Next morning he returned, this time also in vain. The third day he found the gate firmly bolted. A brand-new padlock was hanging on the hasp. It seemed to have been purchased especially for him. Then he could no longer doubt that the brothers avoided him on purpose. “They are ashamed to look me in the face,” he said to himself; “I will write to them.” But when he took up his pen to compel himself to write friendly words of reconciliation, such disgust at his own undignified deed overcame him that he crushed it to pieces on the table, and paced about the room, moaning aloud. “I must first go and collect my strength,” he said, and crept noiselessly to the girls’ room. They sat at the window, spoke not a word, and stared with white faces into the distance; then one let her head sink against the other’s shoulder, and said, gently and sadly, “They will not come any more.” “They are afraid of him,” sighed the sister. And then they relapsed again into silence. “Ah!” he said, breathing heavily, while he crept back to his room, “I knew that would help me.” Then he took a clean sheet of paper and wrote a beautiful letter, in which he expounded to the brothers that he was no longer angry with them--that he would forgive them everything if they would restore the lost honor to his sisters. “To-morrow they will be here,” he said, with a sigh of relief, when he dropped the letter into the box. For the rest of the day he wandered about on the heath, for he did not dare to look any one in the face, so much was he ashamed-of himself. But the Erdmanns did not come. * * * * * It was on Christmas Eve, shortly before twilight. The heath lay deep in snow, and from the leaden sky fresh masses of flakes were descending. Then Paul saw that his sisters secretly took their hats and cloaks, and tried to make their escape by the back door. He hastened after them. “Where do you want to go?” Then they began to cry, and Kate said, “Please, please do not ask us.” But he felt a dreadful anxiety arise within him, and, grasping their arms, he said, “I shall follow you if you won’t confess.” Then Kate gasped out, sobbing, “We are going to mother’s grave.” Horror overcame him that they should go to that holy place; but he took care not to let them see it. “No, children,” he said, stroking their cheeks, “I can’t allow that; it would excite you too much; the snow is so deep, too, on the heath, and it will soon be dark.” “But some one must go there,” said Kate, timidly, “it is Christmas Eve to-day.” “You are right, sister,” he replied, “I will go myself. You stay with father and light a few candles for him. Please God, I shall bring you home some comfort.” They let themselves be persuaded, and went back into the house. But he put on a warm coat, took his cap, and walked out into the dusk.