Paul gazed at him. He was trembling feverishly, in agonizing suspense. The way the animal took was through the gate. Then it really had been his father who had opened it. But then--then.... Which way would he turn? “Seek for your master, Turk. Seek!” The dog again gave a short howl, and then ran with great speed down the path towards Helenenthal. Helenenthal! What does father want in Helenenthal? Ah, did he not say a short time ago that he had been there one afternoon for an experiment? For an experiment! And how strangely and unpleasantly he laughed when he said it. And to-day, too. How mysterious his behavior had been! And when they were speaking of the barn catching fire, what did he mean by the words that it was a splendid coincidence today? Why to day? Whatever happens, I must find the solution of this riddle ere it is too late! He looked around, seeking help. As his hand was groping mechanically in the dark aperture he laid hold of the handle of a tin can which stood hidden there among the sheaves. It was the petroleum can, which he had freshly filled yesterday. And on whose advice? Who was it who came and said, “Father, father, for Jesus’ sake, what do you want to do at Helenenthal?” And now, how much is there still in it? It is scarcely half full. As he unconsciously went on groping about, he came upon some boxes of matches which lay by the can. This opened his eyes, he gave a terrible cry, “He is going to set Helenenthal on fire!” Everything swam before his eyes, and he would have fallen backward from the ladder had he not clung to the framework of the window. All was clear. His father’s confused talk, his laughs, his threats. But there was yet time. The old man could only creep along on his crutch. He might throw himself on his horse, and gallop after him. “Saddle a horse!” he called out through the dark, and sprang down from the ladder. Then suddenly it shot through his brain--“Why did father ask so minutely about the time years ago? Would his revenge be executed at the same moment? Good heavens’ then all is lost. I told him one o’clock was the hour, and it is one now.” Mad fear seized him--again he climbed the ladder. In the next moment the flames would rise over there. Is it not burning there already? No, it is only the moon that shines on the windows of the White House. Heavenly Father, is there no salvation, no mercy? If a prayer, if a curse could have the power to lame the out stretched hand! Who will warn him, who will give him a sign to turn back? But there are the flames No. Perhaps in another second the fiery glow will rise to the sky. “Elsbeth, awake’” It will flame up as it did then, eight years ago, when the blood red reflection paralyzed all his faculties, as he roamed in the garden of Helenenthal. If to day, as at that time, a fire were to rise on the heath, or that his father’s hand might be stiffened in the midst of his criminal purpose.