"Herr Frank is not unwell," said he; "I saw him in the field and went through the vineyard to meet him; but when he discovered my intention, he turned about and hastened toward the house. That surprises me."
Angela went into the garden. She stood on the bed and gazed at the lettuce. The empty basket awaited its contents, and in it lay the knife whose bright blade glistened before the idle dreamer. She stood thus meditating, lost in thought for a long time, which was certainly not her custom.
Herr Frank had returned from the city, and was roughly received by the doctor.
"Have you spoken to your son?" said he sharply.
"No! I have just alighted from the carriage," answered Frank in astonishment.
The doctor walked up and down the room, and Frank saw his face growing darker.
"You disturb me, good friend. How is Richard?"
"Bad, very bad! And it is all your fault. You gave Richard those materialistic books which I threw out of the window. He has read the trash—not read, but studied it; and now we have the consequences."
"Pardon me, doctor. I did not give my son those books. He was passing the window when you threw them out, and took them to his room."