impression on me. But Lori entered the
room at this moment, carrying my bedding in her
arms; and further conversation with Gretchen
was impossible. She helped her sister to spread
the bed upon a trestle in the corner of the
room; then she fetched sheets and a patchwork
counterpane, the design of which I can
distinctly recal even now. There were triangular
bits of red cloth inserted here and there,
which looked to me like so many small tongues
of fire;—I have good reason to remember them.

When her task was done, Lori stood before
me, with her arms akimbo.

"You feel sleepy, young man, no doubt, after
your long day. We keep early hours, for we
are up betimes. You shall have a cup of coffee
and a slice of black bread at five, before we bid
you Godspeed. Nay, no excuses. It is in our
vow. Schlafen Sie wohl."

Had I spoken the truth, I should have said
that, far from being sleepy, I had never felt more
wide awake than I did then. Ever since supper
a strange restlessness of mind had taken the
place of the languor which had oppressed me.
Gretchen made as if she would have spoken when
Lori ceased. She turned towards me. I saw
her fingers working nervously at the black apron.
I believe it was her sister's silent ascendancy
over her which restrained her, for I intercepted
a sideways glance from Lori's stealthy eyes
which she shot towards Gretchen. With a face
in which fierceness and terror and anguish
seemed to be conflicting, the latter looked at
me, as she followed her sister from the room,
without even wishing me the customary "good
night.'

'What did it all mean? Now, for the first
time, I think, I began revolving in my mind all
that I had seen and heard since I entered that
house, and a disagreeable sense of something
strange and mysterious gradually took possession
of me. What was there about these sisters
to inspire mistrust? With the elder, indeed,
I could understand it. There was a
physical repulsion which made the blood curdle
in my veins when I thought of her. But the
younger was beautiful to look upon. She had
shown herself tenderly inclined towards me.
Why should I find myself thinking of her, with
a feeling akin to dread? Her words recurred
to me. At what danger had she hinted?
There had been something wild about her
eyes, about her talk, at times. Then there
was her extraordinary proposal. Was she
mad? I remembered her strange conduct
at supper, the fierce authoritative look where-
with her sister had overawed her. It seemed a
likely solution to much that was otherwise
inexplicable about them both. But, if so, how
unaccountable that Lori, knowing her sister to
be subject to fits and fancies like these, should
offer hospitality to a stranger! There was
nothing immodest about the demeanour of either
of them; there was nothing that could suggest
the suspicion that this was a guet-à-pens of any
sort. The idea of robbery was ridiculous. Was
not my poverty, so apparent in the threadbare
student's blouse I wore, a sufficient safeguard?
Why, I had not even my knapsack with me, as
they knew; and I was young and muscular—
not an easy victim for open violence, had any
been intended.

I racked my brain with endeavours to arrive
at some definite conclusion, for as to trying
to sleep, I found it useless. My brain seemed
on fire by this time. Every moment I felt myself
growing more excited, more keenly alive to
every sound, and all my mental perceptions
quickened. The single candle they had left me,
burned dim; it seemed to fill the room with all
sorts of grim shapes and shadows. After a
long interval, during which everything in the
little house was absolutely still, I got up, in my
restlessness, feeling that anything was better
than to lie tossing there, a prey to feverish
fancies. I walked about the room, with the
candle, examining every article in it. First,
there were the coloured prints upon the walls
—among others, one of the Loreley, I remember,
and one, a scene from Schiller's Robbers, which
made my blood run cold as I looked at it. There
was a cupboard, which I opened; nothing
but a few plates and one old knife. I sat
down again upon the bed, and my eye was
attracted once more to the red tongues of the
patchwork quilt. It was a very ingenious piece
of work. I tried to follow the kaleidoscope
pattern into which the various shreds had been
wrought with that strange device of crimson
cloth at regular intervals. Regular? No. At
one place in the corner, I perceived now that three
or four tongues seemed to have been sewn
together. I held down the candle to examine
them, and started back. What I had taken for
crimson cloth was a stain of coagulated blood.

I shuddered. "Perhaps some one cut his
finger here," I said; but I didn't believe my
own words; and then I tried to laugh at
myself, and said my brain was giving way. I
started up. I saw nothing clearly. The
Robbers and Loreley were dancing hobgoblin
dances on the wall. The moonlight through the
sycamore branches played in a shivering shadow
on one spot of the floor. I knelt down, and
crept along upon my hands and knees,
examining the boards. But there was no stain
there; only the smell of the beer in one place,
and an army of those horrible beetles, who ran
away from the light as I lowered it, to the back
of the stove. I pursued them with a sudden
savage impetus towards destruction. They all
disappeared between two chinks in the floor. I
set my foot on the boards. I thought one moved.
I stooped, and saw at once that the two boards
immediately behind the stove, though fitting closely,
were not nailed down—might be removed, no
doubt, with some little trouble. I dug my nails
into the chinks and tried to lift one. In vain.
I only tore my finger with a splinter. Then I
bethought me of the old knife I had seen in the
cupboard. With its help, I presently raised the
end of one of the boards, and so drew it out.
A square deal box lay concealed beneath. It
had no lock or fastening of any kind.