ting the breaking of the storm.

CHAPTER IV

A WARNING AND A THEORY

But, to Hartmann's surprise, the storm did not break. Instead, Peter
Grimm sat gazing at him with impassive face,--gazing long and without a
word. And when at last Grimm spoke, the old man's voice was as
emotionless as his face.

"You love her?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," answered Hartmann, as calmly as though stating some fact in
botany.

"H'--m!" rumbled Grimm, half to himself. "_Ja vis! Ja vis!_"

Hartmann still waited for the storm. And still it did not come.

"You love her?" repeated Grimm. "Does she know?"

"No. She doesn't know. She need never know. I had not meant to say a
word to any one."

Grimm rose and came toward him. The hard face was gentle again. The
inquisitorial voice was once more kindly.

"James," said the old man, "go to the office and get your money. Then
start for Florida headquarters. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, sir," replied James, grasping the outstretched hand. "I'm
very sorry."

"I'm sorry, too, James. Good-bye!"

As Hartmann left the room, Grimm turned to Frederik, and his eyes were
full of pain.

"_That_ is settled, thank Heaven!" he announced; but there was no
jubilance in his voice. "I wish--Hello, there's old McPherson!"

Glad to divert his mind he hurried to the front door to welcome the
visitor and drew him into the room with friendly roughness.

Dr. McPherson would have borne the stamp, "Family physician of the Old
School," even had he been found in the ranks of the Matabele army. Big,
shaggy, bearded, he was of the ancient and puissant type that, under the
tidal wave of "specialism" is fast being swept towards the shores where
live the last survivors of the Great Auk, the Dinosaur, and the Spread
Eagle Orator tribes.

"Good-morning, Peter," hailed the doctor, a Scotch burr faintly rasping
his bluff voice. "Morning, Fred. I passed young Hartmann at the gate. He
looks as if he was taking a pleasure trip to his own funeral. What ails
him?"

No one answered.

"He's about the finest lad that ever I brought into the world. What's
happened to make him so----? Good-morning, Kathrien," he broke off, as
the girl, followed by Marta, came in with Grimm's long delayed
breakfast.

"Good-morning, Doctor," she answered. "Oom Peter, you forgot to send for
this. So I----"

"What's that?" roared McPherson, sniffing the air like a bull that
scents an enemy. "Coffee? Why, damn it, Peter, I forbade you to to