er
red skirt up to her knees and her rake over her shoulder. Bringing in
the clover! Mrs. Tiralla had never helped to do that before. But this
year--the man's face was distorted with jealousy--this year there were
two young men there, her stepson and [Pg 225] Becker. Which of the two
was it? Perhaps both. The man gave a dull groan. Two lovers. And still
he could not learn anything for certain. This man was so awfully
stupid, such an idiot.

The compassion which Boehnke had at first felt for Mr. Tiralla was
changed into anger. It was the man's own fault, it served him right;
why did he not take better care of her? He gave the weeping man a rough
push, "Your wife has got some good friends; I suppose you know it?"

Mr. Tiralla did not fire up, but let his head remain where it was.
"Leave her. Oh, little Boehnke, the only friend I possess, if you knew,
if you knew."

He gave several heartrending sighs, but when the schoolmaster was
imprudent enough to ply him with questions in an eager, inquisitive
voice, he suddenly grew silent. The other's eagerness had made him
suspicious, and he obstinately closed his mouth; he would not be
pumped.

So they sat in silence until it was evening, and still the schoolmaster
delayed his departure. He must wait, she must be coming. The table and
glasses were already swaying backwards and forwards before his eyes,
and still he let Mr. Tiralla refill his glass, whilst he did the same
to his. What else could he do, so as to beguile the awful time of
waiting?

Boehnke had no idea how much he had drunk; if he had known it, he would
have been terrified. He had always despised those who drank more than
they could stand, and he had always known that he himself could not
stand much, but he knew it no longer. She must come some time.

"Your health, Mr. Tiralla!"

"Much good may it do you, little Boehnke!"

They clinked their glasses once more without any [Pg 226] sign of mirth
or enjoyment, only for the sake of drinking; the one consumed by the
pangs of jealousy, the other pursued by the fear of death.

Then the crack of a whip was heard. At last! There she was--but with
the others. The schoolmaster had staggered to the window, and in his
haste had upset his chair with such a loud noise that Mr. Tiralla,
terrified at what might betray them, screwed up his eyes, put his hands
to his ears, and would have liked to creep under the table.

They drove into the yard. The oxen in front of the wago