as if he were waiting for them.

"We must go home," said Cain, and seized the oar. But even now they did
not go fast. The darkness that swept down suddenly over the Schwarzsee
deepened around them. The ruddy glow was quenched. The lake lay like
polished black glass, and the rocky banks seemed to grow higher.

Stephen Fausch still stood and waited. In the uncertain light his
figure seemed to have grown bigger, like the rocks. As the young people
approached the bank, he gave them no greeting, but turned away, with
his hands in his pockets, and grumbled, as they bid him Good evening:
"Where have you been all this time, you two?"

He had on his black, Sunday clothes; but his face had not a Sunday
expression. His brow had an angry look.

They stepped out quietly onto the bank, looked at the smith, to see
if he was coming with them, then all three started on the homeward
road. The night had almost descended upon them before they reached the
hospice. During the whole walk they hardly spoke ten words; only Fausch
grumbled once, turning to the side where Cain was walking: "Pretty
soon we shall not see you all day long."

Vincenza was inwardly angry. What a bull-headed, unfriendly man he was,
the smith!

Cain did not know what to make of his father. Was he displeased with
something? What could have come over him? He did not know that Stephen
Fausch was always looking for him when he was not by. He could not know
that the man was hungering for him, perhaps without knowing it himself,
and that his restlessness and that strange wild hunger, that his
shut-in nature hid under a rough, ill-tempered manner, had today driven
him to follow them to the lake.

Chapter VIII

Fausch's ill temper that evening did not hinder Cain and Vincenza from
enjoying each other's company as before. They were too young and too
thoughtless to think very much about others, and Cain did not suspect
the feeling that his father was hiding. Their days grew only more
lovely and contented, as the season changed again, and autumn gave way
to winter. The cold weather drove those who lived at the hospice
together in a couple of little rooms. The troops of travelers
diminished. Only one regular post now passed over the mountain daily in
each direction. The trains of pack animals still came; but the work at
the smithy grew less. The apprentice was dismissed. Fausch was once
more alone in his shop. Everything lay deep under the