I hear she's been everywhere it was." After breakfast I escaped to the summer-house in the shrubbery with my letter.

The first snow lay on the ground and was white on the dark, shining leaves of the laurels and laurestinus, but my hands trembled and burned as I opened the letter.

Why did he write to me now when I had become used to my misery?
As the sheet rustled in my hands I felt such a longing and a desire for him that if he called me across the world I must go..