ed up suddenly and caught hold of his hand: "And don't
do anything to him, please. Don't hit him. It's my fault--he
guessed it. I did not like her, I gave her notice, and then I sent her
away secretly--only because he loved her, only for that reason. I
feared her. Paul, Paul"--she wrung her hands repentantly--"oh, Paul, I
stand abashed before the child, I stand abashed before myself."

Wolfgang was sitting huddled up in his room, holding the pictures of
the saints in his hand. Those were now his most costly, his only
possessions; a precious memory. Where could she be now? Still in the
Grunewald? Already in Berlin? Or much further? Oh, how he longed for
her. He missed the friendly face that was always smiling secretly at
him, and his longing for her increased until he could not bear it any
longer. There was no one there who loved him as she did whom he loved
as he had loved her.

Now that Cilia was gone he forgot that he had often laughed at her
and played tricks on her, and had also quarrelled with her in a boyish
manner. His longing for her grew and grew, and her figure grew as well.
It became so large and so strong, so powerful that it took his eyes
away from everything else that still surrounded him. He threw himself
on the carpet and dug his fingers into it; he had to hold himself in
that manner, otherwise he would have broken everything to bits,
everything, big and small.

That was his father's step on the stairs. He shook the door-handle.
Let him shake it. Wolfgang had locked himself in.

"Open at once!"

Ah, now he was to have a whipping. Wolfgang wiped his tears away
hastily, gnashed his teeth and closed his lips tightly.

"Well, are you soon going to do it?" The handle was shaken louder
and louder.

Then he went and opened it. His father stepped in. Not with the
stick the boy expected to see in his hand, but with anger and grief
written on his brow.

"Come down at once. You have hurt your poor, good--much too
good--mother very much. Come to her and ask her pardon. Show her that
you are sorry; do you hear? Come."

The boy did not move. He stared past his father into space with an
unutterably unhappy, but at the same time obstinate expression on his
face.

"You are to come--don't you hear? Your mother is waiting."

"I'm not coming," Wolfgang muttered; he hardly opened his lips at
all.

"What?" The man stared at the boy without speaking, quite dismayed
at so much audacity.

The boy returned his