My hand shook so violently while I lighted the lamp that I very nearly broke the chimney.
There was no mistake. On the table-cloth was lying the big strange letter, containing life or death, or what seemed to me much more glorious, and much more terrible, than life or death. For a moment I had the greatest inclination to run away. Then I nervously tore open the envelope.
The first thing that met my eye was the pencil drawing of Minna.
Just as suddenly as the image of Portia in the lead casket revealed to Bassanio his happy choice, so in the same manner did these lovely features announce my unfortunate lot.
The room swam round before me. I sat down on the sofa and took up the letter. The words danced and spread out before my eyes; two or three minutes passed before I could read—
"My dear tenderly loved Friend,—It is all over! I must be his. I have lingered and would still like to linger, but I feel that it will not be otherwise. I feel powerless to break with my first youth, to take your dear hand and start anew, and I should have to write a whole
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