chen, when he rose. He put out the smoking light, but he did not go
to his own room near by. He took off his shoes as usual, carried them
into the kitchen, and when he came back into the passageway, he stood
still and listened. Nothing was stirring in the house. Then, in his
bare feet, he went up the stairs to the attic, without noticing that
Katharine's door still stood open, and slipped along, as quietly as he
could, to the boy's little room. There he listened again. Then he
pressed the latch, opened the door, and looked in.

Katharine came to her door half dressed. She had heard him feeling his
way upstairs. She could now see him plainly, framed by Cain's doorway.
A pale gray light filled the room. Her heart beat. What was the Master
going to do? Surely he would not--Had he a grudge against the boy, on
account of the fight?

Fausch looked over to the boy's bed. Then he drew a long breath. The
lad was asleep. The smith had thought that Cain might still be crying.
That was why he had come upstairs. He now closed the door again
carefully.

Katharine involuntarily stepped back into her room, out of sight. She
heard Fausch pass, taking care to tread softly, and go downstairs
again. He went into the living room, and then she plainly heard him go
into the next room. The thumping of her heart, that had almost taken
away her breath subsided. But she lay awake a long time, wondering what
the smith had come up for.

Katharine might wonder as long as she chose. Fausch never betrayed by
any word, what he had been looking for in the boy's room that night.
Neither did he show any change in his bearing, but remained sullen and
reserved as always, and seemed at first to have forgotten that he had
half promised the boy his protection against the persecution of the
Waltheim lads. Nevertheless, the two powers were still struggling
within him, and neither got the upper hand, because both were equally
strong. However, one day, and soon after a second and a third time, the
Waltheimers were surprised to see Stephen Fausch appear on the
principal street of the village, by broad daylight, on a week day
during working hours. He had on his leather apron, and was bareheaded,
dark and grimy as usual, so that every one could see that he had just
left his anvil. He looked so unfriendly, that those who met him did not
care to accost him. It was about the time in the forenoon when the
Waltheim children were let out of school. He walked past the