e shuddered as she cast aside the sword.

"You have made a laughing stock of me. I am a man, and can fight my
own battles," I said, sternly. "My God!" breaking down suddenly,
"supposing you had been killed?"

"It was not possible. And the man insulted me, not you. A woman?
Very well. I can defend myself against everything but calumny. Have I
made a laughing stock of you? It is nothing to me. It would not have
altered my--"

She was very white, and she stroked her forehead.

"Well?" said I.

"It would not have altered my determination to take the sword in hand
again."

She put her hand to her throat as though something there had tightened.

"Ah, I am a woman, for I believe that I am about to faint! No!"
imperiously, as I threw out my arms to catch her. "I can reach the
door alone, without assistance."

And so we went along. I did not know what to do, nor yet what to say.
A conflict was raging in my heart between shame and love; shame, that a
woman had fought for me and won where I should have lost; love, that
strove to spring from my lips in exultation. I knew not which would
have conquered had I not espied the blood on Gretchen's white hand.

"You are wounded!" I cried.

She gazed at her hand as though she did not understand; then, with a
little sob and a little choke she extended her arms toward me and
stumbled. Was ever there a woman who could look on blood without
fainting? Gretchen had not quite fainted, but the moon had danced, she
said, and all had grown dim.

"Gretchen, why did you risk your life? In God's name, what manner of
woman are you, and where did you learn to use the sword? Had you no
thought of me?" I was somewhat incoherent.

"No thought of you?" She drew the back of her hand over her eyes. "No
thought of you? I did it because--because I did not--I could not--you
would have been killed!"

I was a man--human. I loved her. I had always loved her; I had never
loved any one else. I was a coward to do what I did, but I could not
help it. I crushed her to my breast and kissed her lips, not once, but
many times.

"How dare you!" weakly.

"How dare I, Gretchen, dear Gretchen?" I said. "I dare because I love
you! I love you! What is it to me that you have dishonored me in the
eyes of men? Nothing. I love you! Are you a barmaid? I care not.
Are you a conspirator? I know not, nor care. I know but one thing: I
love you; I shall always love you! Shall I tell you