the evening he went away
as usual--well, and then he did not come back again."

"And how--how was he?" The mother could only get the words out in
jerks, she could no longer speak connectedly, a sudden terror had
overwhelmed her, almost paralysing her tongue. "Did he--seem strange?"
As in a vision his livid face and the place in the sand near
Schildhorn, where the wind was always blowing, appeared before her many
a mother's son, many a mother's son--O God, O God, if he had made away
with himself! She trembled as the leaves do in a storm, and broke down
altogether.

The landlady guessed the mother's thoughts instinctively, and she
assured her in a calm good-natured voice: "No, don't imagine that
for a moment. He wasn't sad--and not exactly happy either--well,
like--like--well, just in the right mood."

"And--oh, could you not give me a--a hint of--where--where he might
be?"

The woman shook her head doubtfully. "Who could know that? You see,
ma'am, there are so many temptations. But wait a moment." She shut her
eyes tightly and pondered. "Some time ago such a pretty girl used to
come here, she used to fetch him to go to the theatre, she
said--well, it may have been true. She often came, very often--once a
week at least. She was fair, really a pretty girl."

"Fair--quite light-coloured hair--a good deal of it and waved over
the ears?"

"Yes, yes, it was done like that, combed over the ears, a large knot
behind you could not help noticing it, it was so fair. And they were on
very friendly terms with each other."

Fair hair--extremely fair. Ah, she had known it at once when she saw
him at Schildhorn with that fair-haired girl. Everything seemed to be
clear to her now. "You--do not know, I suppose--oh, do you happen to
know her name?"

"He called her Frida."

"Frida?"

"Yes, Frida. I know that for certain. But she does not come here any
more now. But perhaps he's got a letter from her. I'll look, just you
wait." And the woman bent down, drew out the paper-basket from under
the writing-table and began to rummage in it.

"He throws everything into the paper-basket, you see," she said in
an explanatory tone of voice.

She had certainly never sought there. Kate looked on with staring
eyes, whilst the woman turned over every scrap of paper with practised
ringers. All at once she cried out: "There, we've got it." And she
placed some bits of paper triumphantly on the table. "Here's a letter
from her. Do you see? I