Castleman was not ready to yield, though he was sure that in the end he would do so. He also knew that her threat to go to the inn was by no means an idle word.
Yolanda was not given to tears, but she used them when she found she could accomplish her ends by no other means. A long pause ensued, broken by Yolanda's sobs.
"Good-by, uncle. Good-by, tante. Good-by, Twonette. I mean what I say, uncle. I am going, and I shall not come back if you will not do this thing for me. I am going to the inn."
She kissed them all and started toward the door. The loving old tante could not hold out. She, too, was weeping, and she added her supplications to Yolanda's.
"Do what she asks, father--only this once," said Frau Kate.
"Only this once," pleaded Yolanda, turning her tear-moistened eyes upon the helpless burgher.
"I suppose I must surrender," exclaimed Castleman, rising from his chair. "I have been surrendering to you, your aunt, and Twonette all my life. First Kate, then Twonette, and of late years they have been reënforced by you, Yolanda, and my day is lost. I do a little useless fighting when I know I am in the right, but it is always followed by a cowardly surrender."
"But think of your victories in surrender, uncle. Think of your rewards," cried Yolanda, running to his side and kissing him. "Many a man would fight a score of dragons for that kiss."
"Dragons!" cried Castleman, protestingly. "I would rather fight a hundred dragons than do this thing for you, Yolanda. I know little concerning the ways of a girl's heart, but, ignorant as I am, I could see--Mother, I never saw a girl so infatuated with a man as our Yolanda is with this Sir Max--this stranger."
"There, tante," cried Yolanda, turning triumphantly to Frau Kate, "you hear what uncle says. Now you see the great reason for having him here--this Sir Max and his friend. But, uncle, if you think I mean to make a fool of myself about this man, put the notion out of your head. I know only too well the barrier between us, but, uncle mine," she continued pleadingly, all her wonted joyousness driven from her face, "I am so wretched, so unhappy. If I may have a moment of joy now, for the love of the Blessed Virgin don't deny me. I sometimes think you love me chiefly because I so truly deserve your pity. As for this young man, he is gentle, strong, and good, and, as you say, he certainly is good to look upon. Twonette knows that, don't you, Twonette? He is wise, too, and brave, even against the impulse of his own great heart. He thinks only of my good and his own duties. I am in no danger from him, uncle. He can do me only good. I shall be happier and better all my life long for having known him. Now, uncle?"