ck near-by, might have suggested it.
These preparations awoke in Fritz Nettenmair a premonition of what was
to come. He strove for defiance. "If he in his distrust has surmised
it, who can prove it? And if he could prove it, he would never tell,
of that I am sure. Otherwise why does he speak so softly? He may say
what he will--I know nothing, it was not I. I have done nothing." The
muscles of his face quivered; an expression of wild defiance played
upon his features. The old gentleman said no word. The sound of
traffic in the streets rose muffled to the heights, violet shadows lay
on all below, about Apollonius' swinging seat trembled the sun's last
ray.

"Where is your brother?" came at last from between the father's teeth.

"I do not know. How should I know?" answered the son defiantly.

"You do not know?" It was only a whisper but every word struck like
thunder in the soul of the son. "I will tell you. Yonder in Brambach
he lies dead. The rope broke with him, and you had made slits in it
with the ax. Our neighbor saw you sneaking into the shed. You
threatened before your wife that you would do it. The whole town knows
it, they are carrying it now to the courts. The first person who comes
up these steps will be the bailiff to lead you before the judge."

Fritz Nettenmair broke down completely; the scaffolding creaked
beneath him. The old gentleman listened. If the miserable wretch
should fall over the edge of the scaffolding, he would be plunged into
the depths and all would be over. All that had to be, would be! A lark
soared above them scattering its merry _Tirili_ over trees and houses.
Happier mortals heard the song from afar; workmen let their spades
rest, children their whips and tops; with eyes turned heavenward all
sought the soaring, singing bird and hearkened with bated breath. Herr
Nettenmair did not hear the lark; he also held his breath, but he was
listening to what was happening below, not above. It was nothing that
sounded like the song of a lark which he wanted to hear. There was a
rumbling, and a broken cry of anguish. At first he listened full of
hope, then filled with despair. On the boards of the scaffolding
before him he heard the rattle of heavy breathing. Fate, which might
have stretched out a sympathizing, helping hand, had not done so. He
must do it, for it must be done. If he did not, people would point
their finger at the children and say: "It was their father who slew
his brother and di