"Look here, Kathrien," hurried on Hartmann, "I didn't mean to say a word of this to-day,—or ever. Not a word. But the instant I came in here from the office just now, something made me change my mind. I knew all at once I must talk to you. You looked so little, so young, so helpless, all huddled up there by the fire. Kathrien, you've never had to think for yourself. You don't know what you are doing in going on with this blasphemous, loveless marriage. Why, dear, you are making the most terrible mistake possible to a woman. Marriage with love is often a tragedy. Without love it is a hell. A horror that will deepen and grow more dreadful with every year."
"Do you suppose I don't understand that?" she whispered. "Don't make it harder for me."
"Your uncle was wrong to ask such a sacrifice. Why should you wreck your life to carry out his pig-headed plans?"
"Oh!"
"Not strong enough yet," advised Peter Grimm. "Go on, lad."
"You are going to be wretched for the rest of your days, just to please a dead man who can't even know about it," insisted Hartmann. "Or if he does know, you may be certain he sees the affair more sanely by this time and is bitterly sorry he made you promise."
"He assuredly is," acquiesced Peter Grimm. "I wish I'd known in other days that you had so much sense. Go ahead!"
"You mustn't speak so, James," reproved Kathrien, deeply shocked. "I——"
"Yes, he must," contradicted the Dead Man. "Go on, James. Stronger!"
"But I must speak so!" declared Hartmann, swept on by a power he could not understand. "I'll speak my mind. I don't care how fond you were of your uncle or how much he did for you. It was not right for him to ask this sacrifice of you. The whole thing was the blunder of an obstinate old man!"