e the young girl by
the hand and lead her away out of this house.

She freed herself from him and looked at him in amazement. "Ask pardon?
And for that?"

"Gertrude, don't misunderstand me." He felt almost embarrassed before
her great wondering eyes.

"I meant that we should show your mother calmly and quietly that we
cannot give each other up. Say something to her in excuse for your
vehemence. Come, I will go with you."

"No, I cannot!" she cried, "I cannot beg forgiveness when I have been
so injured in all that I hold most sacred. I cannot!" she reiterated,
going past him to the deep window.

He followed her and took her hand; a strange feeling had come over him.
Until now he had only seen in her a calm, reasonable woman. But she
misunderstood him.

"No!" she cried, "don't ask me, Frank. I will not do it, I cannot, I
never could! Not even when I was a child, though she shut me up for
hours in a dark room."

"I was not going to urge you," he said; "only give me your hand, I must
know whether this is really you, Gertrude."

She bent down and pressed a kiss on his right hand. "If _you_ were not
in the world, Frank, if I had to be here all alone!" she whispered
warmly.

"But you have all this trouble on my account," he replied, much moved.

She shook her head.

"Only do not misunderstand me," she continued, "and have patience with
my faults. You will promise me that, Frank, will you not?" she urged in
an anxious tone. "You see I am so perverse when I feel injured; I get
as hard as a stone then and everything good seems to die out of me. I
could hate those people who thrust their low ideas on me! Frank, you
don't know how I have suffered from this already."

They still stood hand in hand. The snow whirled about before the window
in the twilight of the short winter day. It was so still here inside,
so warm and cosy.

"Frank!" she whispered.

"My Gertrude!"

"You are not angry with me?"

"No, no. We will bear with each other's faults and we will try to
improve when we are all alone by our two selves."

"You have no faults," she said, proudly, in a tone of conviction,
drawing closer to him.

He was grave.

"Yes, Gertrude, I am very vehement, I sometimes have terrible fits of
passion."

"Those are not the worst men," she said, putting her arm round his
neck.

"Are you so sure of that?" he asked, smiling into the lovely face that
looked so gentle now in the twilight.

"Yes. My grandmother always