swer; he was quite alone.

Ugh! what was that? He stared at his fingers, on which there were
several bloody scratches, which he had got from the broken pieces of
glass. He suddenly felt that they hurt.

"Blood--blood!" he stammered, terrified, holding his hand up to his
swollen eyes. They had wanted to murder him. "Help!" He screamed and
stamped about the room.

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

Martin Becker heard the cry for help as he sat up in bed with open
eyes. Where did it come from? But he did not attempt to find out, he
felt as though he were rooted to the spot. A strange horror paralyzed
him. He had not even been able to sleep until midnight, he had lain
awake for hours listening, and his nerves were so excited that he could
hear all kinds of things. What was that stealing softly down the
stairs? Had it not stopped outside his door--or had it crept further
along the passage? Oh God, it was she, she, and she would not let him
go!

What was it crying so, sobbing, whimpering like a terrified child, and
groping along the walls? Hark, something was crunching the sand in the
passage, the stairs were creaking. Was that the front door that [Pg
304] rattled? Something was moving about the whole time.

"All good spirits!" The man made the sign of the cross as he murmured
the words, and then crept further down under the feather bed. Why, it
could not be half as bad as this in a battle. Much rather face a
cannon's mouth than that eye--the eye he imagined was fixed on him in
the dark.

"Mikolai!" he called, but his friend only muttered in his sleep. How
soundly he was sleeping. It would have been so easy now to get up and
go away, Mikolai would not have heard, and he could have escaped so
easily--and still. Martin lost courage, he dared not do it. Rather
leave in the daytime, in open defiance if it must be, by force, than go
into that dark passage where there were ghosts and whisperings.

Martin did not know what it was to fear a human being, but he feared
ghosts at night. And they were spirits of darkness that raged in that
house, he felt sure. So he remained in bed with anger in his heart at
his own cowardice, and still not able to conquer it. He would go next
day in broad daylight, even if he had to leave his box behind with
everything it contained, his dear keepsakes and precious belongings. He
would leave Starydwor next day. He stuck his fingers into his ears; the
whole house, the