d pointing to the door. Then she raised her fingers as though taking
an oath. "I swear that I'm innocent, quite innocent; he, he took it
himself. I swear by God I've not----"

"Don't swear." He caught hold of her raised hand and pulled it down.
"You must not swear."

"Why not?" She stood erect before him with sparkling eyes and head
thrown back. "Ask Marianna, ask Mikolai; he, Mr. Tiralla, took
the poison himself in the stables; we found it still in his hand.
I--I"--she struck her breast and again raised her fingers to
swear--"I'm innocent of it. The saints have willed it."

He looked her full in the face scrutinizingly, as though he would
pierce her with his eyes. "The [Pg 315] saints have willed it," he
repeated, then, as though reconciling himself to the fact. But when she
attempted to seize his hand in her elation--ah, he still loved her
after all, he could not leave her--he shook his head and looked away
from her in fear. "Even if it were heaven on earth here, I would not
stop," he whispered. "I see that man"--pointing to the door--"the whole
time before my eyes. He must separate us, so help me God. Good-bye."

He held out his hand to her, although he could hardly bring himself to
do it. All at once he feared her hand, it was as though something were
dragging him away from it. "I prefer to go immediately. Mikolai is
there, he'll arrange everything for you. I cannot--cannot stay any
longer." And he rushed out of the door and into the yard.

She stood there as if turned to stone, and her eyes were fixed. What,
he was going after all? Mr. Tiralla was dead and yet he was going to
leave her?

"Martin!" she screamed shrilly, rushing after him. He ran like a stag
and she like a hind. "Martin, Martin!" But she could not reach him.

Purgatory and Hell were flaming behind Martin Becker and Eternal
Salvation was beckoning to him. So he ran as he had never done before,
without coat or hat, and but thinly clad for such a raw day. He would
let everything remain behind, box and belongings, everything he called
his own, he did not want anything more from Starydwor, for sin was
cleaving to it, sin that clave like blood.

He ran through the fields like a boy who has lost his way and is trying
to get home to his mother.

She saw him ran, but she could not follow him further, she sank down at
the gate. She crouched in the frozen snow with a low cry. How red
everything [Pg 316] looked. Was it blood that had been spilt? She
s