She went to the chest, and took out a change of clothes, which she tied together in a bundle and threw over her shoulder. Then from a box she took a bundle of linen. "See, Afra," she said, "here is old and fine linen that thou'll need for bandages, and here is coarser to make lint, which the doctor will want when he comes this evening. Look, there are scissors--thou must cut it into strips the length of my finger. Dost understand? And every quarter of an hour, thou must put a fresh bandage on his head to draw the heat out. Tell me, can I trust thee not to forget? Think what it would be if, after I have fetched him out of the ravine, I should find that thou--thou had been careless in nursing him--here, at his bedside. And see, he must always lie with his head high, that the blood may not go to it--and shake the pillows up often. That is all, I think, now--I know of nought else. Ah, my God, thou'll not be able to lift him and lay him down as I do--thou hasn't got the strength. Get Klettenmaier to help thee; he is trustworthy. Now I leave him in thy hands--" Her voice failed her, her knees trembled, she could hardly hold the bundle that she carried. She threw a last glance at the wounded man: "God keep thee!" she said, and left the room. Outside, the priest was talking with Klettenmaier. Wally went up to them. "Klettenmaier," she shouted in the old man's ear, "Go in and help Afra to mind Joseph; Afra is there now in my place. Joseph will stay at the farm, and I am going away. You are all to treat Joseph as if he were the master, and to obey him as if I were by, till I come back; and woe to you, if he has to complain of ought. Let all the servants know!" Klettenmaier had understood, and shook his head, but he did not venture to make any remark. "Good-bye, mistress," he said, "Come back again soon." "Never!" said Wally softly. Klettenmaier went into the house; Wally stood before the priest, and met his questioning glance. "Now nought is my own that my heart clings to, but the vulture," she said sadly, as if exhausted. "But him I cannot give up--he must come with me. Come, Hansl." She beckoned to the bird, which sat puffed up and drowsy on a railing; he came flying towards her with difficulty. "Thou must learn to fly again now, Hansl," she said, "we're going away." "Wally," said the priest, much concerned, "what do you mean to do?" "Your reverence, I must go away--Afra is in there! Is it not plain that I cannot stay? I will do anything, I will all my life go bare and homeless, and wander through the country, and leave everything to him--everything--but I cannot look on at his Afra's love--only that I cannot--cannot bear!" She set her teeth to keep back the springing tears. "And for his sake you will really give up house and home? Do you know what you are doing, my child?"