truth that I take my stand against all the 
 dealers in sops and soporifics. The sharp, the bright, 
 the cutting truth for me. And for you, Persis; for 
 you. Nicht wahrf We will play with the swords, 
 you and I, we will toss them in our hands, unharmed, 
 and dance between them and see, unmoved, others fall 
 among them, gashed and bleeding." 
 
 He spoke to her, but he seemed to have forgotten 
 her, lifting his hands from hers, rising, putting back 
 his chair to pace up and down the room. She remem- 
 bered now the conception of which he spoke. It had 
 remained for her a picture looked at, not felt. She 
 had found no horror in it. The swing through space 
 and time, as of a vast pendulum that was to bring 
 her back again and again, the selfsame Persis, affected 
 her imagination like the vision of a Flying Victory, 
 ominous yet glorious, with wings outspread in endless 
 flight. But as he spoke now, in his voice a mingled 
 ecstasy and dread as of the moth that circles round 
 the fatal light, she felt the infection of his fear rise 
 dimly in her. She saw it like a mildew running over 
 the glancing blade that he had put into her hands ; that 
 blade, that exalting, aspiring life, cruel, yet with love 
 for a higher than itself at the heart of its cruelty ; that 
 cry to endless self-transcendence, what had it to do 
 with this suffocating destiny? To ask the question, 
 to think intently, to find answers, was to burnish the 
 blade anew, to free herself from the infection. And 
 as some time had passed and as Ludwig still paced the 
 
 229
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 room, she said : " But your poem is above all 
 theories. Why trouble about theories?" 
 
 He stopped short. He was behind her and she 
 heard his hurried, difficult breathing. " Theory ? It 
 is not theory. It is truth. It is necessity no mere 
 illustration or simile." 
 
 " Whose necessity ? " Persis asked again after an- 
 other moment. 
 
 " Ours, ours, ours," said Ludwig : " our will. It 
 is so. It must be so. For there is no other will than 
 ours." He had continued to stand behind her chair, 
 but now, coming round the table, he confronted her, 
 bending his strangely lighted eyes upon her. " I know 
 it, Persis," he said. " I, alone, perhaps, of all men, 
 know it, and with a knowledge deeper than any demon- 
 stration can bring. It came to me. Listen. I will 
 tell you." He drew his chair close to hers and leaned 
 his face to hers, looking into her eyes. " It was in 
 the high Alps, among the peaks, the snowy solitudes, 
 sublime and awful. The dread initiation came. I 
 was alone. Men were forgotten, below me in the 
 valleys. Above me was the empty sky. And with 
 my hand I felt the texture of reality; with my eyes 
 I saw its face; my breath mingled with its icy, sunny 
 breath. It was the mystic's rapture that I knew; 
 but my abyss, my height, was a deeper, a higher one 
 than any of the hosts of the self -suggested have ever 
 plumbed or scaled. They come with their yearning 
 and the abyss echoes back to them the vast reverbera- 
 tion of their feeble sighs. But I came without yearn- 
 
 230
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ing, I came all a challenge and a readiness. For ever 
 and ever, and again and again, the wheel will turn 
 and turn. Such is our immortality. Such the love 
 of life that urges us ever forward until the circle is 
 complete. There is no escape. There is no transcen- 
 dence. For ever we shall return and changelessly be 
 ourselves again. And deeper than the dread is the ac- 
 ceptance, the acceptance that is life. Yes; for the 
 gaze of the true psychologist there is truth in the im- 
 mediacy that the mystics find; for they, too, dread, 
 and they, too, accept, though it is their own self-love 
 that they find again the immense mirage of absolute 
 love where they are lost yet found. It is our heart- 
 beat, that acceptance. I heard it. I alone have heard 
 it. For days, for three days, I was as one distraught. 
 I ran and leapt among the snow-fields. I had no food. 
 I cannot think I slept. I was at one with life. I was 
 baptised to the spirit. It was a rapture of joy and 
 horror." 
 
 All the time that he had been speaking their eyes 
 had met, but now he leaned his head on his hands, 
 covering his face. Persis sat looking at him. He 
 had become wraith-like to her; she was wraith-like to 
 herself and, venturing a glance, almost cautious, down 
 at her folded hands and around the room, the prosaic 
 little room, she found that all objects had endued 
 themselves with this spectral unreality. His message 
 in its immediacy had wrought with the inevitable 
 power of all immediacy upon her, so that she, too, 
 partook of his conversion, she, too, knew the uncanny 
 
 231
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 baptism, to horror and darkness, not to peace and 
 light. But, as yet, she did not know how profoundly 
 he had moved her. She was able, after a moment, to 
 grasp at the seeming reality that surrounded her and 
 to say, though in a voice strange to herself, looking 
 back at his bent head. " You are tired, Ludwig. I 
 am afraid that you are very tired." 
 
 The irrelevancy and inappropriateness of this re- 
 mark did not seem to strike him. He answered 
 vaguely after a moment. " Tired ? I am always 
 tired." 
 
 " Dear Ludwig, I am so sorry," she said. Her 
 voice was gentle, remote, contemplative. 
 
 Wehlitz rubbed his hands across his brows, dropped 
 them and met her eyes with a vague, dazed smile. 
 " I am always tired," he repeated. " Life to me is 
 endless combat. I have not the strength of my own 
 vision not the strength needed to live with it and by 
 its light. But now I am not alone. I am not alone, 
 Persis, for you are with me. It was that I needed; 
 another hand, which, when my lamp burned low, 
 would shelter it and feed it anew with oil." He looked 
 down and she saw it was because his eyes had filled 
 with tears. 
 
 No trappings now; no tinsel. He was nearer her, 
 stronger in his acknowledged human frailty, than she 
 could have believed possible so soon after the foolish 
 upbraiding of the day before. But how far he was 
 from the Ludwig she had dreamed of only a little 
 while ago. And she feared the claim he made upon 
 
 232
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 her. And she longed to be worthy of it. She was 
 sick with compassion and shrinking. She rose with 
 a sensation of flight. 
 
 " You must go and rest, Ludwig," she said, " and 
 so must I. After your poem one needs to shut one's 
 eyes and get one's breath." 
 
 He started to his feet. " It is true ! It is true ! 
 Closed eyes, quiet breathing," he muttered; "in the 
 dark after the thunder and lightning." She saw now 
 what it had been, that uncanny brightness, that bale- 
 ful and beautiful light which had affected her with 
 hypnotic giddiness. The Eternal Return; that was 
 the glare, the gaze, the steady horrid smile. But she 
 had turned away from it, plunging herself in the 
 trivial, sustaining appearances it made manifest. Her 
 mind clung to her pity for Ludwig, to projects for his 
 well-being. She urged upon him the need for nourish- 
 ment before he slept. " To-morrow, yes, indeed, to- 
 morrow/' she answered him, going with him to the 
 door. " I will be ready to-morrow." She smiled at 
 him and the smile seemed the banner of an intrepid 
 alpine climber overlooking the world from a dizzy 
 ledge before turning to the higher peaks.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 ON a warm afternoon, a week or so later, Persis 
 came down from her studies and went through 
 the garden to the river-path. Mrs. Fennamy, at this 
 hour, always sat, when it was fine, out of doors with 
 her sewing, and, as Eleanora took a nap, Persis knew 
 that she should find her mother alone. She was un- 
 aware of seeking a refuge in her mother, hardly aware 
 of seeking her; the instinct which moved her was that 
 with which a child turns from the vaguely looming 
 phantoms of midnight and buries its face in its pillow. 
 Soon, among the golden turnings of the path, she 
 caught sight of the glimmer of white and black and 
 blue, and found her mother sitting on her favourite 
 bench under the trees. Persis came and stood before 
 her, looking about her for some moments, and then, 
 as her mother, with a quiet, welcoming glance, con- 
 tinued to sew, she sat down beside her, and, leaning 
 her arm along the back of the bench, picked vaguely 
 at the loosened pieces of bark upon it. 
 
 " Tired ? " Mrs. Fennamy inquired, presently. 
 
 " Yes, I am rather tired," said Persis. " I Ve been 
 reading since luncheon, and I felt quite dizzy when I 
 got up from my books." 
 
 " Were you in the sitting-room ? It 's a pity to 
 234
 
 sit in your own room ; the sun 's so hot there in the 
 afternoon." 
 
 " I know ; but I like it better ; there is more air. 
 The sitting-room is a dismal little hole." 
 
 " I expect the sun 's made your head ache," Mrs. 
 Fennamy suggested, and Persis said: 
 
 " Perhaps it has." 
 
 A silence fell. Few people passed along the river- 
 path. It was very warm. There was hardly a stir 
 in the poplars and the river seemed to breathe rather 
 than to flow. 
 
 " Mamma," said Persis, suddenly, while her hand 
 continued to work at the bits of loosened bark, 
 " would you like it if you were told that you would 
 sit here, like this, with me, on an afternoon like this, 
 with the river running there and the sun and that 
 strip of sewing in your hands that you were to find 
 yourself like this over and over again for ever and 
 ever?" 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy, while she went on sewing, con- 
 templated the proposition put before her. " Well, 
 this is rather pleasant, isn't it?" she said. "I 
 should n't mind this sort of thing coming over and 
 over again." 
 
 " Ah, but of course it would not be only pleasant 
 things that came. The dreadful things would come, 
 too." 
 
 "Yes; if everything came over and over again, 
 the dreadful things would come too, of course," Mrs. 
 Fennamy assented. 
 
 235
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis looked at her in surprise. " I 've sometimes 
 thought that was the way things worked," Mrs. 
 Fennamy went on, answering her daughter's look. 
 " I got an idea of it when your father used to tell me 
 about the nebulas making worlds, and then people 
 coming from monkeys, and then things evoluting along 
 until the planets and stars and all of it crashed up 
 together again and went back to nebula. I can't see 
 any reason why, once it 's started, it should n't all 
 work out regularly." 
 
 Persis, her hand stilled, gazed at her. As her si- 
 lence grew long, her mother again looked up, " What 
 difference would it make ? " she inquired. " If it 's 
 so, it 's gone on for ever, and we don't remember 
 anything about it." 
 
 Persis continued to gaze. " We may not remem- 
 ber; but if we come to know? If in tragic moment? 
 and in all the long, dragging years of monotonous 
 misery that people have, they come to know that it is 
 all to come round again, for ever and ever? It seems 
 to me that it would be a sort of hell." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy considered. " But no one can ever 
 know," she objected. "And no one can remember. 
 We 've never remembered yet, so we shan't begin to. 
 I don't see why it 's worse to go through it millions 
 of times than to go through it once, so long as you 
 don't remember. Has Herr Wehlitz been talking 
 about it, Persis ? " 
 
 Persis turned her head away, to look before her at 
 the river. "Yes. He thinks he knows. It is a be- 
 
 236
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 lief of his. He thinks he can prove it," she said. 
 
 " Is that so ? " Mrs. Fennamy murmured, and as, 
 after this, she kept silence, Persis went on, irrele- 
 vantly it might seem : 
 
 " I suppose you have always found life worth while, 
 mamma? " 
 
 " Well, I Ve always found it interesting," said Mrs. 
 Fennamy, after a moment. 
 
 " Although, of course, you must often have been 
 very unhappy. Unhappiness is n't the worst thing, of 
 course." 
 
 " Well, it can be pretty bad when it seems just not 
 to mean anything." 
 
 " Ah ! That is just it," Persis murmured. " When 
 it seems not worth while; not even interesting. And 
 how can things seem worth while if they are to be 
 repeated for ever ? " 
 
 " Why, we 'd go on thinking them worth while over 
 and over again," said Mrs. Fennamy. 
 
 " Should we ? " said Persis. 
 
 After this they relapsed into silence for some time. 
 The young girl sat leaning forward, her hands folded 
 together between her knees, her eyes fixed on the path. 
 She had a curious idea. The still day seemed to have 
 become a great, softly swinging, golden globe, enclos- 
 ing her in loneliness. She felt appalled by the lone- 
 liness. She rose suddenly. " I think, mamma, that 
 I shall go and have a little walk," she said. " I think 
 that I shall find Herr Sachs, and make him walk with 
 me." 
 
 237
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Her mother raised eyes in which surprise mingled 
 with solicitude. " Going to find Herr Sachs, Per- 
 sis ? " she repeated. " How do you mean, find him ? " 
 
 " At his lodgings, if he is there. I want to talk to 
 him." 
 
 " But I thought Graf von Liidenstein was coming 
 to play to us this afternoon. You said he might, you 
 remember." 
 
 A faint flush rose to Persis's cheek. " Did I ? 
 Well, you must listen to him, mamma, or send him 
 away." 
 
 " And what excuses shall I make ? " Mrs. Fennamy 
 asked, after a moment. 
 
 " Tell him that I have gone for a walk with Herr 
 Sachs," said Persis. She turned away. She hardly 
 knew whether she intended to go to Conrad. She 
 only knew that her mother, with her innocent echo, 
 was as dreadful as Ludwig, and that she must escape 
 her. 
 
 She walked rapidly along the turnings of the little 
 path, and she was thinking of Graf von Liidenstein 
 as she went. Why should she go to Herr Sachs, when 
 Graf von Ludenstein would come in an hour and play 
 to her and when she could, if she liked, go out for a 
 walk with him instead? She had not seen him alone 
 since the day in the orchard. Yet though her mind 
 lingered on the thought, it did not tempt her. She 
 did not feel that anything could tempt her to-day. She 
 felt only the loneliness and the sick desire for escape, 
 and she did not feel that escape was to be found with 
 
 238
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Graf von Liidenstein. When she came to the little 
 waterfall, she stepped out on the rustic bridge that 
 spanned it and leaned there for some time, looking 
 down at the clear, deep, sliding water, and as she 
 looked it seemed to her that she had stood there look- 
 ing down innumerable times; and so dizzily did the 
 golden globe of the day turn with her that for a mo- 
 ment, closing her eyes, she laid her head down on her 
 arms in a trance of terror. The thought of Conrad 
 came, like a faint knocking, from far away. She 
 raised herself. Yes; that was it his mother's gift. 
 She remembered suddenly. They must choose it to- 
 gether, and a gaiety almost light-headed filled her as 
 she left the bridge and walked rapidly into the town. 
 She knew that it was a fictitious gaiety, dry, dead, 
 rustling; but she clung to it, even forcing her steps 
 to chime to some lilt of rhythm as she went. Her 
 mood recalled to her a time in childhood when, hor- 
 ribly frightened by a picture she had seen, she ran, 
 in the hotel where they were staying, to the bath-room, 
 undressed quickly, and sank down into a tub of deep 
 hot water, closing her eyes and steeping herself in 
 the obliterating sensuous pleasure. Yes; it was like 
 that, this gaiety at the thought of a present for Frau 
 Sachs ; and even better, for it did not seem to obliterate 
 so much as to lead to something, to put a clue in her 
 hand. 
 
 She reached the little street, found the door, and 
 knocked; and then, almost immediately, she saw him 
 leaning from above. 
 
 239
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I have come for you," she said, looking up at him. 
 She did not smile now, and the impulse that had 
 brought her to him lit her face with a still, cold bright- 
 ness. " Yes," she went on, seeing his astonishment, 
 " I am going to interrupt all your studies. Tell Lud- 
 wig that I have done so, if you like! You are to 
 come out with me, and get the present for your 
 mother." 
 
 " The present for my mother, Fraulein ? " Sachs 
 echoed. And feeling that she was almost happy, she 
 laughed, as an imperious fairy appearing to waft one 
 irresistibly away might have laughed, and said: 
 
 " Yes ; come down at once." 
 
 The young man's amazed scrutiny overhung her 
 for another moment; then his head was withdrawn, 
 submissively, it was evident. Soon she heard his 
 crutch on the stair, and then the door opened and he 
 stepped out beside her, the funny round hat on his 
 head and another tie hastily adjusted not that this 
 red-spotted green was an improvement. 
 
 It seemed to Persis now that she felt quite happy. 
 She would have liked to sing, to skip, to whistle, as 
 they walked away together, she adapting her light 
 stride to his broken pace. " Do you ever feel," she 
 said, "that unless you are very nonsensical you will 
 be very unhappy for no reason at all, I mean ? Are 
 you ever unreasonable? I feel like that to-day. If 
 I had n't found you, if you had refused to come, I 
 should probably have gone and jumped into the 
 river just under the waterfall, you know. The 
 
 240
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 water is very deep there, and one's head might not 
 come up too often as one drowned especially if one 
 had the good fortune in falling to strike it on a rock." 
 Her pale face and pale radiant eyes sparkled with a 
 challenging gaiety. 
 
 He answered in the key she set, though his eyes 
 studied her. But she could trust him to understand 
 and to feel the reality that her words might seem to 
 flout. He smiled. " But there are so few rocks in 
 the river. And the force of the current would carry 
 you quickly to a shallow spot. You would have had 
 to wade ashore, Fraulein, in a most humiliating 
 fashion, twenty yards below the bridge." 
 
 " Life is full of such puerile ironies," said Persis. 
 " And you uphold it ! You applaud it ! I know that 
 you do. You would think it altogether satisfactory 
 that a person who wished to leave it should have to 
 wade ashore shamefacedly." 
 
 " I am glad, certainly, if a person is given time for 
 reflection." 
 
 " Because you think that reflection would always 
 lead them to prefer life." 
 
 " I hope so, Fraulein. It is often the case, is it 
 not?" 
 
 " It is more often the case, I think, that we prefer 
 life when we do not allow ourselves to reflect. Have 
 you ever known anyone who was given further time 
 and was glad of it?" 
 
 " Yes," he nodded, still smiling, if with a touch of 
 constraint. " Yes ; I have known such a one." 
 
 241
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 It might have been himself. She felt sure that it 
 had been himself. And she could see that ugly, comic 
 face stricken with despair. 
 
 " And have you ever known anyone who suc- 
 ceeded ? " she went on. 
 
 " Yes. A friend of mine, in my student days, in 
 Leipsig, shot himself." 
 
 "Why did he do it?" 
 
 " He had persuaded himself, Fraulein, that he knew 
 what was to be known of life and that it was value- 
 less. He reflected too much, you will say, for one so 
 young. There was pride, too, in the act. He had 
 often talked to us, his comrades, of his intention to 
 kill himself." 
 
 " I should not do it from pride," said Persis, after 
 a little silence, " but from finding life valuless I can 
 imagine that from emptiness, apathy, deadness of 
 heart from unwillingness to will any longer. Not 
 that I shall be tempted for many years; I am too full 
 of life. But I can imagine that state of unwillingness 
 to will." 
 
 " Yes. I too. It is the final temptation." 
 
 They had walked on, away from the town, and had 
 now entered on a broad road where a few scattered 
 houses with their gardens and two rows of old linden 
 trees marked the merging of the town into the coun- 
 try. Beyond the lindens the road ran between fields, 
 bordered with autumnal field-flowers. On a bench 
 under one of the lindens they sat down. Persis was 
 never to forget the day ; the bright, dreamy fields and 
 
 242
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 the sky and the scattered gold of the linden leaves 
 about them. 
 
 " But if one cannot will, one cannot, and there is 
 an end of it," she said. " How can it be a tempta- 
 tion?" 
 
 " There is always the power to will, Fraulein, unless 
 the brain is diseased." 
 
 " To will what ? What can save anyone in the 
 moment when they do not desire life? And why 
 should they be saved ? " 
 
 Sachs was silent for some moments, vaguely stir- 
 ring with the end of his crutch the golden leaves. He 
 said at length : " One can always will to pray." 
 
 "To pray?" Her echo came after a pause of the 
 astonishment he so often caused her. A certain in- 
 dignation, too, was in her voice. Was this the stone 
 he had to offer? 
 
 " Yes, Fraulein," said Sachs. " That means noth- 
 ing to you, or, worse than nothing jugglery, self- 
 deception. You have never prayed. Life what you 
 think of as desirable is still, as you say, so strong in 
 you, and it has always been enough." 
 
 " No ; I have never prayed," she assented. " I do 
 not believe that there is anyone or anything to pray 
 to." 
 
 He was silent, looking down at the leaves, and as 
 some time then passed and he said nothing, she found 
 herself forced to ask, if still with the note of resent- 
 ment : " What happens when you pray ? " 
 
 " It would be difficult to put it into words, Frau- 
 243
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 lein," said Sachs, who, though he must be aware of 
 her displeasure, showed no sign of his frequent shy- 
 ness. And now she said with some urgency : 
 
 " Well, try to tell me to explain." 
 
 " The words would only mean foolishness to you, 
 Fraulein." 
 
 " No ; they will not. No, I promise you." 
 
 He met her eyes for a moment, and then said : " I 
 will try, Fraulein. In that deadness, that apathy you 
 speak of, a breath blows upon us, we may not know 
 from where, when we pray. It is the spirit of life 
 answering our spirit. We feel this breath, and the 
 desire for life again arises in us we will to will, to 
 be, to love. You do not know it yet, Fraulein, nor 
 believe in it; but it is the world's great reality, this 
 breath of the spirit." He looked away from her now 
 and down at the golden leaves that his stick still 
 stirred softly, and he went on, but as if he were speak- 
 ing to himself rather than to her : " Woe to him who 
 does not listen to the voice when it speaks and who 
 does not follow when it calls within him! It is not 
 emptiness he will then know, but chains and darkness, 
 perhaps despair. We choke and stifle if we refuse to 
 breathe with the breath of the spirit when it comes to 
 us. But if we listen and rise up and gird ourselves 
 always, always you will find it so, for it cannot fail 
 it creates new life in us. And it is then that our 
 will I have often thought it becomes like the spider 
 that launches itself upon the breeze. We spin the 
 web we live by. Life grows round us, ring by ring, 
 
 244
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 in beauty, though it may be with much pain and ef- 
 fort. And with the growing life comes faith in life. 
 Why will they call it illusion? It is the only reality, 
 this life-created life. And why distrust the joy that 
 is its sanction? Why should despair be conceived of 
 as the seal of truth? It is the lure of death; it is 
 death, strewing dust in our souls. Truth may be sad 
 and difficult, but joy comes with the acceptance of it 
 if the breath of the spirit is in us making us strong." 
 
 Persis sat gazing at his quiet profile. It was 
 strange to her to hear him speak with this gentle abso- 
 luteness and without the tone of conventional piety 
 which she associated with such words. He himself, 
 rather than what he said, absorbed her. Yet, though 
 what he said seemed far away and unattainable, like 
 ranges of white cloud shining on the horizon, some- 
 thing of its power and tranquillity enveloped her, and 
 in her heart something dimly stirred as though it felt, 
 faintly upon it, that breath of which he spoke. 
 
 A long time seemed to pass before she wished to 
 speak, and the wish came with a sense of perplexity. 
 " Do you know, it is strange, but what you have said 
 makes me think of what Ludwig says, though so 
 differently. I see Ludwig's thought always like a 
 torch waving in darkness. Your thought is like a 
 star; one of those stars at evening, so far away, so 
 faint that at moments you lose it, and then again so 
 keen that you wonder you do not always keep it. Yet 
 the star makes me think of the torch." 
 
 He had raised his head, and he was looking at her, 
 245
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 with delight, it was evident. His eyes ardently exam- 
 ined her as if to read how deeply she might herself 
 be aware of the meaning of her own words. 
 
 " You see it too, Fraulein ! You see that it is what 
 Ludwig says! That makes me very happy. It is 
 true; so few see it, but it is true. Change but one 
 word in his creed, only put love in place of power, and 
 it is done. Ah, but this is wonderful, to know that 
 you, too, see ! " 
 
 " Yes ; the life-creating will. But with Ludwig it 
 all swings in emptiness." She thought of her golden 
 globe of horror. Ludwig's nightmare theory was 
 there, lying under everything at the bottom of her 
 mind. She had refused to promise Ludwig that she 
 would not ask counsel as to his doctrine of Herr 
 Sachs; yet she would keep silence as to that darkest 
 fear. Herr Sachs would feel it right that she should. 
 
 " Ludwig is an unhappy man, Fraulein," he said. 
 " He is in prison. But the prison wall will break. 
 He will breathe. He will come to see that the life he 
 accepts, the life he praises, is more than his and ours, 
 more than the life of some future perfected hu- 
 manity's. Without that love encompassing all things, 
 yes, we should swing in emptiness." 
 
 " But how could the prison break ? " Persis asked. 
 " What is there to break it? " 
 
 " Sometimes, Fraulein, it is happiness that breaks 
 the prison and lets the air of heaven in." 
 
 Sachs's eyes still dwelt on her with their vicarious 
 ardour. She could not meet it. She could not think 
 
 246
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 of Ludwig and his prison to-day. Ludwig, too, 
 seemed far away. Only Herr Sachs was near her, 
 saving her from loneliness. She rose. " It would 
 need some one who could pray to break Ludwig's 
 prison," she said. " And how could one pray while 
 one was his pupil? It is a vicious circle. But come; 
 let us look for your mother's present now. What 
 shall it be? A coffee-set? That is what I thought 
 of. I know a shop where they sell pretty china." 
 
 He had remained for a moment looking up at her, 
 still earnestly, as though unwilling to accept this 
 sudden arbitrariness. Then, faintly grimacing, as 
 though he recognized with good humour his own 
 discomfiture, he rose, and they turned back to the 
 town. 
 
 " Don't think that I am not grateful," said Persis 
 after they had gone a little way; " I am more than 
 you can guess, perhaps for what you have said 
 for your being so good to me. I was very unhappy 
 when I came to you." 
 
 " I saw that you were in trouble, Fraulein." 
 
 " No ; not trouble ; not trouble exactly," said Per- 
 sis, turning her eyes away. " It was unhappiness 
 without trouble, if you know what that is. Now I 
 feel that you have helped me." 
 
 He asked no question, limping along beside her, 
 and, in a changed tone, she went on presently : " Do 
 you know, if Ludwig is not to frighten me; it's still 
 quite possible that you may! Yes, a little; because 
 if I saw much of you I should feel that I must be 
 
 247
 
 good, and I should n't like to feel that. I should only 
 like to feel that I might perhaps some day try good- 
 ness after I had tried other things." 
 
 Sachs smiled. "You make me think, Fraulein, of 
 a cascade, leaping very wildly among rocks and taking 
 daring springs. But some day you will become a 
 river, strong, deep, full of purpose." 
 
 "A river?" Persis objected. "Oh no; I would 
 rather stay a cascade. I don't like appointed channels 
 and fixed goals. It is n't everyone who has a change 
 of heart, you know. Some cascades remain cascades 
 until they tumble into the sea and some hearts remain 
 unregenerate. Now, here is our shop. And there 
 are coffee-sets; three coffee-sets. Look carefully and 
 say which one you like best." 
 
 They had reached the principal street of Tannen- 
 kreuz, cheerful and variegated with the booths and 
 shops of glass merchants and lace merchants and 
 sellers of the semi-precious stones that were found in 
 the mountains near by, with little cafes and cake- 
 shops, their chairs and tables set out invitingly on 
 the pavement in the shade of the trees. Sachs, look- 
 ing, indeed, a little bewildered by the giddy leaps of 
 the cascade, gazed obediently into the window, and, 
 after some moments of deliberation, he pointed out a 
 very deplorable little set, brightly painted with blue 
 ribbons and pink and yellow flowers. 
 
 " Oh no," said Persis, smiling ; " not that. The 
 one with the gilt sprigs is far prettier." 
 
 "Is it, Fraulein? You know best." 
 248
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "I think that about coffee-sets I do. The gilt- 
 
 LL. 
 sprigged one is the one for us." 
 
 They went into the shop, and Persis ordered the 
 china to be sent to the address which Sachs, with a 
 pleased perturbation, supplied her, writing on the card 
 enclosed with it: "A little gift from a friend of 
 Conrad's." "And now," she said, as they stepped 
 into the street again, " we will go to that corner shop 
 where the tables have those nice red and white checked 
 cloths and sit under the awnings and drink coffee 
 together. It is the best shop in Tannenkreuz for 
 cinnamon cakes." 
 
 It was very much like a fairy tale, and, after their 
 grave interlude, she was again the imperious fairy. 
 " Tell me," she said, when they were seated at their 
 little table, " do you often joke and make funny imi- 
 tations, as you did on that day when Ludwig was 
 ill?" 
 
 " I have always, among my intimates, been a clown," 
 said Sachs. " You found me very foolish, I think." 
 
 " No ; I don't think I found you foolish. I was 
 surprised and interested. Could you do something 
 funny for me now the dogs, or the pigs ? " 
 
 " Here in the street, Fraulein ? I should be too 
 shy!" 
 
 "Have you no quieter things, then?" 
 
 " Oh yes, some very quiet ones. But no, I am too 
 shy, Fraulein." He was, indeed, laughing with some 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " You mean that I am not an intimate." 
 249
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Not that, Fraulein. Only you are not foolish. I 
 cannot see you making uproarious jokes. And I 
 should feel that you found me foolish rather than 
 funny." 
 
 " Perhaps I should," said Persis, smiling at his 
 acuteness. " I think I have not much sense of hu- 
 mour though I should like to see you foolish; for 
 to-day, you know, I need foolishness anything, to 
 keep me from reflecting. But tell me instead about 
 yourself. Did you make jokes for your brothers and 
 sisters when they were little ? " 
 
 He said that he did, and then, in answer to her 
 questions, told her about these brothers and sisters, 
 the professor, the pastor, the nursery-governess in 
 the English rectory, and about their reunions at 
 Christmas and the Christmas-tree that their mother 
 always made for them yes, even now, when they 
 were all grown up. After this he asked her, smiling 
 at her gently, about her own childhood, and she told 
 him what she could remember. It seemed a much 
 more distant place than his. She had only had a 
 Christmas-tree once, when she was very little, in 
 America; and she seemed never to have known any 
 children. 
 
 Her mother, when she saw her that evening, told 
 her that Wehlitz had appeared on the river-path soon 
 after her departure, and that on being told that she 
 had gone to see Herr Sachs he had shown every sign 
 of displeasure and perturbation. " I did n't know 
 that he was jealous of Herr Sachs, too, Persis," said 
 
 250
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy. " He 's a very jealous man. I 
 thought it would make him feel better when I said 
 you 'd gone to talk over his theory about things com- 
 ing back again but it seemed to make him feel 
 worse." 
 
 " Well, as it happens. I did not go to talk over his 
 theory," said Persis. " That was your own infer- 
 ence, mamma ; though I 'm not sorry that Ludwig 
 should think I did. He is a very jealous man, as you 
 say, and the sooner he is cured of his thin-skinned- 
 ness the better." 
 
 " I think it did cheer him up a little when I told 
 him you 'd broken your engagement with Graf von 
 Liidenstein," Mrs. Fennamy went on, " and I asked 
 him to stay and listen to him play with Eleanora and 
 me and have coffee with us, and he did, and we had 
 quite a pleasant afternoon. But I could see that he 
 was pretty vague. He sat staring in front of him 
 most of the time, and clenching and unclenching his 
 jaws the way he does. I could see the muscles in 
 his cheeks working."
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 PERSIS was prepared to see the muscle working 
 next morning, but the first glance at Ludwig 
 showed her that he was determined to control, if not 
 able to conceal, his sense of injury; and she was glad, 
 indeed, of this, for she had waked with a sense of 
 deep fatigue, almost of apathy; and though she felt 
 a new toleration of Ludwig's weaknesses, a new ten- 
 derness for him, she had no energy to face a renewal 
 of foolish struggles. Nor, though the nightmare 
 seemed to have slipped from her during sleep, did she 
 feel ready to follow his theories this morning. 
 
 " I don't want a lesson to-day," she said after they 
 had shaken hands. " I am going to have a drive. 
 We can talk while we drive. I am tired of this stuffy 
 little room, and of the garden, too." 
 
 A little chaise, drawn by two stout ponies, driven 
 after the fashion in Tannenkreuz, by a boy perched 
 high behind, stood before the door, and Ludwig, after 
 she had made this announcement, turned and observed 
 it for some moments before replying. " You had or- 
 dered it ? " he questioned then. " You made so sure 
 that I would come ? You think that you can so easily 
 dispose of my time for me? " 
 
 Whether it were apathy or kindliness she did not 
 252
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 know, but she felt that it would be difficult for Lud- 
 wig to vex her to-day. 
 
 " I made so sure that I cared to go," she said smil- 
 ing. "With you, I hoped; but if not with you, then 
 with Mamma or Eleanora, or Herr Sachs or Graf 
 von Ludenstein. I knew that among them all I 
 should find a companion." This seizing of the bull 
 by the horns left Ludwig, she could see, much at a 
 loss. 
 
 "Ah! Yes. I comprehend," he murmured. 
 
 " But I did not order the boy," she went on. " I 
 saw him driving down the street ten minutes ago and 
 stopped him. I felt that I must drive, up to the pine- 
 woods. Well, will you come with me, Ludwig?" 
 
 He suspected her of laughing at him or of evading 
 him or of deceiving him in some way, she felt sure, 
 but, sulkily, after a pause, he replied : " Yes. I will 
 come." 
 
 " I am so glad. We can talk as well while we 
 drive, and even better than we can here, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 " Ah ! for that I cannot answer." 
 
 She handed him her silk cloak to help her on with. 
 He was not skilful in the performance of these minor 
 graces and she felt doubt and surmise in the very 
 gestures with which he tugged the easy garment over 
 her shoulders. " You have not had much to do with 
 women, have you, Ludwig ? " she smiled, disengaging 
 the lace scarf which he had twisted into the neck of 
 the cloak and drawing down the sleeves. And Weh- 
 
 253
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 litz, a deepened suspicion of being taken lightly in 
 his voice, replied: "With women? No; I have 
 spent little of my time in frivolities." 
 
 They went outside. The boy had got down and 
 stood in readiness. 
 
 " I will drive," said Wehlitz. " It is for the man 
 to drive." 
 
 He was affording her genuine amusement, though 
 it was not untouched by pain. Why would he, great, 
 terrible man, be so small ? " By all means, if you 
 feel it necessary to your manly dignity," she answered. 
 The languor of her tone did not conceal its irony. 
 
 He took the reins without replying, the boy climbed 
 to his high seat behind them and they went clattering 
 down the street with every appearance of cheerful- 
 ness. They drove for some time in silence, Wehlitz 
 very erect, handling the reins with an inappropriate 
 air of mastery; and it was only after they had left 
 the town and were on the steep road leading up the 
 mountain that he said suddenly, in a voice pitifully 
 schooled : " It was a pleasant afternoon you passed 
 with Conrad yesterday ? " 
 
 "Very pleasant," she answered. 
 
 " Conrad, I hope, did not misinterpret a freedom 
 of behaviour to which, in Europe, we are not accus- 
 tomed ? " Wehlitz continued. 
 
 " I hope not ; I do not think so," said Persis smiling. 
 " He does not seem to me a person to misinterpret 
 many things." 
 
 " Ah. No. Conrad, it is true, has intelligence. 
 254
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 For taste, I do not say. That is a faculty of finer and 
 longer lineage. Taste might deplore certain appear- 
 ances. And what was Conrad's verdict, may I ask, 
 on my doctrine of the Eternal Return?" 
 
 " We did not talk of that," said Persis dryly. 
 
 He started, flushing deeply, and turned his head to 
 look at her. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, but I think you have for- 
 gotten. I had it from your mother that it was with 
 that intention that you went to seek him." 
 
 " Yes. I know that you had it from her ; so she 
 told me," said Persis. " She had imagined, you see, 
 that your jealousy was personal and would not ex- 
 tend to intellectual matters. She was placating you, 
 she thought. As it happens I did not go to him for 
 that; it was Mamma's inference, merely, because she 
 and I had been talking of the Eternal Return she, 
 too, believes in it; is not that interesting! We said 
 almost nothing of you, Herr Sachs and I, as far as I 
 remember." 
 
 Wehlitz was breathing heavily. 
 
 " I went to find him so that we could get a present 
 for his mother," Persis went on, after a pause, " which 
 I had told him I wanted to send to her. We found a 
 very nice coffee-set and I sent it to her from a friend 
 of Conrad's I put on it. I sent it because I thought 
 it would give her pleasure, and I am so fond of him 
 that I wanted to give his mother pleasure. What is 
 she like Herr Sachs's mother? Have you seen 
 her?" 
 
 255
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Seen her ? Certainly I have seen her. She is 
 a heavy plebeian like her son," said Wehlitz in a 
 muffled voice, dealing the ponies, as he spoke, a sharp 
 cut across the flanks. 
 
 The colour mounted in the young girl's cheeks. 
 She was shocked. This she had not expected from 
 Ludwig; no, not even in his worst moods. " That is 
 a strange way in which to speak of your friend," she 
 murmured. 
 
 "Of my friend! Certainly of my friend!" 
 Wehlitz cried loudly. " Why not of him ! I speak 
 the truth of all men! I do not scorn the populace 
 when it shows capacity to rise. Have I ever denied 
 that he has capacity? Yes; my friend; though a 
 plebeian. And he will know no better friend than 
 I." 
 
 She kept silence, her eyes fixed before her on the 
 ranges of pine- woods among which they wound their 
 way. She had heard the tears in his tones and could 
 interpret his shame and she was willing to help him. 
 " We did not talk of your doctrines," she said after a 
 little while, "but of Herr Sachs's. You are familiar 
 with them, I suppose." 
 
 " The Christian dogmas of submission, renuncia- 
 tion, love for the weak and piteous ; yes, I am familiar 
 with them, these old dogmas in their latest modern 
 dress. You know my opinion of Christianity; the 
 refuge of the unfit the menace to the strong. Its 
 success, in all ages, all the world over, is easy to un- 
 derstand. The impotent, filled with spite, revenge 
 
 256
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 themselves upon the strong who, in this life, hold them 
 in subjection, by imagining another life where they 
 will have eternal domination. Ha-ha! a noble 
 creed ! " He lashed again at the ponies and they 
 started forward at a brisk trot. 
 
 " I heard nothing of such a creed from Herr Sachs. 
 In what you say of religion it seems to me sometimes 
 that you think you overthrow more than you do." 
 
 "Ah! you think that I deceive myself as to the 
 originality of my doctrine! " The muscle in his cheek 
 was twitching. He lashed again, and Persis now 
 leaned and took the whip from him, he too much ab- 
 sorbed in his angry broodings to notice, for the mo- 
 ment, her action. 
 
 "No; I don't think you deceive yourself as to its 
 originality," said Persis, lenient, but determined to be 
 just ; " only that you do deceive yourself somewhat as 
 to what it has accomplished. What is the enhanced, 
 the higher, the self-transcending life you believe in 
 but the life the saint lives?" 
 
 " Saints ? Why do you talk of saints ? " cried 
 Wehlitz angrily. " Give me my whip ! " 
 
 She passed it to the other hand and he added, after 
 another fiercely brooding pause : " the saint has no 
 strength. He is an idol-worshipper. Take his idol 
 from him, tell him that his heaven is empty, and he 
 crumbles into dust." 
 
 " Conrad does not crumble, I am sure." Persis 
 softly flicked the whip in the air. 
 
 " Conrad is a fool," said Wehlitz, with intense bit- 
 257
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 terness. " He pulls a thick hood over his head and 
 because all is quiet and warm and dark within, he 
 says : ' Here is God ; God is with me ; I am happy ; 
 I am at peace/ Ah! it would not frighten Conrad 
 to know that his heaven was empty? he would not 
 crumble? Only because he refuses to look at the 
 truth. He talks to you of his simpering, long-bearded 
 grandpapa seated on his golden throne, seated on his 
 throne in Conrad's little soul so pure and white! 
 It is easy to be confident when we are in the good 
 graces of our grandpapa! Give me my whip! I will 
 not be treated like a child ! " 
 
 They were on a turn of the hill-side, on one hand 
 the rise of the woods with their climbing regiments 
 of pines, on the other an abrupt fall to descending 
 tree-tops; a light railing only bordered the road. 
 And as Wehlitz now leaned suddenly to her, catching 
 at her arm, the whip fell clattering across the ponies' 
 flanks, they reared violently and broke into a wild 
 gallop. Persis saw their great danger. She had time 
 to leap forward, catch the reins aside, and pull the 
 ponies back upon their haunches, while, swaying 
 heavily, the chaise crashed on a broken wheel and 
 fell over in the road. In another moment they must 
 have been precipitated down upon the trees below. 
 
 Persis was the first to find her feet. She had fallen 
 clear of the chaise and felt no hurt. Her first thought 
 was to run to the ponies' heads. One had fallen; 
 the other, dragged at by the broken harness, stood 
 trembling. Wehlitz drew himself on hands and 
 
 258
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 knees from under the chaise and the boy, with a face 
 of tmresentful astonishment, sat in the ditch. 
 
 " Are you hurt? " she called to Wehlitz. His fore- 
 head was bleeding but otherwise he seemed unscathed. 
 He did not answer and she had, unaided, to assist the 
 prostrate pony to its feet. " Poor dears, what a 
 shock for them," she murmured, stroking their pant- 
 ing sides. " You might have killed them." 
 
 "Might have killed them?" Wehlitz cried in a 
 shrill, shaking voice in which tears and fury mingled. 
 "Speak for yourself! It is your work! And you 
 might have killed other than dumb beasts ! " 
 
 " My pity is certainly with the dumb beasts," said 
 Persis, " and you were responsible for the accident. 
 If you were going to snatch for the whip like an un- 
 mannerly school-boy, you should at least have looked 
 to see where you were driving." 
 
 "Yes! Yes! that's it!" Wehlitz cried, jerking 
 his clenched fists up and down at his sides in a singular 
 fashion as he stood before her. " Give to yourself 
 always the heroic role and on me place the fools- 
 cap!" 
 
 " You seem, perhaps, more in need of a bandage," 
 said Persis, smiling despite herself. " Did you know 
 that you were hurt? Don't let us stand here quarrel- 
 ling. Give me your handkerchief and I will tie up 
 your head." 
 
 " You are hurt yourself ! " he cried, pointing to 
 her arm. " There is blood on your sleeve ! No ! 
 You shall not touch me! It is my place to succour 
 
 259
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 you ! Your desire always is to abase and to humiliate 
 me!" 
 
 Tears had risen to his eyes. Her anger against 
 him melted and he became to her a foolish and piteous 
 little boy who must be petted and humoured. " Be 
 reasonable, Ludwig," she said with an almost maternal 
 smile. " You should succour me, of course, if I 
 needed it; but mine is a mere scratch; yes; look. It 
 is nothing. You are really hurt. Feel the blood on 
 your cheek. Are you convinced? Eleanora and 
 Herr Sachs will be ready to cut me to pieces when 
 they see what I have done to their hero. Now let 
 me bind you up." 
 
 He had put up his hand and looked at the blood 
 upon it, gloomily, for a moment and then, in silence, 
 he drew out his handkerchief and gave it to her and 
 bowed his head before her, muttering only: "You 
 think all the reason is on your side. For a head so 
 young, your assurance is astonishing." 
 
 "And for a head so great and wise," said Persis. 
 pressing it lightly between her hands as she enwound 
 it, " how hot and hasty a one this is ! " Her voice 
 was playful, even mischievous, but the affection in 
 it was a balm. The ground of their quarrel faded 
 from his mind, and, fretful as he was and full of 
 wounded vanity, his eyes dwelt on her for a moment, 
 as he at last could raise them to hers, with a sort of 
 gloomy tenderness. 
 
 " You will have to rest for some days after this, 
 I 'm afraid," she said, giving him her arm and opening 
 
 260
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 her parasol over him. They left the overturned 
 chaise behind, and the boy, leading the ponies, fol- 
 lowed them. Far below, like a toy town, Tannen- 
 kreuz lay in the sunlight. 
 
 " Some days, indeed," said Wehlitz. " And it is 
 serious, very serious, the interruption to my work. 
 It is not as amusing as you may imagine to lie in a 
 darkened room with a bandage on one's head." 
 
 " It must be anything but amusing. You will let 
 me come and see you, often, won't you and we will 
 make coffee for you every day." 
 
 " I shall not be allowed to drink coffee. But, yes, 
 I hope that you will be able to spare me a little of 
 your time." 
 
 It was wiser to be silent. They went on without 
 speaking for a little way. Suddenly Wehlitz stopped 
 short. Persis's eyes, following his, saw them fixed 
 on a figure that was approaching them from below 
 and in a moment she had recognized it as Graf von 
 Liidenstein's. 
 
 " I will not meet him ! No ! I will not meet him 
 so ! " Wehlitz exclaimed, gazing wildly down at the 
 tree-tops and up at the high escarpment of the bank. 
 Its sandy soil was piled too steeply for an ascent to 
 the woods to be possible, and he turned as though 
 meditating a flight up the road. 
 
 Persis caught him by the sleeve. " But Ludwig,'* 
 she said. "What is there to be ashamed of? Why 
 not meet him? It was only an accident. Listen to 
 me." He faced her again, angry, protesting, be- 
 
 261 
 
 TIMF 1 1MIT IS 14 DAY!
 
 wildered. Liidenstein, for a moment, was hidden by 
 a turning. 
 
 " It was only an accident," Persis repeated. " We 
 were absorbed in talk and the ponies ran away. What 
 is there to be ashamed of? You look a hero with 
 your bandaged head." 
 
 "A hero! Yes! He will find me one indeed! I 
 know him! I know his sneering smile! You do not 
 know Liidenstein ! He thinks himself above all weak- 
 nesses." 
 
 " And since he will not see you trying to escape 
 him, there are no weaknesses for him to discover." 
 Liidenstein had appeared round the bend in the road 
 and she waved her hand to him. 
 
 He hurried forward to meet them. "What has 
 happened! What is it?" he exclaimed with a 
 look of consternation. "You are wounded, Lud- 
 wig!" 
 
 " Are we not a romantic pair," said Persis, answer- 
 ing for Ludwig who walked on in silence, raising his 
 hand to his bandaged head. " Who could have sus- 
 pected those fat ponies of such an escapade? Yes, 
 they ran away with us ; we were absorbed in talk, and 
 they nearly threw us over the road-side. We saved 
 ourselves only just in time. The chaise overturned 
 with us and Ludwig's head is badly cut." 
 
 " But my friend ! I am distressed beyond words," 
 Liidenstein spoke in tones of sincere solicitude. 
 " This is not well for you. Yours is not a head we 
 can risk in roadside tumbles." 
 
 262
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis was surprised and ironically amused to notice 
 that to herself he gave no attention. 
 
 Ludwig meanwhile continued to walk forward in 
 silence. But, suddenly, turning very pale, he stopped. 
 " I am ill," he said. " I am very ill." He sat down 
 on a rock beside the road. 
 
 Ludenstein knelt beside him. "Ludwig, you shall 
 rest here. Fraulein Fennamy will stay beside you 
 and I will go quickly back and send a vehicle for you. 
 Lean on her arm." 
 
 It was almost tenderness, and that Ludwig felt it 
 was evidenced by his fretful, yet grateful rejoinder. 
 " No; no, you will stay with me, Ernst. If I should 
 lose consciousness it is well that a man should be with 
 me. It is my head. It is the wound in my head. 
 Persis will go" ; he closed his eyes and his head sunk 
 on Liidenstein's shoulder. 
 
 Persis turned away without speaking. She 
 gathered up her skirts and ran down the road to- 
 wards Tannenkreuz.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 IT was Liidenstein who called next morning, and 
 Persis watched him coming down the street, his 
 heavy, yet lightly, almost jauntily carried body, his 
 air of cheerful well-being, with a glance of irony. 
 The irony included Ludwig, for she could guess why 
 Sachs had not been sent. And Lud wig's folly was 
 a satisfaction. It justified her. In what, she could 
 not have said. 
 
 It was the first time that she had been alone with 
 Liidenstein since their conversation in the orchard. 
 He had come, once or twice. Persis, with a suavity 
 delightful to herself, had secured her mother's pres- 
 ence for a pleasant afternoon of music. To keep 
 her powerful admirer thus in harness made her feel 
 like an Omphale, watching a helpless Hercules in the 
 toils. Now, as he entered, she turned to meet him 
 with a smile. 
 
 " So you are sent with news of our invalid," she 
 said. " The news is good I trust, and the injury to 
 his head not as serious as you seemed to fear." 
 
 Liidenstein, too, was smiling. " Not quite as seri- 
 ous. He will soon be about again. And here is a 
 note he sends you." 
 
 She opened it. It was curt. Would she please 
 264
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 come to him that afternoon. " Will you tell him I 
 will," she said, lifting her eyes to Liidenstein, who, 
 still smiling, stood considering her. " It needs no 
 more than a verbal answer." 
 
 " You are displeased with our poor Ludwig this 
 morning ? " 
 
 " No, not at all displeased, amused, perhaps." 
 
 "And I, too, am amused," Liidenstein remarked, 
 after a moment. " Yet, if you allude to jealousy, let 
 me say that I do not know that I find it so misplaced. 
 No," as she gazed at him in astonishment ; " I sympa- 
 thise with Ludwig. Spiritual friendships are devas- 
 tating to other friendships. Poor Ludwig! He is 
 not fortunate in friendship or in love." 
 
 "He is certainly fortunate in yours," said Persis, 
 after a moment, and with a dryness that did not con- 
 ceal indignation. 
 
 " Well, yes," Ludenstein raised his eyebrows. " I 
 am with you. Ludwig, I consider, has no better 
 friend than myself." 
 
 " He must indeed, yesterday, have thought you the 
 most devoted of friends." 
 
 " Indeed, yes. And why not ? " 
 
 And as she stood, looking out into the street and 
 making no reply, he went on : " And you are, I see, 
 displeased with me because I so carefully concealed 
 from Ludwig yesterday my interest in you." 
 
 " I certainly do not see how you contrive to rec- 
 oncile your fondness for him with your feeling for 
 me." ' 
 
 265
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Ludenstein now seated himself at the piano and 
 ran his fingers over the keys. She stood beside him, 
 though still not looking at him, and it was strange, as 
 so often before, to know that, though she found him 
 almost an evil man, she could not dislike him. 
 
 " It is true," said Ludenstein presently, while he 
 continued softly to play chords and arpeggios. " I 
 deceive my friend, if that is what you deprecate. 
 But that is precisely my method of reconciliation. 
 My conception of friendship is to make my friend 
 happy, if that is compatible with my own happiness. 
 To reconcile my love for you, and my friendship with 
 Ludwig, is not that pure gain, to one whose standard 
 is that of expediency only?" 
 
 "And if you could not reconcile them?" Persis 
 asked ironically. " If you had to choose between 
 us?" 
 
 He narrowed his eyes. "You mean between los- 
 ing his friendship and winning your love? Ah, then, 
 unflinchingly, I should behave towards Ludwig as he 
 in his writings counsels the strong to behave towards 
 the weak; I should ride him down. I agree with 
 Ludwig, altogether, that life is a craving, conquering 
 force and that the good of the few cannot be recon- 
 ciled with the good of the many. And not only do I 
 admire Ludwig's precepts; I follow them which is 
 more than he is able to do. He is one of the craving 
 but not of the conquering type, our Ludwig." 
 
 She had turned her eyes on his now, with the dim 
 ironic smile that she felt as a shield between them. 
 
 266
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Ludwig has a great many unconscious followers, as 
 you must know. You speak as though you were in 
 some way singular in your practices; they are those 
 of most people, I imagine." 
 
 " Certainly, with the difference which makes me 
 singular, that they are unconscious and I conscious of 
 what I do." 
 
 She left the abstract theme. " So that your friend- 
 ship for Ludwig depends upon your hopelessness in 
 regard to me. It is a strange idea of friendship." 
 
 " Ah, but it is you who seem to insist on the alter- 
 native," Liidenstein smiled drowsily at her while he 
 pressed deep, deliberate, yet urgent chords. " I might 
 keep my friend and win you. You would remain 
 his Egeria, and a wiser, more tolerant, more powerful 
 one for the accepted ambiguity of your position. 
 Nothing gives more strength than to choose and main- 
 tain ambiguity. I, too, can deal in aphorisms, you 
 see, Fraulein Persis. I shock you? You find such 
 ambiguity shocking?" 
 
 She had again turned her eyes away and was gaz- 
 ing out into the street with a haughty, abstracted gaze. 
 " No ; oh, no ; not shocking. Tasteless. Offen- 
 sive." 
 
 Liidenstein, ceasing to play, looked up at her in si- 
 lence for a moment. " I would ride him down, if you 
 preferred that." 
 
 She continued to gaze into the street. "There is 
 no question of my preference. Your alternatives do 
 not exist for me." 
 
 267
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Still, though his hands were on the keys, he did 
 not play and the cessation of the urgent undertone 
 was at once a relief and an anxiety; she felt less 
 menaced but more exposed, without that low murmur 
 of encompassing sound. " You are very indignant 
 with me," he said, "because I tell you that a woman 
 may love one man and be none the less a true friend 
 to another. Yet you are very determined on main- 
 taining your independence with Ludwig. You insist, 
 for instance, unless I misread certain signs, on your 
 right to your friendship with little Sachs. What I 
 propose is that you should carry that same independ- 
 ence a little further; if it is to carry it further." 
 
 Actually, he seemed to be arguing with her, as 
 though she had initiated such argument. She was be- 
 wildered, and, as, for the moment, she found no re- 
 ply, he went on. " I know what you will say. Your 
 bond with Ludwig does not prevent other friendships, 
 but it prevents a love-affair, a concealed love-affair. 
 I do not deal in these conventions. Since I am not 
 to ride him down, since I need not choose that alter- 
 native, I confess it would be painful, it is Lud- 
 wig's happiness and unhappiness that I may think of, 
 and I assert that my regard for his welfare is quite 
 as tender as yours. You torture him, willingly, with 
 this spiritual comradeship with little Sachs ah, Frau- 
 lein, I could read the signs the other day, when you 
 left me in the lurch to seek out our jester and you 
 would abandon him without hesitation if a satisfactory 
 marriage offered itself to you. Come now, is it not 
 
 268
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 true that it is convention, merely, that rules your feel- 
 ing in this matter ? " 
 
 She stood in the dim little room looking out into 
 the street and it seemed to her, enmeshed, perplexed, 
 almost appalled, that her inability to deny what he 
 said was a bond between them. " I respect marriage," 
 she said. " I despise illicit and concealed love- 
 affairs." 
 
 He was looking up at her and softly laughing. 
 " Convention, mere convention," he said. 
 
 " Moreover," Persis found, with a grasp as if at 
 some floating spar, " you seem to forget that since 
 I do not love you the question does not arise." 
 
 " No ; I do not forget it," said Liidenstein. " I 
 remember it, I assure you, quite well. I only ask 
 you to own that, if you did love me, it ought not, 
 with a proud, strong woman like you, to arise." 
 
 She wished, passionately, to prove her strength, to 
 himself and to herself. " If I loved you," and she 
 brought her eyes now firmly to his face, " it could not 
 arise, for such a love-affair would not be concealed." 
 
 " Ah," looking up at her he struck now a deep, 
 triumphant chord; "if you loved me, we should ride 
 Ludwig down, relentlessly. Good. It is not kind. 
 It is not pitying; but it is Lud wig's own doctrine. I 
 should ask nothing better of you." 
 
 She turned away. " I must study now. This is 
 my time for study. We have talked enough of these 
 absurdities." Her voice was trembling; did he hear 
 it? 
 
 269
 
 He rose, acquiescent, courteous. He took his hat; 
 he stood before her. " But we shall have our music 
 one day soon again ? " 
 
 "Yes; oh, yes." 
 
 " Perhaps to-morrow ? " 
 
 " No ; not to-morrow/' 
 
 " The next day, then." 
 
 " Perhaps. I will see what time I have." 
 
 She longed for him to go. She was filled with a 
 horror of what she might have seemed to have avowed 
 to him. She must be alone and, fiercely, closely, re- 
 hearse the conversation and see what she had done.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 "TTERR SACHS! Herr Sachs!" said Persis. 
 jLJ. She had been waiting for him to pass, for a 
 very long time it seemed to her. It was at this hour 
 that he returned from Ludwig's along the river path. 
 He saw her face looking at him, not smiling, from 
 behind the bars. " I want to talk to you," she said. 
 
 But Sachs, evidently, did not want to stop. Uncer- 
 tainty and anxiety were in his gaze and he stood in 
 the path looking at her while she swung the grille 
 back on its hinges. " Come in," she said. " Or shall 
 I come out to you? for talk to you I will. Yes. I 
 have been waiting for you. You are not afraid of 
 me?" A provocative note was in her voice. 
 
 " No, Fraulein," said Sachs, looking away from her 
 with a rueful smile. " But perhaps I ought to be. 
 I do not know that I ought to stop." 
 
 " You mean that it will throw Ludwig into a fever 
 if he hears of it. He recovers from such fevers. 
 Already, I am sure you have seen it, he is more rea- 
 sonable, more amenable. These days of his convales- 
 cence have been quite pleasant and peaceful; don't you 
 think so?" 
 
 " I am sometimes afraid that you amuse yourself 
 with tormenting Ludwig, Fraulein. Yes, they have 
 
 271
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 been peaceful days; perhaps because there has been 
 so little in them." 
 
 " But that is not true, to say that I torment him," 
 said Persis, and her young face darkened almost to a 
 look of sternness. " You all, yes, all of you, Eleanora, 
 Graf von Liidenstein, take sides with Ludwig, al- 
 ways, against me. What have I done but maintain 
 my independence? What did I do the other day, on 
 that drive, but ignore his ill-temper in regard to you 
 until he began to beat the ponies so unmercifully that 
 I had to take the whip from him. Yes that was the 
 truth of that story, though, to protect Ludwig, I have 
 told another one." 
 
 He had entered now and was following her to an 
 old bench set against the wall at the bottom of the 
 garden, and he sighed deeply and involuntarily as he 
 sank down upon it. 
 
 " If only Ludwig would conquer this puerile 
 jealousy," Persis went on with the air of excitement 
 apparent in her to-day. "If only he could learn to be 
 more tolerant of a word of opposition, we might be 
 very happy." 
 
 Sachs sat looking in front of him. " You are hard, 
 Fraulein," he said at last. " You do not seem to un- 
 derstand Ludwig as I hoped you were to understand 
 him. You do not understand that a deep fear may 
 show itself in puerile actions and yet be none the 
 less grave and real. How can he not resent our meet- 
 ings, yours and mine, when he must feel that you seek 
 in me to stay yourself against his doctrines?" 
 
 272
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis, at this, was for a moment silent. " But it 
 is not true. I do not talk of Ludwig's doctrines to 
 you," she said presently. " Never since that first 
 day. I fight against them alone." 
 
 " Not quite alone, Fraulein," said Sachs, also after 
 a little pause, " for though we do not speak of them 
 we know that they are there. If they frighten you, it 
 is well that you should have a refuge; but I ask yon 
 to see that to Ludwig such a refuge must seem a 
 menace." 
 
 At this Persis sat silent for some moments. Dur- 
 ing these last days she had struggled with closer and 
 more tangible fears. Ludwig's nightmare theory 
 seemed their background. It was as if she saw her- 
 self lured by the hypnotic whisper of the future, yet 
 pressed forward, too, by the past, by the dark, ac- 
 cumulated cloud of fate upon whose wheel she was to 
 turn for ever. Already, down the endless reaches of 
 that backward time, she had listened to Graf von 
 Liidenstein; again and again she had listened. And 
 if she was to draw still nearer to the sinister tree of 
 life, would it not be because already she had done so, 
 and was to do so, for all the past and all the future? 
 She saw herself menaced by an obsession. It was a 
 succour to think that she was ill; ill, not incredibly 
 tempted. And now, turning at last her eyes on the 
 little cripple, she said, wondering at the great gulfs 
 that parted their minds, even at this moment when 
 they seemed so near : " Did you guess that Lud- 
 wig's theory of the Eternal Return frightened me 
 
 273
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 more than all the rest. You know that theory? 
 Has it never frightened you? " 
 
 " No ; it has not frightened me, Fraulein," he an- 
 swered, looking at her very thoughtfully. " And you, 
 too, will not long have allowed such a nightmare to 
 trouble you." 
 
 " No, no, I do not think it troubles me now ; not 
 so much. It is a nightmare, then ? You are sure that 
 it is a nightmare ? " 
 
 " It does not seem to me even so real as a night- 
 mare, Fraulein, that mechanical universe. But if I 
 say this to you I must ask you also to see that Lud- 
 wig's own deeper thought dismisses it. Has not Lud- 
 wig himself placed life above law? And how much 
 more must he place it above mindless machinery." 
 
 A strange sense of lightness and release passed 
 over Persis while he spoke. Was not what he said 
 self-evident? And how had she not seen it for her- 
 self? The cloud that had seemed so black was yet 
 so thin, so impalpable, that at a mere breath it was 
 dissolved. And now it was gone, and she could lift 
 her head and look about her. This was not the time 
 to ask herself where she was. Nor could she go on 
 to ask Herr Sachs if he believed in sin and to ask him 
 if she were a tempted woman. " It is always with 
 Ludwig that you defend Ludwig," she said. 
 
 " Fortunately, it is easy to do so, Fraulein." 
 
 "If his deeper thought dismisses this theory, why 
 should he not see it? why should he cling so persist- 
 ently to a nightmare ? " 
 
 274
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "You do not yet understand Ludwig, Fraulein. 
 It is with him always the desire to surmount himself 
 that explains his theories. That is the peril of his 
 isolation, and of his courage. The most horrible 
 thing his thought can show him, that he must believe 
 in, that he must test himself upon. Unless he can 
 brace his nature to accept and dominate it, he dis- 
 trusts himself. It is an act of faith. To the spectre 
 theory he says : ' Even so, I live, I will.' And see 
 now," Sachs as he spoke turned on the bench so that 
 he faced her, " see now, Fraulein ; this heroic act ; 
 and then to have those he loves smile and say : ' Your 
 courage is misplaced. This horror that you face is an 
 illusion. Wave it away.' Could he accept their ver- 
 dict and not feel himself disintegrate?" 
 
 She had listened motionless, her eyes on the young 
 man. " It is his pride," she said. " He wants hor- 
 ror." 
 
 " That is true, Fraulein," said Sachs. " But it is 
 not a petty pride. It is for the sake of strength that 
 he wants it, for the sake of self-conquest." And 
 after a moment and now it was as if, indeed, he 
 read her thoughts " It is because of his pride that 
 Ludwig fears you." 
 
 " Fears me ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 "You are all the things, Fraulein, that Ludwig 
 longs to be." 
 
 "What things?" 
 
 He leaned his chin on the hands that held his crutch 
 and, looking down at the deep grass that rose about 
 
 275
 
 their feet, he said : " You are hard, Fraulein, very 
 hard, as you have said, and full of health and strength, 
 like a young goddess, and the desire of life. And 
 Ludwig is frail and gentle and shaken by pity, and 
 at the bottom of his soul lies the renunciation of life, 
 yes, the indifference to life which he so dreads. 
 And the contrast is deeper still ; for Ludwig's is a re- 
 ligious soul and yours a pagan. Yes, Ludwig would 
 sacrifice himself and all he is and has to what he sees 
 to be the highest; he makes his will one with it; he 
 acclaims it as his own will. Is it not so with the man 
 who has found the divine? But you, Fraulein, what 
 you seek is your own happiness." 
 
 " Do you mean that Ludwig is good and I am 
 wicked?" Persis asked. 
 
 He raised his head at this to consider her, too in- 
 tent to give a smile to her ingenuous query. 
 
 "Ludwig is good, Fraulein. But you are not 
 wicked. You are only young. Do you guess why I 
 say all this to you why I consent to sit here with 
 you and talk of my friend? " 
 
 " Yes, I can guess. You feel that you may bring 
 us together if you can make us understand one an- 
 other. And you want to bring us together." 
 
 " You read me, Fraulein. I ask you to understand 
 him better; but I also ask you to understand yourself, 
 to see clearly where you stand. I ask you to be old 
 for yourself and for Ludwig since he, too, is in this 
 so young." 
 
 The strange vicarious insistence of his gaze was 
 276
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 upon her, a force and how far away seemed now the 
 memory of the gaze that was a weight pressing her 
 down a force that demanded painful effort from 
 her. She murmured, " To see clearly ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Sachs. "What is it that you have 
 felt for Ludwig? Not love. Not even tenderness 
 or hardly that. It has been pride in his love, is it 
 not so, Fraulein? and gladness because of your power 
 over this great, child-like man. I do not blame you. 
 You had no more to give and he had not the power 
 to win more from you. It is he, it is Ludwig, who 
 has deceived both you and himself. For of what 
 value can the discipleship of a child of nineteen be to 
 Ludwig ? Why should he expect in a month's time to 
 mould an untrained mind to agreement? No, no, 
 each of you, unconsciously, has deceived the other; 
 it is not his doctrine that you care for, but his homage, 
 and he is not the dispassionate master and philosopher, 
 but your lover. And so it is that you wrangle to- 
 gether and find no happiness. You and Ludwig have 
 nothing to do with each other nothing nothing 
 unless you can be man and wife." 
 
 She felt herself groping among strange shapes, 
 strange, yet, in the underworld of her mind, the mute, 
 sub-conscious region where the truth is known but not 
 spoken, familiar. A chill fell upon her, a sense, after 
 her sudden hope, of friendlessness and bereavement. 
 Helplessly, she said, " But we have been quite quiet 
 and happy for these last few days, Ludwig and I; 
 we have had no wrangles. And I do care for his doc- 
 
 277
 
 THE ENCOUNTER' 
 
 trines. I do want to learn. You are unfair to me. 
 And though you find me so young, Ludwig needs 
 me and I am of help to him." 
 
 " That is illusion, Fraulein," said Sachs. " You 
 have a brilliant mind, I do not deny it, and you see 
 the flaws and contradictions of his thought. Others, 
 too, see them. To them he will not listen, how much 
 less to you, his pupil. Ludwig does not argue with 
 you; you do not seek the truth together. Do you 
 not see, do you not know, that when he seems to 
 teach you it is as if he were singing to you? They 
 are nuptial plumage, Fraulein, that is all," Sachs 
 faintly smiled, " these intellectual demonstrations." 
 
 Her tears had risen. " What am I to do, then, if 
 it has all been a mistake ? " 
 
 " But it is not all a mistake, Fraulein. One thing 
 is sure, and that is that Ludwig loves you." 
 
 " He has never told me so ! " 
 
 "But you know it," said Sachs, looking at her 
 gravely. She had noticed before that symptoms of 
 emotion left him singularly unmoved, unless that 
 greater intentness of gaze was the sign of feeling. 
 " You know the meaning of the song he sings though 
 he puts to it words of another meaning." 
 
 " I do not feel its meaning, then ; he does not make 
 me feel it. If he does not make me feel it, what more 
 can I do for him than I do now ? " * 
 
 " There are only two things that you can do for 
 Ludwig, Fraulein. You can marry him, or send him 
 away." 
 
 278
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "Go to him and tell him that I will marry him 
 when he has never told me that he loves me? " Persis 
 cried, flushing brightly while the tears now fell. 
 
 " Not quite that, Fraulein. You could soon make 
 Ludwig see that there was hope for him if you felt 
 love for him." 
 
 " And marry him, then, to be his footstool, his 
 pillow! Yes, that is all you mean! I am not fit to 
 be his comrade, not fit to be his mental equal, and 
 helper I am only fit to be his wife! Oh, yes, Herr 
 Sachs! that is your meaning. But those are German 
 ideas. Not mine ! Not ours ! " She had started to 
 her feet as she spoke, laughing angrily and brokenly 
 through her tears, and a dim smile again flickered on 
 Sachs's face as he rose and met her indignant eyes. 
 
 " A footstool is for stupid or brutal men, Fraulein ; 
 but a pillow yes. It is a pillow that Ludwig needs, 
 rest and quiet and kind arms about his head. And 
 see, Fraulein," he looked at her now very gravely, 
 " only so could you come to be Ludwig's comrade 
 and helper. Only through happiness can he be won 
 away from the spectres. When you have made him 
 happy then, ah then, I should have great hope of 
 finding a change in Ludwig's dark theories." 
 
 As he spoke they heard a step approaching them 
 over the grass and seeing the change on Sachs's face 
 Persis knew that it was Liidenstein's. In another 
 moment he had joined them and had doffed his hat 
 before her, his expression altering to one of solicitous 
 inquiry as he noticed her tears. " Do I interrupt ? " 
 
 279
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 he said. " I caught sight of the white glimmer of 
 your dress among the trees and thought you were 
 alone. I had hoped that to-day we might have a 
 little music." 
 
 Persis dried her eyes. A mirthful, mocking mood 
 took possession of her. " Let us have some music," 
 she said. " Come, Herr Sachs ; Graf von Liidenstein 
 will play us a Gigue by Bach, which I want you to 
 hear with me. Do you know it? Partita in B flat. 
 It sounds like the river as we hear it now from here ; 
 golden and flowing, like a shining stream, and golden 
 apples fall into it. You will stay and listen ? " 
 
 " I must not now stay longer, Fraulein." 
 
 " But I ask you," said Persis, fixing her eyes on 
 him. 
 
 " I must not, Fraulein, indeed. I have much work 
 to do." 
 
 She considered him for a moment. " And I have 
 already kept you from it for too long. Good-bye, 
 then. If Ludwig asks you, tell him that I waylaid 
 you and kept you from your work." 
 
 " I will bear the responsibility for that, Fraulein," 
 said Sachs very gravely as he bowed and turned away. 
 
 Liidenstein, with whom she was thus left alone, 
 was watching her. " I do not like to see you cry," 
 he said. "What is it, may I ask?" He seemed 
 to tower above her. It was, curiously, his size, the 
 bulk and solidity of him, that was to her one of his 
 most significant attributes. Ludwig was very nearly 
 as tall, yet Ludwig's presence seemed an electric vibra- 
 
 280
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 tion in the air rather than a substance. To-day, 
 though she had been abandoned, she seemed to hold 
 a talisman against bulk and solidity. " Yes ; you 
 may ask," she said after a moment. " Herr Sachs 
 told me that I ought either to marry Ludwig or to 
 send him away." 
 
 " So. But that is drastic." 
 
 " Herr Sachs is not a person for half meas- 
 ures." 
 
 " An admirable father-confessor. And you will 
 follow his advice ? " 
 
 " I am very fond of Ludwig," said Persis after a 
 pause. " I cannot marry him and I cannot send him 
 away." 
 
 " Could you send me away ? " Liidenstein inquired 
 smiling. They had begun to walk up the garden 
 path. 
 
 She glanced at him and her glance was cold and 
 armed. " Perhaps not. But it would not be because 
 I am too fond of you." 
 
 " Because I am too fond of you, then ? " 
 
 " That is more probable. You are an interest ; an 
 amusement." 
 
 They paused at the steps that led up to the salon. 
 " And little Sachs ? " Liidenstein inquired ; he showed 
 no sign of discomfiture and it was part of his power, 
 she recognised that clearly to-day when he seemed 
 to have none over her, that he never met her on a 
 basis of past admissions. He had never the faintest 
 air of taking an advantage. 
 
 281
 
 She looked at him now in some astonishment. 
 "Herr Sachs?" 
 
 "Yes, Herr Sachs. Our little Parsifal," said 
 Liidenstein. " I make no attempt to hide my jealousy. 
 Could anything make you part from him? Come 
 now." 
 
 " I did not guess that you were jealous, too." 
 
 "Ah, but I am jealous, too, very jealous," said 
 Liidenstein laughing. " And let me say further that 
 little Sachs does not play the game fairly. It is not 
 for holy men to filch their friends' sweetmeats away 
 from them." 
 
 She looked at him now with an ironic smile. 
 "You know that that is not true." 
 
 " No. I do not know it." 
 
 "You know that it is not true," Persis repeated. 
 "If I should ever marry Ludwig it will be because 
 of Herr Sachs. Yes; and it is by no means im- 
 possible, let me tell you, that I shall marry Lud- 
 wig." Her indignation brought the words. Yet, 
 now that they were uttered she felt nothing in 
 them that she wished to retract They seemed 
 true. 
 
 Liidenstein faintly flushed. For the first time she 
 saw him discomposed. They stood at the foot of the 
 steps and eyed each other. "You do not torment 
 me, Fraulein Persis," he then said, and in his glance, 
 too, there was irony, "as much as you perhaps im- 
 agine. No; do not misunderstand me, my immunity 
 is based not on indifference, but on permanence. 
 
 282
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Were you Ludwig's wife I should not feel more hope- 
 less than I now do." 
 
 Persis's cheek had flamed. She found herself, as 
 so often with this man, bewildered. Her skilful foil 
 had been struck from her hand. " Ah, I see," she 
 murmured. She began to mount the steps. 
 
 " And our music ? " said Liidenstein, smiling up at 
 her as she stood above him. " I am to play to you 
 to-day?" 
 
 " No. Not to-day, thank you." She looked over 
 his head. 
 
 "I have displeased you too much? I have of- 
 fended too much in my allusions to Herr Sachs? 
 Such holy ground is not permitted to my feet ? " 
 
 "I think that may be it," said Persis. "At all 
 events I do not want to hear you play to-day." She 
 left him standing there and went into the house.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 THAT afternoon Persis walked up to the woods. 
 She went slowly, in the shade of her parasol, 
 and the heat was pleasant to her and the balmy air 
 part of her mood of lassitude. She felt, after all the 
 stresses and terrors of the last weeks, dispossessed, 
 and wanly convalescent. And though she knew that 
 struggle lay before her and that her talk with Sachs 
 that morning had been filled with admissions which, 
 when she came to review them, might amaze her, she 
 need not review them now. The breath had blown 
 over her. The shadow was gone. And the menace 
 of evil, too, had not that been put aside, a part of the 
 shadow only ? She did not want to think, but only to 
 walk dreamily and to taste the sense of freedom and 
 of life renewed. 
 
 She found the spot she sought; the bank under 
 the tall trees where she and Ludwig had sat and talked 
 together of their newly found friendship and he had 
 told her of his life. She sat down on the bank, laid 
 her parasol beside her and took off her hat. And 
 presently she leaned back and rested her head in the 
 deep grass and closed her eyes. 
 
 It was very still. The sunlight slanted from be- 
 hind over the bank. When she glanced out between 
 
 284
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 her lashes she saw herself encompassed by green 
 shadows as the light filtered down from the radiant 
 sky through screens of verdure. Fragrant, still, de- 
 licious. The Arctic rigors that had bound her heart 
 were all melting and flowing from her in peaceful 
 streams. Happy beginnings were in the dreamy calm. 
 Her arm lay out upon the grass and she turned her 
 palm to it so that she could feel its warmth and soft- 
 ness ; so deep and warm, she found her thoughts drift- 
 ing into a pleasant torpor and that, again, sank into 
 oblivion. She was nearly asleep when she heard the 
 sound of footsteps approaching her. 
 
 For a moment, overwhelming her peace with dark- 
 ness, came the thought of Liidenstein. She was ready 
 to spring to her feet when she recognized the quick, 
 light, nervous step and then, raising her lashes to a 
 glimmer, saw that it was Ludwig himself who was 
 coming up through the woodland. She was aston- 
 ished, and then delighted. He was so much better. 
 No doubt he had gone to the pension and her mother 
 had told him to seek her here. It must be so. He 
 had come to find her, and with the certainty some im- 
 pulse kept her lying motionless. He would believe 
 that she was asleep and she waited to see what he 
 would do, finding her there. 
 
 The memory of her words to Sachs came to her: 
 " He has never told me so." What had they not 
 revealed to him and to herself, they and her tears? 
 He had never told her, and how could she know her 
 heart until he did so. So she lay still and the presage 
 
 285
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 of solution, troubled, yet delicious, filled her. This 
 would be the answer, the escape, the initiation; and 
 in this spot, hallowed for them, the pettinesses, the 
 bitternesses, the misunderstandings would fall away. 
 He would tell her that he loved her and she would 
 know that she loved him ; dear, strange, absurd, beau- 
 tiful Ludwig. 
 
 She closed her eyes now, for he had seen her and 
 he drew near quickly. She heard him pause above 
 her, looking down at her, and delight in her own love- 
 liness, caught from his imagined delight, stirred in 
 her breast. She knew, for the first time, a woman's 
 intimate joy in her own beauty and, as she seemed to 
 slumber, unaware and oblivious, she heard her heart, 
 far below the happy tumult, heavily throbbing. 
 
 Wehlitz sank down on the grass beside her. 
 
 A long silence followed. It grew so long that Per- 
 sis ventured another glimmer. He was not looking 
 at her but up at the sky and trees. His uplifted pro- 
 file, seen thus from below, was singularly candid and 
 ingenuous. She had never seen him look so simply 
 happy. Near them a bird piped three soft reiterated 
 notes, so near that it seemed one might touch it with 
 an out-stretched hand. The time of singing was long 
 over; this was a musing call rather than a song, and 
 after a little interval it was repeated. Wehlitz smiled, 
 drawing a long breath. 
 
 A sense of almost heart-breaking pathos contracted 
 the young girl's throat and filled her eyes with tears. 
 The happiness of which Conrad had spoken seemed 
 
 286
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 as near them as the bird's soft call; they had only 
 to put out a hand to touch it. She saw herself putting 
 out the hand; stretching gentle arms to him and say- 
 ing : " I know that you love me. I will take care 
 of you, for the world, for your work, for ever." 
 Her heart stood still as the vision came, so close was 
 it to accomplishment. She seemed to hold back her 
 hand, to hold her breath, to give herself a moment 
 longer before putting all her life to the test. And 
 as she paused, as she waited, she seemed to see herself 
 and Ludwig returning to Tannenkreuz, affianced 
 lovers. She saw herself the wife of the great man, 
 the strange, mysterious genius. And then the picture 
 of happy love seemed slowly to turn and to show her 
 its prosaic yet ambiguous sequel. Ludwig and her- 
 self in a home together; Ludwig and herself at work, 
 the sinister, inexorable loneliness of his thought shut- 
 ting the world away, crushing them together in a 
 tragic unity. How could she live with Ludwig? He 
 was foolish and violent and suspicious and he looked 
 like the little chemist in the dusty Italian town. 
 Trivial fears, like a cloud of gnats, uprose above the 
 deep fear and her mind drew back, denying, refusing 
 to look; she saw herself, her hands before her face, 
 fleeing as if from imminent peril. No, no, she could 
 not hold out her hand. Then came a sense of void 
 and darkness. She struggled with herself in a cold 
 bewilderment. Oh! to recover the gladness of a lit- 
 tle while ago! And now she argued with herself 
 or was it against Conrad? and was it not for Lud- 
 
 287
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wig's sake? "How can I judge of the sequel with- 
 out the initiation? I do not know. I cannot know. 
 If he will show himself my lover, now, all the future, 
 from the one foothold of reality, will show itself so 
 differently to me. What I must know is his love, his 
 ardour, his delight." She caught her very thoughts 
 to stillness then, for, as if in answer to her inner cry, 
 she felt Ludwig stir as he sat beside her. 
 
 Now it had come. Now he would lean to her. She 
 would hear his voice. He would plead, and smile, 
 and tremble; and she, for all answer, would she not 
 put up her arms to him? Yes; she would let him 
 take her in his arms and kiss her. A bright colour 
 flooded her face and throat. He leaned near her, and 
 nearer still. And then, again, he was motionless. 
 
 A coolness had fallen across her cheek. She could 
 interpret his movement. He had seen her flush and 
 had shielded her from the sunlight. Her heart sank 
 slowly from its loud beating and again the long green 
 silence flowed about them. But now there seemed 
 to lap into it, as if from a sluggish, subterranean river 
 of darkness, all the lassitude, the weariness, the irrita- 
 tion of the past weeks. He did not intend to wake 
 her. He did not intend to tell her that he loved 
 her. There was to be no solution, no lifting wave of 
 feeling. She opened her eyes. He was looking at 
 the sky and she examined him fixedly, with a chill 
 scrutiny. She counted for as much and as little in 
 his happy mood as the bird and grass and sunlight- 
 There was no ardour in his heart. 
 
 288
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She stretched out her arms; they felt, curiously, 
 as if she had been engaged in some exhausting physi- 
 cal conflict; she sighed and rubbed the backs of her 
 hands over her eyes. And now, at last, when every- 
 thing was over, everything too late, he looked down 
 at her and smiled at her. She simulated a mild 
 amazement. 
 
 " You have been asleep," he said, nodding. " You 
 were sleeping when I came. And I have been watch- 
 ing you." 
 
 She propped her head on her hand and lay looking 
 at him. 
 
 " Do you know what it has been ? " Wehlitz went 
 on, with the gentle, musing gaze, " Feldeinsamkeit. 
 You remember the song of Brahms; the blissful dis- 
 persion of the soul in light and warmth and loneli- 
 ness? See those clouds, Persis. They look, do they 
 not, as if carved, ripple upon ripple, in thin chalcedony 
 upon the blue. Mein Gott! what peace, what love- 
 liness!" 
 
 His smile had left her. She had become, again, a 
 part of the day's sweetness only. His eyes were lifted 
 to the rippled sky and he was silent, well content to 
 be so, needing nothing further. 
 
 It was, she saw it clearly, his inmost soul, innocent, 
 Germanic, sweet and deep, its torturing Nessus-robe 
 of thought fallen from it, and she hated herself, see- 
 ing his beauty; for she was far from her own soul, 
 alienated, perverted with conflicting griefs. She 
 wished to hide herself and weep. 
 
 289
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 His eyes returned to her at last. " And you were 
 part of it, your sleeping face, Persis," he said. " The 
 face of one dear to us, who sleeps, is very touching. 
 It becomes holy in its helplessness, its strange, secret 
 strength. I could weep over the sleeping face of one 
 I love; but to-day the tears would have been happy 
 tears. You have had joyful dreams as I watched 
 over you, my little Persis?" 
 
 She was filled with shame, overwhelming shame. 
 An older woman could have read with a more tolerant 
 comprehension her own impulses. To her girlish 
 heart, turned against itself, her pretended sleep, seen 
 in contrast with his trust, took on the guise of an 
 unworthy coquetry; and that she should see him as 
 so beautiful, yet feel the beauty as a wrong, this was 
 a deeper unworthiness. The bitter scorn that welled 
 up in her was for herself rather than for him, yet it 
 involved them both. " No ; I have not dreamed," 
 she said, hearing the curious dryness of her voice. 
 " My empty sleep was n't at all holy." She sat up, 
 took her hat upon her knees and pulled out its rib- 
 bons. 
 
 "Ah, but no sleep is empty; it listens, it journeys, 
 it gathers power. You are tired, displeased, Persis? 
 I woke you, though I sat so quietly?" 
 
 She was afraid that she must break into tears, and 
 saw his peace, like the stillness of the rippled sky, 
 invaded by a town's shrill tumult. Fretfully she re- 
 plied : " No ; oh, no ; you did n't wake me. Dis- 
 pleased ? Why should I be displeased ? " and rising 
 
 290
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 she tied the ribbons of her hat under her chin. 
 Through the misery and disarray of her thought ran 
 the longing, rootless, hopeless, yet importunate, that 
 he might understand understand better than she her- 
 self could do and rise and take her in his arms. 
 But, not moving, he looked up at her and his eyes 
 seemed at once to darken and to become dulled. They 
 dwelt on her with their normal sad intensity, yet they 
 withdrew from her. " I do not know. You seemed 
 displeased with me. You are going back to the 
 town?" 
 
 She took out the little watch tucked in the ribbon 
 at her waist, swallowing hard on a rising sob. " Yes. 
 It is four o'clock. Mamma will be expecting me back 
 for tea." 
 
 The muscle in his cheek began to twitch. He 
 smiled ironically. " We are very considerate of 
 Mamma when we wish to leave our friends." 
 
 " I thought that you were coming back, too," said 
 Persis, coldly. Her heart seemed broken. 
 
 " But no, but no," Wehlitz replied as coldly, lean- 
 ing his elbow in the grass and turning his eyes from 
 her. " Why should I go back when I have only just 
 come away? I came to think, to be at peace and 
 alone." 
 
 " Since you came to be alone, you must not say 
 that I make pretexts for leaving my friends," said 
 Persis, turning away, but slowly, and looking about 
 her as if uncertain which path to take. 
 
 His eyes followed her. " You go then. Good. 
 291
 
 It is well. Is it Liidenstein to-day you are to meet, 
 or Conrad? It must, unless I am much mistaken, be 
 a rendezvous with one or the other that bids you 
 hasten, rather than Mamma. Good. May it be a 
 pleasant tete-a-tete." 
 
 This was his real self, too, this triviality, this folly, 
 this jealousy founded on the claim of no ardour. Yet 
 she had the feeling of a guilty creature as she slowly 
 walked away, making no reply.
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 SIGNORINA ZARDO had spent that morning 
 with Wehlitz. He was much better and she felt 
 no surprise, on returning in the afternoon, to hear 
 that he had gone out. Doubtless it had been to find 
 Persis, whom he had not seen since the evening be- 
 fore. She was engaged in writing a number of busi- 
 ness letters for her friend and sitting down at the 
 table she went on with her work until the sun slanted 
 in over her papers. She rose then, to pull down the 
 blind and, as she stood at the window, saw Ludwig 
 slowly mounting the steps of the terrace beneath ; from 
 his gaze, as he raised his eyes to her, a profound mel- 
 ancholy reached her. 
 
 Of all her many unfortunate or troubled friends 
 Wehlitz was the one whose welfare lay closest to 
 Signorina Zardo's heart. She seemed to see him, 
 always, walking on the verge of perils from which 
 her own hand was too feeble to withhold him and to 
 pray that some stronger hand would be stretched forth 
 to draw him to safety; as if one watched, helplessly, 
 a somnambulist silhouetted tragically against the sky 
 and knelt in the street below, silent and supplicating. 
 "Ah! il povero!" she murmured now, running to the 
 door to receive him, and as his dragging step came 
 
 293
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 along the corridor and he appeared before her, she ex- 
 claimed : " But my friend ! what does this mean ? 
 Where have you been? You have exhausted your- 
 self." 
 
 He crossed the room and threw himself into the 
 chair near the window and for some moments, as he 
 sat gazing out at the bright, soft evening he did not 
 answer her question. Only after she had repeated, 
 with urgency, " Ludwig, where have you been ? " did 
 he say ; " I have been to the woods. It is true ; I 
 am exhausted." 
 
 " Ah ; it was too far to go, on your first day of real 
 convalescence. Your hand burns, as if you were fe- 
 verish again." 
 
 He did not look at her, though, passively, he al- 
 lowed her to take his hand and left it lying between 
 hers. Eleanora was almost in tears. Presently, turn- 
 ing his dull eyes to the table, he said, pointing to a 
 roll of manuscript that the post had brought : " From 
 Volmar, that must be. May I see it ? " 
 
 She handed the parcel to him and he opened it, 
 drawing out a letter and the corrected proofs of his 
 great work. He had sent them some days ago to this 
 distinguished man, a former associate of his at the 
 University. When Wehlitz had read the letter, which 
 was short, a sickly flush covered his face and for some 
 moments he sat in silence, gazing at the wall before 
 him ; then, handing it to Eleanora, he said : " The 
 last nail in the coffin of a friendship," and turned 
 his eyes again on the trees outside. 
 
 294
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Signorina Zardo read. The letter expressed, coldly 
 and concisely, its writer's reprobation and repug- 
 nance. 
 
 " Dull, dull, dull man ! " Signorina Zardo murmured. 
 She stole a glance at Wehlitz, aghast indeed, for 
 Volmar's judgment was a power in Europe. 
 
 " Yet the kick of a jackass can kill," he commented. 
 " My book is dead." 
 
 " No, Ludwig ; no, no, no that is une idee noire." 
 Signorina Zardo laid the letter back upon the table, 
 forcing her tones to good cheer. " His is a mind fixed 
 in its own formulas, hardened in its scholastic mould. 
 You cannot expect understanding from such as he. 
 Wait, Ludwig, wait, till the young minds of Europe 
 have heard your voice. Then you will gather your 
 laurels." 
 
 " I shall never gather laurels. They may come, but 
 they will be bound upon a skull," said Wehlitz, and 
 his flat, quiet voice alarmed his old friend more than 
 violence would have done. " And I ask for no laurels. 
 I ask for but one loving and understanding heart. 
 Young minds? What of the mind of Conrad? He 
 loves me so he says and he does not understand. 
 What of the mind of your Persis? Ah," he slightly 
 laughed, "there is one who neither understands nor 
 loves." 
 
 " Persis ? You say this of Persis ? " cried Signorina 
 Zardo, amazed. " Did I not see you together, only 
 last evening, and all was well with you? How can 
 you speak so of one who truly loves you?" 
 
 295
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " It is easy for you women to talk of love/' said 
 Wehlitz, with his smile of sickly irony, " and easy for 
 you to receive it but to feel it, no. I do not speak 
 of you, Eleanora, you are not as other women. I 
 speak of Persis. Hers is a hard heart and there is no 
 love for me in it. It is, I sometimes think, my great 
 misfortune to have met her." And suddenly, turning 
 his face to Signorina Zardo's shoulder, he leaned it 
 there, saying : " I am lonely, Eleanora. I am lonely, 
 and very unhappy." 
 
 " Ludwig ! Ludwig ! My poor friend ! What 
 has happened ? " She bent over him with murmurs of 
 compassion and entreaty. " Tell me what has hap- 
 pened. Let me know. Do not judge her so hardly. 
 This is a misunderstanding; a lover's quarrel, 
 Ludwig." 
 
 He shook his head, still keeping his face hidden 
 on her shoulder. " No ; no lover's quarrel. She 
 does not love me. She will never love me." 
 
 "Why do you say so? Why do you think so? 
 You know what I feel for you, and for her, Ludwig. 
 That you should find each other was one of my deep- 
 est hopes. It breaks my heart to hear you speak like 
 this." 
 
 " I have seen her," said Wehlitz, with difficulty. 
 "I found her in the woods and we spoke together. 
 No; I cannot tell you. She mocks me. She mocks 
 my tenderness for her. She despises me. I am ri- 
 diculous in her eyes, and she makes me ridiculous in 
 my own. It must end, Eleanora." His voice had 
 
 296
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 changed. He raised his head. " It must end. I 
 shall leave Tannenkreuz." 
 
 " But you have explained nothing, Ludwig," 
 Eleanora cried. " Wait. Do not be so hasty. You 
 misjudge Persis; I feel that you are unfair to her. 
 There is some misunderstanding here." 
 
 He looked at her sombrely. " You will defend her, 
 and Conrad will defend her. You all conspire to 
 throw the blame on me. Well, so be it. Hers is 
 the noble heart and mine the mean one. So be it. 
 I am well accustomed to my solitude." As he spoke 
 there was a tap at the door, and Eleanora, turning 
 quickly, breathed: 
 
 " It will be Persis herself come to make all right. 
 She was to have had tea with us to-day. You will 
 remember." 
 
 But as Ludwig cried out, in a voice curiously 
 blended of fear and hope, " Come in! " it was Liiden- 
 stein who entered. 
 
 He paused on the threshold to glance from one to 
 the other of the strained faces. 
 
 Wehlitz started to his feet. " Enter ! enter, 
 Ernst ! " he cried with a laugh that seemed to dangle 
 in mid air like some galvanized hanging creature. 
 " Come in ! It is too long since we have had one of 
 our good talks! Sit down that chair and take 
 your pipe. The Signorina permits, as we know. I 
 have heard a jackass bray this evening, Ernst, loudly, 
 in my ear. See give him the letter, I beg of you, 
 Eleanora. See what Volmar writes to me. It is in- 
 
 297,
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 telligent, as you will find. A crack of the whip at his 
 heels will be my fitting answer." 
 
 Ludenstein had crossed the room and sunk in his 
 accustomed place, and, as he opened and read the 
 letter, Wehlitz stood grasping the back of his chair 
 with both hands, keeping feverish eyes upon his 
 friend. Eleanora also fixed Graf von Ludenstein 
 with a steady, contemplative gaze. 
 
 " No ; it is not intelligent," he commented, smiling 
 and glancing up from the letter which he then tossed 
 back upon the table. "Waste no lashes upon him, 
 my friend. He will not care to stray again into your 
 mountain pastures; the savour of their pungent herbs 
 is not one that his fat paunch can digest. Let the 
 colic that this letter so accurately expresses be his 
 punishment." 
 
 Wehlitz laughed loudly. "Aha! Well said! 
 Well said, Ernst! The Colic-Giver! My new title! 
 I dispense gripes and writhings to our plethoric, 
 flatulent Europe. Ah, you are a man after my own 
 heart, Ernst," he continued to laugh his loud, mirth- 
 less laugh. " And now you can do me another serv- 
 ice. The Signorina and I were talking of Frau- 
 lein Fennamy and of my suit to her. You see her 
 often, Ernst. You have just come from her, is not 
 that so? What do you feel as to my chances? 
 As a loyal friend, Ernst. Come, as a loyal 
 friend." 
 
 He had ceased to laugh. Ludenstein, filling his 
 pipe, looked at him with half -closed eyes. " I did 
 
 298
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 not know that you still courted Fraulein Fennamy, 
 Ludwig," he observed. 
 
 " You did not know that I courted her ? You did 
 not know that I hope to make her my wife? " Wehlitz 
 spoke with sharpened accents. " Has she told you 
 that there is no hope for me ? " 
 
 " By no means. You are mistaken if you think 
 that the Fraulein makes confidences to me. When we 
 meet it is for music, or I am sent by you to her, as 
 it was the other day, you will remember. I can barely 
 count myself a friend. No; I have not come from 
 the Pension Miiller, but I went there this morning, 
 hoping for an hour of music, and she dismissed me. 
 She had work to do, she said." 
 
 Wehlitz had come round his chair and sank into it, 
 looking intently at his friend and repeating : " She 
 dismissed you. She had work to do. There was no 
 music to be had to-day." 
 
 For a little time after this there was silence, broken 
 only by the meditative puffs of Liidenstein's pipe, the 
 creaking of Eleanora's silk bodice as she breathed and 
 the soft tap-tap of Wehlitz's finger-nails on the arm 
 of his chair. The pipe presently drew with a little 
 sputtering sound, and taking it from between his 
 teeth to press the tobacco in and to relight it, Liiden- 
 stein pursued laconically : " But if you wish for au- 
 thoritative information as to the state of Fraulein 
 Fennamy's feelings, Ludwig, it is to friend Sachs that 
 you should address your inquires. He is her father- 
 confessor, and has often, I imagine, a penitent to 
 
 299
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 counsel and console. So it must have been this morn- 
 ing when I found them so cunningly hidden in the 
 orchard. She was weeping, and there had evidently 
 been a scene of much emotion between them." The 
 pipe drew clearly; Ludenstein puffed gently at it be- 
 tween his sentences, his eyes fixed on the trees outside. 
 A deep flush mounted to Wehlitz's face. 
 
 " They are friends, good friends," he said, thickly, 
 after a moment's silence. " And Conrad is my emis- 
 sary to her when I cannot go myself. Weeping? 
 .Why was she weeping? Tell me what you saw ! " 
 
 " How can I tell you why she wept? " said Luden- 
 stein, slightly smiling. " I am not her father-con- 
 fessor. No, he could not this morning have been 
 your emissary, for she desired him to tell you, did you 
 question him, that it was she who had waylaid and 
 taken him from his work. It is at the grille, at the 
 foot of the garden, that she waits for him." 
 
 " Speak plainly ! " Wehlitz cried, with a sudden dis- 
 maying violence. The veins were swollen in his neck 
 and forehead, and he started forward, grasping both 
 arms of his chair as if to restrain himself. " Speak 
 plainly! What do you know? She loves him! 
 Have I not suspected it ! Together they mock at me 
 and my doctrines ! " 
 
 " Calm, my friend ; calm," said Ludenstein gravely, 
 raising his hand. "Do not rush so rapidly to con- 
 clusions so crude. Yes. I will speak plainly, and 
 I am glad that you give me this opportunity for frank- 
 ness. All that I should wish to say to you, Ludwig, 
 
 300
 
 THE ENCOUNTER" 
 
 is this: if you must send an emissary to a woman, let 
 it be a rake rather than a Parsifal." 
 
 "A rake rather than a Parsifal?" Fallen back in 
 his chair, Wehlitz looked from Ludenstein to Eleanora 
 with a sort of bewilderment. 
 
 " Precisely," said Ludenstein, nodding. " How 
 could you expect your courtship to flourish in such 
 hands? His feeling for her you were at once aware 
 of. Love? It is nothing so commonplace and noth- 
 ing so wholesome, this self -deceiving sublimation of 
 instinct. There is no conscious treachery to you ; dis- 
 miss the idea of such a thing. Could he make his 
 appeal to her if he were not the veritable saint? It 
 is her soul, my friend, her soul he seeks to sustain 
 and lift, and what woman since the world began was 
 ever able to resist that finest flattery of being told 
 that she had a soul and a soul precious to its dis- 
 coverer? You could not deal in these delicate com- 
 fits, my poor Ludwig. No; I make no accusations. 
 I advise you, that is all, if you still hope to make 
 Fraulein Fennamy your wife, to send Parsifal pack- 
 ing." 
 
 Sunken in his chair, Wehlitz gazed starkly at his 
 friend. Eleanora unfolded her arms as if with pre- 
 caution and clasped her hands tightly together in her 
 lap. 
 
 " I perceive," Ludenstein added, turning his eyes 
 on her with a slight bow, " that what I say is no news 
 to the Signorina." 
 
 " You all deceive me ! " shouted Wehlitz. Elea-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 nora for a moment had kept a silence that might be 
 construed as helpless. He raised himself in his chair 
 and turned to confront her. " You are all conspired 
 to deceive me ! What is it, then, that you, too, know ? 
 Where is it that you, too, have seen them cunningly 
 hidden? What is it that they say of me? Speak! 
 This is the time for plain speech if there is any 
 friendship for me in your heart ! " 
 
 "I am grieved, grieved, grieved, Ludwig," said 
 Eleanora in a low voice. "And you know that 
 I do not speak of these matters except to you 
 alone." 
 
 " But you must speak now in Liidenstein's pres- 
 ence! If what he says is false refute it!" 
 
 "A half-truth is difficult to refute, Ludwig; Graf 
 von Liidenstein's is that only, if as much as that. 
 Did I not implore you at the time to pay your suit 
 to Persis in person and to send no deputy? And did 
 not Herr Sachs implore you? It is untrue untrue 
 what Graf von Liidenstein says of Herr Sachs, and 
 he knows it, and you should know it too. He does 
 not hide with her. He does not filch her heart from 
 you that would be the deed of a far different man; 
 and if she has come to depend too much upon him 
 whose is the fault? Why do you not win her as 
 your wife?" And slightly panting now from the 
 accumulated impetus of her speech, the good woman 
 added, casting a glance of open hostility upon Liiden- 
 stein: "And of Graf von Liidenstein's insinuations 
 I will only say that if some, it may be true, deceive 
 
 302
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 themselves, for others no such excuses can be 
 offered." 
 
 " It is only self-deceivers who are in need of ex- 
 cuses, Signorina," Liidenstein returned. He had, 
 during her speech, smiled with an air of quiet relish. 
 " What do I say that you have not said also ? I 
 warn Ludwig as you, unless I misunderstand you, 
 warn him that he should make love himself, and 
 not send others to console for the lack of love-making. 
 And if we must not speak of love, I see, too, as you 
 do, that if Fraulein Fennamy is to have a father-con- 
 fessor it would be well that he should at least teach 
 the same creed as Ludwig's. A mind so young as 
 Fraulein Fennamy's may well become confused if 
 Herr Sachs, on the one hand, is engaged in rescuing 
 her from the teachings that Ludwig, on the other, 
 seeks to impart. One may steal minds as well as 
 hearts; and there is more than one way of stealing 
 hearts. Bah ! " throwing back his head he laughed 
 softly. " These religious cravings of the female 
 heart! Have you not yourself, Ludwig, with your 
 delicate sense of irony, laid bare again and again these 
 lures of nature? That longing to draw close close 
 to the saint, to look deep into his eyes to weep 
 upon his shoulder? What does it mean what 
 has it always meant but the mask of desire? Our 
 young Fraulein is passionless, it is true, cold with the 
 arid coldness of her pinchbeck race. There are but 
 two ways of winning such a woman. One is through 
 hci vanity; her ambition, the other through her reli-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 gious instincts ; and they, indeed, are but another form 
 of that insatiable vanity which is woman. I speak in 
 commonplaces. Is not history their embodiment? 
 Send him away, Ludwig, send your Quasimodo 
 Parsifal away, and then show the Fraulein an ideal- 
 ized portrait of herself, or else equip yourself with 
 worldly potency. Place her high. Set her foot upon 
 the neck of others. Only so will you win her. 
 Never, Ludwig, never, as the scrupulous, passionless, 
 impoverished professor. Why, is it not as plain as 
 day? I speak to you as a friend." He had spoken, 
 indeed, with full gravity and even with an unaccus- 
 tomed bitterness, and rising he knocked out the ashes 
 of his pipe against the stove, avoiding the smoulder- 
 ing glance of his stricken friend. Glancing at Elea- 
 nora, he murmured : " It is now the Signorina's 
 turn, and I perceive from her demeanour that she will 
 not spare the calumniator of her sex. Believe me, 
 gnadiges Fraulein, in all that I have said, I hold you 
 a shining exception." He bowed before her and left 
 them. 
 
 Some moments passed before Wehlitz turned his 
 eyes upon Eleanora. She met them with resolution. 
 But, after the encounter, bending his head upon his 
 arms, he murmured: "I shall go mad. Between 
 you all you will drive me mad." 
 
 " My Ludwig," said Eleanora. She came to him 
 and sat down beside him. " Listen to me. Courage ! 
 Do not let dark thoughts come. You are over- 
 strained overweary, that is all. Listen to me, Lud- 
 
 304
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 wig. It is true. I could not speak before that man. 
 An evil man; do you not feel it? Oh, he is not fit 
 to tread in the footprints of little Sachs, and he seeks 
 to part you from him. And why does he seek it, 
 Ludwig? Why? He is jealous; he is devouringly 
 jealous of Sachs and of the bond that unites him 
 to Persis. Could a soul such as his understand such 
 a bond ? It is laughable ! With his talk of Parsifals ! 
 I scorn him ! " Tears had come, and she paused only 
 to dash them away while Ludwig, still, lay like a 
 wrecked thing. " Listen, Ludwig," she went on, lay- 
 ing her hand upon his shoulder. "Be calm. Is it 
 not clear to you that he himself loves Persis and would 
 win her from you and Sachs? From the first, from 
 the first day they met, I read his mind. Her mother, 
 too, read it. Annetta saw with me. And you, my 
 hawk-sighted Ludwig, were not so blinded; you, too, 
 suspected; you, too, saw in his eyes as they rested on 
 her the cold appraisement of the libertine. And now 
 he bides his time in the hope of sowing dissension be- 
 tween you and Persis, and you and Sachs, and of 
 making her his victim. Ah! if she were another 
 woman, I might tremble for her, for he has power 
 and charm and skill. But I know Persis. He 
 amuses her only, and his music pleases her; that is 
 all. No, Ludwig, her heart is yours. Yours, I re- 
 peat it, whatever may have passed between you to- 
 day. And the time has now come for courage, de- 
 termination, ardour. You heard his sneer; you heard 
 what he said of you the passionless professor. He 
 
 305
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 does not believe you capable of winning a woman's 
 heart! Laugh at him and at his sneers! Prove to 
 him how little he knows of you judging as he does 
 by gross standards. Woo her; woo her yourself, 
 Ludwig. You will win her; I answer for it that you 
 will win her. Ah! it is propitious. Here is our 
 good, our trusted friend, Herr Sachs himself!" 
 
 Wehlitz raised his head; his eyes, dazed with their 
 long hiding, blinked rapidly as he fixed them upon 
 Conrad. Without speaking, he watched him as he 
 advanced into the room and took his place at the table. 
 
 " Herr Sachs will uphold me in all that I have said," 
 Signorina Zardo murmured. Lud wig's demeanour 
 alarmed her. 
 
 " Herr Sachs is in the good graces of the ladies, as 
 we know," said Wehlitz, smiling. " Well, and when 
 did you last see your interesting young friend, Con- 
 rad? I may ask? I make no claim to be admitted 
 to your secret conferences." 
 
 Sachs looked at him with grave attention. " I saw 
 Fraulein Fennamy this morning, Ludwig," he replied. 
 
 "Ah! you are frank; a brave, honest creature. 
 Eine gute Haut. You would hide nothing from your 
 friend. You spoke of me? Perhaps this, too, I may 
 learn from you." 
 
 " We spoke of you ; yes," Sachs looked down now 
 at the table. 
 
 " And what did you have to say of me, eh? Good 
 things, Conrad? Good, friendly things?" 
 
 "I found Fraulein Fennamy somewhat perplexed 
 306
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 and distressed, Ludwig. Your lack of trust in her 
 disturbs her; your jealousy. I explained to her that 
 these difficulties arose from your devotion to her and 
 that it was natural that you should distrust other 
 influences in her life my influence, for instance. I 
 do not think that you would have found anything to 
 complain of in what was said of you." 
 
 At this, for some moments, there was silence. 
 
 " And she? " Wehlitz presently asked. 
 
 " What she feels, I think, Ludwig, is that a more 
 perfect devotion would show more trust. She feels in 
 your demands upon her a menace to her freedom." 
 
 " Her freedom ! " Wehlitz sneeringly laughed. 
 "The freedom of the female! If I could impose my 
 will upon our despicable civilization, that freedom 
 would consist in moving from the hearth to the cradle 
 and back again ! " 
 
 " I am afraid it is this instinct in you that the 
 Fraulein detects and resents," Sachs commented with 
 some dryness. "If what you say is true, why do you 
 waste your time in teaching your philosophy to her ? " 
 
 Wehlitz now turned his head away and looked out 
 of the window. " I do not need that taunt from 
 you," he said presently. " I teach her philosophy be- 
 cause she will not consent to be my wife." 
 
 " I do not taunt you," said Sachs gently. 
 
 There was silence again for a little while. Sachs 
 twisted and untwisted the fringes of the mat that lay 
 beneath the lamp. His face, while they had spoken, 
 had dully flushed. " Why do you say that she will 
 
 307
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 not marry you, Ludwig? " he said at length. " That 
 is not a correct way of putting it. You have never 
 asked her to marry you. May this not explain much 
 of the trouble now between you ? " 
 
 " Ah ! But that is what I wished to ask you ! " 
 Eleanora cried. " That is what I was saying to Lud- 
 wig as you came in! He loves her, yet he has never 
 wooed her. What woman's heart was ever won in 
 such a fashion? How can he know what is in her 
 heart for him ? " 
 
 " I go further, signorina/' said Sachs. " How can 
 she know what is in her own heart ? " 
 
 "Her heart?" Wehlitz repeated. His voice had 
 changed. Its irony and bitterness were gone. 
 " There is no love for me in her heart. Did I not 
 see it, clearly, at last, to-day? Kindness sometimes, 
 and admiration sometimes, and sometimes pity; but 
 love never. How can I speak of love to a heart so 
 hard? It is only to love that love can speak." He 
 leaned his head down on his arms. 
 
 Sachs and Eleanora exchanged glances of profound 
 anxiety. 
 
 "You will rest now, Ludwig," said Eleanora, 
 rising. "You are overworn. You will rest, and 
 Herr Sachs will sit beside you and keep you com- 
 pany." 
 
 " No, no; I will be alone," said Wehlitz in a muffled 
 voice. 
 
 " But," said Eleanora after a pause, in which her 
 eyes and Sachs's again sought mutual counsel, " you 
 
 308
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 will go to bed, will you not? You will try to get 
 some sleep ? " 
 
 " I will go to bed. I shall hope to sleep," he re- 
 peated dully. 
 
 She laid her hand upon his shoulder. "That is 
 well, Ludwig. That is well; and when you have 
 slept you will see that all these dark thoughts are 
 phantoms. You will be strong again, you will be 
 yourself. And, Ludwig, I beseech you, delay no 
 longer. Go yourself to Persis and ask her yourself 
 to marry you. Yes; to-morrow. Let this uncer- 
 tainty and misunderstanding end." 
 
 " I will not ask her to marry me," said Wehlitz. 
 " I do not wish to marry her. We do not love each 
 other." 
 
 Signorina Zardo stood above him, taken aback. 
 
 Suddenly he raised his head. " Do not be trou- 
 bled," he said. " I shall sleep well. I am not the 
 man to be brokenhearted over a brittle girl. You will 
 come to-morrow, Eleanora, and help me again with 
 my letters? Yes? There is still much to do. And 
 Conrad has his researches to continue in the heart of 
 Fraulein Fennamy. We must not interrupt him; no; 
 that would be a pity. We must not take the services 
 of her father-confessor from her." 
 
 " Ludwig ! Ludwig ! " said Eleanora in a low voice 
 of pain and reprobation. 
 
 But rising and sweeping his hand at them, though 
 still he did not turn his eyes on Sachs, he cried : " I 
 will hear no more! I am ill! I am exhausted! If 
 
 309
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 I am to do my work, I must have peace! And my 
 work is still of value to the world ! yes, though you 
 may all laugh at it ! Good-night to you now. I have 
 no more time to waste in talk of love-affairs." 
 
 "If you wish it, Ludwig, if you wish it, yes," 
 Eleanora murmured, casting a frightened glance upon 
 him. Tip-toeing with discretion, as though in a sick 
 room, she moved towards the door, Conrad, pale and 
 heavy and with downcast eyes, following her.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 MRS. FENNAMY dressed and came down 
 earlier than was her wont next morning. 
 Persis had breakfasted in bed, and there had been no 
 temptation to loiter over coffee and rolls. It was a 
 wet day, too, and the sound of the south-western rain 
 dashing against her window-panes had depressed the 
 little lady. Ten o'clock, therefore, saw her exchang- 
 ing comments on the weather with the major in the 
 salon. Here Eleanora came to seek her, and Mrs. 
 Fennamy looked with some anxiety at her friend's 
 face as she laid a hand upon her arm and drew her 
 into the sitting-room. She seemed not to have slept. 
 She was haggard and dishevelled, and had evidently 
 been crying. 
 
 " The only thing," Mrs. Fennamy objected, as Elea- 
 nora closed the sitting-room door upon them, " is that 
 Persis and Herr Wehlitz will want to have their les- 
 son here this morning. He 's up again, you know. 
 He came here yesterday afternoon and went up to 
 the woods to find her." 
 
 " He will not come this morning, Annetta," said 
 Signorina Zardo. " I should not be surprised if you 
 were never to see Ludwig Wehlitz again." 
 
 3"
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy, who had seated herself at the table, 
 looked at her in surprise. " Why, what 's happened, 
 Eleanora ? " she inquired. 
 
 Resting her elbows on her knees, as she sat on the 
 sofa, Eleanora covered her face with her hands. " I 
 do not know what has happened," she said. " All 
 that I know is that she has hurt him, hurt him cruelly, 
 and that to-day he refuses to see either me or Herr 
 Sachs. Oh, my blame is not only for Persis; the 
 wrong lies deeper. For, at the beginning, her girl's 
 heart turned to him, and he was robbed of it." 
 
 "Robbed of it?" Mrs. Fennamy again inquired. 
 " How do you mean, Eleanora ? " 
 
 Signorina Zardo now rose and walked up and down 
 the little room. She held her handkerchief to her 
 eyes. " It is you," she said. " It is you, Annetta ! 
 You have broken and destroyed him. Had it not 
 been for you she might have loved him." 
 
 "Well, I never!" Mrs. Fennamy mildly ejaculated. 
 Her eyes followed Eleanora with solicitude. 
 
 "You cannot deny it! You cannot deny it, 
 Annetta! Not if you are honest with yourself! " 
 
 "I never thought him attractive physically, if 
 that's what you mean," said Mrs. Fennamy after a 
 moment. 
 
 "Attractive! Physically! Yes! it is what I 
 mean," said Eleanora. " How is a young girl to fall 
 in love if there is no physical attraction? What is 
 physical attraction but an infection, a suggestion, the 
 subtlest, most derivative of feelings? A girl may be 
 
 312
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 turned towards or from a man by a glance of ad- 
 miration or irony." 
 
 To this Mrs. Fennamy nodded assent. " That 's 
 perfectly true, Eleanora," she said. "I've often 
 thought so and how queer and dreadful it is, in a way, 
 to think that these important things in life are more 
 like cobwebs than like the bonds of steel people im- 
 agine. All the same, you know," she continued, " I 
 don't think it's quite fair to say I was ironic. He 
 often surprised me very much and seemed to me very 
 foolish; but I never felt ironic exactly. I just didn't 
 admire him; that was all. And if it was that that 
 kept Persis from falling in love with him, I can't 
 say I 'm sorry for it, you know, though I 'm as sorry 
 as can be for Herr Wehlitz." 
 
 " No ; you are not sorry," said Eleanora. She still 
 walked up and down, but her tears had ceased and her 
 arms hung dolefully at her sides, " You have no re- 
 gret or pity. Your heart is like your child's, a hard 
 one. Yet it would have redeemed and made him 
 whole, that desolate man. He needed only the touch, 
 the look. Love ; the simple, tender things ; they were 
 there beneath his hand, and you robbed him of them 
 you, Annetta, with your childishness and your small 
 marionette's vision. Had Persis been alone in Tan- 
 nenkreuz this autumn, Ludwig would have won her." 
 
 There was silence after this for a little while. 
 Eleanora had gone to stand beside the window from 
 whence she gazed out with her tear-worn eyes, un- 
 seeingly, into the wet day, and Mrs. Fennamy sat at 
 
 3*3
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 the table, meditating, quite without resentment. 
 " If it 's true, Eleanora," she said at last, " if it 's true 
 that I influenced Persis without trying to, it 's his own 
 fault, too, that he has n't won her. He 's worn her 
 out. If he'd let his theories more alone and made 
 love to her like any other man, she might have taken 
 him in spite of everything you say I did." 
 
 Eleanora looked out into the street. " He could not 
 be like another man, Annetta," she said, and now 
 with a deep melancholy from which all accusatory 
 violence had passed away. " I, too, saw that his dif- 
 ference from other men was to lose her to him. It 
 was her mind she gave him to win, and it was his 
 appeal to her, his charm, his weapon, that he wished 
 to win her mind. He showed her the philosopher, 
 when he was in reality the lover, because she had led 
 him to believe that it was the philosopher she valued. 
 If she could have loved him she would have released 
 the lover. If beauty could have kissed the beast, the 
 prince, freed from his enchantment, would have 
 stepped forth. Now, all is too late." But, as she 
 spoke these last words Eleanora's gaze had become 
 fixed and lighted. " Annetta ! " she said, after a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 "Yes? What is it?" Mrs. Fennamy asked. She 
 rose and came to stand beside her friend. A dark 
 figure, bent beneath a wet and wind-buffeted umbrella, 
 was slowly approaching down the street. They 
 watched it. 
 
 " It is Ludwig," said Signorina Zardo. She turned 
 314
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 to look into her friend's eyes. " It is Ludwig," she 
 repeated. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy had faintly coloured. " So perhaps 
 it is n't all too late," she said gently. 
 
 " That was why he would not see us," Eleanora 
 murmured. She clasped her hands on her breast. 
 " And he is coming now to put all to the test. He is 
 coming to woo her himself." She caught her friend 
 by the hand and drew her rapidly away from the win- 
 dow. " Quick," she breathed. " Quick. He must 
 not find us here. He must not know that he is not 
 alone."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 PERSIS had just finished dressing when she was 
 told that Herr Wehlitz was waiting for her be- 
 low. It was eleven, an hour later than their usual 
 time, and a dark presage had weighed on her while 
 she slowly moved about her room. She had expected 
 that he would not come, yet to have the hour pass 
 by and to know expectation fulfilled, had been like 
 a punishment measured out drop after drop. She 
 thought of the scene of yesterday with a sick self- 
 disgust. She had been cruel to him, and she deserved 
 to lose him. Yet now, when she knew that he was 
 waiting for her, there mingled with the deep relief 
 a deep weariness with herself, rather than with Lud- 
 wig; with all the intricacy of the baffling, enmeshing 
 situation. And worse than all, a dark embarrassment 
 surged up over her, suffocatingly, as she went down 
 to meet him. 
 
 His appearance, as she entered the little sitting- 
 room, startled her. He seemed shrunken, dusty; he 
 had the piteous shrivelled look of a mummy, some- 
 thing measurelessly old and helpless. Even the fierce- 
 ness of his eyes seemed extinguished; they were like 
 two spots of bitumen in the mummy's face. She gave 
 
 316
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 him her hand, murmuring " Good-morning," and, 
 without speaking, he quickly withdrew it and turned 
 away from her to the table where their books were 
 piled. 
 
 She came and stood at the other side of the table, 
 also looking down at the books. "Ludwig, I am so 
 sorry about yesterday," she said, while the hot colour 
 rose in her cheeks. "I was horrid to you; I don't 
 know why I must have been sleepy. I am often ill- 
 tempered when I wake." 
 
 For a moment he said nothing, ranging the books 
 in the way habitual to him; then in a dry voice he 
 answered : " I grant you my forgiveness." 
 
 She was disconcerted by this reception of her act 
 of penitence. She sat down and drew the books to- 
 wards her. Wehlitz remained standing. " Persis," 
 he said, "we have come to a crisis in our relation' 
 ship." His voice was curious; an automatic voice; 
 the voice of the mummy galvanised to speak. The 
 sunken eyes fixed on her filled her with discomfort. 
 " Have we ? " she murmured. 
 
 " A crisis," Ludwig repeated. " You must know 
 it, too. It racks me. There was pain before and un- 
 certainty; not this sinister darkness. It must end. 
 And I have come this morning to ask you whether 
 you have for me another answer than the one you 
 sent to me, now six weeks ago, by Conrad." 
 
 She sat there amazed. "Another answer?" 
 
 "Another answer. Will you marry me? Yes or 
 no? I ask it now myself." 
 
 317
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 She had risen from her chair. " Why do you ask 
 me that now? Like this?" 
 
 " I ask you because I must know. I ask you be- 
 cause we must dally no longer. Do you love me? 
 Will you marry me?" He was trembling. He 
 rapped with his knuckles on the table as he spoke. 
 
 " But we were to be friends, devoted friends. You 
 accepted my answer. You agreed to what I offered 
 then." 
 
 Wildly, violently, raising his hand, he shook the 
 words away. "No no no. It is not what I 
 asked what I ask. My wife security peace. 
 Will you marry me? Yes or no. I send no deputy 
 now with my question." 
 
 Only some desperate determination in which he 
 tested his own strength had carried him so far. He 
 spoke with an automatic fierceness in which was no 
 ardour and no hope. Persis looked away from him. 
 
 " I cannot marry you," she said in a dull voice. 
 
 There was silence for some moments. After the 
 effort with which he had launched himself upon this 
 final venture a heavy confusion fell upon him. She 
 read in his averted face and fixed eyes the sick depths 
 of his wounded vanity. His demeanour dismissed a 
 horrid surmise. He had not, that was evident, 
 guessed at her secret expectations of yesterday, re- 
 constructing, after her departure, her mysterious be- 
 haviour. No; that affront had not been offered, 
 though this belated proposal, prompted, it seemed, by 
 hostility rather than by love, was almost an affront.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 The silence, however, continued, and she began to feel 
 pity for him. " I am so sorry that there should have 
 been any misunderstanding, Ludwig," she said. " I 
 hope that it need not harm our friendship. I am 
 ready to go on, you know, as your true friend." 
 
 Still he did not speak, picking up and looking at 
 one of the books. " A true friend," he then repeated in 
 a dry and clipping voice. " A very true friend indeed. 
 I ask nothing better in life than a true friend." 
 
 His manner angered her, but she controlled her re- 
 sentment. She still was very sorry for him. " Well, 
 you have one. Shall we begin? I have been study- 
 ing every day since your illness." 
 
 " Ah ! I am proud of my devoted pupil." He 
 seated himself opposite her, and turned the pages of 
 his book. " You have finished reading this, as I de- 
 sired you to do ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; some days ago. Here are my notes." 
 She handed him the sheaf. 
 
 Wehlitz appeared to peruse them with close atten- 
 tion. " Oh yes, I see," he murmured. He looked 
 up at her. " And these studies have made clear to 
 you the mathematical certainties underlying my doc- 
 trine?" 
 
 Her eyes met his, and now, indeed, he might read 
 something like fear in them. By some deep instinct 
 of his writhing vanity he had leaped to his most 
 fundamental self-assertion. This was not the moment 
 for dispassionate sincerity. " Which doctrine do you 
 mean ? " she asked feebly, temporising. 
 
 319
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "Which doctrine? Can you ask? The Eternal 
 Return of all things. Yes, Persis," and now, at last, 
 his eyes rested darkly on her and with a bitter smile, 
 " again and again, to all eternity, you and I shall meet 
 in this small, dull room, and to all eternity you will 
 tell me that you cannot marry me. It is a sportive 
 doctrine, as you will have perceived; a doctrine fitted 
 to give good cheer and breathe a stout heart into us. 
 And I laugh back at it scorn for scorn ! It is clear 
 to you, I ask, that necessity ? " 
 
 No; it was not the moment for dispassionate sin- 
 cerity; yet was it the moment for the evasions of pity 
 and compunction? " What seems to me most clear is 
 that freedom, not necessity, is your doctrine," she 
 said. " They can be reconciled, I am sure." 
 
 His eyes were on her, fixed. " Reconciled ? I do 
 not deal in paps and sops and reconciliations." 
 
 " Do not misunderstand me," she murmured. 
 
 He had become very pale. " Misunderstand you ? 
 I understand you. And I understand why, to-day, 
 I find you ashamed to meet my glance. These are 
 Conrad's thoughts, not yours." 
 
 "Ludwig, there is a discrepancy in your thought. 
 You say that I am your comrade, your helper. Let 
 us talk frankly together; let us see, together, if we 
 cannot make your real meaning clear." 
 
 "My comrade! You! You are my enemy! 
 These are Conrad's words! You have talked of this 
 with Conrad ! " 
 
 " I tell you that I saw the discrepancy for myself.'* 
 320
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 His eyes were flaming as though her words had 
 held a torch to them. "For yourself!" he echoed, 
 loudly laughing. " A woman think for herself ! 
 No, no, my child! You are steeped in Conrad's 
 thought finding mine too cold and stormy! You 
 lave yourself in Conrad's tepid waters; they are com- 
 forting, are they not? soft, scented soap-suds! The 
 thought of a mere, poor, truthful philosopher who 
 deals only in icy sea-water has no chance against 
 scented soap-suds ! " 
 
 She looked down, flushed and sombre. " No one 
 sees your strength so clearly as Conrad. He has 
 shown it to me. I could not have seen it for myself 
 there is that truth in what you say." 
 
 " He has shown it to you ! I am obliged to him ! 
 And he has, with the strength, shown you the dis- 
 crepancies or, no those, you tell me, you discov- 
 ered for yourself! Ah! he interprets me to you and 
 tells you that my necessity is freedom, and my rigour 
 love. Tell him from me that in my world there is no 
 place for the double-faced, no place for weaklings who 
 dare not face the truth ! " 
 
 A faint smile now flitted on her face. It veiled 
 the nervous tremor with which his violence affected 
 her, but it revealed her scorn. " It is strange that 
 you should find Conrad weak. He seems to me the 
 strongest person I have known. He has the great- 
 est strength; the strength that dares love weak- 
 ness." 
 
 "False! False! False!" Wehlitz cried, almost 
 321
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 sobbing, beside himself with grief and anger. " He 
 is a hypocrite! a double-faced hypocrite! and he has 
 stolen you from me! Strength! Yes, his is the sly, 
 writhing strength of the worm the plebeian strength ! 
 Faugh! did I not see it from the first in the thick, 
 coarse features, the eyes holding the mean patience 
 of all the lowly generations that have gone to the 
 making of him! Yes, Fraulein Fennamy, and more 
 still since we are speaking plainly let me tell you 
 my further thought of your devotion to this bour- 
 geois. That you should turn to him shows some 
 mean strain of blood in you! It is like to like, with 
 your hybrid American origins! Eleanora talks much 
 of your Irish ancestry your proud, Celtic ancestry! 
 Pah ! she is a simpleton ! It is, I could swear it, from 
 paltry peasant rebels you descend, driven from their 
 land by the noble race that dominates and rules them ! 
 No ! " he sobbed, as he met the chill scrutiny of her 
 gaze and saw its cutting glint of irony, " you are not 
 the aristocrat I believed you to be ! " 
 
 He leaned, then, panting on the table, pushing the 
 books aside with a shaking hand, expecting, it was 
 evident, passionate denial and protest from her. 
 But for a long time Persis was silent, her eyes down- 
 cast, her fingers playing automatically with the pen 
 she had taken up; and the depth and finality of their 
 alienation was borne in upon the desperate and 
 wretched man before her by the stillness of this de- 
 liberating pause. If she felt humiliation was this 
 not what it said? it was because of her friendship 
 
 322
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 with him, because of her intimacy with a man who 
 could stoop to such smirching littlenesses. 
 
 She said at last, not raising her eyes to him: 
 " The mark of the aristocrat, you always said, was 
 fearlessness. Is n't it true that you fear the weak 
 and lowly because you feel their defects in yourself? 
 Is n't it true that you turn to Conrad for the same 
 reason that I do, because he is strong where we are 
 weak?" 
 
 " False ! False ! " Wehlitz wailed, frantically dart- 
 ing from his chair. " It is a lie : and your tongue is 
 a serpent's tongue! I am a plebeian and a weakling, 
 then! And it is Conrad's strength to care for me! 
 I understand what she hisses the smiling snake! I 
 understand her vengeance ! Yet I could tell you tales 
 of Conrad! No! no! I do not stoop! It is his 
 homage his service that I have accepted the trib- 
 ute of the low to the high! I have suffered him! 
 I suffer him no longer! My hat! Where is my 
 hat?" He looked around with a wild dazed look. 
 
 Persis rose and gave it to him. She felt, as she 
 looked into his ravaged and distorted face, a blow of 
 pity. '' You are not strong enough to strike your 
 friends from you," she said. " You are beside your- 
 self with rancour." 
 
 He gave a strange, high laugh. "Beside myself! 
 Mad! Yes! I am mad! And you have driven me 
 so ! " And casting a malignant glance upon her he 
 darted from the room.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 ALL that day Persis waited. She could not have 
 said what she was waiting for. Everything 
 was over and she did not know whether it was she 
 who had destroyed beauty, who shattered a treasure 
 that lay within her hand or whether the horrid, 
 ironic intuition came again and again, making her 
 sick there had never been any beauty and never any 
 treasure, whether it had all been a mistake not even 
 tragic. Until she had seen Conrad again, and had 
 confessed to him and had received his condemnation 
 or absolution she felt that the chapter was not closed. 
 But he did not come. Nor did Eleanora. The whole 
 day passed and no one came to the Pension Miiller. 
 Persis had said nothing to her mother, but that even^ 
 ing, when they went up to dress for dinner, she asked 
 her if she was not ready to leave Tannenkreuz. " I 
 should like to start for Paris, directly, mamma, if you 
 do not mind." 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy said at once that she was quite 
 ready to go and that Mrs. Bartlett's flat was waiting 
 for them, as Persis knew. They could leave next 
 day, or the day after. There was only the packing 
 to be done. Persis began her packing that evening 
 
 324
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 after dinner and by bed-time one large box stood 
 ready and there was only the small one to finish. 
 
 She woke next morning feeling sure that a letter 
 must come to her from Conrad. But the post brought 
 only a long, silly screed from an Italian girl whom she 
 had met the year before in Rome and whose youthful 
 dreams of independence and emancipation she had 
 encouraged. 
 
 She lay on, looking dully out at her room with its 
 scattered effects, thinking that she would again have 
 her breakfast in bed so that she need not face her 
 mother over the shared and intimate tray. She had 
 decided upon this when she heard the sound of weep- 
 ing in her mother's room. A moment's attention re- 
 vealed the grief as Eleanora's. Persis lay listening 
 with a faint, stiff smile. Poor Eleanora's plaints al- 
 ways made her think of the muffled neighing of a 
 horse and she could picture her walking up and down 
 and pouring them out, while she clutched at her bodice 
 with both hands. After a little while they ceased and 
 she heard Eleanora go away. Shortly after this her 
 mother, wrapped in her dressing-gown, came into her 
 room. " I just came to tell you about Eleanora," 
 Mrs. Fennamy remarked, standing at the foot of the 
 bed and looking round the room rather than at Per- 
 sis. " She wanted to come in to you, but I said I 
 guessed you were worn out over the whole thing and 
 that she 'd better go away just now. She says per- 
 haps she '11 come to Paris with us." 
 
 "What is the matter with her?" Persis inquired. 
 325
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " She has told you, I suppose, that Ludwig asked me 
 to marry him, yesterday, and that I refused him." 
 
 " Yes ; she told me. And she 's had an awful night 
 with him. Poor fellow," Mrs. Fennamy added, sur- 
 prising her daughter. 
 
 " And you blame me, too, and think me a monster 
 of hard-heartedness ? " Persis remarked, turning on 
 her pillow. But Mrs. Fennamy, with evident sin- 
 cerity, replied, " Why no, I don't, Persis. I don't 
 see that you are to be blamed any more than he 
 is." 
 
 " Well, what is he going to do ? " Persis asked after 
 a moment. " Is he gone away already ? And is 
 Herr Sachs gone with him?" 
 
 " No, not yet. But he 's going. And that 's what 
 makes Eleanora so miserable. It 's parted him and 
 Herr Sachs. He won't see Herr Sachs. He says 
 he '11 never see him again. And he won't let any 
 one come with him or tell Eleanora, even, where he is 
 going." 
 
 "He won't see Herr Sachs?" 
 
 " He sent down word to him twice last night that 
 he would n't see him. Herr Sachs is dreadfully up- 
 set, of course." 
 
 Persis lay reflecting. Suddenly she sat up and 
 threw the clothes aside and put her feet to the 
 floor. 
 
 "Well, Persis?" Mrs. Fennamy inquired, eyeing 
 her. "Aren't you going to have your breakfast in 
 bed?" 
 
 326
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " No. I shall get up. I must see him." 
 
 "See him? Herr Wehlitz?" 
 
 " No. Herr Sachs." 
 
 She had pressed her ringer to the bell. 
 
 " I would n't do that if I were you, Persis," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy after a moment. " If Herr Wehlitz 
 hears about it it will make him feel worse than ever 
 about Herr Sachs, and what one hopes is that he '11 
 make it up with him after a little while." 
 
 " I cannot help what Ludwig hears or thinks. I 
 must see Conrad." 
 
 The maid had come. Persis ordered her bath and 
 her breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy looked at her for a few moments 
 longer and then went away into her room. Half an 
 hour later she heard Persis go downstairs. 
 
 After the day and night of heavy wind and rain, 
 it was a high, chill, boisterous and sunny day. The 
 air was full of fluttering golden leaves and the streets 
 of the little town seemed freshly set out for some 
 charming drama. A woman at a corner was selling 
 roses from a large basket. " Good luck go with you, 
 Fraulein," she said as Persis passed and her maternal 
 smile was so winning that, moved by a half super- 
 stitious impulse, Persis stopped and bought a bunch 
 of the crisp, red flowers. Her mind, as she hurried 
 on, holding them to her face, was filled with dissolving 
 pictures. Ludwig had failed her, and he had failed 
 Conrad. He had cast them both aside, and if in 
 much the fault was hers in this it was not so; and 
 
 327
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Conrad was faultless. Conrad would forgive her if 
 she had been cruel, and he would come with them. 
 They would study together. She saw a table piled 
 with books over which they bent, snowy Paris outside. 
 He would teach her. He would understand and sus- 
 tain her. Yet under the vision which the fragrance 
 of the roses seemed to evoke lay a heaviness of heart 
 that felt like guilt. 
 
 Sachs had gone out. She reflected, standing at the 
 door, and then said to the landlady that she would go 
 up and leave a note for him. In his room she looked 
 about her with her intent, impersonal gaze; a poor, 
 bleak, student's room, a badly made bed in one corner, 
 a chest of drawers with a cracked mirror upon it in 
 another, a stove and a flimsy table piled with books 
 and papers. The outer garments of Sachs's scant 
 wardrobe hung against the door. 
 
 Persis found a piece of note paper and, leaning 
 over the table, wrote : " I beg of you to come at 
 once. I must see you." She folded the paper and 
 laid the bunch of roses upon it. Then she went back 
 to the pension. 
 
 She could not now go on with her packing. She 
 told her mother that she expected Herr Sachs and 
 that they would leave next day. The morning passed 
 in a tension of eagerness so great she felt it as a tor- 
 por, a strange drowsiness, like the mist made by a 
 dragon-fly's wings, beating with inconceivable rapidity. 
 Her heart seemed to drowze and droop and ache with 
 anxiety. 
 
 328
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Sachs's answer did not come till after luncheon and 
 it was brought to her in the garden where she was 
 sitting with her mother over coffee in a nook of 
 bright sunlight. Her ringers shook as she opened 
 it. " Gnadiges Fraulein" it ran, " I can not come. 
 I am in great trouble and I am leaving Tannenkreuz. 
 I thank you from my heart for all your kindness to 
 me." 
 
 Over the letter Persis gazed, meeting her mother's 
 eyes. She had become very pale. 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " Mrs. Fennamy asked 
 presently. 
 
 Persis rose and stood looking before her into the 
 garden. She did not seem to hear the question, but 
 after a moment she laughed and said : " No, noth- 
 ing is the matter. I shall not see Herr Sachs again, 
 either, that is all." After another moment she added. 
 " I must finish my packing." 
 
 She went up the steps into the salon and passed 
 their sitting-room, its door ajar, so that she could see 
 the sofa where she had sat with Conrad; the books 
 upon the table. She had forgotten the books; they 
 must be packed. She went in to gather them up, 
 but they slid from her arms. No; there were too 
 many of them ; and she would not now go on with her 
 packing. Strange little stage, where so much had 
 happened! and all was over now, the actors van- 
 ished like wraiths. She stood looking about it for a 
 moment longer and then went upstairs. 
 
 In her own room, she went to the window and 
 329
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 looked out. She could see her mother sitting below 
 there on the warm flags near the house. She had 
 ceased to drink her coffee and was sitting still, gazing 
 before her. She was anxious, no doubt, and yet how 
 little she could guess at what was worse than sorrow 
 in this closing scene of the autumn at Tannenkreuz. 
 The Lombardy poplars were shaking through all their 
 height as if with an angry menace. They made her 
 think of a cemetery she had seen in Italy, a hideous 
 place, decked out in bead wreathes. " That is where 
 it all ends," she thought ; " in the bead wreathes." 
 She turned from the window and sank down on a 
 little chair placed against the wall and her eyes now 
 fixed themselves on an old-fashioned print framed 
 in a rustic frame that hung over the bed. It repre- 
 sented a German Mddchen, with hair dressed in a 
 chignon and the ruffled, tightly fitting bodice of the 
 'seventies, leaning from a rose-wreathed window to 
 kiss a moustached youth. Persis felt that she had not 
 really seen this picture before. She examined it care- 
 fully, her head leaning back against the wall, her hands 
 lying, palm upward, in her lap. The girl was a girl 
 of her own age, but very portly; she wore a necklace 
 and a bracelet and a rose behind her ear, and her eye- 
 lashes and her bust were romantically emphasized. 
 Lovers ; they were lovers ; and what would such a cou- 
 ple be like to-day, such a romantic German couple? 
 She saw them ; a stout matron with heavy chin and hard 
 appraising eye; a paunched, glazed citizen; she saw 
 their home, its hideous comforts ; she saw the brood of 
 
 330
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 children. And all to end in the bead-wreaths. Her 
 eyes dropped then to Sachs's note, lying in her lap. 
 He left her. She was alone in this world, hateful 
 and ridiculous. He, too, like Ludwig, like herself, 
 was hateful and ridiculous. 
 
 The nightmares of the last weeks, those nightmares 
 that he had dispelled, surged up over her, no longer 
 definite but only the more horrible for their suffocat- 
 ing formlessness, thick, black, wave upon wave, cloud 
 upon cloud, all Ludwig's eternity of dread, immense 
 black clouds of horror like tidal waves, towering and 
 shutting out the sky. She was alone and her barrier 
 against the wilderness was gone. A vast emptiness 
 seemed to engulf her. 
 
 There was a knock at the door. She heard it as if 
 from far away. The maid, in answer to her mut- 
 tered assent, came in and told her that Graf von 
 Ludenstein was below and had asked to see her. 
 Persis looked at the girl for a moment. Her mind 
 seemed to swing in the void. She said that she would 
 see the Herr Graf. 
 
 When the girl had gone she rose and stood still in 
 the middle of the room. Her body felt curiously 
 light, as though the dark agony had condensed in 
 vapour and bore her up. It was relief, a wild relief 
 that mounted in her and was it not almost joy? She 
 sped downstairs and felt that she was outracing some- 
 thing. She entered the little sitting-room almost with 
 the impetus of a long-imprisoned gaiety released. 
 Liidenstein's face showed its surprise.
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I am glad to see you ! " she exclaimed. " I have 
 spent such a morning of boredom." She hardly knew 
 what the words were that came to her lips. 
 
 Liidenstein examined her. " You and Ludwig 
 have parted, I hear," he said, and he spoke gravely. 
 
 She crossed the room and sank down on the sofa, 
 and looking up at him, smiling, she nodded and said: 
 " Yes, we have parted." 
 
 Stroking his beard, he stood before her, silent. 
 
 " Have you seen him ? " she asked. 
 
 "No; his door is closed to me. He will not see 
 me," said Liidenstein. " Ah. So you have sent him 
 away. Poor Ludwig; he will be suffering." 
 
 " I have not sent him away," said Persis laughing. 
 " He has gone. It is always Ludwig's sufferings that 
 you all think of. No one can give a thought to 
 mine." 
 
 " But you are not suffering," said Liidenstein, still 
 with his gravity. " No, no ; a marble nymph cannot 
 suffer, not even when unfortunate men of flesh and 
 blood dash themselves to pieces against her." 
 
 " Can she not ? " she answered, faintly smiling. 
 
 He drew nearer, leaning against the table with 
 folded arms, looking down at her, and it was in a 
 changed voice that he said presently, " Are you suffer- 
 ing, Fraulein Persis ? " 
 
 For a moment she did not reply. The sting of 
 tears mounted to her eyes. How little he understood 
 her. Only Conrad understood, and he had left her. 
 " I am bored," she said, speaking in the childish, sullen 
 
 332
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 voice, her eyes downcast so that he should not see 
 the tears. 
 
 Again there was a little silence. Liidenstein stood 
 above her, looking at her, and she continued to stare 
 down at the carpet. 
 
 " Aux grands maux grands remedes" he said at 
 last. " We must find some remedy for your bore- 
 dom, Fraulein." 
 
 " It will be difficult to find." 
 
 "You seek it?" 
 
 " We are leaving Tannenkreuz to-morrow for 
 Paris," she replied. " Had you not heard ? " 
 
 " Ah. You are going to Paris ? No ; I had not 
 heard." He stroked his beard. " I, too, then, shall 
 leave Tannenkreuz. But why not sooner? Why not 
 to-night, indeed ? And why to Paris ? " 
 
 She had the impression, horrible, yet delicious, of 
 his strength, his strange, alien strength, that could 
 pause and take its measures and make its implications 
 and risk nothing through importunity. He might be 
 saying everything; he might be saying nothing; but 
 the apple hung there and she was the Eve again, the 
 Eve, guilty already in her delay beside the tree. In 
 a darkened and gorgeous world, she laid her hand 
 upon the apple. 
 
 "Why indeed?" She had now lifted her eyes to 
 his and she dimly and ironically smiled. " Had you 
 intended to follow us? " 
 
 " Yes. I had intended to follow you," said Liiden- 
 stein ; " when you went. But do not let it be Paris. 
 
 333
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Paris is not a place for great remedies a vulgar, 
 flaunting town. Why not wide, far travel? Egypt? 
 Egypt and the Nile? You have never been to 
 Egypt?" 
 
 " I think of the Nile as the symbol of monotony. 
 It would be as bad as Tannenkreuz." 
 
 " Sicily, then ? " said Ludenstein. " A ride through 
 Sicily. You ride ? " 
 
 "Yes. I am fond of riding." 
 
 "And you have not seen Sicily?" 
 
 "No. We have never yet gone to Sicily. I do 
 not like discomfort of any sort. It is a difficult coun- 
 try to travel in with comfort I have heard, once one 
 has left the beaten track." 
 
 " That depends on how one travels. With escorts, 
 servants, money freely spent, one can find comfort 
 in very nearly every country. Sicily; yes; one could 
 go south to Italy to-night and be in Sicily within two 
 days." 
 
 She sat silent. She had, in the silence, a sensation 
 of speed, of flight, as though, though they were so 
 still, she were an Europa borne away among the 
 waters. Horror and delight rang through her. The 
 horror was not of him. Curiously, she felt no touch 
 of fear of him; they were equals; she, a woman, 
 choosing her fate. She said at last. " I must 
 think." 
 
 "But not alone, then," said Ludenstein. He be- 
 trayed no quiver of triumph. He did not stir. 
 " You will think with me ; and not here." 
 
 334
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Where then ? " They spoke in lowered voices ; 
 it was the only symptom of their state. 
 
 " It is a fine afternoon. Let us go up to the woods 
 where we may deliberate with no fear of interrup- 
 tion." He added, " From the woods the way is short- 
 est to the station and one would be unobserved. 
 The train does not go till 5.15." 
 
 She sat on for a moment longer, looking now not 
 at him but about the room. Then she rose and stood 
 before him. He took off his glasses and she found 
 herself gazing into his strangely bared eyes. She 
 did not fear him. She smiled at him, with still the 
 touch of irony, as though she mocked him and herself. 
 " Let us go to the woods," she said. 
 
 "Brave beautiful;" Ludenstein murmured. He 
 seemed nearer to her than if he had taken her in his 
 arms. 
 
 She smiled on ; " You do not know what I am. 
 We are going to deliberate. We are going to 
 think." 
 
 " We are going to think," said Ludenstein. 
 " Paris, boredom ; or the magic carpet, spread at your 
 feet. Once you step upon it you will only need to 
 wish and the wish will be accomplished." He looked 
 at her, his eyes still bared, and said: "I love you/"* 
 
 She turned from him then, murmuring that she 
 must get her hat and cloak. Fear had crossed her; 
 but, swiftly mounting to her room she beat it back 
 and told herself that now, in her own life, she was to 
 enact Lud wig's doctrine of freedom and peril and 
 
 335
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 scorn of the world's standards; the gulfs of loneliness 
 were behind her and great ranges of wild beauty stood 
 against the sky. 
 
 As she left her room, her hat tied under her chin, 
 her cloak wrapped round her, her mother came up the 
 stairs. 
 
 A singular hardness turned Persis to smiling, in- 
 scrutable stone. She stood still, gazing at her mother 
 and knowing in herself powers of dissimulation till 
 then inconceivable. If she hesitated, if she wavered, 
 she was lost. She stood there on her precipice path, 
 knit to the one resolve; a glance, a thought aside, 
 and she would be dashed down, to what depths of 
 helplessness, shame and abasement! She saw the 
 vision in a flash it made her giddy ; she might cast 
 herself weeping on her mother's breast. 
 
 " I am going for a little walk with Graf von Luden- 
 stein," she said. She heard the word " little " rever- 
 berate. A false step. She stiffened her lips to a 
 firmer smile. 
 
 It was, apparently, with mere mildness that her 
 mother looked at her. " Are you going to the woods ? 
 They '11 be pretty wet, I expect," she remarked. 
 
 "After all this sun and wind? Oh, no; it will be 
 delicious there." Delicious, too, was strangely ar- 
 tificial. She felt as if she were speaking through 
 the marble lips of some sinister mask. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy now glanced down over the ban- 
 nisters into the well of the staircase. 
 
 " I should think you 'd better stay and do your 
 336
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 packing," she remarked. " You '11 get all tired out 
 walking around the woods." 
 
 " I can pack after dinner." 
 
 " Oh, are you going to stay out till dinner-time ? " 
 
 This, in her mother, was an unaccustomed persis- 
 tence and Persis felt a shield in the touch of irritation 
 it caused her. " I may stay out till then," she said. 
 
 Her mother continued to look over the bannisters, 
 rather as if she expected to see Graf von Liidenstein 
 at the foot of the stairs, and now, yet more uncharac- 
 teristically, she went on : "I should think you 'd 
 rather stay in and have him play to you. His playing 
 is the best thing about him." 
 
 " The best thing about him is that he amuses me," 
 said Persis. " And I am very much in need of amuse- 
 ment to-day." She went by her mother and began 
 to go down the stairs. She had gone half down the 
 first flight when she heard her mother's voice again. 
 " Persis," it said. 
 
 She looked up. The placid little wax-doll face was 
 still bent over the staircase and, dimly fair against the 
 shadowed ceiling that was its background, it looked 
 down at her. 
 
 Persis paused. " It 's sure to be wet in the woods," 
 said Mrs. Fennamy, " and if you 're going to be wan- 
 dering around till dinner-time you '11 catch cold. 
 Wait a moment I '11 get your rubbers for you." 
 
 Helplessly, and ready to break into sobs of des- 
 peration, Persis waited until she reappeared carrying 
 the galoshes. She took them from her without speak- 
 
 337
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ing. She was trembling and she feared now that her 
 mother must surely read some strangeness in her 
 demeanour. But, as if satisfied that all was well, 
 Mrs. Fennamy remounted the stairs and went into 
 her own room.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 HALF-AN-HOUR later Sachs, piling his books 
 and clothes into a flat, battered little box, 
 heard the jingle and cracking of one of the Tannen- 
 kreuz carriages outside his rooms and, as he looked 
 out, his eyes, to his infinite astonishment, met those 
 of Mrs. Fennamy lifted to him from below. Mrs. 
 Fennamy, her black lace bonnet tied beneath her chin, 
 her black lace parasol in her hand, looked the picture 
 of composure; yet the young man knew at once that 
 her appearance here was abnormal. " Can I speak to 
 you for a moment ? " she said. 
 
 Sachs was in his shirt-sleeves. He hastily dragged 
 on his coat, took his hat and went down to her. 
 
 " I want you to come for a drive with me, Herr 
 Sachs," said Mrs. Fennamy, looking at him with some 
 intentness. " I expect you 're very busy, but I Ve a 
 special reason for interrupting you. It 's about Per- 
 sis. I can tell you while we drive." 
 
 "About Fraulein Persis, gnddige Frau" Sachs 
 faltered, looking at her with anxiety. " Can you tell 
 me here, then, perhaps? I am in the midst of my 
 packing; I expect to leave Tannenkreuz to-night or - 
 it depends on Ludwig to-morrow. I have not seen 
 
 339
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 him and when I have packed I must go in search of 
 him. He is not at his hotel." 
 
 " We 're all in the midst of packing, Herr Sachs," 
 said Mrs. Fennamy ; " and we 're all leaving Tannen- 
 kreuz to-night or to-morrow. But you 're fond of 
 Persis, are n't you? you 'd be sorry if anything was to 
 happen to her ? " 
 
 "Fond? Of Fraulein Persis? Yes; yes; very 
 fond indeed. It has grieved me to think that the time 
 for parting has come " Sachs spoke confusedly. 
 
 " It has come, I guess ; you need n't worry over 
 that," said Mrs. Fennamy, with a dim smile not unlike 
 her daughter's; " if that is what worries you. I know 
 you Ve said good-bye and that you feel it 's better not 
 to see her again ; and I think you 're right/' She 
 went on in an unchanged voice : " I 've an idea that 
 Persis is going to run away with Graf von Liidenstein 
 this evening, and I thought perhaps you could help 
 me to prevent it." 
 
 Sachs and she now looked at each other very in- 
 tently indeed, and, for some moments, without speak- 
 ing. " You see," Mrs. Fennamy went on, " you 
 wouldn't come to see her, so I suppose she felt des- 
 perate." 
 
 Sachs had grown very pale, but he did not speak, 
 either in protest or consolation. He stepped into the 
 carriage, and, Mrs. Fennamy, ordering the boy to 
 drive up to the pine-woods, they clattered down the 
 street. 
 
 " Persis has been very much upset over this affair 
 340
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 with Herr Wehlitz," Mrs. Fennamy continued; "more 
 upset than she knows ; and she 's very young, and I 
 expect she feels that everything is over. From the 
 way she looked this afternoon when she said she was 
 going to have a walk in the woods with Graf von 
 Ludenstein, I felt sure that she did n't intend to come 
 back. Well, I know you are a good man, Herr Sachs, 
 and like to help people, so I thought you 'd help 
 me. Persis cares for your opinion. You're the 
 only person I know who has any influence over 
 her." 
 
 Sachs sat, a hand on each knee, his face set and 
 curiously divested of all its comicality. " Do you not 
 think that you, perhaps, imagine this, gnddige Frau? " 
 he said. " Fraulein Persis is not in love with Graf 
 von Ludenstein." 
 
 " I know she is n't. But he 's in love with her. 
 And she 's desperate. When young people get des- 
 perate they can do dreadful things, Herr Sachs. I 'm 
 not standing up for Persis. I expect she 's pretty 
 bad. But I know the way she feels. She feels that 
 everybody is giving her up and that she may as well 
 give herself up. She just wants to try wicked- 
 ness." 
 
 " Yes, yes," Sachs assented, nodding. " I under- 
 stand that, gnddige Frau, I understand that. Do not 
 think that I am condemning the unhappy young Frau- 
 lein. No; and I have been to blame. I should not 
 have refused to see her again. I was thinking of 
 Ludwig. I am troubled about him, gnddige Frau;
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 very much troubled. If the Fraulein is unhappy, he 
 is indeed far more so." 
 
 They had by now left the town and were on the 
 broad road that led to the pine-woods. Neither Mrs. 
 Fennamy nor Sachs spoke for a little while. The 
 young man sat motionless, his eyes fixed before him; 
 Mrs. Fennamy could hear him repeatedly swallowing, 
 as if with effort, and, glancing at him, she saw that 
 his lips twitched and trembled with the effort to 
 repress tears. 
 
 " And what is your plan, gnddige Frauf " he asked 
 at last in a gentle voice. 
 
 Mrs. Fennamy also spoke with a certain effort, but 
 her plans were evidently all in readiness. " You 
 know there are three ways out of the woods," she 
 said ; " I saw them go up one through the vineyards. 
 The other leads straight on to the station and the 
 third comes out on to this road. I thought when we 
 got up to the pines you could take the path that leads 
 from here across the fields into the lower woods, and 
 I 'd wait for you, and if you did n't come back I 'd 
 know you 'd found her and were taking her home by 
 the vineyard path. It would be very humiliating for 
 her, would n't it, if I were to spring out upon them 
 and separate them? But you might have been up 
 there for a walk, thinking things over; it might look 
 quite natural." 
 
 Sachs listened attentively and nodded. " I could 
 have gone up to look for Ludwig. I had indeed 
 thought of looking for him in the woods." 
 
 342
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 "You may find them all up there together," Mrs. 
 Fennamy suggested. " I hope no one will be vio- 
 lent." 
 
 " And if I do not find them, gnddige Frauf " Sachs 
 inquired. 
 
 " They 'd be on the path to the station then," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy, " and we 'd drive straight off to the 
 station. There are lots of trains they might take; it 
 would depend upon where he was taking her. But 
 we might get there in time. He won't bring her down 
 this road, I 'm sure. But if he does they '11 meet 
 me." 
 
 She spoke composedly, if with a slight steadying 
 of her tones. Sachs's face suddenly contracted. He 
 looked as if he were going to cry. "And then, 
 gnddige Frauf" he inquired in a trembling voice. 
 " And then ? Should we follow them ? Could you 
 go alone? My difficulty is that there is also Ludwig 
 to be thought of. I fear for Ludwig; I greatly fear 
 for him. How am I to leave him ? " 
 
 " You mean you 're afraid he '11 commit suicide ? " 
 Mrs. Fennamy asked. 
 
 "Yes, that and more. I fear for his mind," 
 Sachs spoke in a low voice, touching his forehead with 
 his forefinger. " He has had too much to bear." 
 
 " I see," said Mrs. Fennamy after a moment. 
 " Well, you can come to the station with me if you 
 don't find them. And if they 're gone I '11 follow 
 them alone." And after a moment's pause, she asked 
 suddenly : " He 's not a cruel man, is he ? " 
 
 343
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Sachs's face still quivered. " Liidenstein, gn'ddige 
 Frau? He can be kind. And she has power over 
 him." 
 
 "Is he very bad?" 
 
 Sachs for a moment was silent, and the mother's 
 little face, turned to him, showed a slight greyness, a 
 pinching of the lips, as though some crumbling frost 
 had aged it. " He is a man with taste, gn'ddige Frau," 
 Sachs replied at last, bending down his eyes. " And 
 she has power. He may shatter her, but he will not 
 corrupt her." 
 
 Now they drove on in silence. They had reached 
 the pine-woods, the steep escarpment of the bank on 
 one hand, and on the other the fall to the lower woods. 
 Gusts of strong fragrance were blown upon them. 
 The narrow slip of sky above was tossed with hurry- 
 ing white upon deep blue. Mrs. Fennamy suddenly 
 motioned to the boy, and he drew up beside a little 
 path that ran into the pines. " Here," she said. " It 
 leads out over the fields and brings you to the beeches." 
 
 Sachs got out. 
 
 " I '11 wait for you," said Mrs. Fennamy. " Don't 
 let her know that I suspected her if you find her." 
 She leaned from the side of the carriage to press his 
 hand. The young man grasped it tightly, and they 
 looked into each other's eyes.
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 SACHS limped swiftly through the pine-woods and 
 out into the fields where the clouds cast long, 
 speeding shadows. He recognized, lying beyond the 
 fields, the contour of the beech-woods. Ludwig had 
 brought him once to his beloved spot, the little clear- 
 ing, with its bank and high trees, and in ten minutes 
 he reached the path that led there. Bushes here grew 
 thickly, and he went more slowly, not certain of his 
 way; but he saw, presently, the open, sunny space 
 glimmering before him, and then he heard the sound 
 of voices. A few steps further, and he saw them. 
 
 They stood in the dappled shade of the tall trees, 
 and she was in his arms. Not reluctant; no; that 
 was evident, as, steadying himself on his crutch for 
 a moment, Sachs stood still to look. Not reluctant, 
 yet, in the rigidity of her figure, her arms straightly 
 falling at her sides, her head pressed by his hand, not 
 bent, against his shoulder, there was determination 
 rathev than yielding. Ludenstein was speaking in 
 low, passionate tones. 
 
 Sachs put aside the last bushes and came for- 
 ward. 
 
 When he looked at them again they had parted, and 
 stood staring at him. Ludenstein was flushed. The 
 
 345
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 face of Persis seemed in its pallor like a still, uncanny 
 light. After his glance at it, Sachs turned his eyes 
 away. 
 
 Liidenstein was the first to recover himself. " Well, 
 Herr Sachs, and what do you do here ? " he asked. 
 His flushed forehead and narrowed eyes showed his 
 anger, but he spoke in a tone of contemptuous dis- 
 pleasure rather than with any menace or violence. 
 
 " I came to look for Ludwig," said Sachs. " I have 
 been looking for him." 
 
 " Ah. So. Indeed." Liidenstein was evidently 
 taken aback. He glanced sharply at Persis, with a 
 curious transformation of his usual sleepy gaze. 
 " He is not here, you see." 
 
 " No, I see that he is not." 
 
 " That being the case," Ludenstein continued, " you 
 will perhaps be kind enough to continue your re- 
 searches further afield and leave Fraulein Fennamy 
 and me to our conversation." 
 
 There was a slight pause. Sacks stood looking 
 down and screwing the point of his crutch into the 
 soft carpet of fallen leaves. 
 
 " No," he then said ; " since you have not seen him, 
 it is not probable that he is in the woods. I shall re- 
 turn to Tannenkreuz." At last he raised his eyes to 
 Persis. " Will you come with me, Fraulein Fen- 
 namy ? " 
 
 While they spoke Persis had not stirred. Her chest 
 sunken, her arms falling straightly, her head bent 
 forward, she kept her gaze fixed, in its strange bright-* 
 
 346
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ness, upon Sachs. When he looked at her now and 
 spoke to her, she started slightly, and her lips parted, 
 but no sound issued from them. 
 
 " Will you come back with me to Tannenkreuz, 
 Fraulein ? " Sachs repeated. 
 
 " Why should I come back with you ? " she asked, 
 speaking with difficulty. 
 
 " I do not know why, Fraulein. I only hope you 
 will." 
 
 Keeping her eyes on the young man, she pointed her 
 hand at Liidenstein. " I was going away with him. 
 I had just told him that I would go with him. We 
 were going to Sicily we were going all over the world 
 wherever I choose. He loves me." 
 
 "And do you love him, Fraulein?" Sachs asked, 
 while Ludenstein stood, his arms folded, frowning and 
 looking on the ground. 
 
 " No," said Persis, shaking her head. " I don't 
 love him. But I don't love anybody. I have found 
 out about myself. I am not different. I am like all 
 the other people; like all the people in Ludwig's 
 morass. The things I thought were real are not real. 
 I am not real. So why should I mind about love? 
 What I want is to be amused." The words fell 
 softly, evenly, like flakes of scorched and brittle paper 
 falling through the air. 
 
 " I think that if you do not love him, Fraulein, you 
 would do well to return with me," said Sachs. " You 
 would not be amused. You would be very unhappy; 
 very unhappy indeed." 
 
 347
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I could hardly be more unhappy than I am now. 
 And I should not be alone." 
 
 " Yes ; you would be alone, Fraulein. And you 
 might be even more unhappy than you are now." 
 
 " May I have my voice in this dialogue ? " Liiden- 
 stein now interposed. " I think that it concerns me, 
 as well as Fraulein Fennamy. She does not love me, 
 as she tells you ; but why, Herr Sachs, should she not 
 come to love me? Why may she not cease to be 
 unhappy? By what right do you pronounce against 
 the future? I say to you and to her that she will 
 love me; and I say that all the happiness possible to 
 us in life shall be hers. Freedom, and power, and 
 beauty; I can give them all, and love." His eyes 
 were on Persis. There was power and dignity in his 
 demeanour. Bowing his head, Sachs stood silent. 
 
 They heard the rustling of the trees around them. 
 Then Persis said : " Well, what do you answer for 
 me to that, Herr Sachs? Is it true, do you think? 
 Shall I go with him and see if it is true? At least he 
 loves me, and no one else does that." 
 
 Sachs stood silent, moving his crutch among the 
 leaves. 
 
 " Is it true, do you think ? " she repeated. Her 
 eyes sought his, and suddenly she saw that he could 
 not raise them. 
 
 " It may be true, Fraulein," he said. " I cannot 
 say. But I hope that you will not go with him." 
 And as she stood silent, looking at him, he said: 
 " Your mother loves you ; and you will leave her f or- 
 
 348
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 saken. And I, too, love you, Fraulein, though I can 
 give you nothing." 
 
 " Ah ! " was breathed a deep note from Liiden- 
 stein. " This is what I expected ! " He drew his 
 shoulders together in a gesture of repudiating exas- 
 peration. " This is what I was waiting for ! Soul 
 versus body! The saint versus the sinner! The 
 same old comedy and a piteous one of lovely, fool- 
 ish Thais and the desert monk with the same ending. 
 Do you know how it ends, that old story, Fraulein 
 Persis? Do you know what is the fate of the poor lit- 
 tle Thais who follows the desert monk? They wall 
 her up ; they wall her up in her youth and beauty in a 
 narrow cell, and leave her there to wither until such 
 time as the angels come to find the little dried skeleton 
 and take it up to their heaven. Are you to be caught 
 by such flimsy snares as these you, the proud young 
 thinker? No, no; listen to me now the sinner, if 
 you will, after the saint." He strode to her side as 
 he spoke and seized her by the hands, making her 
 look at him. " Look with me at facts, Fraulein Per- 
 sis," he said. " You are here, young and lovely, and 
 it is I who find you so. You have bewitched me. 
 But look at facts. How many women find the man 
 whom they can bewitch? How many men will be 
 willing to give their lives to you, Fraulein Persis? 
 Will you know the great love, the great rapture of 
 romantic love? Come; think clearly. Is it likely? 
 Have you ever found it yet? No. It is one woman 
 in a million who finds it or who for a little while 
 
 349 
 
 
 TIME LIMIT IS : 
 
 AMATUP9
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 believes she has. And for a woman what else is there 
 in life but love? Ask yourself. What else have you 
 sought, here in Tannenkreuz? What else have you 
 desired? And why are you so unhappy except that it 
 has failed you? Ludwig was not the romantic lover 
 who would carry you away; far from it. And Herr 
 Sachs, as he truly says, in answer to your reproach, 
 has nothing to offer, not even love. Now look at the 
 future. You are not rich; you have no worldly 
 power; a brilliant match is not likely. See yourself 
 with madame your mother, in the little Paris flat, in 
 the hotel here and there, going to lectures, giving tea- 
 parties, engaging, perhaps, in works of benevolence, 
 wandering, seeking, unsatisfied, until one day you will 
 wake up, and there, in her cell, will stand an old and 
 shrivelled Thais, who has never known life; a poor lit- 
 tle American old maid with her very old little mother, 
 hopping still from bough to bough of the European 
 tree have we not seen them often? And now, look 
 I love you, with passion as you know ; but you do 
 not yet know what such a love can be. And I offer 
 you all the splendour and joy of life ; the world of art, 
 of men, will be open to you, and you will be a queen 
 in it for I am not one to wish to hide my treasure ; 
 I wish to share life with her. And what if it is all to 
 end one day? Is not that what you will say to me? 
 What if it is all to end in the shrivelled skeleton? I 
 do not deceive you with false pictures, my lovely child. 
 It will all end ; yet not in a cell. No ; I see you, proud 
 and smiling, a figure of European renown, still choos- 
 
 350
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ing your own path, still the friend of men, still ripe 
 with the ripeness of deep experience. The end is not 
 so bad, though all ends are bad, and we must not deny 
 it. Come now with me. Be brave. Send him away 
 and take me and life and our life together." 
 
 While he spoke, holding her by the hands, Persis 
 had stood looking into his face with wide, drinking 
 eyes as though there went through her a distillation, 
 fine, shuddering in potency, of all that experience of 
 which he spoke. It was as though in her look she 
 took it all, to the last drop of realization. But as he 
 ended, drawing her hands to his breast and speaking 
 almost with tenderness in his urgency, she moved 
 back from him, and, as he followed, still holding her, 
 she shook her head slowly, still looking into his eyes. 
 
 " No, I cannot, I cannot," she said. " I see it all. 
 It is true. But I see more than you do. I would 
 rather be the little shrivelled old maid. Though I 
 should not be like that. I have known the other, 
 and rejected it. It is all as terrible as you say; but 
 it would be more terrible to go with you. It would 
 be the worst unhappiness. He is right. I should 
 grow to hate you. Don't you feel it yourself ? There 
 is nothing, nothing between us but things that would 
 make us hate each other. And I do not hate you now ; 
 I only hate myself." 
 
 " I could bear with your hatred," said Ludenstein, 
 looking at her with a singular look. 
 
 She covered her face with her hands. " I know 
 you could. That would be the worst horror of all." 
 
 35i
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " It is this wretched little man," said Liidenstein. 
 He turned his eyes on Sachs, and his ample, golden 
 face expressed a still, almost a contemplative violence. 
 " This wretched little maggot, of the breed well-named 
 by Ludwig. Gladly would I wring his neck, if that 
 would serve me." He brought his eyes back to her. 
 "And you will not come with me? It is true, then, 
 that I have lost you and through him ? " 
 
 " It is true. I am going back with him." 
 
 " Wait." He caught her arm. " Look at me," he 
 said. " I love you. Ah ! the icy eyes. What is it 
 that you are made of inscrutable girl? Is it ice or 
 marble or only paper? only flimsy paper that 
 wavers and turns with every gust of wind paper that 
 any hand may tear? Do not heed my rudeness. 
 You have given me a blow. For I love you paper 
 sorceress though you are and what better destiny 
 would you have asked for than to be burned at my 
 fire? So. It is true, then. You come to my arms. 
 You give yourself to my kisses. You promise your- 
 self to me. And then, when this priestling comes, 
 you turn away, crisp, empty, rustling. Ah! you are 
 right when you say that you will not be as the others. 
 You have come too near the flame. You may reject 
 it, but you are scorched by it. Never again will you 
 forget it." 
 
 While he spoke, his bitter half-smile probing her, a 
 deathly pallor crossed her face. She closed her eyes. 
 " Let me go," she muttered, like a little girl in deadly 
 fear. "You terrify me." 
 
 352
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 He relaxed his hold on her arm and stepped back. 
 " I will let you go. What else can I do ? I do not 
 wish to frighten you. Go with your priestling. He 
 will restore you." He doffed his hat before her with 
 ceremony. 
 
 Sachs had limped forward, and Persis seized his 
 arm. " Take me back," she said. " It will be too 
 late for tea. Mamma will be wondering " 
 
 They left Liidenstein standing in the clearing, look- 
 ing after them, and in a moment the woods had closed 
 about them, and he was out of sight.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 C TT is quieter here, and we shall be less likely to 
 JL meet anyone," said Sachs presently, turning 
 into the lower belt of pine-woods. 
 
 Stillness fell thickly about them as they entered the 
 tall aisles. The ground, sloping downwards, was slip- 
 pery with its carpeting of needles; the sun laid long 
 beams among the rosy boles. Far above, in the green 
 roof, a wind moaned softly. 
 
 Persis walked steadily forward, her hand clutched 
 on Sachs's arm; but suddenly she stopped and fixed 
 her eyes upon him. The rigor left her face; her chin 
 began to tremble; the tears rose; she trembled vio- 
 lently all over. " It is true. What he said is true. 
 Paper; I am like that; horrible; empty. Wait. I 
 must tell you. That was why I came with him. The 
 world was like a paper world, and it frightened me so 
 dreadfully that when he came I was glad. Oh I 
 cannot explain. You despise me as he does. Yes! 
 I am an abandoned woman! It was the same with 
 me as with an abandoned woman." 
 
 " But I do not despise abandoned women, Frau- 
 lein," said Sachs gently. 
 
 At this Persis felt the trembling cease. A rigidity 
 cramped her throat and a hot flush scorched her eye- 
 
 354
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 balls. She walked on before him, in silence, down the 
 dim aisles. 
 
 " Fraulein," said Sachs's voice, almost timidly, be- 
 hind her. She paused for him to join her, not looking 
 at him. " I have hurt you. I am stupid. You must 
 forgive me." 
 
 " No," said Persis in a low, harsh voice, " I am not 
 hurt. I deserve it. I am not offended." She re- 
 peated in a lower voice : " I am an abandoned 
 woman." 
 
 "No, Fraulein, not that," said Sachs, casting anx- 
 ious glances round at her as, with some difficulty, he 
 kept pace with her. " Not that. You are not an 
 abandoned woman, though you were a woman in great 
 danger. For though Liidenstein is not an ignoble 
 man, he is a man who is without love; he does not 
 know the meaning of the word love, and to have gone 
 with him what would it have led to in your life? I 
 do not speak from the conventional point of view." 
 
 "I knew it I knew it all," she said. "And I 
 chose it, open-eyed. What is that if it is not aban- 
 doned ? How can you not despise me ? " 
 
 " But, Fraulein, I love you as I said. You are 
 more dear to me than I can say. How can you think 
 that I despise you? " 
 
 She was weeping, her hands before her face, and 
 she wept so helplessly that Sachs presently, putting 
 his hand on her arm, begged her to stop and rest. 
 She sank down on the pine-needles, and, leaning on 
 his crutch, he stood looking at her. 
 
 355
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " You love me because you are good," she sobbed 
 when she could find her voice. " You do not under- 
 stand. He understands me better. How could any- 
 one like you understand such vanity, such recklessness, 
 such hardness of heart? " 
 
 " But I am not good, Fraulein. I understand." 
 
 " No no ; you cannot. Your love hurts me be- 
 cause I know that you cannot. And how could I 
 make you? I was not misled. It was not romance 
 and folly. I chose evil, yes, I chose evil, knowing that 
 it was evil. Not like him. He is innocent, nothing 
 to him is evil. But I felt it and chose it ; you must see 
 the truth. I came up to the wood with him hoping 
 that he would make love to me make passionate love 
 to me so that I should forget myself, and love myself, 
 through his love. And though, when he kissed me 
 and held me in his arms, I knew that I did not love 
 him, it was a joy, a wild joy, to feel his love. I was 
 ready to go away with him. I was ready for every- 
 thing." 
 
 He stood looking down at her and the anxiety of his 
 look had intensified to suffering. Presently he sat 
 down on the ground, laying his crutch beside him. 
 
 " Fraulein," he said, " would it give you more con- 
 fidence in my understanding, would it make you feel 
 less alone, if I told you how much a sinner I have 
 been, not only in intention, but in act. You speak of 
 abandoned women and you do not know of what you 
 speak. But at one time in my youth, and it is not 
 many years ago I was an abandoned man. Yes, yes 
 
 356
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 indeed, Fraulein, I was a sinner, knowing that I sinned, 
 and my dissipations would have been only sordid had 
 not sentimentality, innate and racial, lent them always 
 some touch of illusion. So. Now you will not tell 
 me that I do not understand." She had raised her 
 head and turned her eyes on him and he smiled slightly 
 at her. " And you will not think that I despise you. 
 I do not despise myself; not now; not since I have 
 turned my back on evil. You have turned your back 
 on it, Fraulein." 
 
 There was silence now for a long time. Persis 
 looked down the narrow distances, her breaths coming 
 more quietly until at last her chest rose and fell in an 
 even cadence. She looked around her as though she 
 saw the world again, and, her eyes dropping to the 
 pine-needles, she put her hand down among them and 
 let them pass softly through her fingers. 
 
 " Do you think it is true, what he said," she asked 
 suddenly, "that no one will ever love me again and 
 that I shall never marry ? " 
 
 Sachs looked at her with a faint touch of his merry 
 grimace. " It seems to me improbable, Fraulein. He 
 put it cleverly, but I thought it, at the time, very im- 
 probable. If you do not marry, I do not think that 
 it will be because no one will again love you." 
 
 * Tell me," she went on, after another moment, 
 raising her eyes to his for a grave glance ; " when you 
 say that you love me, do you mean only heavenly love, 
 such as Graf von Ludenstein spoke of, or human love? 
 I mean, if you had all that he says he has to offer, 
 
 357
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 would you care to marry me, to have me for your 
 wife?" And again she raised her eyes to him, while 
 the pine-needles, with a soft monotonousness, ran 
 through her fingers. 
 
 Sachs returned her gaze. "Very much indeed, 
 Fraulein," he then answered. "Though," he added, 
 " I should not agree to Graf von Liidenstein's division 
 between the heavenly and human loves. Unless it is 
 heavenly, I do not call it love." 
 
 " No. I see. Of course not," said Persis. 
 
 She sat again silent, watching the pine-needles. 
 Her downcast face, all its baleful radiance gone, was 
 as sodden, as ingenuous as a child's that had ex- 
 hausted itself with crying. Again, suddenly, not rais- 
 ing her eyes, she said : " Will you marry me ? Will 
 you let me be with you always ? " 
 
 " Ah, Fraulein ! " said Sachs, after a silence ; " You 
 do not know what you are saying," he then went on. 
 His tone, amazed and tender, rallied her. " You are 
 tired and have begun to dream. We must now return 
 to Madame Fennamy. As you said, she will be won- 
 dering what has become of you." 
 
 " She will not wonder. No, I mean what I say and 
 I know quite well what I say. There is no one like 
 you. I only feel safe when I am with you, and happy 
 and at peace. If you are so poor, I have enough 
 money for us both; Mamma will do anything I like. 
 And we can live very simply and study together." 
 
 The faint smile had faded from Sachs's face. He 
 looked at her gravely, a flush rising. " Dear Frau- 
 
 358
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 lein," he said, " you do not understand what it is you 
 ask. Even if it were possible, I should be no fit hus- 
 band for a young lady like you, beautiful and brilliant 
 with all her life before her; a clumsy, ugly cripple, 
 poor and humble, and a small, small life, so dim, so 
 low ; for mine is no great talent ; I shall teach, in some 
 small post ; one day, perhaps, be a pastor in some small 
 village. Oh no, that is not for you. It would kill 
 you. You will wait, and be good and patient, and the 
 fairy-prince will come all in good time." 
 
 Her chin began to tremble. It was only a spar she 
 had found in an ocean of tears. The waves threat- 
 ened again to engulf her. " You treat me like a child. 
 I am not a child. I know what I say. I have learned 
 about myself in these weeks. It would be beautiful, 
 our life together, because your star would be there; 
 your star would be above it. Do you remember your 
 star, at evening ? Oh, say that you will ! " 
 
 Tears had risen in the young man's eyes. " But 
 Fraulein, dear Fraulein, it cannot be. It is not pos- 
 sible." He looked at her in deep trouble and per- 
 plexity. " Beside all else, do you not see, I may not 
 abandon Ludwig. I must find him and stay with him. 
 My beautiful Fraulein, do not think me unworthy or 
 ungrateful. It is more than I can ever say, what you 
 have been to me, what you are to me. But we must 
 part; we must part indeed, dear Fraulein. His life is 
 broken; it is not your fault, but his life is broken and 
 I fear greatly for him. And to no one in the world 
 will he turn as he turns to me." 
 
 359
 
 " But he has turned from you," said Persis in a 
 trembling voice. " He will not see you. Does it 
 mean that you care for Ludwig more than you care for 
 me?" 
 
 " No, he has not turned from me. He still seeks 
 me, though it will be unwillingly, because of his 
 wounded pride. To-day he came to my room to find 
 me, and I was not there. It was in the hope I know 
 it of a reconciliation." 
 
 " Does it mean that you care more for Ludwig then 
 for me?" she repeated, in her dulled and strangely 
 gentle voice. " Tell me. I shall understand anything 
 you say." 
 
 " I cannot say what it means, Fraulein. Perhaps 
 that I pity Ludwig more than I do you, and owe him 
 more. My debt of gratitude and loyalty to Ludwig is 
 very deep, for when I was struggling from that base 
 life I told you of, it was his hand that was held out to 
 me, his fierce, cleansing thought that gave me strength. 
 It was then that I first met Ludwig, Fraulein, do you 
 see ? Ah ! you do not know his generosity, his tender- 
 ness, and my heart breaks for him when I think that 
 now you never will. And, Fraulein, I will tell you 
 all; the secret of Ludwig's life, the shadow that rests 
 on him. He is threatened, he is threatened with mad- 
 ness, Fraulein. His illness, a year ago, was on the 
 verge of madness. He knows it and it is his dread. 
 He fights it, but he cannot fight it alone. Ah! he is 
 deserving of pity; which of us has suffered as Ludwig 
 has suffered?" 
 
 360
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Persis had become very pale. " How cruel I have 
 been to him," she said. 
 
 " No, Fraulein, no, no. The cruellest thing to do 
 to Ludwig would be to show him pity, to show him 
 that you spared him through pity. You have spoken 
 cruel truths to him, but you have not been cruel. It 
 has been the mistake, it has all been the mistake." 
 
 But Persis, gazing at him, shook her head. " You 
 do not know. I have been cruel, when he disap- 
 pointed me. Yet, if he had not disappointed me, what 
 should I have done? Even that I do not know. I 
 do not know what I wanted from Ludwig." And, 
 putting her hands before her face, her tears falling, 
 she told him of the meeting in the woods and of how 
 beautiful Ludwig had been and of her own strange 
 unkindness. " You see, you see," she said, when she 
 had finished. " How I hurt him ! He was like a 
 child who has been struck when it was full of trust and 
 love. I shall never forget it ; his eyes, looking up at 
 me, wondering why I struck him ! " She sobbed, lean- 
 ing her head upon her knees. 
 
 " I think I guessed what you tell me, Fraulein," 
 Sachs said after a little time had passed. " I saw 
 Ludwig that evening, when he had returned from the 
 woods, and in his grief and anger I read a story not so 
 different from yours. Yes, it is all clear to me. You 
 did not love Ludwig, yet you wished to love him. 
 And he, unless you could have shown him love, had 
 no power to win you." 
 
 " You were right," said Persis. She had raised her 
 361
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 head now and dried her tears. " Since I would not 
 marry him, I should have sent him away." 
 
 " That would have been best," Sachs assented. 
 " But that, too, would have meant much suffering for 
 Ludwig. For he loved you very dearly." 
 
 Again silence fell and then, turning her eyes on his, 
 Persis said: "And what can you do now? How 
 can it be mended now? What will he do without 
 you? I have robbed him of you, too." 
 
 " I think it may still be mended, Fraulein," said 
 Sachs, looking gently at her. " It may take time, but 
 Ludwig, I think, will turn to me again. I will go now 
 to his hotel and if he is not there, I will wait for him. 
 And if he drives me away, for he may hear of this 
 meeting of ours, I will follow him and bide my time." 
 
 " And you and I must part," said Persis. She was 
 looking at him now, deeply, deeply, her ravaged young 
 face stern in its intentness. She was like a traveller 
 from some far country, to which she must next day 
 return, who, at the closing hour, still lingers in the 
 great gallery and prints upon her mind the design, the 
 colour, the features and the gaze of the masterpiece 
 that she will never see again. And it may well have 
 been that some such thought was also in the young 
 man's mind as he looked back at her. " And we must 
 part, dear Fraulein," he replied. 
 
 She looked away for a moment, and down at the 
 pine-needles that still filled her palm. "So that it 
 will be as if we had died. We shall remember each 
 other as if we were dead." She lifted her eyes to his. 
 
 362
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " But it does not mean that you do not love me. It 
 will be as if you were dead, but in a heaven somewhere, 
 thinking of me sometimes." 
 
 Tears had filled the young man's eyes. They over- 
 brimmed, and a great crystal drop stood on each 
 cheek. And in the stillness of his answering gaze she 
 received an impression, ineffaceable and transfiguring, 
 of a mingled love and anguish which she could never 
 lose again. "Will you think of me like that, my 
 beautiful Fraulein?" he said. "Then my life will 
 be blessed. Yes, you will be my star, never to be 
 forgotten ; yes, I shall feel you there, always, above it, 
 like the great star above the Christmas-tree." He had 
 put out his hands to hers and took them and raised 
 them to his lips, looking at her over them. " Do you 
 remember the Christmas-tree we talked of?" he said. 
 " You had seen only one, when you were a very little 
 child. My beautiful Fraulein," he murmured, gaz- 
 ing at her. "Your face is like that now the 
 Weihnachts-Baum with its lights shining, sacred, 
 child-like and above it the great star. I shall always 
 see you so." 
 
 He held her hands, clasped together in his trembling 
 hands, a moment longer. Then, gently loosing them, 
 he turned his face away and reached out for his crutch 
 and rose. It was growing dusk and it was time to go. 
 
 They went in silence down the hillside and came to 
 the river. Tannenkreuz lay before them, already 
 shining here and there from a lighted window. 
 
 " Tell me," said Persis, as they went along the path 
 363
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 to the bridge, " tell me, did you like my roses ? You 
 said nothing of them in your note. I felt that you 
 thought I had taken a liberty in leaving them." 
 
 He did not answer for a moment, and, looking 
 round at him, she found his eyes fixed strangely upon 
 her. Then, smiling, though he was very pale, he said : 
 " No, I did not think that you took a liberty, Fraulein. 
 They were beautiful and it was like your beauty to 
 leave them there for me." 
 
 They had reached the bridge now. Would death, 
 Persis wondered, coming suddenly, with no alleviation 
 of weakness, be like this? this darkness, this sever- 
 ance, this loneliness. Yet, was it all suffering? 
 Light encircled the dark moment. And light was in 
 her heart. And across her mind floated the words 
 that had come to her on that day when she had first 
 looked into Herr Sachs's eyes: The peace of God 
 that passeth all understanding. Death too, then, 
 could be beautiful. 
 
 They had paused there on the bridge and heard the 
 river flowing swiftly below them. Beyond the bridge 
 their ways parted. 
 
 Persis smiled down at him. " Do you think that 
 we shall ever see each other again ? " she asked. 
 
 He too, smiled. " It may be, dear Fraulein. Who 
 can tell? I shall hope to see you again, and with a 
 husband who is worthy of you, in all ways worthy of 
 you. Or it may be with a great work to do that you 
 will have found." 
 
 She continued gently to smile, accepting, it seemed, 
 364
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 all he said to her. " It is then, auf wiedersehen, per- 
 haps." 
 
 " Perhaps auf wiedersehen." 
 
 They crossed the bridge and, for the last time, 
 looked at each other. " I hope that you will find 
 Ludwig," said Persis. " I hope that he will forgive 
 me, and that he will be happy with you again." 
 
 It was she, now that the moment had come, who 
 was the braver. Sachs nodded, clasping the hand she 
 held out to him, and his face was oddly contorted in 
 its effort to smile. " Danke, danke" he murmured 
 brokenly. 
 
 It was on this faltering murmur that their parting 
 came. They did not again look at each other, Sachs 
 turning into the river-path and Persis entering the 
 street that led to the Pension Miiller.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 IT was half -past six when she reached the pension, 
 and as she opened the gate she saw Ludwig stand- 
 ing at the sitting-room window looking out at her. 
 
 His expression was so strange that, for a moment, 
 she paused and, in the twilight there, felt a sudden, 
 devastating fear, not for herself, but for him; for 
 Conrad, and for Conrad's hopes. 
 
 " He hates me," she said to herself, as she closed 
 the gate and ascended the steps ; " but I must see him ; 
 I must." If it had not been for Conrad she knew that 
 she could not have seen him. Something was de- 
 manded of her, she knew, though she could not think 
 it out clearly now, as she stood and waited for the 
 door to open, that would place her side by side with 
 Conrad in his fight for Ludwig and that would keep 
 Conrad near her life, always, as the star was near, 
 even while it parted them for ever. " He must go 
 back to Conrad," the idea floated, " Conrad will be 
 waiting for him, there, in the hotel, sitting at the table 
 waiting for him; and unless I am careful he will not 
 see Ludwig again." 
 
 The maid had opened to her, and now, with a curi- 
 ous sinking of the heart yet with steady aim, she 
 turned the handle of the door and entered the room. 
 
 366
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 The spectral figure confronted her, darkly sil- 
 houetted against the window, and an intangible men- 
 ace, like the infection of some disease, was in the 
 air. That shadow, overhanging Ludwig's life, came 
 to her mind and she thought : " Perhaps he has seen 
 me in the woods and wants to kill me." 
 
 She heard herself saying then, in a voice that sur- 
 prised her, her own deliberate, unrhoved voice ; " I 
 did not expect to find you here, Ludwig. How dark 
 it is," and crossing before him to the mantelpiece she 
 lighted the two candles that stood upon it so that 
 Ludwig's face, when she turned to him, seemed to 
 flicker and float in the illuminated darkness. 
 
 Persis went and stood beside the table. 
 
 Almost at once he began to speak, with no vehem- 
 ence, in a dull, measured voice as though with long 
 rehearsed words. " Well, Fraulein Fennamy, you 
 have, I imagine, greatly enjoyed your afternoon." 
 
 He had seen her, then. The blood crept up to her 
 face and she felt it softly tingling behind her ears and 
 beating in her neck. She looked at him and made no 
 reply. 
 
 Ludwig, it was evident, misread her gaze. " Yes," 
 he said. " A spy. Say it, as you think it. Your in- 
 sults will not touch me, Fraulein Fennamy. A spy. 
 So be it. I followed you, you and Ludenstein, 
 Liidenstein, my good friend, you, my comrade and 
 disciple. I crept up through the fields when you en- 
 tered the vineyards and was before you at the spot 
 where, I knew it, you would betray me. The very 
 
 367
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 spot, I guessed that you would select it, where we 
 talked of our friendship and where I watched above 
 your sleep. It amused me to think of this as I lay 
 in the grass on the other side of the thicket and 
 watched you in Liidenstein's arms." 
 
 Her head drooped before him and she had turned 
 her eyes away. " I did not know where we were 
 going," she murmured. " I did not know that we 
 were there." 
 
 " Your disarray of thought is entirely comprehen- 
 sible," Wehlitz returned with a malevolent smile. 
 
 She could say nothing to him. Tears of shame 
 blurred her downcast eyes. 
 
 " I saw it all," Ludwig resumed, and he continued to 
 smile; "and how the lady-mother bore Parsifal in 
 her carriage to the spot with timely succour. Ah, 
 you did not know that your lady-mother was also 
 suspicious? A resourceful little dame, indeed. Yes, 
 you were hemmed in by well-wishers during your not 
 unperilous experiment, Fraulein Fennamy." 
 
 Her eyes, amazed, were on him now and he gloated 
 malignantly over their anguish. Her mother! Her 
 mother knew ! Her mother had followed and rescued 
 her! Now, seeing it with her mother's eyes, she saw 
 her ugly romance in its full reality. Ludwig's knowl- 
 edge and Conrad's did not come near to her as this 
 searing, withering intimacy did. To see herself with 
 their eyes was to see herself as piteous or abhorrent; 
 to see herself with her mother's was to stand naked, 
 helpless, an infinitely foolish, an infinitely common- 
 
 368
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 place creature. The very elements of her person- 
 ality seemed to dissolve in the crucible of this reve- 
 lation. 
 
 She looked away at last from his intent and jeering 
 eyes and moving from him, sank on the sofa, bending 
 her forehead on her hand. Wehlitz did not follow 
 her. He stood where she had left him. 
 
 " Yes, let me look at you," he said. " You afford 
 me, with all my ironic knowledge of women, a new 
 chapter of experience. Here she is, the proud, chaste 
 huntress of the mind, she for whose sake, lest I should 
 offend her susceptibilities, I refrained from pleading 
 or passion, mastering myself, taking her, in my man- 
 like innocence, at her own valuation. Here she is, 
 the comrade of the spirit, the joyous lover of suffer- 
 ing, the bird flying in the blue. Ah! it was easy to 
 deceive me, was it not? easy to hoodwink the simple 
 philosopher who believed that she was noble and free 
 and strong. She noble! She free! She! the cat! 
 the snake! the greedy child! using its little spiritual 
 gauds as traps for men; the little poems, so sad, so 
 yearning ; the delicate disdain of the flesh ; the gravity, 
 the sincerity. A greedy child. Yes, and Liidenstein 
 spoke well, a paper sorceress, an insatiable emptiness, 
 a mirror, cold and dark, reflecting light ! Ah ! Well 
 may you bow your head! I have no quarrel with 
 Liidenstein. He has not betrayed me. He is an honest 
 scoundrel! I do not fear such as he! I will find 
 Ludenstein. We will laugh together over our proud 
 young friend!" Suddenly, the tone of nasal, drag- 
 
 369
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 ging irony altered. " Did Conrad also kiss you in 
 the wood ? " he asked. 
 
 A contest, confused and horrible, seemed to pull at 
 the strings of her heart. He broke her. He dis- 
 solved her. She saw herself as he saw her. And 
 who could save her from herself but Conrad? 
 
 She almost sobbed his name. But to be near Con- 
 rad, she must think of Ludwig; she must shield him 
 from self-knowledge such as hers if he saw himself, 
 how could he go back to Conrad? Yes, she held the 
 clue, and she heard herself murmuring : " You do not 
 understand." 
 
 " Ha ! " cried Ludwig, with a short laugh, " she will 
 not deign, I perceive, to cast upon me one of her 
 basilisk glances. She resents too much the slight 
 upon her holy love ! No kisses there ! only tenderness, 
 compassion, forgiveness ! " 
 
 " Try to understand," said Persis, her face still hid- 
 den in her hands. " He is so beautiful. He loves 
 us both so much." 
 
 The supplication goaded him to a further fury. 
 " Beautiful! Do I not know it? Have you not told 
 me so? and that he stoops to me! Ah, it is a beauty 
 I could dispense with, that treacherous beauty! It 
 has, I do not doubt, seemed beautiful to you that Con- 
 rad, loving me you assure me, I understand, that he 
 loves me should behind my back win you from 
 me!" 
 
 " It is not true. What you say is not true." 
 
 " Not true ! Not true ! You talk to me of truth ! " 
 
 370
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 His voice rose to a scream. " You ! the betrayer ! the 
 dealer in lies! Ah! I hear them! the hissing lies 
 of malignancy, the writhing lies of treachery, the 
 greasy lies that whisper of peace and happiness! 
 Your lies! Conrad's lies! where, behind my back, 
 you mock and betray me ! " He approached her and 
 stood above her. " Ah ! to the one your kisses ! to the 
 other roses, a sweeter gift. I am indeed the least 
 favoured, for to me you gave your soul! Here! 
 Here they are! Yes, I found them. Yes! he does 
 not know what love-tokens you leave for him! Take 
 them to him! Take them to him. They are faded, 
 but they will be none the less sweet to him ! " 
 
 While he shouted out the broken sentences, pant- 
 ing, he had drawn from his breast and held out to her 
 on his open palm, the knot of roses that she had left 
 that morning on Conrad's table, and she lifted her 
 head at last to gaze at them. They had never reached 
 him; their message, their appeal, all that her written 
 words could not say. And Ludwlg had stolen them. 
 Grief, for something irreparable, filled her. From 
 the flowers, she lifted her eyes to Ludwig and looked 
 at him, speechless. 
 
 For a moment, his face close to hers, he stared at 
 her. Then, turning from her, he flung the roses down 
 upon the table and took his head in his hands. " The 
 snake ! " he muttered. " I saw it hiding in the grass, 
 the deep, green, dangerous grass. I saw it by the 
 well." 
 
 Persis murmured. " I left them there for him, be-
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 cause I love him and thought that he would come and 
 help me. I was so unhappy." 
 
 And Ludwig, holding his head, drew deep, panting 
 breaths and said: "Ah you love him; and he is 
 strong and I am paltry; and he is beautiful and 
 I am the mean thief; and it is through pity that he 
 bears with me. I hear it all though you do not say 
 it ; I hear it all. Yet listen to me," still he spoke with 
 hidden face. " He is not the saint you think him, 
 this Conrad. He is not the pure spirit. Ah, no. I 
 am amused when I think of it. He comes to you all 
 flowers and dawn, and dew; but do you know how 
 first I saw him, your little Parsifal? He was a de- 
 bauchee; a vulgar debauchee; a libertine; a plebeian 
 libertine; do the words convey to you sufficiently the 
 squalid ugliness? Yes," he lifted his head and fixed 
 his glazed eyes on her ; " stare at me with your snake's 
 stare ! It is the truth ! Ask him if it is not the truth. 
 He will not dare deny it! And who saved him? 
 Who lifted him above the mud! I! I! I!" he beat 
 his clenched fist down upon the table. 
 
 Persis's gaze dwelt on him. It was strange at this 
 moment to know that she could still see him with 
 Conrad's eyes, and feel for him an unspeakable pity. 
 " You should not have told me that," she said. " You 
 will feel yourself, I know, later, when you can think 
 more quietly, that you should not. He told me, this 
 afternoon, what you have said. It was to give me 
 comfort. And he told me what you had done for 
 him; how you had helped him; his gratitude to you. 
 
 372
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 And when I asked him to marry me, he said that he 
 could not, because of his love for you; because of 
 the bond between you ; and that he must leave me and 
 follow you, always." 
 
 He stood looking at her for a long time after she 
 had finished. She had turned her eyes from him 
 now, and her young profile, lifted to the darkness 
 outside, was stern, concentrated, solemn, like a sol- 
 dier's who listens to the word of command. The si- 
 lence had grown long before she looked at him again. 
 
 In the flickering candlelight Ludwig's face was 
 fixed on her, and it was calm; almost contemplative. 
 For a long time their eyes met, in silence. 
 
 He looked away at last; around the room of their 
 many encounters; down at the table, piled with their 
 useless books, and his eyes falling upon the faded 
 roses, he took them up and seemed to examine them. 
 Then, strangely, he put them to his face. 
 
 The gesture smote upon her; pity, and regret, deep, 
 deep regret; remorse for all that she had not been 
 to him, and remembrance of all that there had been 
 of beauty, now destroyed. And she longed to speak 
 to him, to tell him that for him, too, she had love. 
 But the gulfs that had opened between them were too 
 deep for words to cross. It was the end. Holding 
 the faded roses to his face, as if unconsciously, Lud- 
 wig walked past her to the door, opened it quietly, and 
 left her.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 CONRAD and Eleanora sat opposite each other 
 at the table in Lud wig's sitting-room. They 
 had hardly spoken since Conrad, entering, had found 
 her there and had heard from her that, since the 
 morning, Ludwig had not been seen. 
 
 The dusk fell and the room grew dark and they 
 still sat on in silence, lifting from time to time their 
 eyes to the clock that ticked, now almost invisible, 
 upon the shelf and, from time to time, looking at each 
 other across the table. 
 
 Their fear needed no expression. Eleanora's face 
 was worn with tears and she still wept gently, lifting 
 her handkerchief to her eyes or very softly blowing 
 her nose and murmuring at last, as she crossed her- 
 self : " Ave Maria, Mater Dei, Ora pro nobis." 
 
 It was at half past seven that they heard Ludwig's 
 step in the passage. Unmistakably it was his step, 
 yet it came with such a strange steadiness and even 
 alertness that, before he entered, the eyes of Conrad 
 and Eleanora again met in a wonder that was not all 
 relief. They had not risen when the door opened 
 and Ludwig appeared before them. 
 
 He stood then, in the open door, for a moment, 
 looking at them. The light from the passage fell 
 
 374
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 upon their upturned faces and from the darkening 
 sky outside the evening light made his face to them 
 just visible. 
 
 It seemed that he expected to find them there; for, 
 after this pause, he smiled at them both and then, 
 still smiling, leaving the door ajar, he came forward 
 and stood before them. 
 
 " You wait for me ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, Ludwig ; we have been waiting for some 
 time," said Eleanora. Her voice, in spite of her effort 
 at control, trembled, so strange did she feel his de- 
 meanour to be. " We wished to ask you about your 
 plans and when you intend to leave Tannenkreuz. 
 To-morrow morning, you said, I think ? And I hoped 
 that you would allow me to pack for you, since you 
 are still so far from strong." 
 
 " Ah yes, I see." Ludwig, standing so kindly above 
 them, nodded. " It is good of you to have thought 
 of it, Eleanora." He turned his eyes on Conrad. 
 " And it is good of you, Conrad, to have come. I 
 am very grateful to you both." 
 
 " Then " Eleanora was about to rise, but he 
 
 laid a hand upon her shoulder. 
 
 " Not to-night, Eleanora," he said. " Not to-night. 
 The plans can wait. I am very tired and I must rest. 
 A good sleep is what I am most in need of. To-mor- 
 row you shall both see me. Come to-morrow, come 
 early, and I will be ready for you. Then will be the 
 time for plans." Nodding again, still with his faint, 
 fixed smile, he moved towards his bedroom, turning 
 
 375
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 at the door and pausing there so that there seemed no 
 other choice than to accept his courteous dismissal, 
 and go. 
 
 " Good-night, then, Ludwig," Eleanora murmured, 
 rising. 
 
 Conrad said nothing. He took up his hat and 
 crutch and prepared to follow her. 
 
 " Sleep well, Ludwig," she said. " We will come 
 early, and shall hope to find you entirely restored." 
 
 " I thank you," Ludwig returned, his eyes resting 
 on them with a sweetness long indeed alien to him. 
 " And good-night to you, my friends." 
 
 When they were outside in the corridor, the door 
 closed behind them, Conrad paused. 
 
 " Signorina," he said. 
 
 Eleanora also paused ; " Yes," she said. They 
 spoke in lowered voices. 
 
 " He is not well," said Conrad. " Ludwig is not 
 well." 
 
 " Ah, he is very far from well ! " Eleanora assented 
 with nervous impatience. " Very far indeed from 
 well ! Do we not know it ? " 
 
 "What I mean," said Conrad, his eyes falling to 
 the ground, " is that I do not feel that I can leave 
 him. I feel that it would be best if I were to return 
 and sit quietly there and wait until I hear that he is 
 asleep. He will be quite unaware of my presence." 
 
 He glanced up at her. " That will be best ; do you 
 not think so ? " 
 
 Eleanora nodded vehemently, compressing her lips. 
 
 376
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," she uttered, with effort. " It was 
 my thought, also. I, also, did not wish to leave 
 him." 
 
 " You will leave him with me ? You feel it best 
 that I should wait alone, do you not ? " 
 
 " Yes. Best. He is safe with you." Her hand- 
 kerchief was at her eyes and, blindly, she held out a 
 hand to him. Conrad clasped it and so they parted. 
 
 He entered the little salon again. The door of 
 Ludwig's bedroom was outlined in light. Already he 
 had lit his candles. 
 
 With infinite precaution Conrad made his way to 
 the table, leaning on it for a moment, and, as he did 
 so, he noticed that the inkstand was not in its place. 
 It had been there a moment earlier. Ludwig had 
 returned to get it as soon as they were gone. He was 
 writing in his room. 
 
 Maneuvering his crutch with the utmost care, the 
 young man continued his progress across the room. 
 He reached Ludwig's door and laid his ear upon the 
 crack. 
 
 He could hear now, faintly, but clearly, the sounds 
 within. There was the rustle of paper being turned, 
 the swift scratching of a pen, a chair that creaked 
 slightly. After that, the sound of folding paper. 
 
 Then came a silence. " Will he begin to undress 
 now?" Conrad thought. Ludwig put back the chair 
 and rose. He crossed the room and Conrad laid his 
 hand on the door-knob. No, he had not gone to the 
 dressing-table. He was pouring water from the 
 
 377
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 carafe on the wash-stand; but the sound of an open- 
 ing drawer was heard, of the little drawer in the wash- 
 stand where he kept some medicines that Conrad 
 knew of. Conrad turned the handle. The door was 
 locked. 
 
 The sounds inside ceased with a terrible sudden- 
 ness. 
 
 Conrad now leaned heavily against the door. The 
 strength of his body, driven from the feeble lower 
 limbs, was concentrated in his shoulders; and he gave 
 it all. With clenched teeth, twisted brows, veins that 
 started on his forehead and throat, he pressed against 
 the door; the lock cracked, yielded, the door burst 
 open and he went in. 
 
 Ludwig was standing there before him. His hat 
 was still, very oddly, upon his head. He held a small 
 white paper in his hand and his eyes were fixed, in a 
 stern yet ghastly astonishment, upon the door. Con- 
 rad closed it, recovering the crutch that slipped from 
 under his shoulder, and going up to his friend, he laid 
 his hand upon the paper; and, as Ludwig's fingers 
 closed convulsively upon it, the young man put an 
 arm around him. " No no no, Ludwig," he said. 
 " It is not the time for that." 
 
 His illumined eyes were on his friend. He gazed 
 at him without reproach. " It is not the time for that, 
 Ludwig," he repeated. 
 
 Wehlitz put forth his whole strength in resistance 
 against him. " You do not understand," he said, 
 speaking in the same quiet tones with which he had 
 
 378
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 greeted them in the sitting-room. " I have written 
 to you. I have said all that there is to say." 
 
 " No, no, Ludwig," Conrad repeated. " That is a 
 mistake." 
 
 They still stood locked in their watchful grip. 
 
 " It is not a mistake," Wehlitz returned. " I have 
 betrayed you. I am a false, a cowardly friend. She 
 will tell you of it. I am a man who has no right to 
 live. Only death can redeem my baseness." 
 
 " That is all beside the mark, Ludwig," said Con- 
 rad. " You misconceive our relation. It would be 
 intolerable if a man like you should commit suicide 
 through a misconception." 
 
 A convulsive trembling shook Wehlitz. " I under- 
 stand all you would say. She has made it clear. 
 You have inspired her; she, too, I saw it well, mas- 
 tered her loathing of me to save me. We all live in 
 your strength. That, too, she told me ; but it was the 
 other day, before she, too, had grown pitiful. She 
 has told me all the good you said of me to her and 
 believed of me; while I spat my venom at you! Oh, 
 Conrad! Conrad!" he broke suddenly into dreadful 
 sobs. "Let me die! All is at an end. The world 
 will not listen to me and I am a weak and foolish 
 man; and the vultures, Conrad, the vultures, pick at 
 my brain. Let me go, while it is I myself who can 
 choose to go." 
 
 He sank on a chair and the little cripple knelt be- 
 side him, sustaining him. Holding him in his arms, 
 his face fixed in its patient watchfulness, he said; 
 
 379
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " You are not yourself, Ludwig. That is what I 
 mean. You have not been yourself for many days." 
 
 " I understand you ! I understand you ! " Wehlitz 
 sobbed. " It is pity, pity, pity for the real cripple ; 
 pity for the weak and self-deluded man. Am I not 
 a laughing-stock in my own eyes that I am still here 
 to receive it? If you knew true pity, you would let 
 me go." 
 
 "And I am pitiless, Ludwig; I am pitiless," said 
 Conrad, looking into his face. " It is easier for you 
 to go, but it is not your real self that takes the easier 
 way. It would be absurd, do you see, for you to go 
 like this, destroying your life because you have been 
 warped and distraught by a love affair." 
 
 "My life!" Wehlitz cried, "and what of yours? 
 She loves you, and it is I who stand between you ! If 
 I die you will marry her." 
 
 " Oh, no, Ludwig," said the young man quietly. 
 " I shall not marry her. I love her far too much to 
 yield to my own heart and to hers. What would 
 her life be with me? What pride or joy could there 
 be for her in a husband who was merely her husband ? 
 If I entered the life which is naturally hers, I should 
 have no place in it. And do you see her taking her 
 place in mine? Do you see her becoming the pro- 
 vincial Frau Professorin or Frau Pastorin? I do not. 
 No, Ludwig, I could not say that I have renounced 
 the idea of marriage; it has not entered my mind." 
 
 An atmosphere of peaceful veracity emanated from 
 the young man. Wehlitz spoke presently, in a low. 
 
 380
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 voice, and his eyes, still, did not meet his friend's. 
 " She has destroyed it all," he said, " all my faith, 
 in my work, in myself. She despises me, and I see 
 myself with her eyes. The future? What future is 
 there for me? I see the doom to which I go and 
 there are no battles to be won as I march towards 
 it." 
 
 "You think it is destroyed because you are ill," 
 said Conrad. " The truth is that she will always re- 
 member you as a strange, flashing brightness that 
 crossed her life. And even if it were true that she 
 despised you, would that be of great consequence?" 
 He slightly smiled. " My opinion is of little value, 
 but it is worth more than hers ; and I am satisfied that 
 the world will one day listen to you and that you 
 cannot be spared. The old story will repeat itself. 
 The world will reject too much, and accept too much, 
 and exalt and vilify you, and at the end be enriched 
 by another vein of pure ore in all its dross and granite. 
 No, Ludwig," and now he smiled his own comedian's 
 smile of melancholy jocularity, " it is not for you to 
 fling out of life like the gloomy hero of a romantic 
 novel. You must live by your own doctrine and laugh 
 at yourself. Such impulses are to be laughed down. 
 And as for me, and for our friendship, we understand 
 each other too well, we have shared life too deeply, to 
 be bound by conventionalities. If you owe me some 
 reparation, you will pay the debt by ignoring it. You 
 must live as though it had not been. You must for- 
 get it. That is what I do."
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 Wehlitz had listened to him, his eyes on his at last, 
 his lips folded in a profound sadness. " But, Conrad, 
 wait," he said. He laid his hand upon his arm. 
 " Wait, Conrad. You do not yet know all. Look ; 
 look at this, my friend." His face again convulsed 
 with the nervous trembling, he drew the roses from 
 his breast and held them out, lifting eyes of heavy 
 shame upon the young man. " I stole them from 
 you," he said. " She had left them for you, and I 
 stole them. Oh, my friend, you give your life to 
 me and I take all, all from you even this love- 
 token from the woman you love, that beautiful, bale- 
 ful woman, young basilisk and death-dealer that she 
 is ! She loves you, and this was her message to you." 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes," Conrad nodded, blinking rapidly 
 and with a grimace of involuntary pain. " It was 
 bad, Ludwig, very bad. And very foolish too. The 
 act of the gloomy, romantic lover, was it not? Have 
 we not had enough of him? Is he not dead and 
 buried? I forgive him, with all my heart, and so let 
 the matter end." 
 
 " And what will you do with them now? " Wehlitz 
 asked, still holding out the roses and looking at his 
 friend with great intentness. 
 
 And Conrad, smiling, after a moment of hesitation, 
 said : " Since they were meant for me, I will keep 
 them." He took out his pocket-book and laid the 
 roses within it. " I will keep them in memory of 
 Fraulein Fennamy and of Tannenkreuz."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 PERSIS went upstairs to her mother's room. A 
 further step remained to be taken, a step 
 whether of expiation, immolation or reconstruction, 
 she could not have said. Her being, bruised, exalted 
 and exhausted, craved for sleep and darkness; but as 
 the sense of compulsion had moved her to Ludwig, 
 so now she knew that she could not sleep until she had 
 stood before her mother and heard what she had to 
 say to her. Unimaginable scene, more fantastic than 
 the scene just passed through in the little sitting- 
 room; for she and Ludwig belonged to the realm of 
 strange happenings, and only by her own act of mad- 
 ness had her mother been brought into it. 
 
 The faint odour of violet-powder greeted her as she 
 entered, and the crisp scent of tonged hair. Between 
 two candles, Mrs. Fennamy sat at her dressing-table, 
 and under her hand stood the little spirit-lamp with 
 the tongs laid above its range of soft blue flame. 
 She was waving her hair, a craft she practised with 
 great skill, and as Persis entered she lifted the tongs 
 and ran them, with dexterous turns and clippings, 
 through the thick, faded locks, loosely caught up about 
 her head. Then, meeting her daughter's eyes in the 
 
 383
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 mirror, she set the tongs again in their place and took 
 up a comb. 
 
 " You 've had a long walk, have n't you? " she said. 
 " I expect you 're pretty tired." 
 
 Persis sat down on the chair against the wall as 
 she had sat after the first walk with Ludwig, many 
 weeks ago. She felt, suddenly, so weak that she 
 knew she could not meet what was required of 
 her if she remained standing. She had not 
 known what to expect; but she had not expected 
 this. 
 
 Her mother's eyes no longer met hers. She was 
 engaged with the comb, lightly fluffing the little fringe 
 that crossed her infantile forehead. 
 
 "Yes; I am very tired," said Persis, after a short 
 time had passed. " It was a long walk. And you 
 came up to the woods, too, Ludwig told me; with 
 Herr Sachs." 
 
 The compulsion was upon her to utter the words. 
 She must make it easier for her mother, if she shrank 
 from laying the torch to the heaped up faggots. And, 
 indeed, a slight change was perceptible in the placid 
 mirrored features. " Oh," said Mrs. Fennamy, 
 " Herr Wehlitz saw us, did he ? " and after a pause 
 she went on : " He 's been here, then ? Herr Sachs 
 did n't find him ? Herr Sachs was very anxious about 
 him, so I drove him up." 
 
 ' You started soon after Graf von Liidenstein and 
 I did?" 
 
 "Yes; I thought I'd like a little drive." 
 384
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " And you went and got Herr Sachs? " Persis spoke 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " Yes," Mrs. Fennamy repeated, after another 
 pause. " I went and got him. I like Herr Sachs, 
 and I thought he 'd enjoy the drive, perhaps." 
 
 And now, in the mirror, mother and daughter's 
 eyes met in a curious interchange, not long, and, seem- 
 ingly, not deep. That there was so little to read in 
 Mrs. Fennamy's gaze was, perhaps, the offering she 
 made to her child's need. There was nothing for 
 Persis to face; no expiation; no faggots of any sort. 
 She was to walk, as always, unscathed by overt inter- 
 ference; and if the mother had been revealed as 
 vigilant and the daughter as inadequate, no claim was 
 to be based on the revelation, and no pledges exacted. 
 It was more than a fine and silken pride that shrank 
 from the crudity of emotional avowals and forgive- 
 ness; in the crystal flawlessness of her daughter's in- 
 dependence lay, after all, the whole object of Mrs. 
 Fennamy's existence, and the deepest satisfaction of 
 her affection. It was that affection which was ex- 
 pressed rather than any other consciousness when her 
 eyes dropped and a slight colour crept into her cheek. 
 She took up the curling-tongs again. 
 
 " No ; Herr Sachs did n't find him," Persis, speak- 
 ing still in her low, unstressed voice, now went on. 
 " He found me instead. He and I had a long talk. 
 And Ludwig was waiting for me when I got back. 
 He is just gone. We shall never see each other 
 again." 
 
 385
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 " I thought you 'd parted yesterday," Mrs. Fennamy 
 observed, turning the tongs in another tress of hair. 
 
 " I thought so too. He felt that he must see me 
 again, I think, to tell me how much he hated me." 
 
 She leaned forward now on her knees, her face in 
 her hands, but she was not weeping, and in an un- 
 changed voice, she said : " Is it not terrible when 
 two people have cared so much for each other to 
 have come to that ? " 
 
 " It often does, I expect, if they are not the sort of 
 people who are meant to care for each other," said 
 Mrs. Fennamy. " And you don't hate him, I sup- 
 pose." 
 
 " No, I don't hate him. I shall always remember 
 everything that was beautiful in him, while he will 
 always remember everything that was ugly in me." 
 
 " That would be because he was in love with you, 
 and you were n't with him," said Mrs. Fennamy. 
 " It would hurt him too much to remember the beau- 
 tiful things." 
 
 Again there was a little silence, broken only by the 
 soft, dulled click of the tongs. Then Persis rose. 
 
 " When shall we go, mamma ? Do you think that 
 we could get off by to-morrow morning ? " 
 
 " Why, of course, we can," said Mrs. Fennamy. 
 " Everything is packed. There 's only the bill to pay." 
 
 Persis moved towards the door. " I shall go to 
 bed now, mamma. I am so tired." 
 
 " That 's the best thing you can do. I '11 bring you 
 some hot milk when you 're in bed." 
 
 386
 
 THE ENCOUNTER 
 
 With her hand on the door, Persis paused for an- 
 other moment, as if she felt that there was still some- 
 thing to be said ; then, feeling that there was nothing 
 she could find to say, she smiled a faint acquiescence, 
 and went out. 
 
 THE END
 
 Wt to leo