The sick man was tortured by the idea that they wanted to kill the schoolmaster just because he was his, Pan Tiralla's, brother and friend, his only friend. If they were to do something to him? If they were to attack him in the dark yard? His terror on his friend's account had given strength to his shaking limbs, and he had been able to stand upright and walk. He peered around like an owl that is dazzled by the glare; the light from the open door fell on the passage. Ha! who was standing there? The murderers! the murderers! Save yourself, little Böhnke. He was on the point of crying out aloud for help when his voice suddenly snapped--why! it was only Marianna. A grin full of pleasant memories appeared on his wrinkled face--ha, ha! it was Marianna standing there with a lover. But all at once the pleasant grin turned into a terrified grimace; it was not Marianna after all, it must be Sophia, and with her? The idiot's eyes had suddenly become clear, and he had recognized his friend, his brother. Böhnke was holding his wife in a close embrace, and they were standing like a pair of lovers, breast to breast. Alas, alas! Mr. Tiralla fell back as though a gleaming knife were pointed at his face. The two were talking away so busily, so softly, that they had not noticed him. What were they whispering about? His teeth chattered. Murderers, murderers! Ugh! they were taking counsel together how they were to kill him--little Böhnke and Sophia--Sophia and little Böhnke. Little Böhnke! His friend, his only friend! The man's wrinkled face shrivelled up more than ever, and his figure became quite small. Closing the door carefully and bolting it in trembling terror, he shuffled back to the table, groaning. His little Böhnke, his friend, his only friend! [Pg 266] The man looked round the empty room with a wild glance, as though his terror were pursuing him. There, there, there! He stared at the chair near him; his friend, his only friend had just been sitting there, close to him. Then he began to cry bitterly, that is to say, his red eyes could no longer weep tears, but he puckered up his face like a whimpering child, and a hiccoughing sob raised his chest in jerks. And then he drank what remained in all the bottles. * * * * * * * * * * * * * Mikolai started up out of the straw in bewilderment--what was he doing in the barn, why was he lying there? He had had such awful dreams. Was it evening, night, or already morning? It was no good looking at his watch in the dark. He got up, and rubbing his swollen eyes staggered out of the barn. The moon was already high above the farm; it must be near midnight. Who was that creeping off to the gate? "Stop. Who goes there?" Could that be Böhnke? "_Psia krew!_" All at once the young fellow recollected how miserable he had been. "Heigh, stop!" He set out in pursuit of the man who had just gone out of the gate.