“What are we to do, Rudolph?” she questioned timidly. “The child eats nothing; she cannot go on like this. She will die, and then what will happen to us?”
“Confound the girl!” burst forth the man furiously—both he and his wife spoke in German—“Confound the whole business! I could kill that niece of yours, with her idiotic talk about the girl’s love for Germany. Now listen to me, and don’t let me hear any snivelling, either. Pay attention to every word I say, and mind you do exactly as I tell you.”
“Yes, Rudolph,” murmured Mrs. Becker, obediently.
“I am going away, going away on important business. I want to get off as soon as possible, so go and pack my valise.”
“But, Rudolph, you will not leave me here alone with her? Oh, surely you will not do that! Let me go with you; I will carry the valise. I will not be any trouble.”
“Nonsense! you don’t know what you are talking about. I am sorry to leave you, but it cannot be helped. This is war time, and I am working for my country. You are to do as I say, and if you disobey my orders you will live to regret it. You are not to let the girl out after I am gone, do you understand? You are to let her suppose I am still here. When I have been away two days, you may do as you please. I don’t care what happens then. I shall have accomplished what I have to do, and I can take care of myself after that. The girl may say what she chooses.”
“But what will become of me, Rudolph?” cried Mrs. Becker, piteously. “They will hold me responsible—they——”
“Now, see here, Gertrude,” interrupted her husband in a somewhat milder tone, “I am sorry, very sorry, but, as I said before, it cannot be helped. I am working for a great cause. I cannot have all my work ruined by a silly child.
“After all, it was your own niece who caused all the trouble. It is only just that you should suffer something for being the aunt of such an idiot. I would not leave you if it were not absolutely necessary for me to get away just now. Something that girl said has made me uneasy. That man Lippheim that she mentioned; we have been suspicious of him for some time. I saw him myself in New London, swaggering about at that dance I told you of. I had no idea he knew the Schiller girl. If he should track her here—ha! what’s that?”
“It’s the bell, Rudolph,” said Mrs. Becker, wiping her eyes.