t the instant I came in here
from the office just now, something made me change my mind. I knew all
at once I _must_ talk to you. You looked so little, so young, so
helpless, all huddled up there by the fire. Kathrien, you've never had
to think for yourself. You don't know what you are doing in going on
with this blasphemous, loveless marriage. Why, dear, you are making the
most terrible mistake possible to a woman. Marriage _with_ love is often
a tragedy. Without love it is a hell. A horror that will deepen and grow
more dreadful with every year."

"Do you suppose I don't understand that?" she whispered. "Don't make it
harder for me."

"Your uncle was wrong to ask such a sacrifice. Why should you wreck your
life to carry out his pig-headed plans?"

"Oh!"

"Not strong enough yet," advised Peter Grimm. "Go on, lad."

"You are going to be wretched for the rest of your days, just to please
a dead man who can't even know about it," insisted Hartmann. "Or if he
_does_ know, you may be certain he sees the affair more sanely by this
time and is bitterly sorry he made you promise."

"He assuredly is," acquiesced Peter Grimm. "I wish I'd known in other
days that you had so much sense. Go ahead!"

"You mustn't speak so, James," reproved Kathrien, deeply shocked.
"I----"

"Yes, he must," contradicted the Dead Man. "Go on, James. Stronger!"

"But I _must_ speak so!" declared Hartmann, swept on by a power he could
not understand. "I'll speak my mind. I don't care how fond you were of
your uncle or how much he did for you. It was not right for him to ask
this sacrifice of you. The whole thing was the blunder of an obstinate
old man!"

"No! You mustn't!"

"I loved him, too," said Hartmann. "As much in my own way, perhaps, as
you did. Though he and I never agreed on any subject under the sun. But,
in spite of all my affection for him, I know and always knew he _was_ an
obstinate old man. Obstinate as a mule. It was the Dutch in him, I
suppose."

Peter Grimm nodded emphatic approval.

"Do you know why I was sent away?" rushed on Hartmann, still upheld and
goaded along by that incomprehensible impulse. "Do you know why I
quarrelled with your uncle?"

"No."

"Because I told him I loved you. He asked me. I didn't tell him because
I had any hopes. I hadn't. I haven't now. Oh, girl, I don't know why I'm
talking to you like this. I love you. And my arms are aching for you."

He stepped toward her, arms out as he spoke. S