not so loud," begged Rosa, and her face was burning.
She had fallen back on the pillow, her eyes were wide open, but she
spoke as though in her sleep. "I hear her, sh, mother, sh!"

What did she hear? The two looked at each other, whilst the howling
wind outside seemed to creep along the walls of the house like clinging
fingers. [Pg 79] Boehnke shook his head; the child was really very
peculiar.

But Mrs. Tiralla gave a slight shudder, and, bending over her
daughter's bed, she said in a strangely soft voice, "Go on listening,
Rosa dear, go on listening." Then she grasped the schoolmaster's hand
and drew him out of the room. "Come. She is already asleep."

They stood outside in the dark. A murmuring sound was heard from the
bedroom, a few joyful exclamations and then Rosa's voice rose clear and
triumphant. Boehnke was full of amazement; what was the meaning of it
all?

Mrs. Tiralla, who was still holding his hand, now whispered to him,
"I've no friend. I stand quite alone. I often wish I were dead."

The young man pressed his burning, eager lips to her sleeve. He felt
almost stifled with emotion and stammered something hardly
intelligible. He was her friend, her faithful, devoted friend. He had
already once been her knight, but if she commanded, he would also be
her dog. For ever and ever.

If the schoolmaster had hoped for a proof of her favour he was
disappointed. She only pressed his hand, and oh, how icy-cold hers was,
and how firm. Her dainty hand could press as firmly as any man's. "I
rely upon you, Panje Boehnke," she whispered, and then, raising her
voice, she added calmly and distinctly, "Don't fall. Here's the
staircase, here."

Mr. Tiralla's powerful voice was heard downstairs. "Where are you,
Sophia? Let the devil take hold of you by the tip of your shift. Why
don't you come to me, my little dove, my darling?"

"Good night," she whispered hastily, once more pressing the
schoolmaster's hand.

[Pg 80]

He stood alone in the silent courtyard; there was no light in the
stables and sheds, the cattle made no sound. He felt oppressed. Did he
dread the walk through the lonely fields? Oh, no, on the contrary he
was able to breathe once more when he reached the open fields, and the
howling wind threw a whole load of snow into his face and over his
clothes. "Ah," he drew a long, trembling breath. But all at once he
felt terrified. There came a long-drawn, shrill whistle from the
Przykop, a quite peculiar w