"ONLY ONE THING REALLY COUNTS"
And Peter Grimm, standing in the shadows, nodded happy assent to her
cry. The Dead Man's ageless face was wondrous bright. It shone with a
joy that made the rugged features beautiful.
His work was done. His long journey from the Unknown had not failed. The
one deed of his mortal life that could have wrought ill was undone. He
had atoned for a single fault and had seen the ill effects of that fault
brought to nothing. He could go back with a calm mind. All was well in
his earthly home.
But he was not yet wholly content. One task remained. A light task, and,
to guess from his radiant face, a welcome one. And even now he was
bringing to pass its completion. For his eyes turned from their loving
scrutiny of Kathrien and rested on the outer door. And, as in response
to an unspoken summons, footfalls were heard in the entry.
At the sound, Kathrien's drooping figure straightened. And a glow came
into her tired eyes. The outer door opened and James Hartmann came in.
He took an impulsive step toward the girl. Then he remembered himself.
Turning aside to the rack, he hung his coat and hat on it, and asked, as
to a casual acquaintance:
"Have you seen Frederik anywhere? He told me hours ago that he'd join me
in the office in a few minutes. I waited, but he didn't come. Then Marta
told me he had gone down to the hotel. I went over to see father, and I
stopped at the hotel on my way back. They said Frederik had been there,
but that he had just gone. I'm rather tired of playing hide-and-seek
with him. Has he come in yet?"
"He has come in. But I think he has gone again. And--and, James, I think
he will not come here again."
"What? Then the wedding won't be at the house?"
"The wedding won't be--anywhere."
"_Kathrien!_"
He stared at her, seeking to read grief, humiliation, or, at the very
least, the anger engendered of a lovers' quarrel. But her face was
serene, even happy. The worry was gone that had lurked behind her
gentle eyes. The furrow had been smoothed from the low, white brow, and
even the pathetic aura of sorrow that had clung to her as a garment
since Peter Grimm's death had departed.
"Kathrien!" he repeated doubtfully, his heart thumping in an unruly
fashion that well-nigh choked him.
The serene calm of the girl's face fled beneath his eager, troubled
gaze.
"Frederik has gone," she said briefly. "I am not going to marry him. I
broke our engagement this evening."
"And you are free--free to----?"
He checked himself, fearful to believe in the marvellous fortune that
seemed to have come all at once from the Unattainable into his very
grasp. And, girl-like, Kathrien was, of a sudden, panic stricken.
"It is late," she said hastily, "very late. Good-night!"
She made as though to go to her room. And James Hartmann, still full of
that new fear of his own good fortune, dared not stay her.
But Peter Grimm did not hesitate.
"Katje!" pleaded the Dead Man. "Is Happiness so common that we can toy
with it? Is life's greatest joy so cheap that we can thrust it aside
when by a miracle it is laid at our feet? Can we afford to 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 go," he demanded,
drunk with his new-born power and happiness.
"Yes? I'll say it."
"Say you will marry me to-morrow."
This time, from sheer amazement, she sprang back, out of the loosened
clasp of his arms.
"To-morrow?" she gasped. "Are you crazy? Why," with a little shudder,
"to-morrow was to be the day I was to----"
"To marry a man you didn't love. That would have made it forever a day
of shame. You owe 'to-morrow' something to atone for that. Pay its debt
by marrying _me_ then."
"I--I can't," she protested. "What--what would people say?"
"Katje!" broke in the Dead Man. "When you shall have learned that 'what
people say' is the most senseless bugbear in all this wide world of
senseless bugbears, you will be far on the road to true greatness. You
will have broken the heaviest, most galling, most idiotically _useless_
fetter that weights down humanity. Being a woman you will never be able
wholly to free yourself from that same fetter. But lift its weight from
your soul just this once! You were going to curse your life with a
blasphemously wicked, loveless marriage to-morrow. And the world would
have approved. You have a chance to atone for an attempted wrong and to
win happiness for yourself and the man you love, to-morrow, by marrying
James then. A few representatives of the world will hold up their hands
and squawk: 'How scandalously sudden! I suppose she did it to show she
didn't mind Frederik's jilting her.' And for the sake of the people who
would have approved a crime and who will sneer at a good and wise deed,
you are going to throw away many days of bliss, and senselessly postpone
the one perfect Event of your life. Is this my wise little girl or is it
some one just as stubborn and foolish as her old uncle used to be? Tell
me."
"Why should we care what 'people say'?" urged Hartmann as Kathrien
hesitated. "The opinions of other people wreck lots of lives. Let's be
great enough and wise enough to choose our own happiness! Don't let's be
stubborn like poor old Mr. Grimm, and----"
"James!" she cried in wonder. "Those are just the very things I was
thinking. That's the second time in a few minutes that you have read my
mind."
"Perhaps it was _you_ who were reading mine," said Hartmann. "That's
what people call 'Telepathy,' isn't it?"
"Yes," smiled the Dead Man. "That is what 'people' call it--who know no
better. Oh, what a jumble people do make of the simple things of the
Universe!"
"Anyway," went on Hartmann, without waiting for Kathrien to reply to his
question, "it doesn't matter which of us thought of it first. It's
enough to know it's true. And you _will_ marry me to-morrow?"
"_Yes!_" vociferated Peter Grimm.
"Y-yes," faltered the girl.
"Listen, dear," continued Hartmann, "we won't be very well off, I'm
afraid. I've a little money--but not much. I know scientific gardening
as not many men know it. So we won't starve. But it won't be as if you
were going to marry a rich man like Frederik Grimm."
"Thank Heaven, it won't!" she breathed fervently. "And do you suppose it
will matter one bit to me that we won't be rich? I wish, of course, that
we didn't have to leave this dear old house, but----"
"If we had both the house and the little capital that belongs to me,"
answered Hartmann, "we could stay on here and make a splendid living.
But what's the use of building air castles?"
"Why not?" urged the Dead Man. "They're as cheap to build as air
dungeons; and a million times pleasanter to live in. But, don't fret
about the house. Frederik is going to turn it over to you--I've seen to
that. And you will prosper, you two, here in the home I loved."
"I believe it will come out all right!" declared the girl. "I have a
feeling that it will. Intuition if you like."
"'Intuition,'" repeated the Dead Man whimsically. "Yes. Call it that, if
you choose. 'Intuition' and 'telepathy' are both pretty synonyms for the
words spoken to you that mortal ears are too gross to understand and
whose sense sometimes finds vague resting-place in mortal brains."
"It will come out all right," she reiterated, smiling up at her lover.
"It's good to see you smile again," said Hartmann, once more drawing her
close to him. "I'm glad your cloud of grief is beginning to lift."
"It _has_ lifted," she returned. "When Oom Peter went away, and seemed
utterly lost to me forever, I thought my heart would break. But now--now
I know he _hasn't_ gone. I know he has been here with me this very
evening."
"I--I don't understand."
"It is true," she insisted. "You must believe it, dear. For it is very
real to me. I believe he came back to set me free from my promise to
Frederik. Some time--some time, I'll tell you all about it."
"In the meanwhile," adjured the Dead Man, "believe her, James. If men
would put less faith in their own four-square logic and more faith in
their wives' illogical beliefs, there'd be fewer mistakes made."
"Don't ask me any more about it to-night," begged the girl in response
to the amazed questioning in her lover's eyes. "I can't speak of it
just yet. It's all too near--too wonderful."
"Just as you like," he agreed. "Now I must go, for I want to catch Mr.
Batholommey before he goes to sleep, and make the arrangements with him
for the wedding."
His arm around her, they crossed to where his hat and coat were hanging.
"I wonder if Oom Peter can see us now?" she mused, as Hartmann stooped
to kiss her good-night.
"That's the great mystery of the ages," answered Hartmann. "Who can
tell? But I wish he might know. I think, seen as he must see things now,
he would be glad. Good-night, sweetheart."
She watched him stride down the walk. Then she came back into the room,
her eyes alight.
"Oh, Oom Peter," she murmured, half aloud.
"I see," returned Peter Grimm. "I know all about it. I know, little
girl. I know."