"I tell you he's all right," explained Evan. "Promise when we'll be married, and I'll pull him down."
The girl but shrieked the louder and, sinking down, clung pleadingly to his knees.
"Save him!" she cried. "He'll be killed! Oh, poor little Gabriel!"
"I tell you he won't be killed! Little Gabriel has only gone aloft, to be nearer his namesake. He's almost up to where 'the cherubim and seraphim continually do sing.' Don't you hear him singing himself, already? Will you fix the date or shall I cut the cord?"
The girl was getting calmer, though quivering all over. She only sobbed now; "He'll be killed! He'll be killed! Oh my poor little Gabriel!"
"I tell you he will not," reiterated Evan. "I don't believe he will be killed even when I cut the string. He will alight gently somewhere, as the gas in the balloons gradually exudes, and somebody will take care of him. It may not be in this county, but he will alight. When will you marry me?"
The young woman did not answer.
"Salome," said Evan, now pleadingly. "You know that you love me and that I love you. Why not stop all this dalliance and coquetting? you know you are going to be my wife. Will you not make it all definite?"
Salome looked up into her lover's eyes, then bowed her head. Finally she looked up again and sobbed out:
"Y-e-s, only pull down little Gabriel."