He went close up to Paula, told her in a low voice that Hiram was safe, and implored her, as she hoped to be forgiven for her own sins, to grant him a few minutes.  When she rejected his prayer with a silent shrug, and went on towards the boat he put out his hand to help her, but she intentionally overlooked it and gave her hand to the physician.  At this he sprang after her into the barge, saying in her ear in a tremulous whisper: 

“A wretch, a miserable man entreats your mercy.  I was mad yesterday.  I love you, I love you—­how deeply!—­you will see!”

“Enough,” she broke in firmly, and she stood up in the swaying boat.  Philippus supported her, and Orion, laying the flowers in her lap, cried so that all could hear:  “Your departure will sorely distress my father.  He is so ill that we did not dare allow you to take leave of him.  If you have anything to say to him. . .”

“I will find another messenger,” she replied sternly.

“And if he asks the reason for your sudden departure?”

“Your mother and Philippus can give him an answer.”

“But he was your guardian, and your fortune, I know. . .”

“In his hands it is safe.”

“And if the physician’s fears should be justified?”

“Then I will demand its restitution through a new Kyrios.”

“You will receive it without that!  Have you no pity, no forgiveness?” For all answer she flung the flowers he had given her into the river; he leaped on shore, and regardless of the bystanders, pushed his fingers through his hair, clasping his hands to his burning brow.

The barge was pushed off, the rowers plied their oars like men; Orion gazed after it, panting with laboring breath, till a little hand grasped his, and Mary’s sweet, childish voice exclaimed: 

“Be comforted, uncle.  I know just what is troubling you.”

“What do you know?” he asked roughly.

“That you are sorry that you and Katharina should have spoken against her last evening, and against poor Hiram.”

“Nonsense!” he angrily broke in.  “Where is Katharina?”

“I was to tell you that she could not see you today.  She loves you dearly, but she, too, is so very, very sorry.”

“She may spare herself!” said the young man.  “If there is anything to be sorry for it falls on me—­it is crushing me to death.  But what is this!—­The devil’s in it!  What business is it of the child’s?  Now, be off with you this minute.  Eudoxia, take this little girl to her tasks.”

He took Mary’s head between his hands, kissed her forehead with impetuous affection, and then pushed her towards her governess, who dutifully led her away.

When Orion found himself alone, he leaned against a tree and groaned like a wounded wild beast.  His heart was full to bursting.