CHAPTER XI.
Out on the porch, which also served as a kitchen, were Thomas and his mother. He had removed his false beard, was cleaning his black face, and now said:
"Mother, do you know what I'm sorry for?"
"What for?"
"Why, that I didn't shoot the young count the other day. I won't have as good a chance at him again. I could have shot him through the back of the neck and that would have been the last of him. I'd have given the daylight a chance to shine through him."
"You're a nice fellow to talk repentance."
"Yes, and I'd have done a good deed if I'd shot the fellow. Just think, mother, that's the kind of people the grand folks are who own the forest and all the game in it. Just think of it, mother! I'm a good fellow, after all."
"How so?"
"Only think, mother! Do you know why the count was in the forest? He wanted to be out of the way while his father was dying; and so he rode off and let the old man end his days alone. I promise you, if you were going to die, and I were about, I'd stay with you to the last. I'd deserve to go to heaven, if I'd put that fellow out of the way. If I'd known all about it at the time, I'd have done it, too. Indeed, I did want to, just for the fun of the thing. But it's great fun to think how the fellow must have shook, to be riding in front of me while I had a ball ready for him and could have shot him at any minute. Oh, you Wildenort!"
At the mention of her family name, Irma fell over as if shot and, with bated breath, listened while Thomas continued: