When he had agreed with his mother that he was not to prefer his suit for Katharina till the following day, he had hoped to prove to her in the interval that this little thing was no wife for him; and now—­oh!  Irony of Fate—­he found himself compelled to the very reverse of what he longed to do:  to fight the woman he loved—­Yes, still loved—­as if she were his mortal foe, and pay his court to the girl who really did not suit him.  It was maddening, but inevitable; and once more spurring himself with the word “Onwards!” he flung himself into the accomplishment of the unholy task of subduing the inexperienced child at his elbow into committing even a crime for his sake.  His heart was beating wildly; but no pause, no retreat was possible:  he must conquer.  “Onwards, then, onwards!”

When they had passed out of the light of the lamps into the shade he took his young companion’s slender hand-thankful that the darkness concealed his features—­and pressed the delicate fingers to his lips.

“Oh!—­Orion!” she exclaimed shyly, but she did not resist.

“I only claim my due, sunshine of my soul!” he said insinuatingly.  “If your heart beat as loud as mine, our mothers might hear them!”

“But it does!” she joyfully replied, her curly head bent on one side.

“Not as mine does,” he said with a sigh, laying her little hand on his heart.  He could do so in all confidence, for its spasmodic throbbing threatened to suffocate him.

“Yes indeed,” she said.  “It is beating. . .”

“So that they can hear it indoors,” he added with a forced laugh.  “Do you think your dear mother has not long since read our feelings?”

“Of course she has,” whispered Katharina.  “I have rarely seen her in such good spirits as since your return.”

“And you, you little witch?”

“I?  Of course I was glad—­we all were.—­And your parents!”

“Nay, nay, Katharina!  What you yourself felt when we met once more, that is what I want to know.”

“Oh, let that pass!  How can I describe such a thing?”

“Is that quite impossible?” he asked and clasped her arm more closely in his own.  He must win her over, and his romantic fancy helped him to paint feelings he had never had, in glowing colors.  He poured out sweet words of love, and she was only too ready to believe them.  At a sign from him she sat down confidingly on a wooden bench in the old avenue which led to the northern side of the house.  Flowers were opening on many of the shrubs and shedding rich, oppressive perfume.  The moonlight pierced through the solemn foliage of the sycamores, and shimmering streaks and rings of light played in the branches, on the trunks, and on the dark ground.  The heat of the day still lingered in the leafy roofs overhead, sultry and heavy even now; and in this alley he called her for the first time his own, his betrothed, and enthralled her heart in chains and bonds.  Each fervent word thrilled with the wild and painful agitation that was torturing his soul, and sounded heartfelt and sincere.  The scent of flowers, too, intoxicated her young and inexperienced heart; she willingly offered her lips to his kisses, and with exquisite bliss felt the first glow of youthful love returned.