"Heaven forbid!" replied Jochen. The gentleman nodded and was about to continue his walk, but paused again as if struck by the troubled expression of Jochen's face, and added: "You needn't take it to heart, Prebrow; it serves the Rahnk right; their conduct is a disgrace to Wiessow and the whole region, and after all there is no one who would not be glad to have you get rid of the rascals. And when I come back next time, Prebrow, I shall of course lodge with you; this time I must keep out of the way." The gentleman nodded, walked lightly away, and after casting a rapid glance around him, entered the pilot's house. "A damned miserable business," muttered Jochen, without exactly knowing which of the two he meant, the one going on in his own house, or the other of which the Herr steuer-inspector had just spoken. It was probably the former; the second certainly did not concern him at all, but it was a secret the more, and he already had far too much trouble with one. "Good-morning, Jochen." This time Jochen was actually frightened. There was his brother Clas in the very spot where the Herr inspector had just been standing. "Why, good Heavens, Clas, what brings you here?" he exclaimed. "Ah! you may well say that, Jochen," answered Clas. "Is the smithy burned?" "Why, Jochen, how can you ask such stupid questions?" The bridge of understanding seemed broken. The feeling that the whole world was one dark secret, and he the unhappy man who had to guard it, overpowered Jochen still more. "Won't you come in, Clas?" said he. He could not help saying that; he could not leave his only brother, who moreover was the elder of the two, standing in the street. Clas Prebrow instantly accepted his brother's invitation, notwithstanding the unbrotherly tone in which it was given, shook hands with Jochen, and said, glancing towards the house, "You're very well off here, Jochen." Jochen nodded. "And probably have a great many guests." "What business is it of yours?" cried Jochen violently, as if he had been bitterly insulted. "Why, I only asked the question," said Clas. "There is no one here at all," cried Jochen, "no one at all;" and he stepped before the other as he was making his way towards the house. "That happens just right," said Clas; "then I can turn back and tell old Herr Wenhorf and Herr Gotthold that they can get lodgings in your house." Jochen was perfectly horrified. What should he do? He had promised to keep silence, but what could silence avail if Herr Gotthold came straight into the house, and the old gentleman too, for whom he had such a wholesome respect. If the latter fixed his clear old eyes upon him, he must certainly tell everything, and--"Stine, Stine," shouted Jochen, as if the only inn in Wiessow were in flames from top to bottom. "Jochen, have you gone perfectly crazy? Don't you think at all of--"