"You needn't shiver so, I shall not beat you," said the smith. Her lips parted, but no words came at first.
"Let me--let me go--I--don't want to be in your way any more," she stammered at last.
Fausch sank into the chair, close in front of her: he was now like a block, barring her way. "Don't try it," said he, "you know me--don't you try to run away, I should have you brought back!" He threw his arm over the back of the chair, and the sudden movement made her shrink again, as if he had meant to strike her.
"No, no, I will stay," she whispered, trembling.
He leaned forward and gazed long at his beautiful wife, from head to foot. "You have nobody left," he said slowly. "Your people are all dead. That is why you took me, as you told me, for the sake of a home. But--you have one thing--a pretty face--you have that! And Ludwig found that out too."
Stephen spat.
"He--we--it all came over us so"--Maria began to explain in a frightened tone.
"Ha, ha!" laughed the smith, and grasped her wrist, which his hand encircled like a handcuff, and shook her.
She cried out.
"Be still," he commanded, "I shall not beat you." Then he pushed her from him. She slipped away to the back part of the room, found her knitting, dropped into a chair and began to put the stitches in order.