He had sworn to marry her, if he survived the war.  And since he could no more keep his oath than break it, he had at this moment decided to put an end to the struggle by seeking death, which his calling made it so easy for him to find.  With the keen insight of a woman in love Edith read his mind like an open book.  She knew him so well that she never for a moment cherished the illusion that she could alter his mind by prayers or tears.  She knew that this man was ready to sacrifice everything for her—­everything save honour.  Her mind had never been fuller of humble admiration than at the moment when the knowledge that she had lost him for ever spread a dark veil over all her sunny hopes of the future.

She did not say a word; and when her silence caused him to turn his face again towards her, she saw an expression of unutterable pain in his features, usually so well controlled.  Then she also felt the growing power of a great and courageous resolution.  Her mind rose from the low level of selfish passion to the height of self-sacrificing renunciation.  But it had never been her way to do by halves what she had once determined to carry out.  What was to be done admitted no cowardly delay, no tender leave-taking must allow Heideck to guess that a knowledge of his intentions had decided her course of action.

With that heroic self-command of which, perhaps, only a woman is capable in such circumstances, she forced herself to appear outwardly calm and composed.

“Then I am no longer anxious about our future, my friend,” she said after a long silence, smiling painfully.  “I will not detain you any longer now; for I know that your duties as a soldier must stand first.  I am happy that I have been permitted to see you again.  Not to hinder your doing your duty in this serious time of war, I give you your freedom.  Perhaps your love will some day bring you back to me of your own accord.  And now, farewell.”

Her sudden resolution and the calmness with which she resigned herself to this second separation must have seemed almost incomprehensible to Heideck after what had passed.  But her beautiful face betrayed so little of the desperate hopelessness she felt, that, after a brief hesitation, he regarded this singular change in the same light as the numerous other surprises to which her mysterious nature had already treated him.  She had spoken with such quiet firmness, that he could no longer look upon her resolution as the suggestion of a perverse or angry whim.

“For God’s sake, Edith, what do you intend to do?”

“I shall try to return to Dover to-morrow.  I should only be in your way here.”

“In that case, we should not see each other again before you leave?”

“You said yourself that there was little chance of that.”

“I am not my own master, and this information—­”

“No excuse is necessary; no regard for me should hinder you in the performance of your official duties.  Once again then, good-bye, my dear, my beloved friend!  May Heaven protect you!”