ked God for
it, and struggled up again. Even Norah never knew what that struggle
was. Whatever I am, I am in spite of him. I tell you I could hug my
widow's weeds. Ten years ago he showed me how horrible and unclean a
thing can be made of this beautiful life. I was a despairing, cowering
girl of twenty then--I am a woman now, happy in her work, her friends;
growing broader and saner in thought, quicker to appreciate the finer
things in life. And now--what?"

They were dashing off a rollicking folk-song indoors. When it was
finished there came a burst of laughter and the sharp spat of applauding
hands, and shouts of approbation. The sounds seemed seared upon my
brain. I rose and ran down the path toward the waiting machine. There
in the darkness I buried my shamed face in my hands and prayed for the
tears that would not come.

It seemed hours before I heard Von Gerhard's firm, quick tread upon the
gravel path. He moved about the machine, adjusting this and that, then
took his place at the wheel without a word. We glided out upon the
smooth white road. All the loveliness of the night seemed to have
vanished. Only the ugly, distorted shadows remained. The terror of
uncertainty gripped me. I could not endure the sight of Von Gerhard's
stern, set face. I grasped his arm suddenly so that the machine veered
and darted across the road. With a mighty wrench Von Gerhard righted it.
He stopped the machine at the road-side.

"Careful, Kindchen," he said, gravely.

"Ernst," I said, and my breath came quickly, chokingly, as though I had
been running fast, "Ernst, I can't do it. I'm not big enough. I can't.
I hate him, I tell you, I hate him! My life is my own. I've made it
what it is, in the face of a hundred temptations; in spite of a hundred
pitfalls. I can't lay it down again for Peter Orme to trample. Ernst, if
you love me, take me away now. To Vienna--anywhere--only don't ask me to
take up my life with him again. I can't--I can't--"

"Love you?" repeated Ernst, slowly, "yes. Too well--"

"Too well--"

"Yes, too well for that, Gott sei dank, small one. Too well for that."

CHAPTER XVIII. PETER ORME

A man's figure rose from the shadows of the porch and came forward to
meet us as we swung up to the curbing. I stifled a scream in my throat.
As I shrank back into the seat I heard the quick intake of Von Gerhard's
breath as he leaned forward to peer into the darkness. A sick dread came
upon me.

"Sa-a-ay, girl," dr