t going to be enemies, Boehnke?" she said
gently.

"No, certainly not," he jerked out. He bent his head, and, hastily
pressing his dry lips to the beautiful, white hand which formed such a
contrast to the dark sleeve on which it was resting, said:

"Forgive me, for God's sake, forgive me."

"I forgive you," she answered. She stooped and picked up his hat which
had fallen off his head without his noticing it. "Here, put it on."

And then she held out her hand, and allowed him to grasp both her
wrists and stand thus for a few moments taking leave of her.

He felt a little calmer now; she was not angry with him, thank God, not
angry. He stood a long time after she had left him, following her with
his eyes. How daintily she tripped along in spite of her haste. Her
dress did not knock against her like a heavy sail against a clumsy
mast, but the wind played with it wantonly, so that you could see her
ankles, her striped stockings, and smart white petticoat even at a
distance. Boehnke felt his heart stand still with delight. There [Pg
200] she went to meet somebody else, leaving him behind; but his
thoughts hurried after her all the same and clung to her like a chain.
She would never be able to get rid of him entirely. And even though she
might curse the chain, it would always clatter behind her and warn her
that he and she--yes, that they were forged together for time and
eternity. That consoled him. And a hope arose within him that the chain
might become still stronger and tighter. Then might the angels hide
their faces and weep when God cursed them--if only he and she might go
to hell together.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mrs. Tiralla rejoiced to think that she had so easily got rid of the
schoolmaster. It would have been so tiresome if he had returned with
her. She ran through the gate with a light heart.

The stillness of evening lay over the farm. The pigeons that had their
cot on the high pole near the pond were already sitting huddled
together on the perch in front of their door, cooing softly. How tender
it sounded; it seemed to Mrs. Tiralla as though it had never sounded so
tender before. And the cock was strutting about among his hens; the
woman thought she could see that he particularly wished to please the
white hen. A couple of early white butterflies, the first heralds of
approaching spring, were fluttering about, exhausted by their amorous
dalliance. Mother stork was