He had a sense of elevation in having done his duty, and as long
as this tension lasted it kept him up to the mark. On the day of
his marriage (from early in the morning until the time when the
ceremony took place) he employed himself in writing to his mother;
a wonderful, a solemn letter in the sight of the All-Knowing,--the
cry of a tortured soul in utmost peril.
It depended on his mother whether she would receive them and let
their life become all that was now possible. Angelika--their
business, manager, housekeeper, chief. He--devoted to his
experiments. She--the tender mother, the guide of both.
It seemed to him that their future depended on this letter and the
answer to it, and he wrote in that spirit. Never had he so fully
depicted himself, so fully searched his own heart.
It was the outcome of what he had lived through during these last
few days, the mellowing influence of his struggles during the
night watches. Nothing could have been more candid.
He was pained that he did not receive an answer at once, although
he realised what a blow it would be to her. He understood that, to
begin with, it would destroy all her dreams, as it had already
destroyed.
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