himself unable to settle down to any of the ordinary functions of life.
And behind all this, another and a more powerful sentiment possessed him.
He had left Berlin without seeing or hearing anything further from Anna
von Haase. No word had come from her, nor any message. And now that it
was too late, he began to feel that he had made a mistake. It seemed to
him that he had visited upon her, in some indirect way, the misfortune
which had befallen him. It was scarcely her fault that she had been the
object of attentions which nearly every one agreed were unwelcome, from
this young princeling. Norgate told himself, as he changed his clothes
that evening, that his behaviour had been the behaviour of a jealous
school-boy. Then an inspiration seized him. Half dressed as he was, he
sat down at the writing-table and wrote to her. He wrote rapidly, and
when he had finished, he sealed and addressed the envelope without
glancing once more at its contents. The letter was stamped and posted
within a few minutes, but somehow or other it seemed to have made a
difference. His depression was no longer so complete. He looked forward
to his lonely dinner, at one of the smaller clubs to which he belonged,
with less aversion.

"Do you know where any of my people are. Hardy?" he asked his servant.

"In Scotland, I believe, sir," the man replied. "I called round this
afternoon, although I was careful not to mention the fact that you were
in town. The house is practically in the hands of caretakers."

"Try to keep out of the way as much as you can. Hardy," Norgate
enjoined. "For a few days, at any rate, I should like no one to know
that I am in town."

"Very good, sir," the man replied. "Might I venture to enquire, sir, if