risk
everything by putting off love when it is in our very grasp?"

The girl hesitated, paused, and seemed to busy herself with
straightening some disarranged articles on the desk. The Dead Man came
and stood beside her.

"He loves you, Katje," he murmured. "And only one thing really
counts--Love! It is the only thing that tells, in the long run. Nothing
else endures to the end. Perhaps, if you are shy now and do not let him
speak, he may find courage to speak to-morrow. But perhaps he may not.
And are you willing to take that chance?"

"No!" cried the girl in quick fear. "No!"

"What?" asked Hartmann, startled by the frightened denial, so
meaningless to him.

"I--I didn't know I spoke," she faltered, embarrassed. "It was foolish
of me. I had some strange thought. And----"

"I don't understand."

"You understand less and less every minute, James," laughed Peter Grimm.
"She loves you. Are you going to let her slip through your fingers just
because you haven't the courage to speak? You were brave enough early
this evening when you didn't have a chance. Now that she's yours for the
asking, why be tongue-tied? It was the fear of losing you that made her
cry out 'No!' just now."

"Katje," demanded Hartmann, abashed at his own audacity, yet unable to
keep back the words, "were you afraid I wouldn't be here in the morning
to tell you I loved you? Was that why you said----?"

"How did you know?" she gasped appalled. "You read my mind."

Before she could realise the meaning of what she had said, she found
herself whirled bodily from the floor and caught close in the grip of
two strong arms that crushed her to a heaving breast. And Hartmann was
raining kisses on her hair, her eyes, her upturned face.

"James!" she panted. "Don't! Put me down."

"Not till you say you love me," came the answer in a voice from whence
all timidity had forever fled.

The tone of glad, adoring rulership thrilled her. She ceased her
half-hearted struggles to free herself. Her arms, through no conscious
effort of her own, crept upward until they encircled his neck.

"Say you love me!" he demanded again, in that glorious Mastery of the
Loved.

"I love you," she answered obediently. "I have always loved you, I
think. It's--it's very wonderful to be held like this and--and to be
_glad_ not to be let go. I--I--I don't really think I wanted you to let
me go, even when I told you to."

"There is something else you must say before I let you