bringing to pass its completion. For his eyes turned from their loving
scrutiny of Kathrien and rested on the outer door. And, as in response
to an unspoken summons, footfalls were heard in the entry.

At the sound, Kathrien's drooping figure straightened. And a glow came
into her tired eyes. The outer door opened and James Hartmann came in.
He took an impulsive step toward the girl. Then he remembered himself.
Turning aside to the rack, he hung his coat and hat on it, and asked, as
to a casual acquaintance:

"Have you seen Frederik anywhere? He told me hours ago that he'd join me
in the office in a few minutes. I waited, but he didn't come. Then Marta
told me he had gone down to the hotel. I went over to see father, and I
stopped at the hotel on my way back. They said Frederik had been there,
but that he had just gone. I'm rather tired of playing hide-and-seek
with him. Has he come in yet?"

"He has come in. But I think he has gone again. And--and, James, I think
he will not come here again."

"What? Then the wedding won't be at the house?"

"The wedding won't be--anywhere."

"_Kathrien!_"

He stared at her, seeking to read grief, humiliation, or, at the very
least, the anger engendered of a lovers' quarrel. But her face was
serene, even happy. The worry was gone that had lurked behind her
gentle eyes. The furrow had been smoothed from the low, white brow, and
even the pathetic aura of sorrow that had clung to her as a garment
since Peter Grimm's death had departed.

"Kathrien!" he repeated doubtfully, his heart thumping in an unruly
fashion that well-nigh choked him.

The serene calm of the girl's face fled beneath his eager, troubled
gaze.

"Frederik has gone," she said briefly. "I am not going to marry him. I
broke our engagement this evening."

"And you are free--free to----?"

He checked himself, fearful to believe in the marvellous fortune that
seemed to have come all at once from the Unattainable into his very
grasp. And, girl-like, Kathrien was, of a sudden, panic stricken.

"It is late," she said hastily, "very late. Good-night!"

She made as though to go to her room. And James Hartmann, still full of
that new fear of his own good fortune, dared not stay her.

But Peter Grimm did not hesitate.

"Katje!" pleaded the Dead Man. "Is Happiness so common that we can toy
with it? Is life's greatest joy so cheap that we can thrust it aside
when by a miracle it is laid at our feet? Can we afford to