urts, not as it is written here. I know very
well--but--never mind!--All right!--

[_Takes his gun_.]

STEIN.

What do you intend to do?

FORESTER.

Nothing, I must take along the rifle with which the deed was done. O,
they are particular about that! Farewell, Andrew, William. Take good
care of your mother.

[_Shakes hands with everybody_.]

Stein, Pastor, Robert, Sophy--she has fainted. God will soon let her
come after me. Bury my child. Have the bells ring; lay her bridal wreath
upon her coffin. O, I am an old woman! When we meet again I shall be a
murderer no longer.

[_Makes with his hand a sign of farewell_.]

STEIN.

You want--

FORESTER (_turns around at the door_).

My sight--and then--[_Points upward to heaven_.]--to meet my child.

[_Exit. Short pause, during which the others look after him with
surprise and emotion_.]

STEIN (_seized with a sudden apprehension_).

If the other barrel is still loaded--quick--after him--

[_Outside the door a shot is heard_.]

Too late! I suspected it!

ANDREW, WILLIAM (_rushing out_).

Father!

ROBERT (_in the open door, rooted to the spot through horror and pain at
what he sees_).

He has his right!

STEIN (_also at the door_).

A second time his own judge!

PASTOR (_stepping to the others_).

May God do unto him according to his faith.

[_Exeunt_.]

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 7: Translation of the King James version.]

BETWEEN HEAVEN AND EARTH (1856)

By OTTO LUDWIG

TRANSLATED AND CONDENSED BY MURIEL ALMON

The little garden lies between the dwelling-house and the slate shed;
whoever goes from one to the other must pass it. As you go from the
house to the shed it is on your left; on the right there is a yard
with a woodshed and a stable, separated from the neighboring house by
a trellis-fence. Every morning the house opens twelve green shutters
onto one of the busiest streets of the town, the shed opens a large
gray door on a back street; the roses on the bushes that have been
trained to grow like trees in the little garden can look out into the
lane which connects its two larger sisters. On the other side of the
lane stands a tall house which, in elegant seclusion, does not deign
to bestow a glance on the smaller one. Its eyes are open only to the
doings of the main street; if you look nearer at its closed eyes
facing the narrow street, you soon see the reason for its eternal
sleep--they are only a sham, painted on t