head. Her loud, checkered dress was strapped
about her waist with a cloth belt so tightly that the contour of her fat
body was made to look positively ridiculous: she resembled a gigantic
hour glass. In her rough-cut features there was an element of lurking
malevolence.

After a few minutes of painful stillness she walked up to Daniel, and
plucked him by the coat-sleeve: "Eh, you don't know who I am?" she
asked, and her squinty eyes shone on him with enigmatic savagery: "I am
Philippina; you know, Philippina Schimmelweis."

Daniel stepped back from her: "Well, what of it?" he asked, wrinkling
his brow.

She followed him, took him by the coat-sleeve again, and led him over
into one corner: "Listen, Daniel," she stammered, "my father--he must
give you all the money you need. For years ago your father gave him all
the money he had, and told him to keep it for you. Do you understand? I
happened to hear about it one time when my father was talking about it
to my mother. It was a good seven years ago, but I made a note of it. My
father spent the money on himself; he thinks he can keep it. Go to him,
and tell him what you want; tell him how much you want, and then go help
these people here. But you must not give me away; if you do they'll kill
me. Do you understand? You won't say a word about it, will you?"

"Is that true?" Daniel managed to say in reply, as a feeling of
unspeakable anger struggled with one of indescribable disgust.

"It is true, Daniel, every word of it; 'pon my soul and honour," replied
Philippina; "just go, and you'll see that I have told you the truth."

During the conversation of the two, of which she could hardly hear a
single syllable, Eleanore never took her eyes off them.

VIII

Since the day Philippina had made her little brother Markus a cripple
for life, she had been an outcast in the home of her parents.

To be sure, she had had no great abundance of kindness and cheerfulness
before the accident took place. But since that time the barbarous
castigation of her father had beclouded and besmirched her very soul.
From her twelfth year on, her mind was ruled exclusively by hate.

Hatred aroused her; it gave birth to thoughts and plans in her; it
endowed her with strength of will and audacity; and it matured her
before her time.

She hated her father, her mother, her brothers.

She hated the house with all its rooms; she hated the bed in which she
slept,