But where could he be?  He could not possibly be in the timber-yard now, at this time of year.

His stronghold was not easy to hit upon either, for it was something very like looking in her own pocket.  In common with other evil-doers, Nikolai was driven by an irresistible desire—­like moths that flutter round a candle—­to hide himself as near as possible to the place of his fear and dread, where Mrs. Holman was, and where he could catch a glimpse of Silla.

Holman lay at night and felt, through his intoxication, that things were going wrong with Nikolai.  He heard it dripping and dripping in the thaw outside—­splash, splash!  The sound came in a monotonous chant:  Ni-ko-lai, Ni-ko-lai.

He would ruin his health out there!

With sudden energy he sat up in bed.  Where else would Nikolai be than under the old carriage hood that stood in the loft over the coach-house, mouldy and dropping to pieces with its opening towards the wall?

It was in the light of this idea that he rushed out.

Nikolai never felt the blockmaker’s hand; he still slept on happily, as it lifted him up by the coat collar.

It was only when he stood erect on both feet that he grasped the situation, and threw himself down again, kicking and screaming.  He would not go home, they might kill him first, or take off his head!

The heels of his boots made it evident both to sight and feeling that he meant it:  he was utterly beside himself.

Only let Holman get him inside the door, and the strap should dance!  Holman had worked himself up into a state of excitement.

Mrs. Holman was waiting in the doorway with a candle.  By its light she saw an ashy pale face, with eyes staring at her, and at the same time heard the words:  “You won’t get me in!  If I was born in the street, I can live in the street!” She caught a glance from the sharp, defiant grey eyes—­then out of the blockmaker’s hands, out of the gate, and he was gone!

The blows on Ludvig’s nose had gone to Barbara’s heart.  But when she heard that Nikolai had run away from the Holmans’ and that there was some talk of getting him into an institute for morally depraved children, there was crying and weeping.  She had had shame enough with the boy, and this she could not survive!  Her mistress must prevent it.  She was conscious of having done her duty and more than her duty all these years that she had been Ludvig and Lizzie’s nurse, but she could not put up with this!  Her mistress must prevent it, or she did not know what she might do, or what might happen:  she felt quite capable of leaving them.

Barbara sat sighing and weeping in the nursery, until the children were almost afraid to go in.

Such attacks generally lasted, at the most, one day; but this one had now been going on for three, and was disturbing the comfort of the house.  Then Mrs. Veyergang got one of her headaches, and was going to have an afternoon nap, her accustomed cure, during which everything must be kept perfectly quiet around her.