He gathered himself together once more, and said in a firm voice, "I'm going. When the first snow falls, we shall have finished the autumn sowing, and until then I'll work like two for you. You shall have nothing to complain of, Mikolai. But I must go. The first of January is the time in this part of the country when everybody changes servants, but I"--his voice was embarra.s.sed, faltering, but he spoke rapidly--"I shall not be able to stand it so long. Let me go, Mikolai, let me go on the first of December. For the sake of our friendship I beg it of you!"

He held out his hand. "Don't refuse. Give me your hand."

Mikolai still hesitated--what was he to do to keep Martin? When he begged like that, what was he to do--say yes, or no? But a glance from his stepmother told him to clasp his hand.

December, the first of December! The woman gave a covert sigh of relief; she almost succeeded in smiling in a friendly way. The look of anguish disappeared from her face--bah! it was a long time to December, weeks and weeks, more than two months! All at once she could have shouted with joy; Mr. Tiralla would not be living then.

"Won't you drink something?" she said to her husband, bending over him so as to fill his gla.s.s.

But Mr. Tiralla shrank back as though she were poisonous, and when she continued to urge him in a friendly voice he growled, got up from his chair, and stole out of the room.

[Pg 251]

Mr. Tiralla stood outside in the yard blinking in the pale moonlight.

It was autumn and the night was cold; he felt so chilly that he shivered and coughed more than ever; he fumbled about with restless fingers. Were the powders still in the little box that he had carried about with him for so long? Were they really there, quite safe? Ugh!

Sophia was trying to kill him again!

His teeth, which had grown quite loose, chattered in his terror. If he were asleep and felt nothing? Had she not already once put her hand into his pocket? If she found them this time, he would be done for. But she should not have the chance. A cunning grin distorted his face, which had grown as yellow as it before was red, and the expression of which was now just as weak and malevolent as it before had been good-natured. He would hide the powders in quite a different place, and she should never, never get to know where they had been put. No, never!

Casting a timid glance around to see if anybody were watching him, he tottered across the yard. n.o.body was there, nothing but the moon, that looked out from between the clouds above the barn and gave light.

There was not a sound to be heard, neither snorting nor lowing; the horses were standing in front of the rack, sleeping, and the cows were lying in the straw.

There was a hiding-place in the darkest corner of the stables, which he remembered from his boyhood, and where he had hidden many a pilfered apple and pear, and his first cigar, from his father's keen eyes.

Look, the loose brick was still in the corner. If you took it out, you would find a hole three times as big as was necessary for hiding the little box containing the powders.

[Pg 252]

There, now put the stone into its place again. n.o.body would guess what was lying behind it. Now the spiders could again weave a close web in front of it like a veil, and n.o.body would spoil it for them. H'm, that was very well done, said Mr. Tiralla to himself, with a satisfied growl. Let Sophia look and look until she was blind, she would never find them--ha, ha!

He laughed hoa.r.s.ely to himself. Then he looked around in the dim stables, in which the lantern only cast a feeble light, and shuddered.

If she were to find them after all? He uttered a deep groan and pressed his hands to his head. Oh, how awful it was that this terror never left him in peace. "Ha!" He gave a hoa.r.s.e cry and shrank back. Was not something rustling? He trembled, he would have sunk on the ground with fright if a strong hand had not seized him by the arm and held him on his feet.

It was Marianna, who had come with her milk pails. She was very frightened herself--what did Pan Tiralla want there, what was he looking for? He was not like the young master, who often used to waylay her at milking time. Poor master! and how ill he looked, it was enough to make your hair stand on end. She felt very sorry for the old gentleman. Were they not all making fun of him? And he had always been so good to her.

So she gave him a cheery smile and clapped him on the back. "You must not fret, Panje. Don't fret because your wife is good friends with Becker." She cast a covert glance at him as she said it, for she was curious to know what kind of a face he would make.

But he did not make a face at all; he only growled, "What's that to me?" Then he pressed his hands to his head again, and rocked to and fro like a bear, and uttered deep sighs.

[Pg 253]

The maid felt really terrified. Why did the master give such awful, heartbroken sighs?

But Mr. Tiralla would not answer her; no, he would not tell. Who knows what more his wife might do to him if she heard it? He put his finger to his lips, while his eyes roved about in all directions, and said, "Sh!"

But inquisitive Marianna would not let him go. Of whom was he so frightened? Of his wife? It seemed so. Oh, yes--she drew nearer to her master as she whispered mysteriously--but she was certainly a very strange cook. Had not she, Marianna, almost died from drinking some coffee which her mistress had once made for the master?

Mr. Tiralla listened, trembling with horror. Yes, yes, she had wanted to poison him, he had guessed it long ago. And she still wanted to poison him. He hid himself behind the girl like a child. "Protect me, protect me, oh, she's coming!"

Clinging to the girl's skirts, he dragged her into a corner, and, pressing himself in behind her, held her like a shield in front of him.

Oh, Sophia was coming, where should he fly from her? He wailed like a boy afraid of the cane.

Marianna had great difficulty in calming him. "Be quiet, Panje, be quiet," she said; "she mustn't, she won't do anything to you. I, Marianna, am here, you know. And if she dares after all----"

"Yes, oh, yes," he broke in hastily, "then you'll go to the police station and say, 'It was she, she, who brought the master to his grave.'"

Yes, by G.o.d she would, the master could rely upon her. Marianna gave him many a fair promise and swore solemnly she would do it. That calmed Mr. Tiralla more than anything else.

[Pg 254]

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Then he gave her all the money he had in his pocket, and promised to give her much more for herself and children if she would give information as soon as he lay in his grave.

The two wept together in the dim stables, the man with fear, the girl in her good-nature. They sobbed in such a heartbroken way and struck their b.r.e.a.s.t.s so loudly that the animals, startled out of their sleep, turned their heads and looked in astonishment at the strange couple.

The lantern went out, and no ray of light penetrated the darkness.

Meanwhile Mrs. Tiralla was hurrying across the fields. She was quite alone. Martin had said good night to her as though it had been for ever. Farewell for ever! If it had been otherwise, he could not have kept his eyes lowered, and his icy-cold hand had remained only for a few moments in hers. She had pressed his, but he had not returned the pressure, rather he had hastily withdrawn his fingers as though hers were burning him, and had not turned round once more at the door in order to return her glance with one equally expressive, as he had always done before. Then an icy-cold fear had taken possession of her, and all the confidence she had just acquired disappeared again. The first of December! There was certainly time enough before the first of December, but who could say that he would really stay until then? Could he not go off secretly in the night, disappear out of her life as suddenly and unexpectedly as he had entered it?

As she dashed across the fields it was as though all the stars were falling from the sky. She was quite breathless, she was running so.

[Pg 255]

Where did she want to go? To Bohnke, the schoolmaster. He must come, he must help her. Had he not sworn to do so? Had he not sworn without her asking it that he was hers for ever and ever, through all eternity? In her mind's eye she saw his pale face, thin and hollow-cheeked, consumed with pa.s.sion, and his feverish eyes, feverish with his longing for her.

If she implored him to help her, he would not, could not, refuse. So she was hastening to him.

She had run out of the house without being noticed. Alas, how quickly Martin had at other times followed her steps! He had always heard her softest footfall, her very breath in the dark pa.s.sage, every movement of her hand as it glided over his door. To-day n.o.body had followed her.

A feeling of bitterness overpowered the lonely woman; without knowing it hot tears ran down her cold face, that was already wet with dew. Was there n.o.body who really loved her? She, the pious woman, could no longer understand how the Sacrament of Penance could strike terror into any one. And even if she were never to obtain forgiveness, and were to be lost for ever, she would never give up her love nor her lover. Away to Bohnke; he would, he must help her.

The dogs barked in the village as the woman tore past. She rushed along past the sleeping cottages like the wind's bride, her skirts fluttered, her hair had come undone owing to her hasty flight, and the cold breath of autumn beat against her face. n.o.body met her; it was already late for the people in the village, and there was hardly a light to be seen anywhere. If only he were awake! And if he were not awake? Then she would thump on his door, or knock at his window so loudly with her fist that he must awake.

There was the house in which he lived. She had [Pg 256] never been there, but he had told her that his room was on the left side of the front door. She found his window easily, it was still lighted up, and the shutters were not closed. G.o.d be praised, the saints were with her!

There he was!

She stood on tip-toe and looked in at the low window. He was sitting at the table, just as she had pictured him to herself, pale and hollow-cheeked, his face ravaged with pa.s.sion. The lonely man had a bottle and gla.s.s in front of him, and he filled his gla.s.s and drank it off in one gulp, and filled it again, and then buried his face in his hands and brooded like Mr. Tiralla used to do.

She knocked, but he did not hear her. Then she thumped with her fist so that the window panes rattled.

He started up and came to the window. He uttered a suppressed cry in his fear and joy at seeing her standing there. He tore the window open, and his hands trembled as he stretched them out. She had come, come to him? He stared at her with gla.s.sy eyes, his breath smelt of drink like Mr. Tiralla's.

She was afraid of him, and still her distress drew her nearer and nearer to him. "I've come to you--you," she said in a swift whisper.

She seized his hands imploringly. With a little help from him she swung herself up, and stood beside him in the room.

There was his bed, there his sofa, there his desk and all his books.

She stared around with eyes in which, however, there was no interest.

She only wanted help, help, and she thought of nothing else.