"Who is the author of this poetry, my dear lady?"
She turned on me her large eyes, now larger than ever, but this time not questioningly; no, there was certainly in her look.
"If there is no revelation from without, there is one from within; every human being who feels thus possesses it."
She had never been more beautiful. At this moment steps were heard in the front room. She turned her head in a listening attitude.
"It is Atlung back again!" said she, as she rose and rang for another cup.
She was right; it was Atlung, who as soon as he had removed his out-door wraps opened wide the door and came in. His attorney, Hartmann, had grown anxious and had come to meet him. Atlung had attended to the entire business with him on the highway.
His wife's questioning eyes followed him as he sauntered across the floor. Either she did not like his having interrupted us, or she noticed that he was out of humor. As he took the coffee cup from her hand, he recounted to her his recent experience with the boys. He did not mention any of the words the little fellows had shouted out with such jubilant merriment; but he added enough to lead her to surmise what they were. And while he was drinking his coffee, he repeated to her that he had promised them a whipping; "but," said he, "something more than the rod is needed in this case."
As she stood when she handed him the cup, so she remained standing after he had finished his coffee and gone. Terror was depicted in both face and attitude. Her eyes followed him as he walked about the room; she was waiting to hear this something else which was more than the rod.
"Now I will tell you what it is, Amalie," came from across the room, "the boys must leave to-morrow at latest."
She sank slowly down on the sofa, so slowly that I do not think she was aware that she was seating herself. She watched him intently. A more helpless, unhappy object I had never seen.