Käte coughed and then trembled. There was no joy in her heart now, all she felt was terror, terror on account of the possession she had had to fight so hard to obtain. If the mother were to come after them now--oh, that terrible woman with the glittering axe. She closed her eyes tightly, full of a horror she had never felt the like to before--oh, she could not see it again! And still she opened her eyes wide once more, and felt the cold perspiration on her brow and her heart trembling--alas, that sight would pursue her even in her dreams. She would not get rid of it until her last hour--never, never again--she would always see that woman with the glittering axe.
It had whizzed close past her head--the draught of air caused by it had made the hair on her temples tremble. It had done nothing to her, it had only buried itself in the door-post with a loud noise, splitting it. And still she had come to harm. Käte pressed both her hands to her temples in horror: she would never, never get rid of that fear.
Her heart was filled with an almost superstitious dread, a dread as though of a ghost that haunted the place. Let them only get away from there, never to return. Let them only destroy every trace as they went along. That woman must never know where they had gone. She knew it was to Berlin--they had unfortunately given the vestryman their address--but Berlin was so far away, the woman from the Venn would never come there.
And the Venn itself? Ugh! Käte looked out into the grey mist, trembling with horror. Thank God, that would remain behind, that would soon be forgotten again. How could she ever have considered this desolate Venn beautiful? She could not understand it. What charm was there about these inhospitable plains, on which nothing could grow except the coarse grass and tough heather? On which no corn waved its spikes, no singing-bird piped its little song, no happy people lived sociably; where there was, in short, no brightness, no loud tones, only the silence of the dead and crosses along the road. It was awful there.
"Paul, let us leave to-day--as quickly as possible," she jerked out, full of terror, whilst her eyes sought in vain for a glimpse of light.
He was quite willing. He felt ill at ease too. If this woman, this fury, had hit his wife in her sudden outburst of rage? But he could not help blaming himself: who had bade him have anything to do with such people? They were not a match for such barbarous folk.
And he was seized with a feeling of aversion for the child sleeping so peacefully on his wife's arm. He looked gloomily at the little face; would he ever be able to love it? Would not the memory of its antecedents always deter him from liking it? Yes, he had been too precipitate. How much better it would have been if he had dissuaded his wife from her wish, if he had energetically opposed her romantic idea of adopting this child, this particular child.
He frowned as he looked out of the window, whilst the grey mist clung to the pane and ran down it in large drops.
The wind howled outside; it had risen all at once. And it howled still louder the nearer they approached the top of the high Venn, whined round their carriage like an angry dog and hurled itself against the horses' chests. The horses had to fight against it, to slacken their trot; the carriage only advanced with difficulty.
The child must never, never know from whence it came, as otherwise--the new father was wrapped in thought as he stared into the Venn, whose wall of mist was now and then torn asunder by a furious gust of wind--as otherwise--what was he going to say? He passed his hand over his brow and drew his breath heavily. Something like fear crept over him, but he did not know why.