call for succor. He does not
land in the cove where all boats put in; he rows round to the south
side and draws his boat up on the rocks. His red returning footsteps
are found here next day, staining the snow. He makes his way to the
house he knows so well.

All is silent: nothing moves, nothing sounds but the hushed voices of
the sea. His hand is on the latch, he enters stealthily, there is
nothing to resist him. The little dog, Ringe, begins to bark sharp and
loud, and Karen rouses, crying, "John, is that you?" thinking the
expected fishermen had returned. Louis seizes a chair and strikes at
her in the dark; the clock on a shelf above her head falls down with
the jarring of the blow, and stops at exactly seven minutes to one.
Maren, in the next room, waked suddenly from her sound sleep, trying
in vain to make out the meaning of it all, cries, "What's the matter?"
Karen answers, "John scared me!" Maren springs from her bed and tries
to open her chamber door; Louis has fastened it on the other side by
pushing a stick through over the latch. With her heart leaping with
terror the poor child shakes the door with all her might, in vain.
Utterly confounded and bewildered, she hears Karen screaming, "John
kills me! John kills me!" She hears the sound of repeated blows and
shrieks, till at last her sister falls heavily against the door, which
gives way, and Maren rushes out. She catches dimly a glimpse of a tall
figure outlined against the southern window; she seizes poor Karen and
drags her with the strength of frenzy within the bedroom. This
unknown terror, this fierce, dumb monster who never utters a sound to
betray himself through the whole, pursues her with blows, strikes her
three times with a chair, either blow with fury sufficient to kill
her, had it been light enough for him to see how to direct it; but she
gets her sister inside and the door shut, and holds it against him
with all her might and Karen's failing strength. What a little heroine
was this poor child, struggling with the force of desperation to save
herself and her sisters!

All this time Anethe lay dumb, not daring to move or breathe, roused
from the deep sleep of youth and health by this nameless, formless
terror. Maren, while she strives to hold the door at which Louis
rattles again and again, calls to her in anguish, "Anethe, Anethe! Get
out of the window! run! hide!" The poor girl, almost paralyzed with
fear, tries to obey, puts her bare feet out