hands. I have been waiting for all these years, but now I am free of my
promise."

Herman took the packet she extended toward him, and turned abruptly
away. Ninitta seated herself in one of the tall easy chairs, removed
her hat, and began a leisurely survey of the place. The sounds from the
wharf outside, the cries of the sailors, the creaking of the cordage
and the ships came softened and mellowed like the daylight into the
wide, dim studio, giving a certain sense of remoteness by the contrast
they suggested between the silence within and the stir of the world
without. For all her outward calm, Ninitta's heart was beating hotly,
and she longed with a great yearning for a touch from the hand of the
silent man before her; for a word of kindness from his lips. She
watched him furtively, under cover of looking at a cast of Celini's
Perseus upon a bracket above his head, as he stood reading the letter
from Hoffmeir.

"Why did you not bring this to me before?" the sculptor asked at
length, turning towards her. "It is six years now."

"Have I been able to shape my life?" returned Ninitta. "I have followed
you to Florence, to Paris; you came to America. I followed you to New
York; you were here. I have never ceased trying to reach you. It was
not easy for me to cross half the world alone and without help; with no
friends, no money; with nothing."

"But you have been in Boston a couple of months."

"Yes," she said quietly, looking up into his face. "But you knew it. I
waited for you to send for me."