, it would be well not to be so far
away from him."

"What do you suppose will happen?"

Without answering this, she asked him to stop at cabin 49 on the way and
tell Rosa to come up.

"My little guests keep clamouring for her. If she doesn't come up for
a while, I can't keep them quiet. Then she can serenely go back again
to her silly, sentimental mistress. What do you think of a man like
Achleitner?" she continued. "He is lying on all fours in his cabin,
crying and groaning, 'Oh, my poor mother! Oh, my poor sister! Why didn't
I obey you, mamma!' and so on. Just fancy, a man! Poor fellow!" she
added, her tone changing. "It's enough to move a heart of stone." She
held fast to the bedstead, not to be thrown into a corner like a
splinter, and shook with laughter.

The mountain of stones under which Frederick had buried the little
sinner, Ingigerd, was at that moment removed, and love stood there with
unparalleled might. Such genuine bravery and genuine humour, combined
with so much tenderness, he had never credited her with. Nervous and
tired as he was, he felt irresistibly drawn to her, felt his will
slipping from him. But a little, and he would have thrown himself to
the floor and kissed the small feet in slippers.

Frederick's amazement waxed when all of a sudden she wanted to cross
the deck and go below to comfort that donkey Achleitner. Frederick
would not allow her. He was ashamed of his previous attack of fright,
called himself a miserable coward, and got himself under perfect
control. In this attitude he played the role of a severe mentor,
Ingigerd's responsible guardian and protector, strict, but fatherly
and good-natured. Though she laughed at him, it by no means displeased
her to let him have his way.

XXXIX

Frederick's kindliness to Ingigerd's little wards made it unnecessary to
summon Rosa. He asked the children their names, and they were soon
chattering confidingly with their new uncle. Ella Liebling, a girl of
five, to whom Ingigerd had given her doll, was sitting at one end of the
couch, a cover wrapped about her legs, while Siegfried had established
himself comfortably on the bed. With a spiritless expression for a child,
he was playing a rather monotonous game of cards with an imaginary
partner.

"Mamma is divorced," Ella explained. "Papa was always quarrelling with
her."

"Yes," said Siegfried, pushing his cards aside, as if waking up from
a trance, and bending over to Frederick, w