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skein which I cannot unravel. It is time that my eyes
closed for ever—that the curtain fell!”
She remained unmoved.
“Your old suspicion... is it still alive, then?” she
asked.
“Yes, still alive. Drive away the spectre, you alone
can do it.”
She assumed her favourite part of little mother, and
gently laid her soft hand on my burning forehead.
“Does that relieve you?”
“Yes....”
It was a fact. The mere touch of that light hand
which rested so heavily on my life exorcised the
evil spirit, the secret trouble which would not let me
rest.
Another and more violent attack of fever followed.
My wife rose to make me some elder tea.
Left by myself I sat up in bed and looked out through
the window opposite. It was a large window in the shape
of a triptychon, framed by wild vine; I saw a part of
the landscape surrounded by green leaves; in the
foreground the beautiful scarlet fruit of a quince tree rocked
gently among the dark green foliage; apple trees, a little
further off, studded the green grass; still further away
the steeple of a small church rose into the radiant air,
behind it a blue spot, the Lake of Constance, was visible,
and far in the background the Tyrol Alps.
We were in the height of summer, and, illuminated
by the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, the whole
scene formed a charming picture.
From below rose the twittering of the starlings which
sat on the vine-props in the vineyards, the chirping of
the young chickens, the strident note of the crickets, the
tinkling cowbells, clear as crystal. The loud laughter of
my children, the directing voice of my wife, who was
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