“Have you killed him?” asked Erica, abruptly, looking full in his face.
“No,” returned Hund, firmly. From his manner everybody believed this much.
“Do you know that anybody else has killed him?”
“No.”
“Do you know whether he is alive or dead?”
To this Hund could, in the confusion of his ideas about Rolf’s fate and condition, fairly say “No:” as also to the question, “Do you know where he is?”
Then they all cried out, “Tell us what you do know about him.”
“Ay, there you come,” said Hund, resuming some courage, and putting on the appearance of more than he had. “You load me with foul accusations; and when you find yourselves all in the wrong, you alter your tone, and put yourselves under obligation to me for what I will tell. I will treat you better than you treat me; and I will tell you plainly why. I repent of my feelings towards my fellow-servant, now that evil has befallen him—”
“What? O what?” cried Erica.
“He was seen fishing on the fiord, in that poor little worn-out skiff. I myself saw him. And when I looked next for the skiff, it was gone,—it had disappeared.”