like a hostile being: immovable, firm, haughty, shut against her, and driving her into the distance.
She locked once more into the castle park. It seemed to her that she conld see the bench that was hidden behind the branches. She saw the whirling points around that tower,—a swarm of swallows. She glanced at the cemetery: there . . . in that place it was . . . that black grave, covered but an hour ago. . . . An hour ago? No, it was long, long ago, a month ago, and maybe even more. . . .
She recognized the slate roof of the manor. It seemed to her that she could see through it. . . . The old lady in her white cap was walking through the rooms, calling: “Lucy, Lucy!” The plaint strongly clutched at her heart. . . . And did she know already? . . . She had probably run out to the gate, and looked into the fields, shading her eyes with her hand: “Lucy, Lucy!” That familiar voice penetrated her soul, and suddenly she
