Weeks passed. The harvest was got in unharmed, thanks to Paul’s untiring care. It was a better year than it had been for a long time. But his father was already calculating how he could use the profits for his peat speculation. He bragged on in his usual manner, and the less Mr. Douglas seemed to pay attention to the proceedings, the more he boasted at the inns about the advantage of his partnership. Having once consented to swindle, he had to outvie every lie by a new and bigger one. Mr. Douglas might be as patient as he liked; the abuse which was made of his name at last became too much for him. It was one morning towards the end of August that Paul, who was working in the yard with Michel Raudszus, saw the tall figure of their neighbor walking across the fields straight to the Haidehof. He was startled--that could not bode any good. Mr. Douglas shook hands with him kindly, but from under his iron-gray, bushy brows shot an ill-boding look. “Is your father at home?” he asked, and his voice sounded angry and threatening. “He is in the parlor,” Paul said, depressed; “if you will allow me, I will take you to him.” At the sight of the unexpected guest, his father jumped up embarrassed from his chair; but he recovered himself immediately, and began, in his boasting tone, “Oh, it is a good thing that you are here, sir; I have something urgent to say to you.” “And I not less to you,” retorted Mr. Douglas, planting his massive figure close before him. “How is it, my dear friend, that you abuse my name in this manner?” “I--your name--sir? What do you mean? Paul, go out.” “He may stay here,” retorted Mr. Douglas, turning to Paul. “He shall go out, sir!” cried the old man. “I suppose I am still master in my own house, sir?” Paul left the room. In the dark passage he found his mother, who had folded her hands and was gazing towards the door with a fixed look. At the sight of him she broke into tears and wrung her hands. “He will lose us the only friend we have still on earth,” she sobbed; then she sank down in his arms, starting convulsively when the threatening voices of the two men fell louder on her ear. “Come away, mother,” he urged; “it excites you too much, and we can’t help matters, anyhow.” She let him drag her to her bedroom without resistance. “Give me a little vinegar,” she entreated, “or I shall drop.” He did as she asked, and while he rubbed her temples with it, spoke to her in a loud tone, so that she should not hear the raised voices of the two men. Suddenly the doors banged; for a while all was quiet--uncomfortably quiet; then the clattering of a chain and the cry of his father, hoarse with fury, “Sultan--at him!” “For God’s sake, he is setting the dog at him!” shrieked Paul, and rushed into the yard. He came just in time to see how Sultan, a big fierce mastiff, sprang at Douglas’s neck, while his father, brandishing his whip, ran after him. Michel Raudszus had thrust his hands into his pockets and was looking on.