"What are you afraid of? Haven't you got a gun? Let us go, please do. It's scaring to go alone; it will be more cheerful, the two of us. Do you hear? There was a shout again. Get up!" "Whatever do you think of me, lad?" wailed the forester. "Do you think I am such a fool to go straight to my undoing?" "So you are not coming?" The forester did not answer. The dog, probably hearing a human cry, gave a plaintive whine. "Are you coming, I ask you?" cried the hunter, rolling his eyes angrily. "You do keep on, upon my word," said the forester with annoyance. "Go yourself." "Ugh! . . . low cur," growled the hunter, turning towards the door. "Flerka, here!" He went out and left the door open. The wind flew into the hut. The flame of the candle flickered uneasily, flared up, and went out. As he bolted the door after the hunter, the forester saw the puddles in the track, the nearest pine-trees, and the retreating figure of his guest lighted up by a flash of lightning. Far away he heard the rumble of thunder. "Holy, holy, holy," whispered the forester, making haste to thrust the thick bolt into the great iron rings. "What weather the Lord has sent us!" Going back into the room, he felt his way to the stove, lay down, and covered himself from head to foot. Lying under the sheepskin and listening intently, he could no longer hear the human cry, but the peals of thunder kept growing louder and more prolonged. He could hear the big wind-lashed raindrops pattering angrily on the panes and on the paper of the window. "He's gone on a fool's errand," he thought, picturing the hunter soaked with rain and stumbling over the tree-stumps. "I bet his teeth are chattering with terror!" Not more than ten minutes later there was a sound of footsteps, followed by a loud knock at the door. "Who's there?" cried the forester. "It's I," he heard the young man's voice. "Unfasten the door." The forester clambered down from the stove, felt for the candle, and, lighting it, went to the door. The hunter and his dog were drenched to the skin. They had come in for the heaviest of the downpour, and now the water ran from them as from washed clothes before they have been wrung out. "What was it?" asked the forester. "A peasant woman driving in a cart; she had got off the road . . ." answered the young man, struggling with his breathlessness. "She was caught in a thicket." "Ah, the silly thing! She was frightened, then. . . . Well, did you put her on the road?" "I don't care to talk to a scoundrel like you." The young man flung his wet cap on the bench and went on: "I know now that you are a scoundrel and the lowest of men. And you a keeper, too, getting a salary! You blackguard!"