"My father is in one of his impatient moods," said she, "you had
better go. I hope you will be successful," she murmured, glancing
wistfully at my basket.
"What is that?" again came thundering on our ears. "Successful? What
are you two up to?" And we heard the rough clatter of advancing
steps.
"Go," said she; "you are weak and old; and when you come back, try and
not cough." And she gave me a gentle push towards the door.
"When I come back," I began, but was forced to pause, the elder
Schoenmaker having by this time reached the open doorway where he
stood frowning in upon us in a way that made my heart stand still for
her.
"What are you two talking about?" said he; "and what have you got in
your basket there?" he continued with a stride forward that shook the
floor.
"Only some little toys that he has been making, and is now going out
to sell," was her low answer given with a quick deprecatory gesture
such as I doubt if she ever used for herself.
"Nothing more?" asked he in German with a red glare in the eye he
turned towards her.
"Nothing more," replied she in the same tongue. "You may believe me."
He gave a deep growl and turned away. "If there was," said he, "you
know what would happen." And unheeding the wild keen shudder that
seized her at the word, making her insensible for the moment to all
and everything about her, he laid one heavy hand upon her slight
shoulder and led her from the room.
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