Every country
girl under sixteen had more to confess than she.

After resigning her seat in the confessional to a young peasant woman
who looked contrite and anxious, Mrs. Tiralla repeated the prescribed
prayers before the high altar, and then hastened home.

She hurried along as much as possible; she had even hurried over her
prayers. What had they been doing at home during her absence? Was he
sitting with Rosa again? It was not at all proper, the child was too
old for that. Yes, the time was approaching when she would have to be
taken to Posen, for it was better for her that she should not become
acquainted with what could never be her lot--must never be her
lot--never, never.

The woman's eyes blazed as she hurried along. She pressed her
Prayer-book to her beating heart, and threw her head back with a proud
movement. She had been to confession, and she, the beautiful Mrs.
Tiralla, was now returning home with her sins forgiven.

As she approached the farm she met the schoolmaster coming away from
it. She gave him a nod and wanted to hurry past him. Her uneasiness
drove her on--what were they doing at home; what were they up to? But
he barred her way, so that she was obliged to stop.

"Ah, Boehnke, I've no time now, I'm in a great hurry. Good-bye, let me
go--let me go, I say." With a stamp of her foot she pulled away the
hand which he had seized.

But she did not get rid of him so easily. "One moment. Surely you've
got a moment to spare for me?"

As she did not listen, but continued to hasten on, he ran beside her.
How troublesome he was, if only [Pg 196] she could get rid of him. What
did he want with her? Why did he force himself upon her in this way?
Heaven forfend that he should return to the farm with her. She was
furious; the spring evening was already drawing to a close, Martin
would have returned from the fields, and now he belonged to her. And
this fellow took upon himself to hinder her.

"I've not seen you for ages," stammered Boehnke. "It's so difficult to
catch a glimpse of you."

"That's your fault, Mr. Boehnke," she answered lightly, and shrugged her
shoulders. "You could have come more frequently, you know."

"You used to invite me formerly."

"Well, I do invite you." She gave a mocking laugh. "Do you, perhaps,
expect me to write you a note every day saying, 'Come'? Come, for
goodness sake. You can come whenever you feel inclined."

"I don't feel inclined," he answered bitterly. "How could