"'Believe me, it is better thus,' I answered, 'it would have excited her too much to see you.'
"'You always seem to know what is best,' said he, and went out, fortunately without noticing the glow which suffused my face at his praise.
"Now she lay there again unconscious--her cheeks red, and her forehead wet with perspiration. And added to that, the gruesome play of her lips! They kept on twitching and smacking.
"Towards one o'clock the doctor came, took her temperature, and certified a diminution of fever.
"'That will go up and down many a time yet,' he said; nor did he enter into our joy over her awakening. 'Do not speak to her when she regains consciousness,' he urged, 'and above all, do not allow her to speak herself. She needs every atom of her strength.'
"Before he left, he fixed his eyes on me for a long time, and shook his head doubtfully. I felt how the consciousness of guilt drove the blood to my cheeks. It was as if he could look me through and through.
"... In the afternoon I had fetched myself a book from my room, the first I happened to lay my hands upon and tried to read in it; but the letters danced before my eyes, and my head buzzed as if it were full of bats.
"It was a long time before I could even make out the title. I read 'Iphigenia.' Then, seized by sudden terror, I flung the book far away from me into a corner, as if I had held a burning coal in my hand. Towards evening Martha's pains seemed to grow more intense. Several times she cried out loud and writhed as if in a cramp.
"While I was busying myself about her, during an attack of this sort, the old woman suddenly stood at my side. And as I looked at her with her venomous glance, with her studied wringing of hands, and the hypocritical droop of her mouth, the thought suddenly came to me--
"'Here is one--who is waiting for Martha's death--who is wishing for it.'