"Ernst," I said, and my breath came quickly,
chokingly, as though I had been running fast, "Ernst, I
can't do it. I'm not big enough. I can't. I hate him,
I tell you, I hate him! My life is my own. I've made it
what it is, in the face of a hundred temptations; in
spite of a hundred pitfalls. I can't lay it down again
for Peter Orme to trample. Ernst, if you love me, take
me away now. To Vienna--anywhere--only don't ask me to
take up my life with him again. I can't--I can't--"
"Love you?" repeated Ernst, slowly, "yes. Too well--"
"Too well--"
"Yes, too well for that, Gott sei dank, small one.
Too well for that."
CHAPTER XVIII
PETER ORME
A man's figure rose from the shadows of the porch and
came forward to meet us as we swung up to the curbing.
I stifled a scream in my throat. As I shrank back into
the seat I heard the quick intake of Von Gerhard's breath
as he leaned forward to peer into the darkness. A sick
dread came upon me.
"Sa-a-ay, girl," drawled the man's voice, with a
familiar little cackling laugh in it, "sa-a-ay, girl, the
policeman on th' beat's got me spotted for a suspicious
character. I been hoofin' it up an' down this block like
a distracted mamma waitin' for her daughter t' come home
from a boat ride.
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