usie, desperate at the prospect of the awful hours round midnight, made
one great effort of courage and sallied out to fetch her. Poor Susie,
standing shivering before her maid's bolted door, scantily clothed,
anxiously watching the flame of her candle that threatened each second
to be blown out, alone on the wide, draughty landing, frightened at the
sound of her own calls mingling weirdly with the creakings and hangings
of the tempest-shaken house, was an object deserving of pity. It took
some minutes to induce Hilton to open the door, and such minutes Susie
had not, in the course of an ordered and normal existence, yet passed.
They both went into Susie's room, locked themselves in, and Hilton lay
down on the sofa; and after a long time they fell into an uneasy sleep.
At half-past three Susie started up in bed; some one was trying to open
the door and knocking. The candles had burnt themselves out, and she
could not tell what time it was, but thought it must be early morning
and that the servant wanted to bring her hot water; and she woke Hilton
and bade her open the door. Hilton did so, gave a faint scream, and
flung herself back on the sofa, where she lay as one dead, her face
buried in the pillow. A man with a lantern and no shoes on was at the
door, and came in noiselessly. Susie was never nearer fainting in her
life. She sat in her bed, her cold hands clasped tightly round her
knees, her eyes fixed on this dreadful apparition, unable to speak or
move, paralysed by terror. This was the end, then, of all her hopes and
ambitions--to come to Pomerania and die like a dog. Then the sickening
feeling of fear gave way to one of overwhelming wrath when she found
that all the man wanted was to light her stove. On the same principle
that a child is shaken who has not after all been lost or run over, she
was speechless with rage now that she found that she was not, after all,
to be murdered. He was a very old man, and the light from the lantern
cast strange reflections on his face and figure as he crouched before
the stove. He mumbled as he worked, talking to the fire he was making as
though it were a person. "_Du willst nicht, brennen, Lump? Was? Na,
warte mal!_" And when he had finished, crept out again without glancing
at the occupants of the room, still mumbling.

"It's the custom of the country, I suppose," said Anna.

"Is it? Well the sooner we get out of such a country the better. You are
determined to stay in spite of