n weight of her love. Indeed, there was love on both sides of
that balance. Who could tell how the gold weighed against the gold?

Yet, after those drowsy, pain-streaked nights, when the sober light of
dawn crept in at the windows, then, morning after morning, Michael knew
that the inward compulsion was in no way weakened by all the reasons
that he had urged. It remained ruthless and tender, a still small voice
that was heard after the whirlwind and the fire. For the very reason why
he longed to spare Sylvia this knowledge, namely, that they loved each
other, was precisely the reason why he could not spare her. Yet it
seemed so wanton, so useless, so unreasonable to tell her, so laden with
a risk both for him and her that no standard could measure. But he no
more contemplated--except in vain imagination--making up some ingenious
story of this kind which would account for his knowledge of Hermann's
death than he contemplated keeping silence altogether. It was not
possible for him not to tell her everything, though, when he pictured
himself doing so, he found himself faced by what seemed an inevitable
impossibility. Though he did not see how his lips could frame the words,
he knew they had to. Yet he could not but remember how mere reports in
the paper, stories of German cruelty and what not, had overclouded the
serenity of their love. What would happen when this news, no report or
hearsay, came to her?

He had not heard her foot on the stairs, nor did she wait for his
servant to announce her; but, a little before her appointed time, she
burst in upon him midway between smiles and tears, all tenderness.

"Michael, my dear, my dear," she cried, "what a morning for me! For the
first time to-day when I woke, I forgot about the war. And your poor
arm? How goes it? Oh, I will take care, but I must and will have you in
my arms."

He had risen to greet her, and softly and gently she put her arms round
his neck, drawing his head to her.

"Oh, my Michael!" she whispered. "You've come back to me. Lieber Gott,
how I have longed for you!"

"Lieber Gott!" When last had he heard those words? He had to tell her.
He would tell her in a minute or two. Perhaps she would never hold him
like that again. He could not part with her at the very moment he had
got her.

"You look ever so well, Michael," she said, "in spite of your wound.
You're so brown and lean and strong. And oh, how I have wanted you! I
never knew how much till you wen