Feb. 27.--Through Neuendorf and Oost, and afterwards through a
pathless wood, five miles and a half to Hammer, and here I knocked
at my sister's door at nine o'clock in the evening.



CHAPTER VIII.



A maidservant came to the door, whom I knew; her name was Mary, and
she had been born and brought up in my father's house. She was
terrified at seeing a sturdy fellow in a beggar's dress; which
perceiving, I asked, "Molly, do not you know me?" She answered,
"No;" and I then discovered myself to her. I asked whether my
brother-in-law was at home. Mary replied, "Yes; but he is sick in
bed." "Tell my sister, then," said I, "that I am here." She showed
me into a room, and my sister presently came.

She was alarmed at seeing me, not knowing that I had escaped from
Glatz, and ran to inform her husband, but did not return.

A quarter of an hour after the good Mary came weeping, and told us
her master commanded us to quit the premises instantly, or he should
be obliged to have us arrested, and delivered up as prisoners. My
sister's husband forcibly detained her, and I saw her no more.

What my feelings must be, at such a moment, let the reader imagine.
I was too proud, too enraged, to ask money; I furiously left the
house, uttering a thousand menaces against its inhabitants, while