Dame Care Part 43

It was as clear as daylight, only as far as the shadow of the barn extended night still reigned.

The storm howled among the trees, the glistening white sand was whirled in the air, otherwise all was silent and deserted.

He hastened through the garden--no trace of him--to the back of the stables--still no trace of him. Ah, what did this mean? The gate open?

Where had he gone? The dog near him whined, he hastily unfastened his chain. "Seek for your master, Turk. Seek."

The dog sniffed about on the ground and ran to the front of the barn, where the bundles of straw were lying piled up like pale mountains of sand along the wall.

The moonlight was dazzling on the whitewashed wall, and lay bright and glittering on the ground One might have found a pin by its light.

There was nothing to be noticed, except in one place the straw seemed disarranged.

But stop! how does the ladder come here, which is leaning against the wall? The ladder which but two hours ago was lying flat along the inside of the fence?

Who has taken it from its place?

And, by heaven!--what is this?--

Who has opened the window of the loft, which he himself had bolted from the inside before the barn was filled with the sheaves?

Below at the foot of the ladder, the ground looked moist, as if a liquid had been spilled. An odor of petroleum rose from the spot.

With trembling hands he seized the straw which was strewn on the ground.

Yes, it was wet, and the obnoxious odor communicated itself to the fingers that touched it.

He felt his knees tremble under him, a dull, terrible foreboding clouded his senses. With difficulty he raised himself up and mounted the ladder, till he reached the window of the loft.

The dog whined below.

"Seek for your master, Turk. Seek!"

The animal broke out into a joyous howl and ran sniffing round and round, till he seemed to have found the scent.

Paul gazed at him. He was trembling feverishly, in agonizing suspense.

The way the animal took was through the gate. Then it really had been his father who had opened it.

But then--then.... Which way would he turn?

"Seek for your master, Turk. Seek!"

The dog again gave a short howl, and then ran with great speed down the path towards Helenenthal.

Helenenthal! What does father want in Helenenthal? Ah, did he not say a short time ago that he had been there one afternoon for an experiment?

For an experiment! And how strangely and unpleasantly he laughed when he said it.

And to-day, too. How mysterious his behavior had been! And when they were speaking of the barn catching fire, what did he mean by the words that it was a splendid coincidence today? Why to day? Whatever happens, I must find the solution of this riddle ere it is too late!

He looked around, seeking help.

As his hand was groping mechanically in the dark aperture he laid hold of the handle of a tin can which stood hidden there among the sheaves.

It was the petroleum can, which he had freshly filled yesterday. And on whose advice? Who was it who came and said,

"Father, father, for Jesus' sake, what do you want to do at Helenenthal?"

And now, how much is there still in it? It is scarcely half full.

As he unconsciously went on groping about, he came upon some boxes of matches which lay by the can.

This opened his eyes, he gave a terrible cry, "He is going to set Helenenthal on fire!"

Everything swam before his eyes, and he would have fallen backward from the ladder had he not clung to the framework of the window.

All was clear. His father's confused talk, his laughs, his threats.

But there was yet time. The old man could only creep along on his crutch. He might throw himself on his horse, and gallop after him.

"Saddle a horse!" he called out through the dark, and sprang down from the ladder. Then suddenly it shot through his brain--"Why did father ask so minutely about the time years ago? Would his revenge be executed at the same moment? Good heavens' then all is lost. I told him one o'clock was the hour, and it is one now."

Mad fear seized him--again he climbed the ladder.

In the next moment the flames would rise over there.

Is it not burning there already? No, it is only the moon that shines on the windows of the White House. Heavenly Father, is there no salvation, no mercy? If a prayer, if a curse could have the power to lame the out stretched hand! Who will warn him, who will give him a sign to turn back?

But there are the flames No. Perhaps in another second the fiery glow will rise to the sky.

"Elsbeth, awake'"

It will flame up as it did then, eight years ago, when the blood red reflection paralyzed all his faculties, as he roamed in the garden of Helenenthal. If to day, as at that time, a fire were to rise on the heath, or that his father's hand might be stiffened in the midst of his criminal purpose.

Oh, G.o.d in Heaven, let a miracle happen! Let a fire break out on the heath, as it happened before--as happened before.

There _must_ be a fire! And there must be a fire here! If lightning would but strike the roof of his own home, so that the flames might cry out to his father, "Stop, stop!" Ah, why is it such a clear, starlight night? Why is there no threatening cloud upon the horizon? Perhaps he is even now stretching up to the thatched roof. Perhaps he is now striking the match. In another moment all warning will be too late.

There must be a fire! There must be a fire here!

And there is no torch that I could swing to warn him!

"There must be a fire! There must be a fire here!"

And as he looked around with eyes starting from his head, there suddenly flashed upon him an idea as bright as the fire he was longing for.

He shouted with joy.

"Yes, that's the thing. The terror will benumb him. It must be saved.

Saved at any price."

With both hands he seized the can, and swinging it round him, poured its contents on the piled-up sheaves.