not Karel, with his wife, who had never been admitted to the family as an intimate, also shifted his circle far, far away from the circle of them all? . . . And, as for poor Ernst, had the twilight not deepened around poor Ernst, his gloomy solitude growing ever darker, until he had fallen ill, ill in his soul and in his senses? . . . And, now that all those circles were shifting so far away from one another and becoming ever wider, what consolation would there be for Mamma, around whom loneliness and darkness were closing, closing just around her, poor Mamma, to whom the family circle meant so much, who had always wanted to remain the centre of the love and warmth of all her children? . . . And it was strange that, when he thought of Constance, her circle, on the contrary, seemed to be moving closer, as though there were a new light dawning for her and Addie; and strangest of all was when he thought of himself and of his little tribe, which, it was true, had left him for the moment, but still belonged to him and was always, always round him . . . as if there were no twilight there at all . . . as if it were always dawn, a radiant dawn, flinging wide its golden beams. . . . Oh, children were everything! Had he not done wisely to create his golden dawn? . . . He did not think of his wife: he thought of his children; he was a father more than a husband. . . . Had he not done well? Was it not there that hope smiled upon
