She must have understood him in spite of his faltering, for she sighed and said, "Ah, yes, Mr. Tiralla doesn't care much for reading. He eats, drinks, sleeps, and----" she also faltered and blushed. And then she gave him a long look out of her black eyes, so that his heart stood still. "I shall be very grateful to you if you'll lend me some books," she continued in a soft voice. "Mr. Tiralla doesn't like to spend money on them. Oh, I'm so fond of reading beautiful tales, sentimental ones." The man was in the seventh heaven. So she wanted books? That meant that he would often have a chance of coming to see her. For he would take good care not to give Rosa the books; he would bring them himself, and never more than one at a time. "I'll bring you some," he said, overjoyed. "Oh, not so loud, not so loud," begged Rosa, and her face was burning. She had fallen back on the pillow, her eyes were wide open, but she spoke as though in her sleep. "I hear her, sh, mother, sh!" What did she hear? The two looked at each other, whilst the howling wind outside seemed to creep along the walls of the house like clinging fingers. [Pg 79] Böhnke shook his head; the child was really very peculiar. But Mrs. Tiralla gave a slight shudder, and, bending over her daughter's bed, she said in a strangely soft voice, "Go on listening, Rosa dear, go on listening." Then she grasped the schoolmaster's hand and drew him out of the room. "Come. She is already asleep." They stood outside in the dark. A murmuring sound was heard from the bedroom, a few joyful exclamations and then Rosa's voice rose clear and triumphant. Böhnke was full of amazement; what was the meaning of it all? Mrs. Tiralla, who was still holding his hand, now whispered to him, "I've no friend. I stand quite alone. I often wish I were dead." The young man pressed his burning, eager lips to her sleeve. He felt almost stifled with emotion and stammered something hardly intelligible. He was her friend, her faithful, devoted friend. He had already once been her knight, but if she commanded, he would also be her dog. For ever and ever. If the schoolmaster had hoped for a proof of her favour he was disappointed. She only pressed his hand, and oh, how icy-cold hers was, and how firm. Her dainty hand could press as firmly as any man's. "I rely upon you, Panje Böhnke," she whispered, and then, raising her voice, she added calmly and distinctly, "Don't fall. Here's the staircase, here." Mr. Tiralla's powerful voice was heard downstairs. "Where are you, Sophia? Let the devil take hold of you by the tip of your shift. Why don't you come to me, my little dove, my darling?" "Good night," she whispered hastily, once more pressing the schoolmaster's hand. [Pg 80]