irection passed him. It was Dellwig, and each
recognised the other; but in these days of mutual and profound distrust
both were glad of the excuse the darkness gave for omitting the usual
greetings. Dellwig rode on towards Kleinwalde in silence, and Axel
turned in at his gate.

But the poor young devil, as Axel called him, had not fainted. Hurrying
down the dark avenue, beyond Axel's influence, far from fainting, it was
all Klutz could do not to shout with passion at his own insufferable
weakness, his miserable want of self-control in the presence of the man
he now regarded as his enemy. The tears in his eyes had given Lohm an
opportunity for pretending he was sorry for him, and for making
insulting and derisive offers of food. What could equal in humiliation
the treatment to which he had been subjected? First he had been treated
as a dog, and then, far worse, far, far worse and more difficult to bear
with dignity, as a child. A beefsteak? Oh, the shame that seared his
soul as he thought of it! This revolting specimen of the upper class had
declared, with a hateful smile of indulgent superiority, that all his
love, all his sufferings, all his just indignation, depended solely for
their existence on whether he did or did not eat a beefsteak. Could
coarse-mindedness and gross insensibility go further? "Thrice miserable
nation!" he cried aloud, shaking his fist at the unconcerned stars,
"thrice miserable nation, whose ruling class is composed of men so
vile!" And, having removed his cigar in order to make this utterance, he
remembered, with a great start, that it was Axel's.

He was in the road, just passing Axel's stables. The gate to the
stableyard stood open, and inside it, heaped against one of the
buildings, was a waggon-load of straw. Instantly Klutz became aware of
what he was going to do. A lightning flash of clear purpose illumined
the disorder of his brain. It was supper time, and no one was about. He
ran inside the gate and threw the lighted cigar on to the straw; and
because there was not an instantaneous blaze fumbled for his matchbox,
and lit one match after the other, pushing them in a kind of frenzy
under the loose ends of straw.

There was a puff of smoke, and then a bright tongue of flame; and
immediately he had achieved his purpose he was terrified, and fled away
from the dreadful light, and hid himself, shuddering, in the darkness of
the country road.

CHAPTER XXIV

"It's in Stralsund," cr