fast his mother was held!  She had not cut her hair enough then.  But now she should have her deserts.  Everything from as far back as he could remember should be recalled, for once in a way he would show her herself; now he had both the power and the right.  His powers of discovery had been long hidden under the suffocating sawdust of the daily and nightly sawing; but now it was awake, and his mother should feel it.

People noticed the tall man break out of the wood, jump over hedges and ditches, and make his way straight up the hill.  At the very top he would write to his mother!—­

He did not return to the hotel till dark.  He was wet, dirty, and frightfully exhausted.  He was as hungry as a wolf, he said, but he hardly ate anything; on the other hand, he was consumed with thirst.  On leaving the table he said that he wished to stay there a few days to sleep.  They thought that he was joking, but he slept uninterruptedly until the afternoon of the next day.  He was then awakened, ate a little and drank a great deal, for he had perspired profusely; after which he fell asleep again.  He passed the next twenty-four hours in much the same way.

When he awoke the following morning he found himself alone.

Had not a doctor been there, and had he not said that it was a good thing for him to sleep?  It seemed to him that he had heard a buzz of voices; but he was sure that he was well now, only furiously hungry and thirsty, and when he raised himself he felt giddy.  But that passed off by degrees, when he had eaten some of the food which had been left there.  He drank out of the water-jug--the carafe was empty—­and walked once or twice up and down before the open window.  It was decidedly cold, so he shut it.  Just then he remembered that he had written a frightful letter to his mother!

How long ago was it?  Had he not slept a long time?  Had he not turned grey?  He went to the looking-glass, but forgot the grey hair at the sight of himself.  He was thin, lank, and dirty.—­The letter! the letter!  It will kill my mother!  There had already been misfortunes enough, more must not follow.

He dressed himself quickly, as if by hurrying he could overtake the letter.  He looked at the clock—­it had stopped.  Suppose the train were in!  He must go by it, and from the train straight to the steamer, and home, home to Hellebergene!  But he must send a telegram to his mother at once.  He wrote it—­“Never mind the letter, mother.  I am coming this evening and will never leave you again.”

So now he had only to put on a clean collar, now his watch—­it certainly was morning—­now to pack, go down and pay the bill, have something to eat, take his ticket, send the telegram; but first—­ no, it must all be done together, for the train was there; it had only a few minutes more to wait; he could only just catch it.  The telegram was given to some one else to send off.