"Look out--what do you see on the other side of the garden hedge? A gang of turbulent wild animals thirsting for the blood of their prey, and yet too craven-hearted to spring on it, even when they have it within their reach. And look at me, my son. I am here, appointed by God as His minister to preach the gospel of love, and I preach hate. Words sweet as honey should flow from my lips, and instead, scorpions spring out of my mouth directly I open it, for I too am become a wild animal. And this is what your father's crime has made us. There is no goodness left in Schranden; the venom of your father's hate ferments in us, is inoculated into our children and children's children. So will it ever be till the Lord not only wipes the scene of infamy, but your accursed name with it, from off the face of His blessed earth. Amen!" He stood with raised hands like some anathematising prophet of the Old Testament, and foam rested in the corners of his mouth. Boleslav, half-dazed and horror-stricken, turned in silence to the door. The old man did not call him back. As he crossed the hall he started violently, for he was sure he heard the rustle of a woman's dress behind a half-opened door. But not for the world would he meet her now. Not in this dark hour, when he was completely overpowered by a sense of having had the remnants of all that was good and noble in him shattered and laid in the dust. "If _they_ are become wild beasts, I can become one too," he thought, as he thrust his hand in the breast-pocket that held his pistols, and walked towards the Schrandeners. The old pastor was right. Though they danced, whooped, and jostled around him with the lust of murder gleaming in their savage eyes, they dared not lay a finger on him. * * * * * When he reached the drawbridge, behind the palings of which a girl's figure crouched, awaiting his return, he was full of a desperate resolve. His father should be carried to his last resting-place by an armed force. "Are you ready to earn another large sum of money?" he asked the girl, who flushed and stood up quickly at his approach. She looked at him for a moment in reflective surprise, and then, as his meaning dawned on her, she shook her head violently. "Why not?" he demanded. She began to tremble. "What's the good of money to me, _Herr_?" she asked, in subdued, bitter tones. "They would only take it away from me." "Who?" "People--those people. Please, oh please, give me no money." "Her mind is clearly unhinged," thought Boleslav. "Besides, there is money enough," she continued in a whisper, glancing round her timidly, "in the cellar--great boxes full--where the wine is. I used to take what I wanted from there--for him, I mean--the _gnäd'ger Herr_. For myself I never want any, unless it's to buy a new jacket with." "Will you earn a new jacket?" "There's no need to earn it, _Herr_. Next time I go to Bockeldorf--for the _Herr_ must have food--I can get one."