t who--who
would believe her?

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, have mercy! I will light thee a
candle--so bright, so tall!--He is innocent! Help, have mercy, Holy
Mary, Mother, help!"

She babbled and sobbed and wrung her hands. On her knees she crept
through the room and beat the floor with her brow. What should she do,
how could she prove that her William was not he who had set the fires?

The night was flying, the cocks were already beginning to crow, soon
the ruddy morning would be peering in at the window. What should she
do, how should she help him?

"Holy Mary, that art highly favored, hail to thee! I vow thee--"

There had been fires in the village; now that William was in jail there
were no more fires; but what if--Her eyes suddenly began to stare;
drawing a deep breath, she unclasped her folded hands, her lips ceased
to murmur, she seized hold of her head and turned herself about as if
reeling, and became at once quite calm; through the gloom of her
tortured brain there flashed an inspiration: what if, after all, there
should be fires again?

* * * * * *

They were all far out in the fields. Even the old people and the
children had gone out with the others. The children, dancing ahead of
the wagons, stirring up the dust of the street, the old people plodding
along after, the infant, or the loaf of bread and the jug of coffee in
the dosser.

Only the appealing lowing of a cow that with full udder stood in the
stall, the plaintive bleating of a goat that had been staked by the
house, the furious grunting of a pig that longed to get out of the hot
sty and roll on the ground, animated now and then the stillness of
death that hung over the village.

It was not yet mid-day, but the sun was already very oppressive, its
rays were actually heavy; they weighed down everything in the gardens:
the climbing beans, the broad-leaved turnips, the grass turned to
autumn yellow in the drought. The two closely built rows of houses blew
hot air into each other's faces; they were like ovens. All of the
timbers, which were of pine, the doors and window frames sweated pitch
and, dry to the marrow, gaped in wide crannies. Now and then came a
gust of wind; but it brought no refreshment, it merely stirred up the
dust, and the air became closer than ever. Perfect harvest weather; the
blue sky with a touch of gray from the dusty exhalations of the grain
fields and a suggestion of dinginess from the ho