made her patient. She pressed her hand to
her heart--hope, hope!

Then she grew calmer, the burning sensation in her face had become less
acute, she had said her prayers for the night, and prepared herself for
sleep with her hands folded across her breast like a child. Soon, soon!
The smile was still on her face.

At that moment the loud noise in the passage had startled her.

What could it be so late at night? She ran out of the room in her
petticoat with no shoes on her feet; she was seized with a sudden
fear--Martin, if it were Martin who wanted to run away. She must go to
him, take hold of him, cling to him, he must not go! But then the
thought struck her that there was no need to fear, he would not be
leaving with so much noise. But still, if Mikolai were holding him, if
they were quarrelling, struggling with each other, the one wanting to
go, the other endeavouring to hold him back? Hark, what a noise! How
Mikolai was shouting!

"What is it, what is it?" cried Mrs. Tiralla, as she stood in front of
her stepson, panting. Mikolai [Pg 270] had lighted a kitchen lamp, and
they gazed at each other in the dim light with haggard faces.

"Where, where is he?" She caught hold of her stepson's arm. But then
she bethought herself. Martin was nowhere to be seen, and this was not
his bedroom door; this was Mr. Tiralla's, on which Mikolai was
thumping, and before which he now stooped down and tried to look
through the chinks.

"I don't know, I don't know," cried Mikolai, shaking the handle once
more. "There's a light burning in the room; but everything is so quiet,
and father isn't snoring."

"Oh, leave him!" It was no longer a matter of any importance to her,
and she was going upstairs again. "He's fast asleep, that's all."

But Mikolai held her back in his fear. "Do stop," he begged, and there
was a strange note of anxiety in his voice as he added, "Father always
snores so at other times. I wonder if he could have had a stroke?"

Could it be possible! The woman's cold face grew hot.

"Father!" cried Mikolai once more, rattling the latch with all his
might, but the bolt did not move. "I'll fetch a hatchet," he whispered;
"we shall have to break open the door. You wait here and look out." He
ran to the shed, where the axe lay by the block.

She remained standing in front of the door, whilst an eager desire to
learn her fate almost tore her asunder. Her eyes nearly started out of
her head. Everything was as quiet a