“If a fellow could only believe in Jesus Christ!” he murmured. “He’s about the only one I know who could help me; for the pastor never could manage Gretchen; besides, he’d be so wild at the bare idea that he’d be ready to tear me in pieces. Then, any interference from anybody would put her on her ear directly; yet, as the parson says, breaking that rascal’s head wouldn’t do anybody good—but me! Now, Jesus Christ—if there is such a person—could help, if He’d a mind to; and if help of any kind does come, it’ll be from Him, that’s a dead certainty. I suppose the parson would ask Him; but, no, hang it all! if He is the sort of person they say He is, and knows all about it, He won’t wait to be asked; Mr. Clare didn’t. Well, there’s just this about it. If Gretchen comes safe out of this, even if she marries some other fellow, so he’s an honest man and not a cursed rascal like Frank Randolph, then I will believe in Him, and fight His battles, too, for all I’m worth.”
It was an odd self-dedication, and one could almost fancy a smile of amused tenderness on the Face that was all the while so very, very close to him. The next moment Gretchen herself came hurriedly around the corner. She was flushed and heated as if from rapid walking; her bonnet was slightly askew, and her “bangs” were wild: the whole appearance of things was as if something had happened, or was about to happen, to her, at last.
“Aha! my lady,” said Fritz to himself, “my eye is upon you, and I propose to keep it there. It’s come to stay. Hello!” he called aloud. “Hello, Gretchen!”
She glanced up and around with an air of frightened guilt until she caught his eye.
“What are you doing there?” she called.
“Waiting for the parson. Where have you been, to get so warm?”
“None of your business,” she cried, as she disappeared around the corner.
Fritz drew in his head with a smile.
“I don’t mind trifles like that,” he said grimly. “Guess she’ll sing another tune by and by; and meanwhile I’ll go get some supper.” He paused before a copy of Gabriel Max’s head of Christ, and looked at it steadfastly, just checking himself in saying, “I am much obliged to you.”
“Stuff and nonsense! He ain’t a picture, anyway,” said Fritz, as he banged the door with unnecessary emphasis.