"I half undressed and threw myself on the sofa. The clock struck eleven--it struck half-past eleven. Still his footsteps resounded through the house. But the later it was, the more did it grow impossible for me to carry out my resolve. "What if a servant should spy upon me--should see me stealing into our guest's room! My heart stood still at the thought. "The clock struck twelve. I opened the window and looked out upon the world. Everything seemed asleep, even from Robert's and Martha's rooms no light shone forth. Both were burying their sorrow and anguish in the lap of darkness. "With the night wind that beat against the casement, the words droned in my ears: 'You must--you must!' And like a soft sweet melody it coaxed and cajoled at intervals: 'Thus you will see him again--will feel his hand in yours--will hear his voice--perhaps even his laugh; do you not want to bring him happiness--the happiness of his life?' "With a sudden impulse I shut the casement, wrapped myself in my dressing-gown, took my slippers in my hand and stole out into the dark corridor. "Ah, how my heart beat, how my blood coursed through my temples! I staggered--I was obliged to support myself by the walls. "Now I stood outside his door. Even yet his footsteps shook the boards. But the noise of his heavy tread had ceased. He had evidently divested himself of his boots. "'You must not knock!' it struck me suddenly, 'that would not escape Martha.' "My hand grasped the door-handle. I shuddered. I do not know how I opened the door. I felt as if some one else had done it for me. "Before me the outline of his mighty figure----. "A low cry from his lips--a bound towards me. Then I felt both my hands clutched--felt a hot wave of breath near my forehead. "At the first moment the mad idea may have darted through his brain, that Martha had in such impetuous manner bethought herself of her old love--in the next he had already recognised me. "'For Heaven's sake, child,' he cried, 'whatever has possessed you? What brings you to me? Has no one possibly seen you, say--has no one seen you?' "I shook my head. He still evidently thinks you very stupid, I thought to myself, and drew a deep breath, for I felt the terrors of my venture were disappearing from my soul. "He set me free and hastened to make a light. I groped my way to the sofa, and dropped down in a corner. "The light of the candle flared up--it dazzled me. I turned towards the wall and covered my face. A feeling of weakness, a longing to cling to something, had come over me. I was so glad to be with him, that I forgot all else. "'Olga, my dear, good child,' he urged, 'speak out, tell me what you want of me?' "I looked up at him. I saw his swarthy, serious face, in which the day's trouble had graven deep furrows, and became lost in its contemplation. "'What do you want? Do you bring me news of Martha?'