ght of the bar,
logic unworthy of a school-boy. But it was fearfully real to Peter for
the moment, and he said to himself: "I must do it, even if she never
forgives me." Then the indecision left his face, and he took a step
forward.

Leonore caught her breath with a gasp. The "dare-you" look, suddenly
changed to a very frightened one, and turning, she sped across the lawn,
at her utmost speed. She had read something in Peter's face, and felt
that she must fly, however ignominious such retreat might be.

Peter followed, but though he could have caught her in ten seconds, he
did not. As on a former occasion, he thought: "I'll let her get out of
breath. Then she will not be so angry. At least she won't be able to
talk. How gracefully she runs!"

Presently, as soon as Leonore became convinced that Peter did not intend
to catch her, she slowed down to a walk. Peter at once joined her.

"Now," he said, "will you come back?"

Leonore was trying to conceal her panting. She was not going to
acknowledge that she was out of breath since Peter wasn't. So she made
no reply.

"You are walking in the wrong direction," said Peter, laying his hand on
her arm. Then, since she made no reply, his hand encircled the arm, and
he stopped. Leonore took two more steps. Then she too, curiously enough,
halted.

"Stop holding me," she said, not entirely without betraying her
breathlessness.

"You are to come back," said Peter.

He got an awful look from those eyes. They were perfectly blazing with
indignation.

"Stop holding me," she repeated.

It was a fearful moment to Peter. But he said, with an appeal in his
voice, "You know I suffer in offending you. I did not believe that I
could touch you without your consent. But your health is dearer to me
than your anger is terrible. You must come home."

So Leonore, realizing that helplessness in a man exists only by his own
volition, turned, and began walking towards the now distant house. Peter
at once released her arm, and walked beside her. Not a glimpse did he
get of those dear eyes. Leonore was looking directly before her, and a
grenadier could not have held himself straighter. If insulted dignity
was to be acted in pantomime, the actor could have obtained some
valuable points from that walk.

Peter walked along, feeling semi-criminal, yet semi-happy. He had saved
Leonore from an early grave, and that was worth while doing. Then, too,
he could look at her, and that was worth whil