covered that her husband loved her sister with his usual coarse
passion, as he had loved so many others before. She recognised the
ardent fixed gaze that rested lustfully on the young girl, following
her every movement. This, then, was to be the last, bitterest,
deadliest drop in her cup; this betrayal, in her own home, under her
very eyes.

The sick woman watched her sister's conduct in agonised suspense. At
first Ida had been honestly indifferent to the behaviour of her
brother-in-law; after a while, however, a faint embarrassed flush would
sometimes overspread her pretty youthful countenance. From the fugitive
glances which she now and then intercepted between the two, the invalid
foresaw the most sinister results.

Heppner himself, not being particularly quick-witted, and being used
only to coarse associates, did not quite know what to make of his
sister-in-law. Of only one thing was he certain, this beautiful girl
must be his. He was even prepared, if he could not otherwise succeed,
to resort to violence.

One evening Heppner had been exercising Walkuere, Wegstetten's charger,
for an hour. Having seen her wisped down in the stable and covered with
a horse cloth, he went towards the canteen for a drink, when he
remembered that there was a bottle of beer in his own kitchen. He
strolled slowly and somewhat stiffly towards his quarters.

Ida was washing in the kitchen. He said briefly, "Good evening," poured
out the beer, and drank it in great gulps. Then he shook the last drops
in the glass to make them froth up, silently watching his sister-in-law
the while. She had round white arms; and as she bent over the tub, the
outline of her hips showed broad and firm.

Through the open door came the shrill hoarse voice of his wife.

"Ida, who is there?"

"Who else should it be but Otto?" answered the girl.

Again the shrill voice called, yet more insistently, "Why does he not
come in?"

Heppner finished his glass, put it down, and said: "Because I won't.
Because I'm better off here. Because Ida's a pretty girl, and you're an
old crone."

At this, as though in fun, he put his arm round the girl and pressed
her to him.

Ida kept still for a moment. She shivered. Then she shook him off: "Let
go, stupid! Go to your wife."

Heppner let her go. The single moment that she had permitted his
embrace convinced him that here, too, he would conquer. How she had
quivered in his arms! He understood such signs.

Meanwhil