"I had several things to do yet in the house, and while I put out some coffee and weighed out flour and bacon for next morning's meal, the words were constantly in my ears: 'You must speak to him.'
"Then, as I went, with my candle in my hand, up to my room, I made a detour past his door, for I hoped I might perhaps meet him on the landing; but that was empty, and his door was closed. Only the sound of his heavy footsteps inside the room was audible throughout the house.
"In Martha's room it was as silent as death. I put my ear to the keyhole; nothing was audible. She might as well have been dead or flown.
"Terror seized me. I knelt down in front of the keyhole, begged and implored, and finally threatened to fetch our parents if she still persisted in giving no sign of life.
"Then at length she vouchsafed me an answer. I heard a voice: 'Spare me, child, just for to-day spare me!' And this voice sounded so strange that I hardly recognised it.
"I went on my way now, but my fear increased lest he might set forth with anger and disappointment in his heart, without a word of explanation, without ever having suspected the greatness of Martha's love.
"A very fever burnt within my brain, and every pulsation of my veins cried out to me: 'You must speak to him--you must speak to him!'
"I half undressed and threw myself on the sofa. The clock struck eleven--it struck half-past eleven. Still his footsteps resounded through the house. But the later it was, the more did it grow impossible for me to carry out my resolve.
"What if a servant should spy upon me--should see me stealing into our guest's room! My heart stood still at the thought.
"The clock struck twelve. I opened the window and looked out upon the world. Everything seemed asleep, even from Robert's and Martha's rooms no light shone forth. Both were burying their sorrow and anguish in the lap of darkness.