This went on for about a fortnight, till one day she tottered into
Wilhelm's room, all dissolved in tears, sank sobbing at his feet,
and hid her face on his knee.
"Pilar, what has happened?" he cried in alarm.
"Oh, Wilhelm, Wilhelm," was all the answer he could get from her;
and only after long and loving persuasion did she murmur in such low
and broken tones that she had to repeat her words before he could
understand her, "My happiness was premature, I was mistaken."
She was insolable at the destruction of her airy castle, and was ill
for days, the first time since Wilhelm had known her. He sympathized
deeply with her in her grief, but he did not conceal from himself
that he was infinitely relieved at the turn affairs had taken. With
such a morbidly analytical and yet profoundly moral nature as his,
no rapture of the senses could possibly last for six months and
more. The passion in which reason plays no part was past and over
long ago, and during the last few weeks he had reflected upon the
situation with ever-increasing clearness and deliberation. At first
he had not been quite sure of his feelings, but earnest self-
examination by degrees made everything plain to him. What he was
most distinctly conscious of was a sense of profound disgust at his
present manner of life.
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