her in vain. Then of a sudden she cried out and came to a
standstill.

"A strap broke, and I have turned my ankle. Oh, I cannot move a step!
What shall I do?"

"Sit down on the ice."

As she sat, he undid her skates and then his own and tied them to his
belt. "Can you walk?" he said.

"I will try. Ah!" She was in pain. "Call Mr. Schmidt," she said. "Call
him at once."

"I do not see him. We were to meet him opposite the Swedes' church."

"Then go and find him."

"What, leave you? Not I. Let me carry you."

"Oh, no, no; thou must not." But in a moment he had the slight figure in
his arms.

"Let me down! I will never, never forgive thee!" But he only said in a
voice of resolute command, "Keep still, Pearl, or I shall fall." She was
silent. Did she like it, the strong arms about her, the head on his
shoulder, the heart throbbing as never before? He spoke no more, but
moved carefully on.

They had not gone a hundred yards when he heard Schmidt calling. At once
he set her down, saying, "Am I forgiven?"

"No--yes," she said faintly.

"Pearl, dear Pearl, I love you. I meant not to speak, oh, for a time,
but it has been too much for me. Say just a word." But she was silent as
Schmidt stopped beside them and Rene in a few words explained.

"Was it here?" asked Schmidt.

"No; a little while ago."

"But how did you come so far, my poor child?"

"Oh, I managed," she said.

"Indeed. I shall carry you."

"If thou wilt, please. I am in much pain."

He took off his skates, and with easy strength walked away over the ice,
the girl in his arms, so that before long she was at home and in her
mother's care, to be at rest for some days.

"Come in, Rene," said Schmidt, as later they settled themselves for the
usual smoke and chat. The German said presently: "It was not a very bad
sprain. Did you carry her, Rene?"

"I--"

"Yes. Do you think, man, that I cannot see!"

"Yes, I carried her. What else could I do?"

"Humph! What else? Nothing. Was she heavy, Herr de Courval?"

"Please not to tease me, sir. You must know that, God willing, I shall
marry her."

"Will you, indeed! And your mother, Rene, will she like it?"

"No; but soon or late she will have to like it. For her I am still a
child, but now I shall go my way."

"And Pearl?"

"I mean to know, to hear. I can wait no longer. Would it please you,
sir?"

"Mightily, my son; and when it comes to the mother, I must say a word or
two."

"She will not