up, and that's what I've come to tell you, Karen, that he loves you, and
that he's downstairs, and that he's waiting to know whether you'll see
him."

Mrs. Talcott rose and stood by the bed looking down into Karen's eyes.
"Honey, I can bring him up, can't I?" she asked.

Karen's eyes looked up at her with an intensity that had passed beyond
joy or appeal. Her life was concentrated in her gaze.

"You would not lie to me?" she said. "It is not pity? He loves me?"

"No, I wouldn't lie to you, dearie," said Mrs. Talcott, with infinite
tenderness; "lies ain't my line. It's not pity. He loves you, Karen."

"Bring him," Karen whispered. "I have always loved him. Don't let me die
before he comes."

CHAPTER XLVII

Mrs. Talcott, as she descended the staircase, heard in the little
sitting-room a voice, the voice of Mercedes, speaking on and on, in a
deep-toned, continuous roll of vehement demonstration, passionate
protest, subtle threat and pleading. Gregory's voice she did not hear.
No doubt he stood where she had left him, at the other side of the
table, confronting his antagonist.

Mrs. Talcott turned the knob of the door and slightly pushed it. A heavy
weight at once was flung against it.

"You shall not come in! You shall not! I forbid it! I will not be
disturbed!" cried the voice of Mercedes, who must, in the moment, have
guessed that she had been foiled.

"Quit that foolishness," said Mrs. Talcott sternly. She leaned against
the door and forced it open, and Mercedes, dishevelled, with eyes that
seemed to pant on her like eyes from some dangerous jungle, flung
herself once more upon the door and stood with her back against it.

"Mr. Jardine," said Mrs. Talcott, not looking at her recovered captive,
"Karen is upstairs and wants to see you. She doesn't love Franz Lippheim
and she isn't going to marry him. She didn't run away with him; she met
him when she'd run away from her guardian and he was going to take her
to his mother, only she got sick and he had to bring her here. She was
told that you wanted to divorce her and wanted to be free. She loves
you, Mr. Jardine, and she's waiting up there; only be mighty gentle with
her, because she's been brought to death's door by all that she's been
through."

"I forbid it! I forbid it!" shrieked Madame von Marwitz from her place
before the door, spreading her arms across it. "She is mad! She is
delirious! The doctor has said so! I have promised Franz that you sh