olling about among the maize-fields,
not necessarily intent on visiting Klara at dead of night. The key was
now safely on its peg; who would dare swear that Eros Bela or anyone
else ever had it in his possession?

In fact, the secret rested between five people, of which she--Klara--was
one and the dead man another. Well, the latter could tell no tales, and
she, of course, would say nothing. Already she had determined--even
though her mind was still confused and her faculties still numb--that
ignorance would be the safest stronghold behind which she could entrench
herself.

There remained Leo himself, the young Count, and, of course, Andor.
Which of these three would she have the greatest cause to fear?

There was Leo mad with jealousy, the young Count indifferent, and Andor
with curious and tortuous motives in his heart which surely he would not
wish to disclose.

She had a sufficiency of presence of mind to go out and fetch the
storm-lantern from where she had left it at the foot of the verandah
steps. A passer-by who saw her in the act wished her a merry good-night,
to which she responded in a steady voice. Then she carefully locked the
front door, and finally undressed and went to bed. There was no knowing
whether some belated wayfarer might not presently come on the dead man
lying there in the yard: and having roused the neighbours, the latter
might think of calling on Ignacz Goldstein for spirit or what not. It
was not generally known that Ignacz Goldstein was from home, and if
people thumped loudly and long at her door, she must appear as if she
had just been roused from peaceful sleep.

She felt much more calm and fully alive, above all, to her own danger.
That kind of superstitious, unreasoning terror which had assailed her
awhile ago had almost entirely left her. She seemed more composed, more
sure of herself, now that she had been out in the yard and seen the
whole _mise en scene_ of the tragedy, which before that she had only
vaguely imagined.

But what she felt that she could not do was to lie here alone in the
dark, with only the silvery light of the moon creeping in weirdly
through the dulled panes of the tiny window. So she picked up her black
skirt, and stuffed it into the narrow window embrasure, until not a ray
of light from within could be seen to peep through on the other side.
She had placed the storm-lantern in the corner, and this she left
alight. It threw a feeble, yellowish glimmer round