He gathered himself together once more, and said in a firm voice, "I'm going. When the first snow falls, we shall have finished the autumn sowing, and until then I'll work like two for you. You shall have nothing to complain of, Mikolai. But I must go. The first of January is the time in this part of the country when everybody changes servants, but I"--his voice was embarrassed, faltering, but he spoke rapidly--"I shall not be able to stand it so long. Let me go, Mikolai, let me go on the first of December. For the sake of our friendship I beg it of you!" He held out his hand. "Don't refuse. Give me your hand." Mikolai still hesitated--what was he to do to keep Martin? When he begged like that, what was he to do--say yes, or no? But a glance from his stepmother told him to clasp his hand. December, the first of December! The woman gave a covert sigh of relief; she almost succeeded in smiling in a friendly way. The look of anguish disappeared from her face--bah! it was a long time to December, weeks and weeks, more than two months! All at once she could have shouted with joy; Mr. Tiralla would not be living then. "Won't you drink something?" she said to her husband, bending over him so as to fill his glass. But Mr. Tiralla shrank back as though she were poisonous, and when she continued to urge him in a friendly voice he growled, got up from his chair, and stole out of the room. * * * * * * * * * * * * * [Pg 251] Mr. Tiralla stood outside in the yard blinking in the pale moonlight. It was autumn and the night was cold; he felt so chilly that he shivered and coughed more than ever; he fumbled about with restless fingers. Were the powders still in the little box that he had carried about with him for so long? Were they really there, quite safe? Ugh! Sophia was trying to kill him again! His teeth, which had grown quite loose, chattered in his terror. If he were asleep and felt nothing? Had she not already once put her hand into his pocket? If she found them this time, he would be done for. But she should not have the chance. A cunning grin distorted his face, which had grown as yellow as it before was red, and the expression of which was now just as weak and malevolent as it before had been good-natured. He would hide the powders in quite a different place, and she should never, never get to know where they had been put. No, never! Casting a timid glance around to see if anybody were watching him, he tottered across the yard. Nobody was there, nothing but the moon, that looked out from between the clouds above the barn and gave light. There was not a sound to be heard, neither snorting nor lowing; the horses were standing in front of the rack, sleeping, and the cows were lying in the straw. There was a hiding-place in the darkest corner of the stables, which he remembered from his boyhood, and where he had hidden many a pilfered apple and pear, and his first cigar, from his father's keen eyes.