against the wall in the darkest corner of the
room. Every time the wind shook the house
she started up; then again seated herself and
shuddered. Dark forebodings filled her soul.

At last,--the clock had just struck ten,--there
was a noise heard in the outer hall. Grimhild
sprang to the door and tore it open. A tall,
stooping figure entered, and by the dress she at
once recognized her father.

"Good God," cried she, and ran up to him.

"Go away, child," muttered he, in a voice
that sounded strangely unfamiliar, and he pushed
her roughly away. For a moment he stood
still, then stalked up to the table, and, with a
heavy thump, dropped down into a chair. There
he remained with his elbows resting on his
knees, and absently staring on the floor. His
long hair hung in wet tangles down over his
face, and the wrinkles about his mouth seemed
deeper and fiercer than usual. Now and then
he sighed, or gave vent to a deep groan. In a
while his eyes began to wander uneasily about
the room; and as they reached the corner where
Brita was sitting, he suddenly darted up, as if
stung by something poisonous, seized a brand
from the hearth, and rushed toward her.