terror, whilst her eyes sought in vain for a glimpse of
light.

He was quite willing. He felt ill at ease too. If this woman, this
fury, had hit his wife in her sudden outburst of rage? But he
could not help blaming himself: who had bade him have anything to do
with such people? They were not a match for such barbarous folk.

And he was seized with a feeling of aversion for the child sleeping
so peacefully on his wife's arm. He looked gloomily at the little face;
would he ever be able to love it? Would not the memory of its
antecedents always deter him from liking it? Yes, he had been too
precipitate. How much better it would have been if he had dissuaded his
wife from her wish, if he had energetically opposed her romantic idea
of adopting this child, this particular child.

He frowned as he looked out of the window, whilst the grey mist
clung to the pane and ran down it in large drops.

The wind howled outside; it had risen all at once. And it howled
still louder the nearer they approached the top of the high Venn,
whined round their carriage like an angry dog and hurled itself against
the horses' chests. The horses had to fight against it, to slacken
their trot; the carriage only advanced with difficulty.

The child must never, never know from whence it came, as
otherwise--the new father was wrapped in thought as he stared into the
Venn, whose wall of mist was now and then torn asunder by a furious
gust of wind--as otherwise--what was he going to say? He passed his
hand over his brow and drew his breath heavily. Something like fear
crept over him, but he did not know why.

As he cast a look at his wife, he saw that she was quite absorbed in
the contemplation of the sleeping child, which did not lessen his ill
humour. He drew away her right hand, with which she was supporting its
head that had fallen back: "Don't do that, don't tire yourself like
that. It will sleep on even without that." And as she gave an anxious
"Hush!" terrified at the thought that the little sleeper might
have been disturbed, he said emphatically, "I must tell you one thing,
my child, and must warn you against it, don't give him your whole heart
at once--wait a little first."

"Why?" Something in his voice struck her and she looked at him in
surprise. "Why do you say that so--so--well, as if you were vexed?"
Then she laughed in happy forgetfulness. "Do you know--yes, it was
horrible, awful in those surroundings--but thank God, now it's ov