and he noticed with faint surprise that the window was not
open; the plants, too, outside, looked singularly arid. He knocked. No
one came. He beat a fierce tattoo. At last the door was opened by a man
with a reddish beard, and one of those sardonic faces only to be seen on
shoemakers of Teutonic origin.

"What do you want, making all this noise?" he asked in German.

Swithin pointed up the stairs. The man grinned, and shook his head.

"I want to go up," said Swithin.

The cobbler shrugged his shoulders, and Swithin rushed upstairs. The
rooms were empty. The furniture remained, but all signs of life were
gone. One of his own bouquets, faded, stood in a glass; the ashes of a
fire were barely cold; little scraps of paper strewed the hearth; already
the room smelt musty. He went into the bedrooms, and with a feeling of
stupefaction stood staring at the girls' beds, side by side against the
wall. A bit of ribbon caught his eye; he picked it up and put it in his
pocket--it was a piece of evidence that she had once existed. By the
mirror some pins were dropped about; a little powder had been spilled.
He looked at his own disquiet face and thought, 'I've been cheated!'

The shoemaker's voice aroused him. "Tausend Teufel! Eilen Sie, nur!
Zeit is Geld! Kann nich' Langer warten!" Slowly he descended.

"Where have they gone?" asked Swithin painfully. "A pound for every
English word you speak. A pound!" and he made an O with his fingers.

The corners of the shoemaker's lips curled. "Geld! Mf! Eilen Sie,
nur!"

But in Swithin a sullen anger had begun to burn. "If you don't tell me,"
he said, "it'll be the worse for you."

"Sind ein komischer Kerl!" remarked the shoemaker. "Hier ist meine
Frau!"

A battered-looking woman came hurrying down the passage, calling out in
German, "Don't let him go!"

With a snarling sound the shoemaker turned his back, and shambled off.

The woman furtively thrust a letter into Swithin's hand, and furtively
waited.

The letter was from Rozsi.

"Forgive me"--it ran--"that I leave you and do not say goodbye. To-day
our father had the call from our dear Father-town so long awaited. In two
hours we are ready. I pray to the Virgin to keep you ever safe, and that
you do not quite forget me.--Your unforgetting good friend, ROZSI"

When Swithin read it his first sensation was that of a man sinking in a
bog; then his obstinacy stiffened. 'I won't be done,' he thought. Taki