and there is always to-morrow. Thank God for to-morrow! And if
there should be no to-morrow? Then thank God for to-day! And so
good-bye again, dear Belvern! It was in the lap of your lovely
hills that Penelope first knew das irdische Gluck; that she first
loved, first lived; forgot how to be artist, in remembering how to
be woman.